Monthly Archives: March 2015

Death and taxes

Confession, Musings,

I’m in the middle of taxes and fear imprisonment more than death at this moment.

imagesI have spectacular number skills and love math.  My problem is not the math.  It’s the instructions.  Way back when I was getting A’s in algebra and thinking about majoring in math in college, I hit those, “One train leaves the station at noon going forty-miles-an-hour” problems.  I could never understand them.  As soon as I saw one, my brain shut down and every synapse dashed away in search of a simple x + y problem.   My friend who teach math tell me they are easy to do.  You just make a chart and plug in numbers.  I missed that somehow and, back when I was in high school, one did not go in for tutoring.

So I majored in Spanish.

George always did the taxes when we were married.  Before we were married and I was in grad school and living on $40/week, I didn’t pay taxes because I thought, “I make too little to pay taxes.”  This is NOT a good pihilosophy to adopt but I got away with it because the IRS must have decided I made too little as well.images

One story:  twenty-five years ago, George gave me a check to mail to the IRS.  Somehow it got lost in my desk drawer.  When I found it in August, I immediately called the IRS and explained what had happened, begged forgiveness and stated over and over how upset I was for my idiocy.  FInally I said, “Please don’t tell my husband.”  Must have worked because we weren’t fined and George never found out about this until I told her a few years ago.

After George died, I used an accountant because those two years of taxes were wonky.  Now I feel I should be able to do taxes myself.  As soon as I finish this, I’m going back to sorting things into piles and entering numbers and attempting to figure out the instructions.

I’m not a bit happy about it.

What do I miss about the North?

Musings, Stuff, , , , ,

imagesI grew up in Kansas City, MO, home of absolutely terrible weather:  frigid winters, several feet of snow, lots of ice.  On the other hand, we had long, hot summers.  The grass turned brown in the heat by mid-June and the breeze felt as if it came from an enormous hair dryer set to scorch.  I always thought there had to be a place that had either nice summers or moderate winters.  In 1987, we moved to Savannah, GA, and found weather heaven.  Oh, the summer was terrible and humid but I loved living in a place where kids rode their bikes in shorts on Christmas day.

What do I miss about living in the South?  When I was a child walking home from imagesschoolafter a long winter of cold and snow, in March I could see the crocus pushing themselves up through the snow.  I loved those first signs of spring: daffodils and robins and the brilliance of narcissus.  The sight of a gentle cloud of light green hovering about the limbs of trees which signaled they would soon be blossoming–well, the beauty made me smile and tear up.

imagesLiving in the South, I miss spring. I miss the relief of coming to the end of snow and ice and seeing the earth wake up before me, gentle and sweet and fecund.  I miss the soft colors and the bright ones, the tulips at Churchill Down, the red buds and dogwood trees, and the magnolias.  In Savannah, the bursting color of azaleas almost made up for not seeing those lovely northern plants–almost.  And in the Hill Country of Texas, we have wild flowers in the spring, miles and miles of blue bonnets with sprinkles of Indian blanket.  Gorgeous.  But it’s only this–azaleas or wild flowers but not the variety of beauty in spring in the north.

What else do I miss about living up north?  When I was a child, my father, an unwavering imagesfan of athletics at the University of Kansas, drove us to every home football game in Lawrence.  I remember the beauty of autumn leaves back then, the reds shimmered in the sun and the hues of yellow spread from light to golden.  Never have I seen trees so beautiful and I miss them.  In Texas, people will point out what they call a pretty tree, the leaves of which have changed from green to a deep, rusty red, nearly brown.  Oh, yes, I miss the changing of leaves in the autumn.

What don’t I miss about living in the South?  Snow.

 

 

Buchanan Dam, TX

A question, Small towns, Stuff, , , , , ,

imagesI grew up in Kansas City, Missouri–yes, Missouri.  The major part of Kansas City is not in Kansas.  Kansas wasn’t a state when Kansas City was founded in what was the state of  Missouri. The town was named for the Kansas River.

But, enough of that geography lesson.  Back when I grew up, neighborhoods were friendly and people lived in their homes forever. We knew each other and helped each other.   The older I got, the less this was true.  We moved so often and seldom knew our neighbors–until we moved to Buchanan Dam, Texas, into a small subdivision with five houses.

imagesBuchanan–pronounced in Texan, BUCK-a-nan–Dam was a lovely place to live.  There was an eagles’ nest a few miles west.  We had deer who ate my tomatoes which meant I didn’t have to garden–I don’t do that well. We had wild flowers, wonderful views, cool breezes, and great Mexican food down the road, close to Fuzzy’s Corner.  images

But the best part was that we had great neighbors.   Suzanne was a nurse who looked after out health.  One night when George thought he’d had a heart attack–he hadn’t–there was Suzanne, waiting by the ambulance to see what she could do.  Down the hill were two boys who kept us in groceries with the chickens and vegetables they raised for 4-H. May and Al lived behind us and kept an eye on the place.

And then there was Bob, a handy man who watched out for all of us.  This was sometimes a problem.  Once a floor lamp broke so I put it down in the trash.  A few days later, Bob made the long trek up our driveway and knocked.  When I opened the door, he handed me the lamp which he’d repaired.  What a great guy.  The only problem was that the lamp still didn’t work. I didn’t want to put it in the trash again because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.  Actually, my main worry was that Bob would fix it again, bring it back and this would become a never ending loop.  My solution was to put it in the back of my car and smuggle it into Burnet where a friend disposed of it for me.images

Do you have stories about your neighbors?  I’d love to hear them.

 

The sleeping sickness

Confession,

frustrated-woman-clipartI tried to blog this week and last–although last week’s efforts were doomed by a non-functioning brain. I have pneumonia.

This week’s efforts have been doomed by sleep.  Every time I sit down–to watch television, to write, to eat–I fall  asleep.  I feel okay.  For example, I’m not coughing until parts of my respiratory system feel as if they’ve been attacked by sandpaper and I can breathe, always good.

But every ounce of creativity has fallen asleep as well.  In addition, my fingers can no longer find the correct home keys which means you’d need to be a cryptologist to read what I write..

Hope to be back next week.