Then, BANG!

The cats went flying and I flew to the back door to see my still fully intact Halloween pumpkin, which I had so jauntily perched on top of the grill with a pair of glittery red Christmas bells wrapped around it, rolling along the driveway. I made it outside just in time to see the pumpkin turning the corner and starting down our steep driveway. Just out of my reach, it ricocheted against the berm of the planting bed and back out onto the pavement, picking up speed. I tried flinging my fleece at it to slow it down — futile. Now it was a big orange bumpety bowling ball, headed straight down the alley, with me chasing after it in the 20-degree darkness, in my holey slippers, hoping the pavement wasn’t icy and I wouldn’t kill myself.

Down Big Orange went, careening across the street (thank God no cars just then) and right up the concrete ramp my neighbor Nancy had just replaced her front steps with, probably in anticipation of the knee replacement she needs.

BANG!

Right into her front door.

(shit)

I paused, only halfway down the driveway. I imagined the oozing bits of smashed pumpkin all over her stoop. The 10-year-old in me considered turning and running back inside — she’d never know it was my pumpkin. But no, I did the adult thing, running through the curbside slush to assess the damage. A miracle — no smash! But I had to search for Big Orange in her yard (why is it so damn dark everywhere?!), expecting to see her fling open her front door in a panic any second as Gracie barked and barked on the other side.

She didn’t appear. Maybe she wasn’t home (though her car was out front). Maybe she didn’t hear it (not likely). Or maybe she thought “No way in hell I’m going to see who/what just pounded on my front door.”

I’ll fess up next time I see her (so, like, April or May).

In the meantime, I retrieved Big Orange (still solid as a rock — clearly a superior squash), race-walked back up the driveway, recovered my flung fleece, deposited Big Orange on the bench by the back door, retrieved the worse-for-the-wear glittery red Christmas bells, and went back to my chai.

It needed another 30 seconds. And I completely forgot the whipped cream. So, bright spot, the diet’s not fully trashed after all.

“Life was a little like that, I guess.
We’d spend so long chasing after something already in motion,
always out of reach and calling, just ahead.”
~ Mackenzie Herbert, Chasing Trains

Over the past year, there’s been entirely too much of the other, not-for-fun-but-for-money kind of writing going on, so my brain has been all used up with that. When I sit down at night and pop out the recliner on the couch (God forgive me, we have a sofa with double recliners — and I love it) about all I can do is browse a few websites and binge-watch Game of Thrones. Lately I haven’t even been reading other blogs.

But now we’re all caught up on GOT, we’re just starting Six Feet Under, and tonight I’ve had a mojito and read a few blogs I like. Now I’m missing my own blog. I’ve missed it all along, but life, in all its boring stressfulness, keeps getting in the way. I now believe everything they say about what (peri)menopause does to your brain (and your body) — it’s all I can do to get through a day at my desk and I have the pounds to prove I’m at my desk way too much, usually eating something.

I think back on all the things I COULD have blogged about in the last 9 months or so (including a wonderful trip to England).And too much sad stuff, as we’ve had a few deaths in my extended family. But instead of blogging, I’ve been praying, plugging away at work, and pulling the lever on the recliner — all regularly.

As I write this, I’m watching TV, drinking another mojito, talking to Mike, eating a cookie, and losing my train of thought. I’d like to say “I’m back” and up to blogging regularly, but I don’t think that’s the truth, much as I’d like it to be. I keep thinking of “someday” when I’m retired and free to do creative things like blogging and cooking and baking and crafting. I think about that way too much, and I don’t want to. Life is now, not 15+ years from now. I struggle with this. Tomorrow is never guaranteed.

On that note, that’s enough for now. I miss my blog; I’m glad it’s still here. For someday. Whether that’s tomorrow or next year.

Begin at the beginning…and go on till you come to the end; then stop.
~ Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

And another one.

Introversion sounds so much more cool than “shy,” which is what I knew I was long, long ago when my mother tried to coax me to come in to see some friends who were visiting and I hid around the corner. “Show us your doll,” someone said. I promptly threw it around the corner, into the room, much to my mother’s mortification. I’ve been crossing the street or walking the other way to avoid people ever since. I am terrible at small talk, need my alone time, celebrate a little when social plans (with other than my good friends) get cancelled, screen my calls, and have been told to “cheer up” or asked “what’s wrong?” more times than I can remember. (That also has a new name…”bitchy resting face” or BRF. Seriously, I”m fine, people, I just look this way.)

Once in junior high I made a valiant attempt to be outgoing — talked (to boys!), laughed, joked around. It sort of worked — I think people were shocked I could speak. A “frenemy” (we didn’t know to call them that back then, but it SO applies to junior high girls) basically called me out for “copying” her…”Just because I talk and laugh and am friendly doesn’t mean you should.” She needn’t have worried — I think it lasted about a week.

Now, however, it’s gotten kind of cool to be shy introverted. Introverts are not shy, so we’re now told, we’re just drained by social interaction, not afraid of it. We’re thinkers, listeners, writers (hello). Instead of being a negative, now it’s kind of a positive (or at least neutral). I had to laugh when a health & fitness blog writer I follow — a bundle of manic energy if ever there was one — wrote about how she’s really introverted and prefers to be at home (the woman is NEVER at home, posts pictures of herself doing yoga in bikinis, teaches fitness classes, is a personal trainer, etc. But now it’s a thing to be introverted, so…). Yes, introversion has “arrived.”

The majority of my friends are introverts (my husband is neither introverted nor extroverted, but a nice blend of both). We love each other, love to see each other and spend time together, but are just as happy to stay home. I have one dear friend who’s clearly not one of us. Outgoing, friendly, generous, open, speaks her mind (sometimes to a hilarious fault)…can talk to anyone anywhere and make an instant friend. She reached out to me on my first day of work and we’ve been friends ever since — me and a thousand other people. She is a people magnet. I still want to be her when I grow up, no matter how accepted introversion becomes.

In the meantime, I’ll just enjoy this time in the sun. But don’t sit next to me, please, unless I already know you. Don’t invite me to parties with mostly people I don’t know — well, invite me, but know that it will cause me all kinds of angst. Don’t expect me to chat after a long day, when I’m finally sitting down with my laptop and HGTV. (Yes, I work from home, alone, with the cats. But it is work. Work that regularly requires me to interview people — smart people. Perfect strangers. And sound intelligent. And then write about it intelligently. It’s exhausting.)

But do email me — I love to hear from you. Do talk to me on Facebook — I assure you I read ALL of your posts. Do tell me about your life — I’m a great listener. If you want to, ask me about my life. You might have to ask more than once and probe a little — I don’t like to bore people. Do get to know me — I make a great friend. And I’m a cool person. Finally.

“I think he’s lovely,” said Anne reproachfully. “He is so
very sympathetic. He didn’t mind how much I talked —
he seemed to like it. I felt he was a kindred spirit
as soon as I ever saw him.”
“You’re both queer enough, if that’s what you mean
by kindred spirits,” said Marilla with a sniff.
~ L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

I haven’t been blogging, but I have been thinking. The usual “What do I want to be when I grow up?” thoughts, only now “when I grow up” pretty much means “when I retire” — which who knows if I’ll ever really be able to. I just saw a commercial for an investment company (don’t have a clue which one), that asks people to write on a wall what they would do if they could do anything. The thing I noticed during the 30 seconds I was engaged was that so many people wrote down creative things. They’d make pies or be a florist or be a writer (! — I’m guessing not the kind of writer I am). So many people are just itching to do something that has nothing to do with traditional office/trade/factory work. The commercial basically said “Yes, you can get paid to do that — you pay yourself to do it with your retirement money.”

That’s a great way to think about it. All those years of working and paying bills (and yes, saving, because that’s a must) are so you can be in charge of your own destiny. Pay yourself to have the freedom to do what you really want. Because otherwise, you might still decide to be a florist, but are you going to work for someone else? Start your own shop? That’s still a business, and a competitive one I imagine. It’s hard work, even though your products are beautiful (and highly perishable). Same with pie baking — or any kind of food/catering business — not easy either. And a writer? Please. We all know how hard that is — and even harder to make any money at it.

So the bottom line, you need to be financially free to pursue your dreams, but that seems so unlikely. I read some sobering statistics yesterday about women and retirement in this article…I don’t think anyone envisions him/herself destitute or in a nursing home, but the sobering reality is that many of us will end up there. There’s also a slew of articles that say, don’t even think about retiring…that even after you reach retirement age, you should still plan to work at least part time.

It’s hard to think about that — that at almost no point in your life (unless you can’t physically or mentally do it anymore), you’ll have to be “on call,” responsible for doing something someone else thinks is worthy of paying you for.

It’s also hard to balance the idea of delayed gratification and saving more for tomorrow with wanting some rewards for hard work today — especially because tomorrow isn’t guaranteed for anyone and none of us is getting any younger. (If not now, when?)

I stress about money and saving all the time. I’m convinced we aren’t doing enough. It drives Mike crazy.

I also say just about every day that I want a vacation (the beach comes up a lot). That also drives Mike crazy.

How do you do it? How do you approach the live-today-(while-you-can)-or-save-for-tomorrow conundrum?

Sometimes it’s important to work for that pot of gold.
But other times it’s essential to take time off
and to make sure that your most important decision in the day
simply consists of choosing which color to slide down on the rainbow.
~ Douglas Pagels

I am the praying sort, so I decided I would do this. I prayed, somewhat generically, for my friend and “anyone else I might know who has cancer,” whether I knew they had it or not. It was a simple thing — the daily prayers were emailed to me (such is the way of prayers in the digital age), and it took only a few minutes each day. I counted myself very lucky that I didn’t have a long list of people to pray specifically for, though I thought of my own mom and mother-in-law and other loved ones who had died from cancer.

The nine days passed. I felt good for doing this simple, positive thing.

A week or so passed, and then, unthinkably, I started to hear things. Within a span of only a few days, I learned that my cousin, a friend’s mother, my former brother-in-law, and another cousin’s wife had all just been diagnosed with cancer! I felt horrible — my generic “praying for anyone I might know who had cancer” actually applied to four people!

What the heck? Does this mean my prayers didn’t do any good? Does it mean I got a head start on praying for these people? Does it mean I need to do this again, with these people in mind? Are we just a few steps away from disaster at any given moment (yes, probably)? Yes, my faith is shaken a bit.

I understand the concept of faith. I know that faith means believing that God is listening and answering your prayers, even though they aren’t necessarily answered the way you want them to be. (And that sometimes, God’s answer is “no.”) I know that “having faith” means having it in bad times as well as good. But to hear of all these diagnoses, so soon after praying for cancer patients, is just so unreal. And, I also tend to believe that “there are no coincidences.” So what do I make of this?

And, just yesterday, this article appears on my news feed in Facebook. Another bizarre “coincidence” as I literally just had to have my annual mammogram retaken because of this very thing (which I’ve known I’ve had for years, thanks to my wonderful gynecologist, but had never read anything published about it).

All of this is hitting very close to home all of a sudden. In particular, I’m sick that my cousin’s cancer is quite serious (no real details on the others, except that one, at least, seems like a good scenario with a good prognosis). At this point, the best I can do is to channel my anxiousness and concern into more prayers for my family and friends, more specific this time around. But it’s hard to shake the feeling that the universe is speaking to me. So I will be praying, too, for the wisdom to answer it in the best way, with the right mind-set and the right actions. And most of all, with faith.

Pray, and let God worry.
~ Martin Luther

Then I went on to have a pretty good day. In true Libra style, the scales were returning to a balanced neutral.

But no, not quite yet. A project I worked on a couple months ago finally hit the presses today (and by presses I mean my client’s website), and I got to see the finished product. It was mostly what I remembered, except for the end.

“But it just…ends,” I thought. I had no idea how I had ended it, so I went back and looked. Of course, possibly the best six sentences ever written about tax risk had been lopped off the end.

Gone. Soul-crushingly gone.

Is that too dramatic? My soul is not easily crushed these days. I have grown more and more numb to editors’ liberties over the years. I understand that I get paid whether I’m happy with the finished product or not, and usually I’m OK with that. But sometimes…sometimes I feel sad for what could have been. What should have been.

I should have been asked — “Hey we’re running a little long, can you trim 6 or 7 lines from this (two-page) write-up.”

“Of course,” I’d have said (rolling my eyes), and then I’d have agonized just the right amount over what to cut. I’d have thoughtfully trimmed a little here and a little there. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have sent it back without the last six sentences — passive-aggressive much?

And so…just to restore a little balance to my Libra soul, and just in case they really did have the potential to save the world, here are those six sentences:

…: As the adage advises, the way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time.

First, is the organization asking the right question of its customers? While U.S. FATCA compliance may have begun with asking, “Is this customer U.S. or non-U.S.?” that is not the most effective way to deal with the now global myriad of regulations. Better practice would be to ask, “What is the tax residency of this customer?” Second, does the organization have an onboarding process in place and functioning to collect the required documentation from individuals and entities?

These are the basics, and once these questions have been satisfactorily answered, organizations can move on to tackle requirements that take effect at later dates, such as reporting and certain types of withholding.

World without end, amen.

It’s unhealthy for people to never express any kind of
negativity or doubt. To have balance, you need to address
that side of your thoughts as well as the positive.
Otherwise, you tend toward crazy.
~ Shirley Manson

You don’t need to hear about the troubles with our tax system from me — everyone agrees it’s too complicated, has too many loopholes, requires too many people to administer, is subject to fraud, and on and on. (My two cents? Two words: Flat. Tax.) But all the reasons to rail on the tax system took on a new dimension yesterday when I found myself feeling physically ill about having to open up the tax organizer from my mother’s CPA so that I could work on my mother’s taxes, even though she passed away more than a year and a half ago.

OK, technically, it’s “the estate” taxes I have to work on — estate being a relative term when you consider my parents’ modest income and lifestyle and “holdings” over their life (my mother’s hoarding tendencies notwithstanding). That I still have to stress about the taxes resulting from the death of a 93-year-old woman of humble means — and that I’ll have to do it again next year because of a few measly shares of stock that remain to be sold because the process for selling a deceased person’s decades-old shares of stock is a cluster f**k — is something I can’t believe more people don’t specifically call out as a big problem with the tax system.

Oh, and can I also mention that “settling the estate” also required the services of an attorney (at quite a cost, even though ours kindly gave us a break) as well as a CPA? And that the process and hoop-jumping flummoxed (and continues to flummox) otherwise intelligent, educated professionals (i.e., my sister and me)? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wondered how poor or uneducated people manage all this, and how greatly they must be taken advantage of along the way.

I also wonder what the heck is going to happen when Mike and I pass on with no direct heirs. No doubt we’ll have to appoint someone as executor/executrix (or maybe we did? — we have wills but I honestly don’t remember anything about this). I’m already sorry to burden that person with this baloney, having gone through it myself. It’s appalling that the government profits from someone’s death, after having already profited during that person’s entire life. And it’s appalling that the survivors, above having to deal with the grief of a loved one’s passing, are also burdened with making sure the government gets its cut before the rightful heirs get anything.

But I digress. I swallowed my nausea yesterday and spent a couple hours cobbling together the information for my mom’s accountant as best I can. Once I get a few remaining bank statements, I’ll send the whole mess to her and let her tell me what’s missing. And then — oh boy! — I get to start on Mike’s and my taxes — complicated, as always, by the fact that I’m self-employed, and requiring the services of yet another CPA to figure them all out.

I’m feeling a little sick again. And I notice I’m clenching my jaw. Time to go think happy thoughts…maybe over a glass of happy wine (subject to federal excise tax ranging from $1.07 to $3.40 per gallon, additional complicated state excise tax, and PA state tax averaging 6.4%).

Our new Constitution is now established, everything seems
to promise it will be durable; but, in this world,
nothing is certain except death and taxes.
~ Benjamin Franklin
letter to Jean-Baptiste Leroy, 13 November 1789
translated from French

Our helpful credit card company compiled an annual rundown of our spending in 2013 — all neatly categorized. It was eye-opening and more than a little scary. We use this card as much as possible to get the points, which we cash in to add to our vacation fund. The total was scary, the individual category amounts were scary, the idea that we spend so much money was scary, and understanding that this spending does not include mortgage, property taxes, insurance, or utilities was — is — terrifying.

Of course it all makes sense — it stands to reason if we earn X and save Y there’s a Z in there (for zpending) that’s big scary number. But I never really considered us to be zpendy people. We’re careful to not build up debt. I’m not one to buy pricey shoes or clothes or makeup or manicures (Mike isn’t either). We have gadgets (PCs, laptops, tablet, Kindle), but only got smartphones in the last year and older-generation, used ones to boot, and our carrier is a no-name, cheap one. We’ve taken 4 (maybe 5) non-lavish vacations in 8 years (and that wasn’t nearly enough). I can be a little crunchy/thrifty — I make my own laundry detergent and shower cleaner, wash and reuse plastic bags, avoid toll roads….little things.

And yet…numbers don’t lie. Some spending we can’t do anything about — gas is what it is (and it’s a lot, due to Mike’s long commute every day). Fixer-upperhood is expensive — home improvements/maintenance are never-ending, and copious amounts (Lowe’s & HD cards, paying the occasional contractor) aren’t even on the card.

But on the “maybe we can economize” side, we do give Walmart a lot of money — mostly for food, because Giant Eagle is too dang expensive. Plus we eat out on top of that (and it doesn’t include fast food or coffees that we pay cash for). Should it really cost $6K a year for two people to eat? And yeah, we have a lot of vehicles — not my preference — so there’s car maintenance (not to mention insurance; not on the card). There’s Target and Big Lots (and Sam’s doesn’t take the card, so that’s extra, too.). And geez, I just realized for some reason the PetSmart spending isn’t even on here — that’s odd, considering we almost always buy cat food and litter there. It would have been interesting to see what that amounted to.

So, what’s the lesson here?

Do I need to make a budget? We don’t have a budget for anything, especially not food. We talk about eating out less, and I push for it, but since I’m the one who does all the shopping and cooking, I’m also the one who’s happy to eat out to give myself a break. Frankly, I’m not sure how I’d even stick to a food budget — I’ve never done that (and obviously it shows). We could live off our pantry for quite a while — do I stockpile too much for just the two of us?

And then, on the other hand, I vacillate on the whole saving vs. spending thing. We’re beyond middle age these days, we don’t have kids, we both work, and will likely be working for many years yet. Sure, it’s important to save for old age, and no, we don’t have a huge retirement fund, but what if we don’t make it that far? Should we be so very careful now, foregoing those weekend Egg McMuffins, the pricier organic Greek yogurt, and those flats of summer annuals to save for a future that might never come?

Could we save more? Surely. Should we save more? Absolutely. Will we save more? Probably not, unless one of us loses our job or some other catastrophe befalls us. And you know what? If we do or it does, will I regret the money spent and not saved? Maybe. But it might just as well be that I look back on those less-than-frugal days, those “let’s get 2 of the bottles of on-sale wine” or “let’s stop for Chinese takeout” with fondness.

And who knows, now that I have a baseline “target,” maybe I’ll be inspired to try to make the next year-end summary a bit less scary. But then, that would mean fewer points and less cash back. Which means less for the vacation fund (and more pulled from savings). How’s that adage go again? A dollar spent is 1% (sometimes 5%!) cash-back earned?

We are not to judge thrift solely by the test of saving or spending.
If one spends what he should prudently save, that certainly is to be deplored. 
But if one saves what he should prudently spend, that is not necessarily
to be commended. 
A wise balance between the two is the desired end. 
~Owen Young

It made me wonder how these interactions would have happened in the olden days — like 25 years ago. We didn’t use email then (did it even exist?). When colleagues and I needed to exchange information, we talked to each other, or called, or left notes on each other’s desks. We didn’t have voicemail; if you called someone who wasn’t at their desk, you called back later or left a message with an actual person. We all had little, check-the-box “While you were out” pads that made it easy to communicate — let someone else know that someone had come by to see them or that they had had a phone call from X about Y. We relied a lot on our memories of what was said in conversation or notes that we, you know, wrote by hand — no CYA email trail in those days.

And friends, family? We didn’t have instant access to share a funny picture or interesting article — except by fax, and no one did that. We talked by phone (but not when we were anywhere but at home or work, where the phone was) or sent cards and letters. Sharing a picture was a big deal — you had to send your only print from the roll you had to get developed or have copies made. A lot of people sent their film away by mail for processing because it was cheaper. You’d wait anxiously to see how the pictures turned out. A lot of them didn’t turn out so well — you might look silly, eyes closed or mouth open or hair askew, and you’d have to rip it up or hope no one would show anyone. If a card or letter someone sent you made you LOL, you might call them to say that, but more likely you’d have to write them back — and an LOL several days later just isn’t the same.

It’s a wonder we could function at all. What with having to walk uphill both ways to work in blizzards and all, too.

It’s also weird to think that what in days of yore would have been simple, easily forgotten conversations or phone calls or notes are today all countable and “rememberable.” Four thousand interactions over the course of several years recallable in an instant.

Imagine if you never deleted any. Ever. If all the email exchanges you ever had were there for the perusing. Of course, not the boring work ones you’d never want to see again. But the others — the chats with friends, the shared jokes and memes, the advice given and received. A little like a living journal. In my case, I had a lot of emails pertaining to my mom’s care, illness, and death. About our work to clean out the house, settle the estate, sell the house. I have some giving or getting advice from friends. I even have a few about 9/11 — written on or in the days following the massacre. Some of them, though painful to remember, I still couldn’t delete. Not yet; maybe not ever.

I don’t plan to let my emails pile up that high ever again. Not that many years ago, I was vigilant about keeping my Inbox and Sent mail to 400 emails each. That’s probably not feasible anymore given all the projects I need to track over time. But I won’t let it reach 10x that number again. It may be an easy way to document slices of life — an unconscious journal — but I don’t think it’s worth a day of my current life to relive them.

What you need to know about the past is that
no matter what has happened, it has all worked together
to bring you to this very moment. And this is the moment you can
choose to make everything new. Right now.
~ Author Unknown

So in light of another even year ahead, I’m keeping my expectations — and aspirations — rather simple I think.

I don’t know what will be harder — getting rid of too many things or too many thoughts. Losing weight or gaining perspective. Minimizing the negative or maximizing the positive. So much comes down to mind over matter. What do I mind? What matters? I mostly know this already, but I need to get better at reminding myself — every day.

So far so good. One day down, 364 to go. (Another even number. Sigh.)

It is never to late to be who you might have been.
~ George Eliot