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Epinions, The New Millennium And The Way Things AreAug 29 '06 (Updated Sep 10 '06) Write an essay on this topic.
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The Bottom Line Thanks to all my friends at Epinions.
This is my entry for Bryan Carey's New Millennium Write-Off.
I first heard of Epinions through an on-line search for appliances while remodeling my kitchen this past June. The reviews I read at that time had an influence in the selection of products that made their way into my shiny new dream. The idea of sharing my experience with the selections I made by writing reviews appealed to me. More than two months and twenty-plus reviews later, this website has had an impact on my life in a number of ways. When I first read of Bryan Carey’s New Millennium Write-Off, my thoughts were of what product or service had significance in my life at that time. For me, the two weeks prior to the start of the year 2000 were a personal test of faith and strength. When we are children, we look upon our parents as the one constant in our lives. They are young and healthy, and we believe that life will always be this way, forever in their protection and security. I was the last of their four sons, born late in life when parenting no longer held the worries and what-ifs that the first or second born bring. The experience of raising my three older brothers had mellowed them. Their approach was to give us the freedom to make our own mistakes, and hopefully learn to cultivate strength and independence for the long term. It turned out to be the proper plan, as all four of us have realized success beyond any imagined in those carefree days of our youth that slipped away unnoticed My father was an artist with wood. An authority on early American furniture, he could build a Sheraton chest of drawers out of old stock that could pass for original and fool all but another expert in the field. He was the oldest of old Yankees - a more honest man I have yet to meet. Like many of his generation, he smoked and drank with impunity. With time he slowed down to enjoy life, mellowed more and became a good friend. Some nights we would sit by the fire and drink whiskey, I with my notebook and he with his stories of younger days. It seemed vital for me to record this living history, the story of my heritage found only in the pages of his memory. When age, and the excesses of an earlier time finally took him, he was laid to rest in an unfinished pine casket, as was his desire. My Aunt Helen was quite a character. She was a business woman with a type A personality, and her career was her life. She was selfish and headstrong and nobody’s favorite, but I liked her tenacity and ability to succeed at a time when women didn’t have as much chance of advancement. When she saw a glass ceiling, she’d smash it out and send them the bill. She had no patience with people who weren’t as driven as she was - she was the hurricane, and my personality was the eye of the storm, and our resulting friendship worked in some mutual alternate universe. When the twelve-hour work days gave way to involuntary retirement, she could not comprehend the desire not to work. Despite my efforts to motivate, she became withdrawn and unhappy in her loss of purpose. On December 12, 1999, she suffered a stroke, and died five days later. With the funeral scheduled for December 22nd, I have time to do some shopping. It’s too close to Christmas to line up a caterer, so it’s deli platters and tubs of coleslaw and potato salad. With the car loaded up, I head out to check on my mother, who is crocheting and watching TV when I arrive. She appears comfortable and alert, but when she speaks to me, the sounds aren’t words, so the words don’t make sense. By the time the ambulance arrives, her words are once again clear, and she seems normal aside from her confusion as to why the paramedics are there. After a four hour wait in the emergency room, a bed is available and she is admitted for tests. Through a combination of hard work, good planning and good fortune, I have been able to retire as a young man three decades ahead of schedule. This situation made it possible for me to care for my mother in her home for a much longer period than would otherwise have occurred. With her declining mobility, safety was becoming an issue. I have no medical training, and the need for specialized care, which had been just over the horizon, was now in sight. With my Aunt’s funeral now past, and my mother still in the hospital, we regrouped as a family, determined to make an effort toward celebrating Christmas. With no energy for a real tree, we dug the old artificial one from the attic and set it up. It was a sad thing - sparse and twisted, and leaning to one side. It looked like we all felt. By December 27th, it was becoming clear that arrangements would have to be made to move my mom to an extended care facility, since Medicare wouldn’t pay the additional expense of the hospital room. The two places we chose had no beds available. The third was within a mile of my house, but lacked the better rating of the first two. She was transferred from the hospital, and arrived in time for dinner. Anyone who has been through this ordeal knows that the first day is always the most difficult. We talked for a few minutes before I had to go fill out the waiting pile of paperwork. As I left the room, I looked back to see my face at six years old, that first day of school. The child becomes the parent. New Year’s eve day, 1999. My brother’s friend Chuck has put the finishing touches on his Y2K fortress. Ample supplies of water and food, gasoline and batteries, generator and communications center assure his survival through the coming calamity. I ask my brother what preparations he has made for the big day. No fool is he, he was headed to Chuck’s. It’s January 1st in Australia. As I watch the celebration from the comfort of my couch, I see no sign of the predicted calamity. The continent hasn’t blown up or burned down. Barring a last minute appearance by Godzilla, the Y2K crisis is a bust. On my television, disappointed talking heads jabber amidst the revelers. My New Year’s resolution is to try and shake this overwhelming sense of loss and sleep more than two hours at a time. I drift off wondering what to do with the case of baked beans I will buy at Chuck’s first yard sale. Aside from the occasional runaway truck, most situations resolve themselves with the proper patience and attention. My mom settled into her new digs and proceeded to make friends the way bees make honey. The facility was modern and clean, and the food was better than average. She was close enough for me to visit every day. After supper the usual gang would gather around the big-screen TV in the Activities Room. Our television tastes ranged between the Food and Game Show Networks - Rachel Ray to Gene Rayburn. Because of my qualifications (being young and able to walk), I was the designated channel changer. Being a member of the staff in a nursing home is a most thankless job. I remember on several occasions approaching the nurse’s station to the sound of an angry relative heaping abuse on an RN or CNA. My responsibility was to see that my mom had the best possible care. My choice to employ patience and mature diplomacy made for a good relationship with the often overworked crew. People appreciate when you treat them with courtesy and respect. As a result, my mom was provided with what I considered to be an excellent level of care. A bureaucracy is like a moving train. It’s often tough to hop aboard, but when you’re in, the inertia makes it unstoppable. Once the volumes of paperwork and the evaluations go away, life settles down to a point where you can have some fun. I enjoyed many new friendships made through this experience. All of us had a common goal - to make the remaining time of a loved one as comfortable and interesting as possible. And when the dreaded phone call comes, there is comfort in that community banding together to share the inevitable burden of loss. After the condolences are expressed and people move on, that particular responsibility and purpose that was a daily part of life is no longer relevant. Despite having a close and wonderful family, and the freedom to pursue most any activity, that void seemed to remain. I have enjoyed my time spent at Epinions. We are a group of people who love to write, with a sense of community uncommon in a world where technology enables isolation. My participation here has helped me to realize a purpose not lost, just temporarily misplaced. Bryan Carey's New Millennium Write-Off (Details and Entries)  |
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