January, time for a little consideration, kindness and fare play.

Consideration, kindness and fare play; qualities we should all work for I’m sure you would agree.   Let me give you an example.

I work in a small department here called finance.  Every hour the store is open for business someone from the finance department needs to be here to handle the duties, during peak periods two or three of us are necessary.  So October first of last year one of us up and quit with no notice, it was a shock to me.  The other guy and I had to work extra hours to make up the missing shift. 

Now this vacant position, unlike mine, paid a guarantee, lets’ call it $3000 a month plus commission.  My position paid no guarantee only straight commissions.   I applied for the position knowing full well what it paid.  Like I said, it is a small department. 

My initial application came in the form of an email.  Within a day, the owner shows up in my office, sits down, a rare occurrence, and we have a discussion about his business, even rarer yet. 

Thirty days goes buy and we hear nothing.  The other guy and I who having been working the extra hours and picking up the slack, inquired about the guarantee.

“Since we are doing the extra work, shouldn’t this guarantee be split between us,” we ask?

“Absolutely not,” we are informed.

So he is saving the $3000 by taking advantage of our willingness to do the extra work for nothing.  Nice huh, oh wait, it gets much better.

November 8^th became a fateful day for me, I learned, at a three PM Doctors appointment, that I have cancer but earlier in the day I was informed that I was being given the job I had applied for.  At that time, I asked what it paid and the owner, in the briefest of manners said it paid a, “small” guarantee and the same commission scale I had been working for.  Then he stood and walked out before I got a chance to get specific.  Later that afternoon on my way home from that Doctors appointment I called him to inform him I would not be in the next day because I had been scheduled for an emergency surgery to have some cancerous parts removed.  I called him out of consideration, he told me he was sorry but to make sure the managers knew when I would be able to come back to work. 

November goes buy and I worked about half of my schedule.  My pay check represented no guarantee. 

December my chemotherapy treatments started and again I missed quite a bit of work but I thought I should try to pin him down again on my pay plan.  I had asked twice in person and twice he gave me the same brief statement which did not answer my question.  So I emailed my questions to him thinking this might get me an answer. 

A week later I was about to think my email went into a spam file and was deleted when I got a one sentence reply.

“I need to speak with you, let me know when you are going to be in your office.”

Okay, I think to myself, maybe I am starting to get someplace, after all, it was by this time well after the first of the year.  Don’t I have every right to know what I am being compensated if I am expected to do the job? 

The next morning I called his office at about 7:45 and left him a message that I was in the office and that I could speak with him whenever it was convenient.  Within minutes he walked in and sat down.

“I’ve been informed,” he started in, “that you left work during your shift to go to church with your family, is that true?”

I had to think.

“Yes, I did.”  I informed him.  “My grandchildren had a special observance for their grandpa because he is sick.  I informed all management that I would be leaving in the early evening so I could attend this event with them and the rest of my family.” 

He then informed me, in a round about way, that the actions I took could be grounds for termination and this was a very serious infraction I was guilty of.

I was shocked at being threatened with my job.  I believed we were meeting to discuss my pay plan. I have never needed a job more in my lifetime.  I need the health insurance that comes with my employment, I need the income, and without this job; I am unemployable given my health issues.  

I admitted again that I had indeed left work during my shift, that there was another finance manager on shift to handle the work and that sometimes in life, “you don’t get a chance to rehearse.”

So having me on the ropes, he stands up and starts to walk out of my office. 

“Wait,” I said as he went out the door, “I want to discuss my pay plan.”

He immediately turned around and gave the same answer again.

“You make a small guarantee, same commission scale.”

“How much is the guarantee”?

“Fifteen hundred dollars,” he finally informs me as he again starts to walk out the door.

At this point I want to tell him to shove it but he and I both knew he had me in a corner.  What could I do?  What could I say?

“Did you pay the last person in this position a $3000 guarantee?”

“Who told you that,” he insisted?

“The last person,” I said.

“Well yes I did,” he admitted, “but that was a temporary arraignment and it is the reason they are no longer with this company.”

My mouth must have been frozen in a gaping way because he then rose and walked out of the room.  I was speechless.  He had just admitted to my face that he had paid the past employee doing my job twice as much as he intended to pay me for the exact same job. 

It has now been about three weeks since this occurred and my outrage has still got me pretty upset.  It has also been three weeks since my last chemo treatment, (tomorrow is another one), and I'm proud to say I have not missed a days work since.  I will discuss this with him again but I need to wait for calmer heads to prevail.  I did cash a pay check that represented a guarantee of exactly half of what the past person doing the same job made.  I also got a call from Human Relations that informed me, starting January first, that I needed to take notes of the days I didn’t work because the guarantee was being prorated to represent only the days during the month that I was actually here. 

Don't be shocked.  There are those among us that will take advantage of any situation that presents itself.  No surprise.  When it is done by people that are already filthy rich, and to people that are sick or injured it especially ugly.  Have pity on their wickedness. 

Consideration and kindness I have no problem with, it's the fare play I am having trouble dealing with today. 

Keep the faith &

Give 'em hell. 

2nd Dose in the mirror.

My second dose of chemo therapy is now in the rear view mirror and as hard as I try to  stay positive and upbeat around the family & friends, I have to tell you, it is a nasty bitch at best.  There is really nothing redeeming about it that comes to mind. 

My treatments come every three weeks and there will be from six to ten of them depending on some future tests I'm really looking forward to.  It is a six day process to get through but only two of the days are really bad.

The Oncology unit where I get the chemo is a large place.  A lot people have cancer.  They administer chemo to dozens of us hollow eyed, bald headed thumb suckers every day.  We sit there with our tubes and pumps for hours at a time, each of us in a different stage of treating a different cancer.  The young ones are the most heart wrenching but there are many beautiful old lives fighting the battle as well.  Graduates never attend reunions I am told.     

Day one is just some blood work so it is just a trip to the phlebotomist and a quick needle to tap a few viles of blood. 

Day two ended up being five hours on the barkolounger this time.  The first one took about eight hours but this time they were able to speed up the infusion pump & I got out in less time.  It is unbelievable the amount of pills and all the different bags and syringes of nastiness they pump into you.  It makes your urine toxic for about a week so there are some simple bathroom duties I have to perform so as to insure no one coming into the bathroom behind me should get into contact with anything that could hurt them.  Also one of the drugs administered decomposes human tissue pretty rapidly if it comes into contact with open tissue.  It has to be shot into the vein and directly into the blood stream only.  They are very careful with this one and have some special little tests to make sure they are all good.  The nasty mouth soars and nose bleeds are a result of this drug, infections are to be avoided at all cost I am told.  I just hope none of you ever have to go through it. 

Day three is a spinal injection, fun deal.   Chemo into the spinal fluid takes three different departments working together to perform the deed.  The first time after they got the needle into my spine there was a 45 minute wait for a Dr. from Oncology to come over and administer the shot.  In the mean time a wave of nausea came over me like a freight train so I broke out into a sweat, called for a bucket, & cut loose right there in their operating room with a needle hanging out of my back.  The Dr. in attendance was quite animated I must say.  I had quite a reaction on him and I'm sure there were some fun time discussions afterwards as to why it took so long etc.  So this last time it only took about an hour all in all start to finish.  And no nausea. 

Days four through six I self administer a rather strong steroid on my own.  It really amps me up while I am on it so if you need your garage cleaned out I am taking reservations. 

So I am on day four of the second dose now.  It's not so bad, I can sit up and write about it.  I was hoping I could get a couple days of work in this week and I might go in this afternoon but I'm feeling pretty poor right now.  The idea of the chemo is to poison the cancer but it ends up poisoning every cell in your body & all your parts scream out in protest and pain. 

C'mon parts, hang in there babies.   

I really need to go.

This is the third week since my first rchop and today, I really need to go. 

The first time it took seven days.  That was too long.  Way too long, but I was able to go on my own. 

The next week I discovered chemo sometimes turns off the digestive system and, I made a new friend.  Her name is Margarete but I get to call her Peggy.  She is a nurse and my "poop friend".  That's what we call it.   I haven't met Peggy yet but today that could change.  So far we have just been chatting on the phone.  I hope you get a clear vision of discussing these most personal of bodily functions with a perfect stranger.  Any sense of dignity is erased when your digestive system refuses to cooperate.  By the way it's toxic I am told, yes, more so than usual.    

Peggy talked me through the second weeks happening.  That is when I saw the face of God, in a blinding flash, right there in the downstairs bathroom.  It was also the day my mother died.  It's true, ya can't make this shit up.

Today, a shipment is due.  It is 48 hours past due as a matter of fact and that is why I get to call work & let em' know I won't be in today.  Here are Peggy's orders of the day.  

#1, No food today. 

#2, Water. Ive already drank a gallon of water and it's only 7 AM. 

#3, Exercise. I already went for my walk, it was not raining.

#4, Aisle 4A at Rite-Aid.  There are at least two hundred different remedies and cures for sale on the shelf.  I get to try them all this morning, at home and on my own.  Then,

#5, If nothing happens by noon, today, ............................. I get to meet Peggy.  She is looking forward to it I'm sure.  Who wouldn't be? 

So, as you can see my day is pretty much set in cement.  I choose to face it with dignity and prayer.  Lots of prayers.  I'll be blessing all the saints today.  

The part I am looking forward to again is the blinding flash.  It was warming, (so to speak), and a perfectly enveloping white light, delivered in complete silence and it was gone in a wink.  The voice was more of a hollow echo, a memory like after taste.  There were no words exchanged rather an idea conveyed. 

It said, "you're Mom & Dad have not quit dancing since she got here." 

That was the vision I had. 

If I get to meet Peggy today I will share my vision with her too.  What do you think the odds are she has heard it all a thousand times before?

        

    

   

Here is a message from twenty years ago,

Here is a message from twenty years ago that is more appropriate today.  It was sent from my father to each of his children over twenty years ago and I came by it just now.  Enjoy,

 
May 29, 1990

Dear Family,

It’s been raining like cats and dogs and it’s colder than ‘ole heck and about all Papa can do to stay out of Grandma’s hair is to bury himself in his room. I’m not in a mood for much else, so I’ll do what I like to do best.


I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the adversities we had when I was a little boy up on The Magpie. About getting my hand cut in the mowing machine, about the folks losing the homestead to the bank, about ‘ole Ted eating the rat poison and dying, about ‘ole Roanie getting her teats cut real bad when she jumped the barbed wire fence, about the time somebody stole the twenty cords of wood brother Joe and I hauled, cut, split and stacked for winter -- and, you know, the list goes on.

But then I been also thinking --
Tough times don’t last,
But Tough People do!

And, when the going gets tough,
The Tough get going.

This has been an adage I have lived by for as long as I can remember.

We have always had faith and hope that things would get better no matter how dark things looked at the time and we always knew we had the love and support from the rest of the family and we have always “Hung Tough” together.

Never forget that!

AND,

We love you all.

Papa

in memory

It was expected, there were no regrets or dark secrets left idle.  Every grandchild, nine, and every great grandchild, eight, got there to see her before she passed.  She spoke each ones name, whispered I love you, and was at peace.  I'm devastated.  As much as you know it will be any moment, it still kicks like a mule.  I will need strength today.  I was going to read someones poem or something, but I think I will just tell the grand kids about how it was back in the 50's & 60's in a little town in eastern Oregon. 

Life was one long dull edge of work, sleep, eat, sleep.  Days were short and cold in the winters.  Nights were long, dark, gloomy and bitter cold.  Mom & Dad worked long hours at their day jobs and we kids went to school.  Evenings and weekends were consumed by meetings, homework, sports, church, and long lists of chores.

If the term drudgery brings you memories of long cold rural roads framed by barren fields gone fallow in the winter, this was our existence.  It was home but it was thread bare.

The name Aurthur Murray', didn't mean anything to me, but my parents, their friends, my older siblings, and even a few of the teachers at school dropped that name like it was an automatic after thought.  Aurthur Murray this, and Aurthur Murray that.  As an eight year old boy, I was too young for dance lessons, but this guy Art, was having one hell of an impact on my little town and in particular, my family.  I never met Art.  I was too young I guess, but it took me years to figure out, Aurthur Murray didn't really come to Hermiston to teach dance lessons at the Elks Club every Wednesday evening all winter long.  It was actually some young couple from Chicago that did a lot of traveling and more dancing than their hearts would have hoped for.  I'm sure the, "exciting new places," section of their recruiting brochures had long been forgotten by the time the Hermiston Elks Club became their regular Wednesday gig. 

I was told I couldn't participate because I was too young but that when I got older I could.  Something happened between, "could not", and "could participate," and I never had a dance lesson in my life.  One of life's great disappointments but I did sit on the couch and watch my Brother and sister, and in particular, my Mom & Dad, practice their moves.  It is this vision that comes screaming back to me in wide screen, THX, HD, 1080P clarity.  Yes sir.  There they are in the living room, Hi-FI in the corner playing the same 33 1/3 RPM LP over and over.

My older siblings kind of liked it, I could tell.  There was something about dancing that was mysterious to me and these two didn't quite get it I could tell.  They tried their best at least some of the time, and they completed their course which included waltz, samba, jazz, modern etc.  But they just didn't have that special spark, that beacon that shown every time my Dad took my Mother in his arms & turned up the music. 

Mom & Dad enjoyed it.  Right there in each others arms they radiated a vibrant glow.  It was like a heavy blanket of love and respect and pleasure.  It was primal and completely normal and necessary.   It was as plain as the salt in the sea, they were in love.  Their intention was clear, they didn't care who knew, they didn't care who watched, their love was the rooms love.

Dad wore a sport coat, tie, polished shoes and freshly laundered and ironed shirt to work every day of his life.  Tonight as he danced with Mom in the living room, his sport coat was hung up in the closet and his tie was loose.  The grin he was wearing was almost too much for me to accept.  I mean, where is your cool Dad?  They were practicing something called the Rumba and he was really enjoying himself. 

Mom was doing about six things at once as she and Daddy practiced dancing and preparing our dinner was just one of them.  She clutched a dishrag from the kitchen in her left hand as they swayed to the music and each time the music stopped she dropped that rag on top of a pot and lifted the hot lid to check on our dinner which was simmering on the stove.  When I close my eyes I can smell the cabbage as it filled the house with its goodness. 

Mom and Dad dancing.  It is a memory I will cherish.    
   

Phyllis Rose Cermak

Today we say good bye to our dear Mother. 

Her final chapter was so meaningful, dignified and graceful.

Her Love has meaning,
Her Love has grace,
she filled our lives with both. 

Love was her lasting legacy. 

Rest sweet lady,

We put Mom into Hospice type care yesterday.  There is really nothing that can be done now but wait & pray.  It was her decision not to have a surgery to repair the blockage.  She is 88 and there are so many more complicating factors being considered.  The surgeon describes any procedure as high risk and a very bumpy road.  There is still a remote chance that the blockage would repair itself.  It's a very slim chance since she has had to have surgery to repair this same thing twice before. 
She is not in pain and is resting comfortably.  Every one of her grand kids are here along with wives, husbands, and all the grand kids/great grandchildren.  She is showing a remarkable dignity and resolution.  I know I shouldn't be amazed by this, after all she is my mother, but I can't help myself.  She is speaking rationally of her love of us, and that is her legacy.  The love that she and Dad instilled in their three children has attracted the most brilliant of people like Gary Hayden, Matt Thommasson, Sterling, Megan, Roxy, Karen, and my wife Patti.  This is quite a gathering.  So far no one has got on each others nerves.  I did eat one of Megan's Cinnabons, but I didn't know it was hers.  It was just laying there, alone,................ on the prairie.
 
Anyway, my battle continues with lymphoma.  All the tests that have peered into the deepest chambers of my body like, bone marrow, spinal fluid etc., have been neg. lymphoma.  No tumors were detected in CT scans so the prognosis remains good.  The only known lesion was removed.  The jokes relating to this subject have been good. Once I bet a guy my left nut & lost!  Ha ha.  The common questions I get are about, do I feel like half a man, lopsided, listing, etc.  Ha ha ha.  My funny bone was not effected.

I am one tenth of the way through chemo therapy and I must say that chemo is pretty much living up to it's billing.  They have the nausea under control but the poisoning effect is strong.  It's like every cell aches & cries.  I'm okay and I get such great care that I feel spoiled.  Dreaming of a couple warm weeks on Alii Drive in Kailua, Hawaii.  Can't wait.  We are planning a "Cancer Free Party", here next August, I hope everyone can make it. 

I just hope that when my time comes to take that final journey I can be surrounded by the same love that Dad & now, Mom are receiving.  I've been thinking a lot about Paul Allen lately.  He is our local billionaire, owns the Portland Trailblazers and has a similar type lymphoma as I do.  Poor ol' Paul got it the first time when he was about thirty, went through the cure back then & now he is suffering a relapse.  I think he is about my age, 58.  Paul is making the fight of his life with no family at all.  I feel so sorry for him going solo in this respect.  I wonder if he would trade his team were a love like Mom &  Dad had available to him? 

Happy Holidays