SAINT ADELAIDE OF ITALY, MY 30TH GREAT AUNT

Saint Adelaide of Italy

(Sometimes called Adelaide of Bergundy)

931-999

My 30th Great Aunt

Most days of the year have quite a number of saints whose feasts we celebrate in the Catholic and Orthodox churches. Typically, the men are the most famous and get the most attention, while the women remain but a whisper in the background, which is why I like to concentrate on the female members of this august body, and I take great pleasure in the fact that quite a number of them are related to me. It is my hope that something of their holiness and sanctity travels down to me in our shared blood connection - our DNA. Wouldn't that be wonderful?

Saint Adelaide was the sister of King Conrad I "The Peaceful" of Bergundy, who was my 29th Great Grandfather. This family connection was researched primarily through history books and thepeerage.com, a thoroughly researched historical website that documents the families of the peerage of Great Britain and other prominent European families.

Of course, many of the women whose sainted reputations have been conveyed to us over the centuries, were also prominent figures in political history: queens and princesses. In fact, this particular saint is the patron saint of princesses, as well as abuse victims, brides, empresses, exiles, in-law problems, parenthood, parents of large families, prisoners, second marriages, step-parents, and widows.

I like to draw upon the power and dignity of figures such as these - women who sacrificed themselves for the greater good, usually for the sake of their country alliances as well as our God, and whose memory is retained in classical works of nonfiction.

Adelaide was one of those princesses who was offered up to a rival to create a more pleasing relationship with a competing kingdom, the first time at age 15, when she married Lothair II, the ersatz King of Italy, but this union barely had time to produce one child, Emma, before Lothair II died, probably of poisoning. Certain factions then tried to force Adelaide to marry the son of a Lombardy king who hoped to increase his power, but, after a few months of imprisonment, she fled to the protection of Otto I of Germany, instead, thereafter marrying him.

It is interesting to note that, breaking with custom, the Pope crowned her as Holy Roman Empress at the same time that her husband Otto was crowned Holy Roman Emperor. It says something about the esteem with which she was held in the hearts of the people of that day. They respected her, which is saying something, since women were typically nothing more than chattel in that era.

OTTO THE GREAT

Despite being used as a biological chess piece in the world belonging to men, it appears that Saint Adelaide's strong religious temperament had always been a feature of her character. She maintained a long and continuingly close relationship with Cluny, a powerful abbey in France, dedicated to St. Peter, and the center of ecclesiastical reform in that day.

CLUNY ABBEY

Saint Adelaide retired to a nunnery that she founded in 991, called Selz Abbey. She died on this date in the year 999, a handful of days short of the year 1,000 - the year that many hoped and believed would bring the second coming of Christ.  Yet, here we are, well into the 2,000 years, and no sign of Him. We could certainly use him now.

SELZ ABBEY

Even to this day, women who have discharged family responsibilities, outlived husbands (and sometimes children) are left wanting only God and, if they have money and can support themselves and a few other women, will start some sort of monastic institution and live out their days communing with the Lord. It reminds me of my current state in life, except that I live in an apartment because I am poor and can do little to rectify that situation, since I am also disabled.

While the typical trappings of the grand monastic life of a "retired' Holy Roman Empress are beyond my reach, a prayerful heart is not, so, like many of my readers, I continue on here, living the solitary monastic life of the accidental hermit.

As a person who has been subjected to abuse, I call upon the prayers of Saint Adelaide, the patron saint of abuse victims - which means that I ask her to intercede for me, just as I might ask you to pray for me, out of the goodness of your heart. I know that Adelaide was used as a pawn in the hands of the men, for the purpose of cementing political alliances and other considerations of earthly power, yet she maintained her devotion to the Heavenly powers above all else and, for this reason, she is inspiring to me.

Just this Saturday, I had occasion to call upon the sobriety and poise of a saint. I had to go to the grocery store.

Shopping is a generally traumatic event for me, mostly because of my physical disabilities and the pain and inconvenience they cause when I try to attend to my survival needs.

First of all, when I arrived at the Smiths Grocery on Constitution and Carlisle, I discovered that, although they had 3 or 4 battery-operated carts, one of them was completely dead and immovable and was blocking all the others. This is fairly typical of most stores that keep these handicap vehicles available for customers. You can tell by the manner of upkeep just how little they really care about the handicapped patrons and how little thought they put into our needs.





Since I was only purchasing 3 small items, I took the chance that I could stand in line with my cane and still make it back to my car. I was disappointed to see that, in that entire store, there were only two lanes that were open and had a human being at the helm. I am unable to deal with the computerized self-service checkouts and I also object to replacing human beings with machines, so I never get into those lines. Instead, I hobbled up to the closest line, which was clogged with people whose carts were overflowing.

There I was, leaning on my cane, carrying two bags of fresh cranberries and a tiny little smoked ham that fit in the palm of one hand. I smiled and commented to the man in front of me, "you'd think that on a Saturday they would open a few more lanes."

The man, who was about my age, turned to me with an unpleasant expression and informed me that, if I did't like it, I was free to stand in line at the self-serve. Perhaps he thought I was trying to get him to let me get in line ahead of him, when I was actually trying to make my waiting time in line as agreeable as possible and distract myself from the awful pain that was creeping up my legs.

Then again, I have turned into my grandmother, in some respects. When I was in my 20's, it used to embarrass me no end when she would turn to some stranger and strike up a conversation, but now I do it all the time myself. Everyone I run into in this world is my neighbor, either my neighbor in my apartment complex, my street, my grocery store or my town. They're my neighbors, and I am enjoined to love them, no matter how rude or inconsiderate they behave.

Typically, I will draw a slow, warm smile and continue chatting as if I do not understand or receive my neighbor's lack of charity, and that is exactly what I did this day. I didn't push myself on this man, however, since he was surly and I didn't want to aggravate him, but I DID call upon my sainted ancestor ladies for guidance and help getting through the line, with as much gravitas as I could muster. If I was a saint, what would I do? How would I behave? I ask myself questions like these during difficult times. I don't pretend to be successful in my efforts to emulate my sainted ancestors, but I do try.

I stood there, leaning on my cane, gamely smiling, for a good 20 minutes, while this man loaded a cartful of cans and boxes onto the counter. Not a vegetable in sight. It occurred to me that perhaps he was constipated, with a diet like that, and he was in a bad mood because he hadn't gone to the bathroom in 3 days. Then he handed the clerk a fistful of coupons. All of this could have been done with the computerized self-checkout that he recommended to me, so I also wonder why he did not avail himself of it. It's not like he had to weigh any vegetables!

It took a long time to get from the store to my parking spot. As I've explained before, there is not enough handicap parking at this location.

The pain was so great as a result of the physical challenge of standing in the grocery store, that I was unable to do anything but sit in my recliner the rest of the day. I could not cook a meal or clean my house, take a shower or  do anything on my feet. In fact, it was one of those days when I was unable to even change out of my clothing, and I ended up sleeping in the dress I wore to the store that day. I fell asleep in my recliner, exhausted, and woke early in the morning on Sunday.

Donald Trump mocks this disabled reporter

What is really needed is a low-slung van of some sort - a van that can be tricked out with a ramp onto which I could drive my electric scooter, so that I am not at the mercy of shop keepers and store owners. I cannot rely upon those people to meet my needs. I have begged for several  years now for funds to purchase a van and pay for it to be equipped for my electric scooter, but disabled old ladies without an exciting sob story get very little traction in the world of philanthropy. There are also a LOT of old disabled ladies living in little city apartments. America is not doing a good job of taking care of their elderly, and Americans do not care much about the poor, the disabled, the senior Americans, unless there is a great story attached. I am ordinary and therefor boring.






There is also the tendency of comfortable people to impugn the character of the poor. Whenever I talk about the poor, the first thing said is usually something about drugs, ignoring the fact that MOST poor people do not take illicit drugs and MOST poor people are NOT able bodied people who "refuse to work."

Then there is the Trump factor. I disapprove of Trump's lies, misogyny, and xenophobia, his prejudice against the disabled and other minorities; his criminal; unethical self-dealing; and his vulgarity. On top of all this, he is a terrible bully - mocking disabled people and others who are weaker and have less power than himself. He punches down, and I don't like it.

I have spoken frankly about this, at which point "Catholics" in real life, on Facebook and here at my little blog, have shunned me because of it. Even a donor in IRELAND took umbrage at my disapproval of Trump and withdrew her occasional assistance with increasingly passive aggressive, then angry emails. It is the first time in my life that people have snubbed me for a political purpose. I do not pretend to know the hearts or minds of people trapped in the Trump cult and won't venture a guess about motive or incentive, but it does seem rather small and peevish to me. Our American democracy celebrates our freedom of speech, among other things, and to retaliate against a handicapped woman for expressing a different political perspective is the antithesis of our democratic philosophy, and certainly does not comport with general Christian values.

Anyway, I digress. For whatever reason, my disapproval of Trump or my boring story, the point is that my efforts at begging have not been terribly fruitful and, although I am leaving the "donate" button on this blog, I have stopped flogging my GOFUNDME CAMPAIGN . It doesn't seem worth the humiliation.

For all these reasons, it is even more important for me to become better acquainted with the saints, many of whose lives were more painful, more stressful and more poverty stricken than mine (except for the empresses and princesses. THEY probably do not run out of food at the end of every month! Their sacrifices and trials were of a different nature.)  The saints typically offer up the difficulties - and many of them did, indeed, die much sooner than they would have if they'd had their survival needs met, but there is no indication that they did much, if anything, to take care of their health or longevity. I am usually pro-active about my health, but perhaps that is the wrong way to go.

My 30th great aunt, Saint Adelaide of Italy, whose feast day we celebrate today, may not have suffered privations, per se, but she was used as a pawn in a political chess match in which her body was traded for political power. I wonder if she really gave consent to either of her marriages. Her consent did not appear to be necessary at the time. Regardless, I look to her as an example of how to survive in this brutal world with a little grace and dignity, AND, especially, without losing faith! That is the most important aspect.

God bless us all.

Silver "Rose"

THE SUPER ICKY, VERY AWFUL, TERRIBLY TERRIBLE DAY

My solace at the crescendo of my crappy

day - Home made, organic hot cocoa

with very unorganic marshmallows

As previously mentioned, I am embroiled in a long term, frustrating attempt to coax my apartment complex into giving some attention to safety and handicap access issues, instead of discounting them (and me.) They continue to allow people to block my garage, and it is a maddening battle. It isn't legal for them to do this, yet they persist. Also, there have been people parking against our only emergency exit, but I dealt with that issue in another blog.

The complex is owned by the City of Albuquerque, and I am surprised that their representatives are so unsympathetic to the limitations of the frail elderly and handicapped. Usually, government types are more savvy about discrimination issues and potential lawsuits.

I am also in shock from the nasty and unprofessional treatment I received from the new apartment manager when I questioned the advisability of having tenants and visitors block our only emergency exit with their cars. After a lifetime of living in apartments, it blows my mind that my experience with people like her is so radically different than anything I had in California. I know that, when I drove across the state line 17 years ago, I did not suddenly become a different person. Nope, it's this place. It is stuck in time somewhere.

Aside from living in a backwards state, we also live in a very rude era, throughout the United States. Customer service people are nasty and behave as if the customer is their employee or their underling in some significant way. I suppose they are unhappy. Everyone is underpaid and overstressed. I think one of the reasons we have so many people unemployed is because everyone who works is expected to do the job of three people. That sort of nonsense was just beginning when my health became noticeably worse from inherited illnesses and the effects of old injuries. I couldn't take the stress. I had a high powered job in the legal field and, suddenly one day, I could no longer do it. That's what our modern world does to you. It chews you up and spits you out, then moves on to the next young victim. The young have contempt for the old, never thinking that one day, pretty quick, they will be old too!

If it was only for myself, I might just say, "Oh, forget it," and try to live with it until I can find another place to live, but there are a lot of disabled and frail elderly people who live here who are likewise affected by some of these shenanigans, and my inner Saint Joan of Arc just can't stand it. She has to go on Crusade.

Judging from appearances, this is not appreciated by management, for whom the bottom line is their only obvious concern. I was inspected yesterday, something that is endured by the low income people every year. According to the lady from the mortgage authority, it is to ensure that the apartments are being "kept up."

Our property is what you call a "mixed use" property, actually. One third of the people who live here are on a reduced rent, according to income. The last manager, who ran the place for 25 years, told me many times that the low-income tenants should just be grateful they have somewhere to live and they shouldn't ask for anything or expect the same level of service that the full-paying tenants receive. She was a super person in many ways, with a great personality and a feel for real community, so I am not sure if this wacky idea was her own or if she was specifically told that by her bosses at "corporate."

Of course, I have had a lot of such shocks since becoming poor.  I never had to deal with any of these apartment issues I've had to manage since moving into the low-income program in New Mexico. The complexes were run much better and the managers were very sweet and polite. There was only one incident in an apartment owned by a married couple in Burbank. The man was an alcoholic and was always trying to paw me, and I had to move out to save myself the aggravation.

My living room window. I have to keep towels stuffed in the

channel all year long because the window floods my apartment

every time it rains. I requested a new window years ago, and

management denied the request.

The inspector appeared to ignore my concern over the window that floods my apartment each and every time it rains, and a huge planter outside my bedroom window that would completely prohibit my escape if there were to be a fire, but she was very concerned that when the closet doors had been removed, the hardware was left on and nothing was done to pretty it up and make it look like the opening was intentional. She kept talking to the apartment supervisor and, even when I spoke, would not look at me or speak to me. I directed a couple questions to her and she ignored me. She avoided eye contact. It was bizarre.

The closet from which the door has been removed.

The hardware about which the inspector was concerned.

To my mind, that is a cosmetic issue I could live with, either way. I would rather have a window that doesn't flood my apartment and free access from the bedroom window without having to crawl over a black widow infested wine barrel filled with cinderblocks and dirt.

I tried to explain to the apartment supervisor that a professional window installer had already examined the living room window that leaks and that HE said that it had to be replaced with a different variety, but she wouldn't listen to me and kept talking at me as if my words had evaporated before they hit her ears. She kept saying that she would have to have a professional look at it before she would discuss it with me. This is typical of what happens at this apartment complex. We keep doing the same things over and over again, so even the smallest things get dragged out so long that employees change jobs at the main office in the middle of it, and the matter gets dropped unless I bring it up again. Then we have to start all over.

Old wine barrel that blocks the exit

The maintenance man was dispatched to take the screws off the bedroom window screen, as he had previously screwed it onto the frame, impeding access (years ago). Neither of us could remember why he had to do that in the first place, but I think the window is an odd size and he couldn't find a ready-made screen to fit, so he screwed it into place.  It isn't his fault. Management refused to have a screen made that fit the window.

The management supervisor dismissed my concern about the planter, despite my repeating that my disabilities would not allow me to navigate that planter if I needed to get out of the apartment through that window. Her response was, "It's been there for years, hasn't it?"  Well, yes, it has been dangerous for years, but are we to promote an unsafe condition simply because it has been done for some time? I kept telling her that my disabilities wouldn't allow me to get past that planter and she ignored me. (I notice today that the planter was moved off to one side, which doesn't solve the issue for me, but able-bodied people are continually trying to decide what handicapped and poor people "should" be able to deal with, and they don't know what they're talking about. If I tell someone that I can't manage it because of my disabilities, that should be IT.)

I told her that my disabilities were worsening and that I had just been diagnosed with macular degeneration, which will lead to blindness at some point. She made no comment. She just looked at me with an ugly face, then turned on her heel and walked away while I was in mid-sentence. She was visibly irritated. I suppose she didn't like it that I was bringing up issues that needed to be addressed in the apartment. I guess she was trying to get the best 'score' she could from the inspector and I was interfering. Who knows?

In addition to being treated like the scullery maid who has somehow found herself upstairs in the parlor during a grand ball, I have experienced, over the years, a continual slow-down of work on my apartment. I might as well talk into the wind when I ask for something to be done. Occasionally, it would be dispatched quickly, but usually only a portion of the job would be completed, and I would receive an email saying the job had been done! I had to contact the manager and say, hey, this job is not done, but her practice was to assign each portion of a job a separate work order so that it appeared that a lot of jobs were being completed when, in fact, nothing was completed.

Often times, the last manager would "forget" to write the work order, then forget again and again. I am astonished and frustrated at the amount of effort that it takes to get the smallest thing taken care of. This was not the case with every issue, but was true for most.  Other people, however, who ask for the same thing, were serviced immediately. I have been waiting since May of 2015 to get water in my back yard. All my plants have died, and I am STILL waiting, despite the fact that I have 2 or 3 emails from the office claiming that the job is done. Meanwhile, another resident asked for the same thing and received it immediately.

Before the old manager left, she promised me that she would get me a hose, as she had already done for the other tenant, and would attach it to the spigot, put it onto a wheel somewhat like the one they use elsewhere on the property, and then we would put it on top of a table on my patio so that I could reach it. Because my lower spine is "ossifying" bending over and performing tasks is very difficult. Of course, she did not do it.  7 months and counting...since I asked for access to the water.

dead plants and planters that have been emptied of

dead plants

dead plants

dead plants

While I was also promised two trees, of my choosing, to be planted alongside an unsightly wall that radiates heat into the yard, the only activity behind my apartment is a weekly leaf blowing in which the "landscapers" stomp all over my garden decorations and shatter them.

Yesterday, as the mob was exiting my apartment, leaving me limp as a dishrag, I quietly asked the management supervisor, "I suppose I will be talking with you at some time in the near future?" She looked surprised and scowled at me. We had spoken on the phone once during this week when she had FINALLY returned my telephone calls and emails and she had promised she would "address" the issues that I had brought up to her, but I have heard this before, and things never changed. I guess she thought that all she had to do was say she would "address it" and we were done. The apartment manager has not apologized for her terrible behavior. How is it addressed, exactly?

Back fence

Shortly after the inspection committee left my apartment, I took the dog for a hobble around the apartment complex to get some fresh air and alleviate some of the stress. A neighbor was sitting outside his apartment smoking, and I raised my hand in greeting. He studiously ignore me.

Now, what is ironic about this is that, back when that neighbor began to experience a severe downturn in health, I took his family under my wing, paying his wife $10 an hour to clean my house ($100 a month), giving them some beautiful furniture, large framed wall mirrors, kitchen appliances, jewelry, and several large and labor-intensive baby blankets and hats for their grandchild. I obtained a walker for the man and got him in touch with a disability expert so he could get some help getting disability benefits, as he seriously needs it.

The wife began to ask for many things during this time, eyeing my furniture and other items and asking that I give them to her. She "borrowed" so many paper goods and cleaning supplies that I began to run out at the end of each month and a friend had to bail me out and buy me replacements, while the wife never made a move to return any of the items she had borrowed. The last time she asked to borrow rolls of toilet paper, I told her I could no longer afford to supply her with household goods. She was insistent that she had no money to buy it and they were out, so I felt sorry for her again and loaded her down with three bags of paper towels, toilet paper and cleaning supplies. In return, I asked her to wash a sink of dishes as repayment, as I knew I she would never return the items she "borrowed."  I was hoping that having to do my dishes would discourage her from asking again, and it did. The next time she came over, she just stole what she wanted, stashing the items in her sweatshirt, probably, as I did notice that her stomach seemed an awful lot bigger than I remembered.

I did call that woman and gently brought up the topic, at which point she began shrieking at me, shrieking at the daughter, whose baby I had given many things and who was there with her in the apartment, and generally protesting far too much. She had stolen from me. She knew she had done it. I knew she had done it. God knew she had done it, but she made sure thereafter to loudly advertise her indignation that I would dare suggest that she would steal something. Her husband has to believe her, of course, and has even gone so far as to make threatening gestures when he drove past me in the parking lot one day.

So, I walked on and had to pass the apartment of a woman to whom I had similarly devoted much time and effort to help her, driving her on shopping trips, cooking many meals for her, giving her expensive wall art she had admired as it was her favorite artist, and even helping her trim her Persian cat. She became furious with me because of my Catholicism. (She is a Protestant with some odd ideas about Catholicism and an almost complete lack of knowledge of the history of the Christian faith.)  I had tried to explain some part of history to her, as she had made a claim that was completely off the beam. She was sitting in my apartment, eating a meal I had engineered specifically for her, because she was an extremely picky eater, and began to verbally rip me to shreds in a full-on attack that nearly took my breath away. The expression on her face was like Satan has taken her over. Another person was eating dinner with us and was astonished.

This wasn't the first time she had verbally attacked me. She criticized me constantly for countless things she did not like about me, about my apartment, my religion, my driving, and I put up with all of it in an attempt to be kind and patient with an elderly disabled woman who needed some help. I realized that my desire to give love and assistance to someone in need had, once again, backfired on me, and I had to step away from association with her, as I can only tolerate a certain amount of verbal abuse in my own apartment before my PTSD kicks in and I become a nervous wreck. Immediately she latched onto another woman in the apartment complex who has a car and who began driving her on shopping trips. I passed the two of them as they walked into an apartment a little further down the path, and they both pointedly ignored me.

Then I had to walk past the apartment of the man that gossips about me with the office staff and even tried to stir up trouble over one of my blog posts. Evidently, he must read my blog, at least occasionally.  Have fun with this one, guy! Run right over to your buddy and complain about me.

Further down the line is an older lady who once told me she was lonely and wanted me to drive her to the Bible class I was attending at the time. While driving, she criticized my driving and my life choices, called me vulgar names, and used swear words worthy of a sailor.  Then, she announced in class that she did not believe in forgiveness and how, if someone does her wrong, she not only won't forgive them but she will try to get back at them if she can. That was embarrassing.

 

 

I have since been informed that I made a terrible mistake in catering to these people and their demands. Evidently, it is typical that when a new person moves into a low-income property, some of the people will


Forgiveness is one of the central tenants of the Catholic faith that she professes, which is why I have had to forgive the management staff for their callousness and petty retaliation and the neighbors who took advantage of my generous nature and abused me.  I pray for them and discuss them, at length, with the Lord.  This is why I wave benignly at all of these neighbors I have mentioned, as I pass them on my walk, despite the lump in my throat and the nausea I feel in the pit of my stomach. When you have PTSD and you must live in an environment in which people return kindness with lies, hostility, and abuse, it is very stressful.

I do not want or expect to be lauded or rewarded for my kindness, but it is surprising to be treated so poorly in return.  No good deed goes unpunished, I suppose. To be reminded of these things every day as I pass these people on the grounds saddens and depresses me. I regularly smile, wave and sometimes chat with my other neighbors, but my experience with the people I've mentioned has discouraged me from getting close to any neighbor ever again. It doesn't help anyone to give them an opportunity to sin.

As far as my dealings with the management are concerned, I will have to plug away at it and follow through with the handicap discrimination case. I have been patient for ten years. That is enough.

Many of you will wonder why I stay in this place, and it is very simple. I am poor, there are very few low-income housing facilities in this city, and this one is the lesser of all the evils. If I had the money, believe me, I would not be here. The management knows this, and takes advantage of it. There are compensations. I am closer to nature here than elsewhere in Albuquerque and occasionally see some wildlife that is unusual to be found in the middle of the city. Beavers in the creek behind my apartment, muskrats, snakes, skunks, chipmunks, cranes, egrets, ducks, geese...and the quintessential New Mexico bird...the roadrunner.  I just had to include him, as I saw him walk past my apartment while I was writing this!

I have had a very difficult life, in general, am saddled with many chronic illnesses, and now I learn I will probably go blind  in my old age. To be dealing with all that, as well as reluctance on behalf of the apartment management to cooperate with reasonable measures to ensure our safety. and to be surrounded by people who have abused my kindness, is extremely difficult.

When I got the diagnosis of macular degeneration, I asked God, "Really? REALLLY, God? What is next? Locusts? Boils? " As St. Teresa of Avila once said, "If this is how you treat your friends, it's no wonder you have so few of them" Still, I cling to Him.  I simply will not be thrown off. I'm stubborn that way.

If God is all good, and if nothing happens without the express will of God or God allowing it to happen, who am I to complain about the circumstances? I certainly can't see the good in any of it, but at least I trust that it is there, somewhere, and that God has everything in hand. I'll do my part to ameliorate the situation, of course, but God is in charge, and I just have to follow through with what I know is right and good, having faith that He is doing His part and that all is good.

Still,....I really needed a big mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows yesterday. I'm not superwoman and I have my limits.

Silver Rose Parnell
(c) 2015 All rights reserved.

YEARLY APPEAL

Me and my son, when I was about 22 years old

My life started with some promise as an artist and writer.  Thanks to my father's position as a writer/producer for the television show "Charlie's Angels," I had a lucky connection that enabled me to work in the television industry in various capacities, selling 9 stories to that TV show in the process.

Eventually, I was turned off by the gross superficiality and loose morals of the business and I moved on to other pursuits, mostly a search for God amid the chaos of this world.

I did not imagine that the back problems that began when I was about the age I was in this photo were going to increase in scope and severity, collecting other illnesses along the way, and that some day I would be disabled and poor.

Every year I become more poor because the Social Security "cost of living increase" doesn't cover the increased costs of living at all.  I am receiving $27 a month more than last year, but my bills have increased more than $200 per month!  For example, last year my co-pays for medicine cost me $20. This year, I've been told they will cost me $107.00.  My rent went up $9.  I won't bore you with the rest of it.  Everything went up, and for a person on a limited income, it is a substantial amount.

I do not have any family that is able to help in any meaningful way.  I have a friend who has been very kind to me and even had my car repaired when it broke down, but she has a large family, and there are limits to what she can do.  I was not "lucky in love" and there is no husband.

Consequently, a lot of my needs are not met, and I am reduced to asking for help.  My Social Security is "too high" to receive any government aid, though I was told by the Medicaid people that if my income was derived from employment, rather than Social Security, they would pay some of my medical expenses, which exceed $300 a month.  This is a blatant case of handicap discrimination, and I did appeal the decision, but there is no recourse.

Because of my physical issues, there isn't much I can do to improve my situation in the way of work, though I have tried.  I am writing a book, which is a long-term proposition.  I am also an expert genealogist, but there aren't many people willing to pay for expert family research.  If you would like to have a family tree researched, please note that I am the only researcher that creates the database for you, as far as I know.  Most researchers just give you notes of what they have found.  When I was on Ancestry.com's "expert panel" I charged about $44 an hour.  These days, I charge $25 an hour, with a 3-hour minimum.

Please note, there is a "Donation" button on this page, at the upper left quadrant.  Paypal takes a percentage of every donation, however, and the arrangement is less than ideal for me.  Alternately, I have several wish lists that cover the gamut of food, household goods, service dog supplies, and research materials.  Amazon.com has my address and will ship to me direct.  All you have to do is go to my wish list, put the items in the shopping bag, and pay for them.  The wish lists are in the column to the right of this blog post.

FURTHER NOTE:  With regard to the food items, you will note that many of them are organic.  I have allergy-induced asthma, and I am allergic to many things, especially pesticides used on our produce.  In addition, I have a stomach condition that makes it difficult for me to digest many items. My asthma is not well managed because I can't get the medicine I need, due to cost.  For these reasons, I eat as much whole grain and organic food as possible, staying with simple unrefined ingredients and cooking all my meals "from scratch."  When I am feeling up to it, I even make my own bread.

If you would like to see a copy of a sample budget that I have worked up on an Excel spreadsheet before you donate, please contact me and I will email you a copy.  It is loosely based on July's expected expenditures but reflects the customary situation.

With regard to my habits and my standard of living, I should say that I do not smoke, drink or take drugs.  I don't have tattoos, eat at restaurants, travel or get my hair cut professionally.  My telephone does nothing but talk and text.  No internet.  I don't own a television and do not pay for cable, though I do have a laptop that was donated to me and I pay about $30 a month for internet access.

You should know that, despite the various privations, I am a very happy person because the Lord is always with me.  I am able to spend much more time in the presence of Jesus, Mary, the saints and angels than one would typically expect because of the situation in which I find myself.  In this way, I consider my disability and poverty a blessing...but that doesn't keep it from being a major obstacle to my survival.

If you are not able to help, I would be most grateful for prayers.

In the meantime, God bless us all.

Silver "Rose" Parnell
(c) 2015