Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Friday, August 05, 2011
I have had trouble getting through the process for claiming social security benefits for the kids. I believe they are entitled until they are 18 or something, but don’t really know. Would like to have it to help educational expenses, etc, if that is true, although I already have sensed a small stigma attached to this by an acquaintance. Pretty hard to take, given my husband worked and contributed to Social Security his whole life. For the record, I’m not getting his benefits, just his kids.
I went down to the local office a few weeks ago, and walked in to a very long “take a number” DMV like line, looked around and wondered how many other family’s were there suffering from loosing someone they loved, started to sob and bailed out of there. Today I got a little farther, but what an ordeal.
Charlie brought me back a Smith and Wesson knife from his recent trip to Texas. He went to the gun & knife show with Nick (“When in Texas...” or “You can take the boy out of Tillamook...”). The knife was my birthday gift, and actually I use one frequently - open boxes, cut up fruit on the go, etc.
So when I walked into the Social Security office, determined to keep it together today, I was asked by the police officer at the door if I had any weapons: firearms, mace, knives, etc. I instinctively said, “No”, but then said, “Oh Wait! I have this knife,” and then handed it to her, from my purse - closed, assuming she’d either hold onto it or ask me to put it in my car. She didn’t do that, she asked for my ID. And then wrote me up with Homeland Security for bringing in a weapon to a Federal Office. Scary terrorist widow. At this point, I did start to cry, and did so through the time my number was called and started documenting the claim.