communication breakdown, it's always the same

Hey, that looks like the Veterans Affairs Hospital in Charleston!

Yep, that's what it is alright.

Okay... is this an odd salute to veterans this Independance Day?

Not really. I'm just commemorating my unexpected trip there today. What a way to celebrate being a veteran! Just because my neighbors called the city on me instead of talking to me about my back yard.

I don't understand...

Well, I admit that I had let the back yard go for a while.
Quite a while.
Meaning I had only cut the grass back there twice this year.
Also, I had never cut back the wild lantana smothering the back fence, so the dead limbs now jutted in all directions.
But, in my defense, I was keeping the front yard quite lovely!
Also, I had wild irises staggering all over the back and really liked their purple blooms! So, when I had cut the yard, I had left islands of purple all over the place.
But the dandelions were making a stand and trying to take over.
Still, all someone would have had to do was ask and I would have taken care of it.
But no one did.

That's what you mean with that Led Zeppelin reference?

Yep. Definite communication breakdown.
A week ago Wednesday, I came home from "The Croods" to a yellow notice on my door. "Please cut back yard", it read, threatening me with time in jail and a thousand-dollar fine if I did not do so by July 1st.
I had just cut the back yard - most of it - on Monday, getting it done before the rain. I had rushed through my mowing of the front yard, then continued in the back until the battery was out of juice.
So, how could I have received this notice when the work was mostly done?
I immediately called the number on the notice to complain.
The inspector came out within minutes and we walked through the back yard. She pointed out the shrubbery on the side fence and back fence.
"Those are my butterfly bushes", I told her.
Well, apparently, they are not allowed to touch the fences. Nor are they allowed to be higher than the fences.

Seriously?

You bet. Also, if they poke through the fence to your neighbor's side, you are supposed to pull them back through to your side.
And cut them.

Again... seriously???

Yes, indeed.
She told me the city had received a couple of complaints via their 311 link, but this was the first time they had been out to my house. One of the complaints had mentioned a fear of snakes; that is the one which spurred the visit.
"Snakes?" I said. "If there is any problem with snakes, it's from the house next door. They have a pool and snakes love pools. My cousin in Tallahassee has a pool and has a terrible time keeping snakes out of her yard."
The city inspector looked right at me and said, "They have a pool next door?"
"Yes, ma'am. They've had it the whole time I've lived here and I've lived here since Thanksgiving of 2001."
Scribble, scribble, went her pen.
[side note: Ever since then, my neighbors with the pool have not been in it. I have to wonder if they weren't supposed to have it. They are the only folks in this subdivision who have a pool. Up until a week ago, they were in it daily, usually with company. They didn't have their usual 4th of July pool party, either.)

So, what did you do?

Well, she gave me until July 8th to remedy the situation.
On Tuesday, I cleared out the brush along the side fences and finished cutting the back yard. Part of the vegetation along one side were thorny vines, stretching up into the oak tree. Also, the ubiquitous blackberry brambles were there as well as briars.
I came away fairly scratched, but okay.
I hauled it all up front, took photos to serve as proof that I was making headway, and resolved to continue in a few days.
Well, once the city trash service had picked it up on Wednesday, I felt compelled to put some more out there.
So, yesterday, I moved my efforts to the back fence.
Yikes.
Between the efforts of the briars, brambles, and splintery dead lantana limbs, my legs, arms, and hands were pretty scratched up. To complicate matters, I also had a blister on my thumb from using a hand saw on some of the thicker growth.

Why didn't you wear gloves? And long pants?

Because it's too hot for all that and I do not have an air-conditioned house to escape into. Yes, I know I should have, but I did not.
We all make mistakes.
For sure.
Anywho, I jumped inside, got showered, and headed for the Gnats' game. Fireworks, you know?
And I get there and all seems to be okay. But then I started noticing the back of my right leg, just above my ankle, kept feeling wet.

It was bleeding???

No, no, no, not bloody... just... wet.
I would wipe it off, and it would be wet again. Within moments. With a clear, maybe slightly sticky, odorless fluid.
I went to the bathroom to clean it up and see what was going on. Yep, there it goes, two beads of moisture seeping to the surface of a long, horizontal scratch. Continuously.
I brought a handful of paper towels back to my seat and kept wiping my leg throughout the game.
Fireworks tonight!
Also, my first niece was coming with her foster son to watch fiReWOrKs with me. I was NOT leaving the game early!

Headstrong, headstrong!

Yeah, yeah.
(smile)
As soon as I got home, I tried some isopropyl alcohol on the scratch.
No effect.
Hydrogen peroxide was applied next.
No effect.
Pressure? What about some oldfashioned direct pressure?
No effect.
Nothing staunched the flow.
I tried some waterproof bandages to keep the fluid at bay.
The bandages got waterlogged and slid off.
Finally, I used a pantiliner, taped in place.
That did the trick!

Oh, good! So, it finally stopped?

Nope. When I was awakened near noon by a phone call, I found the wound was still seeping clear fluid.
Still.
Now I was beginning to worry. So I called the VA After Hours Medical Hotline.
Bonnie, a nurse in Dayton, Ohio, answered.
After she heard my story, she told me I needed to have it looked at. Especially as it was approaching 24 hours since the onset of the seepage.
Drats.
The Service Clinic here was closed for the holiday, as well as the weekend.
Wait until it opened on Monday? What if the wound dripped all that time? What if I became dehydrated from it?
Drats.
Bonnie told me I needed to go to the VA Hospital. Because it was not blood oozing out of my body, she could not refer me to the Emergency Room of one of the local civilian hospitals.
Drats.

Definitely drats.

Most def. So, I packed a bag - just in case! - and let folks know where I was going and off I went.
I arrived there in about 2 1/2 hours, spent roughly an hour there, then returned home.
I've been here almost an hour.
Sure, I saw a few fiReWOrKs today, from a distance, as I drove along the interstate on my way into town.
But, mostly, this veteran spent her day on the hot roads between Savannah and Charleston.
All because her neighbors couldn't be bothered with direct communication with her about her back yard.

Maybe that's why the angel peeked in on me yesterday at the game...
and sent my first niece to keep me company...
to reassure me that I was loved.
(smile!)

there will come a day, youth will pass away, what'll they say about me?

Last Cab Ride

I arrived at the address and honked the horn.
After waiting a few minutes I honked again.
Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked.

'Just a minute', answered a frail, elderly voice.

I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940's movie.
By her side was a small nylon suitcase.

The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

'Would you carry my bag out to the car?' she asked softly.

I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.
She kept thanking me for my kindness.

'It's nothing,' I told her. 'I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated.'

'Oh, you're such a good boy,' she said.

When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, 'Could you drive through downtown?'

'It's not the shortest way,' I answered quickly.

'Oh, I don't mind,' she said. 'I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice.'

I looked in the rear-view mirror.
Her eyes were glistening.

'I don't have any family left,' she continued in a soft voice.'The doctor says I don't have very long.'

I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

'What route would you like me to take?' I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city.
She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.
We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds.
She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.
Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, 'I'm tired. Let's go now.'

We drove in silence to the address she had given me.
It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.
Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.
I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door.
The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

'How much do I owe you?' She asked, reaching into her purse.

'Nothing,' I said.

'You have to make a living,' she answered.

'There are other passengers,' I responded.

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug.
She held onto me tightly.

'You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,' she said.
'Thank you.'

I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light.

Behind me, a door shut.
It was the sound of the closing of a life.

I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift.
I drove aimlessly, lost in thought.
For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk.
What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life.

We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware - beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID ~BUT~ THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Coincidence that this cab driver was the one who came for the old lady?
I'd like to think not.
This was a small miracle, adding a touch of grace to both lives.
Last night, for the first time in months, I went to a Philo Cafe meeting.
[Sidebar: I had attempted to go, on a rainy night, back in February. As I had told Hai, "Drats. I cannot find The Foundery. There is def a joke that could be made, but it's true. Drats."]
The topic, posed by a new entrant to the group, a new entrant who also happened to be in training for Episcopalian priesthood, was "A Post-Christian Society". This week's meeting, on a rainy night as luck would have it, was also at The Foundery, a place I now well-knew how to find (thanks, bfe!). The Foundery happens to be a coffee shop opened by someone at my church.
Coincidences abound!
Or, does it just seem that they do because I am attuned to look for them?
Perhaps.
The conversation took various turns. Comparisons of populations of people in Walmart and in churches on a Sunday morning led to similarity of beliefs and features of those at a particular church (which brought to my mind the rule about solubility: "like dissolves like"). That line of reasoning led to demographics and marketing studies, as conducted for national churches, as well as the growth of splinter churches to serve specific niche populations.
Finally, we philosophers turned to the teachings of Christ for guidance. Were we, as a society at large, trying to treat each other kinder, to minister to each other's needs, to do what we could where we could? Was the world a better place because of the example set by Christ and taught by his disciples?
I hope so.
I believe it is.
I try.

The cab driver certainly followed that path.
He had a choice in the matter and he chose the decision which benefitted a total stranger.
In the end, his choice also benefitted him.

I do hope that when I am an old lady, I will find someone like that.
Meanwhile, I try to step out of my head and into other's shoes.

texting with the ex

Ever since Thursday, a lot of words have sped along in the ether between his phone in Michigan and mine here in Georgia. Especially this week. We have "spoken" every day for three days in a row.
His cousin's death has hit him the hardest of any of the others (his mom, our friend Jim Adams, our friend Sam Johnson, my stepbrother, and David's sweetheart) over the past decade.
I'm sure that is due to time and circumstances being different now. After all, he will be 49 years old next month.

He grew up in a small family.
He was raised as an only child by his divorced mom. She eventually had remarried, for a few years, adding two stepsisters to his life. He didn't know them well, as they were a bit older than him.
His dad went on to remarry and have several children, but my ex never knew them, never even knew of their existence until I had tracked down his dad almost ten years ago. (That was after my ex - still husband at the time - had the first two stents placed into his heart. I had wanted to get a more complete medical picture.)
I think his dad had two sisters, maybe three. I don't recall any brothers. At any rate, the ex did not grow up with them in his life, nor any children they may have had.
His mom only had one living sister. Through her, the ex grew up with two male cousins and one female cousin. Those were the only cousins he ever knew.
As I said, he had a small family.
I don't know if that increased the perceived impact of each death. I don't think so, but I don't know. Perhaps some studies have been done on the subject?
But he and David were close and had grown closer over the past six years. When the ex would come to Georgia to visit his elder daughter, he would also swing up to Tennessee on his return trip and spend some time with his cousin. It allowed him some time with family, with people who knew and loved him.
The other cousins and his aunt live in Minnesota and Virginia. Not exactly "on his way" for his travels from Michigan southward.
The loss of David is a huge hole in his heart.

The ex and I have remained close, as I've mentioned a time or two. That's a good thing for both of us. After all, we are still family, we still know and love each other.

So, the following are transcriptions of our conversations since Monday evening.
No, wait.
I'll include the one from last Thursday, too, when I'd lunched with his aunt and uncle here in town.

Thursday, Nov 7, 2013
(About 3:30 PM, after sending him two pictures taken during the lunch with his Aunt and Uncle.)

me: At Huey's on River Street.
ex: I didn't realize they were in Savannah!
me: Are in Hilton Head. Got there on Monday. We had a very nice lunch!
ex: I'm guessing they needed a break after Tennessee.
me: Yes. Very sad about David. {Auntie} Arlene is exhausted.
me: We talked very briefly about David and Chris {David's son}. Then we dropped the topic. Did you know that David was going to have to move out of the house?
me: I can understand why he may have felt there was no other option for him. Very sad.
ex: I didn't know that. Was that what the fight between him and Gwen's family was about?
me: Yes. There may have been other issues that I don't know. Arlene made it seem to have been a longer running thing. Could have just been since Gwen got cancer.
me: The question of what to do with the house would have been raised then.
me: The house was Gwen's and the land had been her mom's. Her mom wanted it back and wanted David out. Arlene was there cleaning it out for the bank to take it.
ex: What a mess. I've been saying that if something was enough to break even the devil-may-care David down, who are we to say that it wouldn't have done the same to us...
me: You are absolutely right. But you have to remember he was a sentimental man. The timing was all too hard.
me: David had arranged for a friend to come over at a specific time. Instead Chris came there unexpectedly and found him. Very sad.
ex: I'm betting I know which friend. They told me about him while I was there.
me: Arlene mentioned his name but I don't recall. She said David had evidently given it all some thought and wanted to not have family find him.
me: Instead Chris came home and found him. Then he ran down the street to the bank where Stephanie {David's daughter} was working and said "I think Dad has hurt himself."
ex: Already in shock. He couldn't bring himself to say what ultimately had happened. The best laid plans.
me: I know. One never knows what will happen. Neither of the kids wanted to go into the house so Arlene took care of cleaning it out.
me: Stephanie and Daniel had her over for dinner every night.
ex: I'm sure they did. Daniel's a nice guy.
me: That's what Auntie said. She really likes him.
ex: Even Goldie, the rescue dog they had, knew something bad was going on. She came and sat next to me on the couch straight away. Years of visits and I couldn't get her to do that.
me: Jeff I am so very sorry about David. I always liked him and I know he meant a lot to you.
ex: Thank you honey.

That was one of the most difficult conversations I've ever had. Oddly, texting the news instead of speaking it somehow made it more real, more solid. The power of the printed word, perhaps.
Now on to this week's word exchanges.

Monday, 11 Nov 2013
(The ex had contacted me earlier, texting about Earl Grey tea and tomato soup, then I had to go to work. This is the resumption of the talk, about 9 PM.)

me: Okay all done with lab. Yeah!
ex: We had our first snow today. As you may guess, I'm not very happy.
ex: it was 41 this morning and the temperature slowly dropped all day. We bottom out at 26 tonight.
me: Much
me: Ouch
me: Damn phone.
me: Has been very cold at night here too. Will be in thirties on Wednesday.
ex: Hot tea and extra blankets tonight.
me: Yeah me too. At least you are not living in a tent in the woods. That is what Ronnie is doing.
me: My heat is not working so I have a space heater in the living room. Blocked off the sunroom and guest room so that helped. I hope next week is warm.
me: I am glad that I have a heated mattress pad. Could not live without it.
ex: He's still doing that?
me: Oh yeah. No rules but his.
ex: I have no idea what to say to that. But you're right.
me: I know. I called him today to check in and he complained about the cold but didn't say he needed anything. So I didn't offer.
ex: I think that was the correct card to play.
me: I knew it was. If I offer but he didn't ask then he regards it as free.

Tuesday, 12 Nov 2013
(The next morning, the conversation resumed about 8:30 AM and went for an hour.)

ex: I didn't see that your heat wasn't working because I was still incredulous over your running comment. How have you blocked off the sunroom since it's open space? Is John not there, that you were able to block off the guest room?
me: Joe (the peace Guy) moved to Atlanta in early August. As for the sunroom, I hung a sheet between it and the kitchen. Seems to work well.
ex: If it works, it works. By the way, your low last night will be our high today.
me: That sucks. Our high tomorrow is in the fifties. That really sucks.
ex: Here, that would be pleasant. Hell, more than pleasant. Unseasonably warm.
me: And THAT is why I don't ever want to live at that latitude.
ex: I'm sure my blood is getting thicker. I just won't ever get it used to the idea.
me: That makes it a matter over mind thing. Lol.
ex: Lottery hasn't been any kinder to me in Michigan that it was in Georgia. At least I'm no longer throwing away hundreds of dollars at a time (casino).
me: I keep trying with Publishers Clearing House. No luck so far. :)
ex: Oh how priorities change. I used to want to make great spots. Now I just walk on eggshells, capitulating to every whim (however stupid) of the sales people, just so I can crawl to my 5 year mark. The last time I had three weeks vacation per year, I was in the service.
me: Five year mark?
ex: The dream is in sight. Rather than take a week at a time, I'll just dot the calendar with the three- and four-day weekends all year.
me: Nice. That tends to be what I do.
ex: Yes, I've been at MacDonald Broadcasting for 3 years now. September.
ex: And why not? There are so many things to see and do in Michigan and the Great Lakes region. Grand Rapids. Toledo. Indianapolis. Chicago. Cinci. Cleveland. And now that Bob's in Des Moines, I foresee a long drunk weekend in the immediate future.
me: Not what I meant. Do you get tenure or something at five years?
ex: I don't think it's thought of as a tenure thing in our business; it's more just a perk and thank you for helping keep the company stable.
ex: It's never been something I thought of because I never came close to five years at a radio station before.
me: So what do you get at five years? Just more vacation?
ex: Probably. It would be nice if I got a raise. Honestly, though, I make enough. I'd rather have more time than more money. Very soon D {his younger daughter} turns 18 and that will be an extra knot in my pocket every month.
ex: Although my BlueCross just jumped up...so not as big a knot as I had hoped.
me: Yeah that will be February. You won't need to pay for medical insurance on her either.
ex: Au contraire! Obamacare will make me carry her until age 26. And I want to. She's going to need every bit of help she can get...and that help will be expensive.
me: Heard. Good of you to take care of her like that.
ex: That's another reason I keep my head down, keep my mouth shut and do my work.
me: You keep trying. That is good.
ex: I'm trying to straighten things out. The boulder is at the bottom of the hill every day.
me: Think of those hills as in succession, not the SAME hill.
ex: I could have it worse. I could be living in a tent, freezing my ass off in a sleeping bag. And not by choice.
me: He has been like this for years now. He counts on the holiday spirit to make folks more generous toward him. It is very tiring.
ex: How serendipitous that the holidays come at a time when the weather turns bad and someone like him needs help the most.

ex: Wow! Looks professionally done!
me: Thanks! Sam does that at her house to block off the upstairs. She only heats the downstairs. Has heated mattress pads on all beds.
me: As for Ronnie, yes. He may not believe in Christmas but he knows the rest of us do.
ex: I didn't word that well. I didn't mean to imply that he works that happenstance...even though, deep down, we know he does.
me: Oh yes. He most certainly does. He times it on purpose. He gets tired of working and this is his way of getting others to take care of him.
me: I have confronted him about it and he doesn't deny it.
me: I pay for him to have a phone every month. Just as I have ever since his TIA. That way he can call for help if he needs it.
ex: Well, I admire the fact that he admits it. That means he's true to his belief. However, it's not very smart. Knowing he's an unrepentant freeloader gives me all the reason I need to not enable him.
me: Smitty is of that mind. Throws him some work from time to time but gives him nothing.

Wednesday, 13 Nov 2013
(Out of the blue, after 10 PM.)

ex: The picture of David and Gwen...where is that from, again?
ex: ...and when?
me: 5 July, 2009, at Nags Head. It was the K&k family reunion.
ex: I'm kicking myself for not having gotten photos with them in 2010, when they visited Mary and me in Birmingham. We were at this cute little place caleed the Bottle Tree Cafe but the lighting indoors was too low for pictures.
me: Didn't you send me a photo of that place? By email. I may still have it.
ex: I still have all the photos I took of the decor and the sign with the actual sculpture. Not one of me or my family.
me: Auntie said they took video at the reunion in Minnesota this summer.
ex: Yeah, they talked about that last month.
me: Maybe they will post it online.
ex: I'm taking old photos on my phone and cataloguing them on the computer.
ex: I don't know how much more I can take this.
me: Pardon? Want to talk?
ex: It's alright, but thank you...it's late. I'm going to brush my teeth and go to bed.
me: Love you, Jeff. I am here if you want to talk.
ex: Thank you. I love you too.
me: I took a lot of photos. Will send you the links. I even have a few from that trip to Virginia Beach. That was definitely a fun day.
ex: That trip where we were putting out so much radiation that we could bake a potato in our hands?
me: Yes that's the one!
ex: F&k. It hurt to sit it hurt to stand it hurt to move...It hurt to BE.
me: :-)
me: Just sent the link for the VA Beach pics.
me: Be sure to wear your sunglasses!
ex: I didn't mention that last Thursday, Living Colour was in Flint on a tour celebrating the 25th anniversary of their first album. They played it in its entirety.

ex: They played Walk on The Wild Side since Lou Reed just passed. They played Should I Stay or Should I Go by The Clash as the last song. The chorus was played at thrash metal speed.
me: TOTALLY awesome!

Then, on that up-note, we signed off. I bounced over to facebook, to raid my albums there for signs of life.
I found them.
I had five albums with David in them.
I sat there and cried, remembering how much fun he was to be around, feeling the void in the world.
Very sad.
I sent links to the albums to the ex, to the cousins, to the daughter.
And I went to bed.

open letter to mr. stephen j. cloobeck

Today is my first day of my holiday in Florida and I chose to stay at Daytona Beach Regency. I've stayed here many times over the last decade and regard the site as one of my top favorites.
After this morning, my very first morning here, I think the bloom is off the rose, so to speak.
I had drawn the drapes last night when I finally went to bed, knowing that the sunlight would otherwise awaken me far too early. And so I slept well. Then, upon awaking, I slid open one of the drapes in the bedroom, allowing blue-sky brilliance to spill into the room. Nice!
Then I walked into the living room and adjusted the thermostat, then approached the drapes. I had drawn all of the drapes closed before retiring for the evening; all, that is, except the sheer across the glass door. That would allow some morning sunshine into the area, but not so much as to awaken me from my slumbers.
So, I approach the sheer, intending to open the light-blocking drapes to either side of it - and there is a man, rapelling from the roof, onto my balcony! Straight across from me, through the sheer! And I'm nude.
I didn't know if he saw me through the sheer or not. As soon as I saw him, I ducked behind the darkening drapes, but then I felt that I was trapped. I didn't know if the building was under attack, or if some nut had chosen the eleventh floor of the Daytona Beach Regency to break into, or if this was a stunt of some type.
I just knew there was a stranger on my balcony, I was nude, and I could not reach a phone without revealing myself to the stranger.
And all before coffee. Which I normally would be enjoying on the balcony. Especially on my very first morning at the beach.
I cautiously peeked around the drape and saw the man had moved to the window outside the bedroom. I still did not feel safe using the phone on the living room table, as that was by the sheer on the glass door. I scooted toward the bedroom door, making sure the man was not by the opened drapes, then grabbed my nightgown. But I could not use the phone in the bedroom, either, as the man would have seen me cross the room. Try to bear in mind that I did not know WHY the man was on my balcony; I only knew that he was there, as I could see him when I tried to approach the phone on the bedside table.
Finally, I saw him move back toward the living room windows and I darted to the phone and called the front desk.
When the front desk answered, in hushed tones I said, "There's a man on my balcony, a man who I saw rapell onto the balcony."
"He's just cleaning the windows, ma'am."
"No, he is not. I have been watching him. He rapelled onto my balcony, then stood there, looking at the beach. He did not clean the windows. And he just rapelled off my balcony."
The young woman responded, "Well, he's supposed to be up there cleaning the windows. I'll find out and call you back."
So, I drew the drape closed in the bedroom, then got back into bed. To wait.
Finally, a different young woman, Mandy, called me back.
"Yes, ma'am, the man was there to clean the windows. You should have been notified when you checked in last night."
"No, no one told me. I had no idea that I would be accosted by a strange man on my balcony my very first morning of my stay. I am very disappointed."
"Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am, but you should have been told when you checked in. Didn't Jonathan tell you? Also, we had called the rooms yesterday to let everyone know."
"No, Jonathan didn't tell me when I checked in late yesterday afternoon. And there was no notice in the elevator or in my room."
"Ma'am, I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do?"
"I don't know. I am very disappointed. I always like to have my coffee on the balcony and look at the ocean on my first morning here and now that is ruined. I am very disappointed. I just may cancel the rest of my stay and leave."
"I am so sorry, ma'am. If there is anything I can do, please let me know."
"I'm not sure there is anything you could do."
Then I hung up the phone.

I still don't know what I will do. But I don't think I'll be referring any of my friends and family to Diamond Resorts International. I've been a member since they took over Sunterra, which I had enjoyed. DRI seems more interested in my money than in me.