Privilege

One of the traits in other humans I dislike the most is white male privilege. It's not as evident in white females, usually because they don't have the lofty heights of wealth that men do. But once wealthy, things change for women too.

I worked for many wealthy men over the years and 90% were of that variety, believing if you only worked hard enough you could be like them. And the poorer and more ill-educated one was, the more they were believed. Hence the rise of the Maga cult in the states and the convoy here in Canada. I cancelled my Twitter account because of all the white male privilege on display on that platform as there is always misogyny lying beneath it. I always count the number of women in cabinets or in any governmental representation of those in charge. I am consistently disappointed. We, women, are 51% of the population and sometimes have zero representation or a few token women who toe the line.

I offer you this:

Pope, Council of Cardinals discussed the role of women in the Church.

Even on line in the blogger world, I see this privilege, spouting off about the "misbehavior" of others whether it's protesting against injustice or not controlling their children or lying on sidewalks drunk or homeless or both, or not dressing properly in coffee shops or god forbid, begging on the street. Those are never interested in digging down deeper as to why. Enlightenment comes with ordinary curiosity. I have never forgotten the conversations I have had with those less privileged. Often it's just one event resulting in a cataclysm of one disaster after another.

But there are exceptions. I was reading a heartbreaking email from a US friend this morning who wrote about his twenty-year next door neighbours. The father was carted off in the middle of the night for driving at 63 MPH in a 55MPH zone, he was non-white as were his family. My friend. much aware of his own privilege, is speaking out publicly as the wife of his neighbour and their 2 children cannot, as they are cowering in their home in terror and fear. They have no idea where the husband and father has been sent. My friend is funding for them to get legal help as they can't. This is the state of the U.S. today. My friend is very aware that going over a fraction of the speed limit would never have seen him arrested, being white. He is beyond enraged at what has happened to his neighbour, a hard working factory worker, the sole financial support for his family.

I see more and more countries being taken over by white privileged males. Much to the detriment of civil societies with the same rules of law for everyone and not just for the huddled masses. It's terrifying. We need equality desperately and ordinary women need far more say in the issues that really matter mainly poverty, mental health, free health care and yes, climate change, the biggest challenge of all.

Aging Women Seniors - Thoughts Assemblage.

I'm sorting out my thoughts here for a few reasons.

We are putting together an advisory board and seeking (a) funding and (b) forming a charitable entity if successful and (c) then lobbying the governments, both federally and provincially to supplement the meager financial support afforded this marginalized segment of the population.

Our mission - and by "our" I mean another senior woman and myself - is to remove the stigma from senior women and to restore them to a dignity of living and self-respect. Far too many senior women live in poverty and we have many seniors in Newfoundland, a number which increases every year. In 2017 it numbered 108,182 in a population of 500,000. Well over 25%. Of these approximately 65% are women: 70,300. It is difficult to get an estimate of how many of these are living below the poverty level (Category 2) and how many are retired (Category 1) from government, teaching and nursing which affords them a reasonable pension.

Total number of food bank users number 28,063 and of these 23.4% are seniors-6566 and applying the same percentage of women that would be 4,268 elderly women resorting to food banks.

And an aside: To give you an idea of how normalized a foodbank is here in Newfoundland our premier, Dwight Ball, presented the keys to a new one to the head of the foodbank when the old one burned down, grinning like a fool when he should have been covered in shame. The disconnect of the privileged wealthy politicians from abysmal poverty is rampant everywhere.

We live in a country of universal health care, thank heavens, but I'll tell you what's not covered for us Category 2 seniors (but usually covered by decent private supplemental healthcare policies for Category 1).

Dental Services of any kind
Eye examinations
Spectacles
Walkers
Canes
Expensive batteries of health devices like meters
Podiatry for diabetics
Hearing aids

And of course it takes no rocket scientist to calculate that the lack of funds for such standard items contributes to injuries (poor sight, falls) feet infections (diabetic amputations) absence of teeth (nutritional deficiencies) costing the health care system far more with hospitalizations. And of course addiction to drugs and alcohol as a mechanism of coping with these stresses is fairly rampant as well if my own observations bear me out.

The elderly have been further stigmatized by society and treated as charity cases when they complain about their impoverished and deprived existence. Living on approximately $19,200 annually, rent in many cases is 30-40% (at 35% $6,720) of this and often higher leaving very little for power and heat, insurance, clothing and self-care, essential communication and entertainment services which are exorbitant here, food, eating out once a week, little gifts for family, etc. Having transportation of any kind (car payment, insurance, maintenance, gas)squeezes 50% out of the remaining $1000 per month which leaves $500 for EVERYTHING else including food. And if I hear one more time "give up the car!" in a province with no public transit system outside of the city I will scream loud and long. Every penny is counted and many of us are forced to work in our seventies, often in ill-health ourselves. Just to barely make ends meet. I know greeters at Walmart and baristas at Tim Horton's and home care workers well into their seventies, being cheerful and pretending it's not about poverty.

Measuring senior poverty by standard poverty levels is not using the proper criteria in that many are disabled and can no longer self-care and have no desire to be warehoused in nightmare institutions and need additional income to support the barest modicum of dignified living.

And of course, many of us are too exhausted and disillusioned and and dispirited to even think of engaging in any kind of activism to change the status quo.

And I am grateful, so grateful, I met a kindred spirit who joins me in this protest. And it's not about us two, but for all senior women penalized for raising children with no monetary value placed on this in their earning years, and if they did work, it was often at 66% of what men earned thus accruing far less in the pension funds, if there was such a benefit in those days - most of my positions had no pension. And every cent of my pay cheque was spoken for as a single mother with two kids. So please, don't talk about "savings."

I am very interested in your thoughts on this.

Rear View Mirror

An old journal survived in another box. From well over 30 years ago. I don't know does anything good come out of this sorting through old crap thing at all. I started reading it and it was so compulsive I didn't stop until half way through and found myself teetering on the edge of an abyss.

I realized I was reading about an undiagnosed nervous breakdown I had. It was awful stuff. Heartbreaking too. Do all of us suffer, in the past, from such dark nights of the soul/spirit? I frankly don't know how I survived as I wrote about suicide and death so frequently and I was still in my thirties. Briefly: I had unexpectedly got fired from a career position. At the same time my former husband was having an affair and missing from home frequently. One of my kids had quit school and was on drugs. I was flat broke, pennies in the bank, no energy even to lift the phone and hire a labour lawyer as my self esteem was in the toilet. I can tell from the writing how I had rejected friendships, anyone reaching out to me. I must have been a one note samba, full of lament and hopelessness. Everyone stopped calling and that's how I wanted it. Isolation, fear, poverty. I certainly didn't let my family of origin know - in hindsight probably a very good thing - and I was nursing a seriously infected leg without medical attention. And oh yes, drinking heavily. I must have been an alarming sight. Well to anyone showing up on my doorstep and actually seeing me for I didn't answer my door. Or my phone. Or open my mail.

My father arrived in the midst of all this unbelievable mess. He never showed how distressed he was. He asked to see my leg. I cried at him: no doctors, no hospital and he showed me how to treat it with salt and sunshine. He assured me it wasn't cancer (my mother had malignant melanoma and died after multiple amputations, I was sure I was following in the same path). He took me out for walks every night, long walks along rivers and lakes and on one weekend to the art gallery in Kleinburg to look at Group of Seven paintings for hours. I had forgotten all of this. He must have been disturbed and scared at my condition but he never let on. By action and deed he showed me he was on my side.

My leg healed with a big scar. My mind took another couple of years before I was good and ready to deal with my alcoholism.

Last night I couldn't sleep (and I sleep well today and for many, many years) as my thoughts raced over again and again that absolutely awful, terrifying time when I felt death nudging at my door every hour of the day and I would succumb to the cold comfort of that bottomless pit of hopelessness and despair.

Sometimes we need to glance briefly in the rear view mirror but staring in it for too long can be a very dangerous visit to the dark side.

Can anyone relate?

Money

I have a friend who runs from pillar to post with money, always on the verge of bankruptcy, lurching from crisis to crisis. For years. I am extremely fond of her and I have always found that criticizing or being helpful without been asked is dynamite to meaningful relationships. So I listen for a while and ask if she has developed a method on improving on this and a rambling type of conversation ensues. Her sense of humour is immense and she could make a statue laugh.

Mark you, she has never asked for help in dealing with her money issues.

Her image to others is important, I think I am one of maybe 2 who know about her real financial situation which is heart breaking. Single mother, not a dime from deadbeat dad through the years, a gambling addiction she has licked with a likeness for weed and booze replacing it. She is my age now and has never gotten ahead even in good jobs with pensions. She cashed the balance of all such accounts out last year (she had me review the papers) due to "hardship" so now her hardship has returned and it's none of my business what she did with the money and she has never volunteered any information as to its disposal.

She got herself into an awful pickle at Xmas. She likes to impress her grandchildren with outrageous gifts ("they're all I have") and she runs around with them in her jalopy, picking them up and dropping them off and utilizing a lot of gas. She can't afford to get her car fixed so it roars off out of here with an ear-splitting decibel level like some mad teenager with a beater.

I, too, had many years of financial struggle, taking in boarders for years, taking in tourists, working two jobs, always behind the 8 ball financially. Always stressed about money.

My path could be Stella's*.

I feel mightily privileged that I have a bank account ergo with not too much in it, but enough to bury me, enough to buy me yarn, to give Grandgirl a small bonus now and again (she knows how impoverished I am)and to fund my car payments and my rent and my groceries and bi-weekly cleaning of my apartment. There won't be any travel in my future and I'm just fine with that. My joy is being in the here and now, cherishing those who are dear to me: my chosen tribe and Daughter and Grandgirl.

I don't imagine Stella is unusual at all. The crisis of single female elders is worldwide, some living in their cars or on the grace and favour of their children. She took out a payday loan** before Xmas, and, an intelligent woman, she did not realize what all the fine print said about fees and usurious interest rates and truly that one can never pay it off. These places are owned by Big Banks and the Canadian government refuses to regulate them. They prey on the hopeless and the poor and the old like Stella. She texted me during the week to tell me how hopeless she felt in the maws of this bloodsucking vulture. She didn't ask for help. Though my care-taking instinct kicked in, I suppressed it. She needs to figure it all out for herself.

And yes, I'm very aware that some lessons never get learned.

And lurching from crisis to crisis is just another addiction. An adrenaline high.


*not her real name
**In 2004, a Toronto Star investigation revealed payday loans carried annualized interest rates ranging from 390 to 891 per cent.

Count Me In

"New (2014) Statistics Canada data shows that 12 percent of seniors live in poverty, amounting to almost 600,000 people. Seniors living alone are particularly hard pressed financially, with more than 1 in 4 single seniors, most of whom are women, living in poverty."

Read more here.

Yeah, old single women take it on the chin, or in the stomach or in the roof.

I was asked how old I was today. The person was horrified I was still working at hosting a B&B at my age.

"Why?" he asked, puzzled.

"Why do you think?" I responded.

"Well, it's very hard work, cooking cleaning, bed-making, welcoming guests, chatting with them, concierging. All by yourself. I honestly don't know why you do it."

I laughed. "I love luxuries: Gas in my car. No transit out here so I need a car for medical trips, hospital trips, fresh produce when I can afford it. The list is endless. I cut off my landline to save $35 a month, that's a tank of gas..."

"You're poor?"

"Living well below the poverty line, my friend, like most women of my age. If there was an easier way to make a living I would do so. But there isn't."

"My gawd, I'd no idea."

"I know. Most don't. But I'm happy. I'll keep on keeping on. I'm so very lucky, for many aren't and fall right through the cracks."

30 Days - Day 10

Dear Faithful:

Thank you for the encouragement!

I had the most wonderful email from Grandgirl today. She's off to India for a stretch in a few days with her prof and a few other students. She's just finished her 3rd year university and went to a "tea" last Saturday in a prof's house. 12 out of 130 were chosen. Sorry -
Grandma brag now over. But she is doing so very well and I'm so very proud of her.

I conducted accounting software training today locally. I take on the odd job, it pays a little and it also keeps me fresh on software updates, the whole field is changing so very rapidly. All is now in the Cloud. I am glad of these opportunities to keep me abreast.

I am thinking of renting out more of my house for the summer and have evaluated the situation with regard to furnishing an extra room here and getting some painting done. There is a huge shortage of accommodations in the hospitality industry in Newfoundland and it might be an opportunity to bring my income to above the official poverty level. For some reason I aspire to New Mexico for the whole month of February. Year uncertain. But. Dry heat. Desert. Georgia O'Keeffe.

Tomorrow night I (along with some others) get honoured at a volunteer appreciation dinner. I honestly don't think I deserve this as I would have done more earlier in life but I was a single mom with two kids and two jobs followed by Grandgirl duty (and I cherished every single minute I had her to care for) and there was never a minute it seemed.

Now I have the minutes and they give me a prezzie AND a din-din and applause. I never got that as a single mom of two run ragged did I? {smile}.

I sincerely wished they didn't do this but it would be so rude not to show up.

Irony

It's odd this. But I have 3 places to stay in France. Free. And other distant places too, truth be known. And I can't afford the travel costs. Not just the airfare, though that would be a bit of a slice of money. But travelling around once I reach the destination. And food. And wee giftees. It all adds up. Until I have the bestseller. Ha.

Then another friend has decided to spend her fortune when she retires renting exotic places around the world for a month or two and then inviting her close friends to visit her and stay as long as they wanted. All they'd have to pay are their airfares and then head for Patagonia or Hong Kong or the Outer Hebrides where she'd be. Food and shelter provided. Again, I have to laugh. Airfares being a huge chunk of change for this pensioner.

A beloved niece sent me a lovely note about her upcoming wedding. Advance warning. A year in fact. To please be there. I'm going to try. I'd like to be there as I'm extremely fond of her. As I am of all my nieces.

The more I read of elders' writing (mainly solitary women, but some men) the more I realize how many of us are impoverished. Dreading expensive dental work or intensive house repairs or increases in rent or a new car. On the edge of financial catastrophe so to speak. Travel is in the class of bon-bon, a frippery.

I'm not complaining, in case you think I am. Not at all. I have my health, my writing and the odd wee fee for workshops, etc. And my knitting. And my photo-cards. And my books. And my darling Tigeen with a bonus of some rentals thrown my way.

And I buy the very best coffee beans. Always. One thing in my life is simply not negotiable.

Luxurious living is all in the mind.

And excellent coffee helps.

Terrorists, hooligans, vandals, blackguards.

These were the epithets flung at my people - even by their own - when the few struck out for Irish liberation back in the day. They were young and idealistic too. And could no longer bear the poverty and hardships and hopelessness with which they were surrounded.

A poverty I saw up close and personal. And I'm not talking just material – even though my ancestral lands were seized and my ancestors, including the infants, massacred (I've written about it here). I'm talking poverty of education and opportunity, of advancement and enlightenment.

My grandparents were tenant farmers on a couple of acres' holdings when I was a child. Things were beginning to change. But never fast enough for them. My grandfather would hunt our supper in the fields and speak of his rage against our terrorists, the English landlords. He carried the memories of shock and horror with him, passed down through the generations. I never knew what missions he carried out for the IRA before I was born - when Irish freedom was being fought for on the crossroads and hidden valleys of Ireland. He would be a terrorist/vandal/criminal in today's world.

Today's heroes were yesterday's terrorists. To the victors go the re-writing of history.

It is easy to say: yeah, we can understand what is happening in England and now in the U.S. – six generations of population explosion and living on welfare in the UK and nearly 50 million on foodstamps in U.S.: it must kill the spirit, the hunger for the “better” life they see on their televisions and the fact that their peaceful protests against injustice are ignored and not even mentioned in the media, their voices unheard. And then in the next breath condemn their criminality. Does it have to be this violent and destructive? Like the examples they see on their Teevees of invasions and annihilations of the innocents and conflagrations of property in Iraq and Afghanistan et al?

Well, the peaceful protests gained nothing – and this has gotten the attention of the world.

Just saying.

Poverty

Poverty is a desperate thing. I caught a documentary there last week on the massive Famine emigration out of Ireland in the 1840's where most ports in North America were closed to the sick and desperate Irish who sailed off on the coffin ships - so called because of the deaths on board - and arrived at the mouth of the St. Lawrence here in Canada where the healthiest were then sent on to Toronto only to be met with hostility and fear in the face of their sickness and poverty.

I next read Jenny's post over at South Belfast Diary where she wrote about community services and how to expand them to encompass all strata of need.

And I got tweaked in the head, you know how that is, by a conversation my daughter and I had last summer.

"You know, Mum," she'd said, "The Irish government has like totally redefined poverty in very different terms and it's got nothing to do with money. It's things like the availability of the stuff you and I'd take for granted and not even think about."

So I got to digging around and found:

What is Consistent Poverty?
The official Government approved poverty measure used in Ireland is consistent poverty, developed independently by the Economic and Social Research Institute (ESRI). This measure identifies the proportion of people, from those with an income below a certain threshold (less than 60% of median income), who are deprived of two or more goods or services considered essential for a basic standard of living.
The consistent poverty measure was devised in 1987 using indicators of deprivation based on standards of living at that time. The Government in 2007 accepted the advice of the ESRI to revise the deprivation indicators to better reflect current living standards and, in particular, to focus to a greater degree on items reflecting social inclusion and participation in society. This resulted in the measure, originally based on lacking one or more items from an 8-item index, changing to one based on lacking two or more items from the following 11-item index:

1. Two pairs of strong shoes
2. A warm waterproof overcoat
3. Buy new not second-hand clothes
4. Eat meals with meat, chicken, fish (or vegetarian equivalent) every second day
5. Have a roast joint or its equivalent once a week
6. Had to go without heating during the last year through lack of money
7. Keep the home adequately warm
8. Buy presents for family or friends at least once a year
9. Replace any worn out furniture
10. Have family or friends for a drink or meal once a month
11. Have a morning, afternoon or evening out in the last fortnight, for entertainment

So simple and yet so unattainable for many, many citizens right now. The ever expanding homeless crisis in the U.S.A. particularly is truly alarming. I'd say that many are lacking most of what's on this list. And I'm aware also that you don't have to be homeless to be poor. And that loneliness and isolation are an intrinsic part of the problem.

And, H/T Ronni at Time Goes By, I quote from a fine article written by James K. Galbraith, son of Kenneth, writing last week in Washington Monthly which brings ubiqitous poverty even closer:

“For the first time since the 1930s, millions of American households are financially ruined. Families that two years ago enjoyed wealth in stocks and in their homes now have neither. Their 401(k)s have fallen by half, their mortgages are a burden, and their homes are an albatross. For many, the best strategy is to mail the keys to the bank...

“...the American middle class find today that its major source of wealth is the implicit value of Social Security and Medicare – illiquid and intangible but real and inalienable in a way that home and equity values are not. And so it will remain, as long as benefits are not cut.”

Note to self: make a food bank drop-off. ASAP.