Nothing more pleasing than arriving home to find a slip in your mailbox saying you’ve missed a certified mail letter. Is it a coincidence that the slip is peach, close to the color of pink? Its common that something that has been sent certified is bad news…at least more often than it is good news in my experience. Couple that with the fact that the sender is the IRS, and well that equates to a restless evening.
I’ve always been a law abiding, tax paying, citizen. Ok well, for the most part. What in the world could it be, I thought to myself? Having received the pretty little slip well past 5pm, I had to wait out the night wondering what was in that envelope. To quench my curiosity I did the single most stupid thing which was google “certified letter irs” and what I read put me in a state of fear that can be described as paralyzing.
Collection efforts not responded to, garnished wages, failure to respond. Of course what I came upon were websites of attorneys (no offense to my south florida friends) looking to scare the living bejesus out of me and run to them for rescue, an assured initial payment of $3k - $5k. Let’s wait and see what it is I thought to myself. Don’t be so quick to judge how the attorneys represent themselves because I might need their help. It's just that I know it's not gonna be cheap to hire representation for a tax issue. I'll pay for great representation, but not good or mediocre representation, and I don't know any attorneys specializing in tax law.
The truth was, there were a million reasons you could have received a certified letter from the IRS, but chances were it was not good news. I contemplated the fact that perhaps it was not as bad as I thought. But no, I’ve never been lucky.
So I laid in bed last night. Toss and turned not only at the disturbing sound of the wind, but also the unknown in what lay in that envelope on Center Ridge Road. How weird I thought. This little bugger is going to keep me up all night and the sucker is less than a mile from my home sitting in some bin among a deep abyss of letters. Hope the letters for others are all good news.
I do not owe the IRS. I am current on all my filings. I’ve always waited well into March to fill to be sure I account for all my 1099’s. I’ve not been divorced. I’ve not smuggled money. I do not have a Swiss bank account. I know my financial situation inside and out and I could not come up with anything that I might have overlooked. After filtering through my tax returns dating back to 1998 and coming up empty handed, I could only wonder…What could it be?
This morning, I was up early, 430am. Preparing my green tea, masking my face, reading the local newspaper, trying to go through my normal routine and distract myself from thinking about that envelope. I would know in less than 4 hours what it contained.
As I pulled into the parking lot of the USPS office, I thought to myself, how bad could it be? Why am I letting the government scare tactics dictate my mood? The rainy grey day matched my solemn mood.
I scurried into the post office, reminding myself that the unknown would be discovered in less than 5 minutes, which turned out to be 15 minutes…of course! I was greeted, if that is what you want to call it, by Donna. An obvious tenured Federal employee…chipper as can be (chuckle).
I handed her my ID and the slip and said,
“I missed a delivery”.
She got the envelope, came back to the counter.
I said to her, “I didn’t sleep a wink last night because of this little guy.”
She laughed. “People get these all the time. It can’t be that bad, because you don’t have to sign for it. If you have to sign for it, then you owe money.” Think she has seen a few of these in her day?
She continues, “I did not file for 2007 and I received a notice that I was overpaid. They make mistakes all the time.”
Thinking to myself, I know this, but I don’t want the effing hassle. I’d rather not spent one iota of time on the government making an error.
“Thanks, you made me feel better.” I responded. I continued, “I made the mistake of googling what it could be last night and outside of feeling like I needed to go hire an attorney right away, I read horror stories that would make fantastic films. Trying not to get to far ahead of myself, but I am always prepared, and am horrible at dealing with the unexpected – I blame my dad’s genes for that.”
“Honey,” she said. “I live the unexpected.” She gave a wide grin. This time she made me laugh.
“Good luck” Donna said as I walked away.
I delicately opened the envelope as I walked to my car.
Good Karma…Good Karma...Good Karma…I thought to myself.
….And there it was…. 22, yes, I will repeat 22 pages of paperwork, notifying me that my taxes from 2002 were off by $5.08. I am owed a refund from the government of $5.08 which they are unwilling to pay because it’s past a 3 year limit on finding file errors. Oh, and if I want to appeal the decision, complete the paperwork and send it in, within the next 30 days. Congrats, time and money well spent. Somebody quick, call Obama and tell him the government is spending money frivolously.
I had to go back in and tell Donna, the USPS worker. Not only did I make her smile, but I made her down right laugh out loud…and a smoker’s laugh to boot. It couldn’t be more perfectly fitting.
“I told you,” she exclaimed.
“Yes, indeed Donna. Your words of encouragement were in fact, dead on!” I replied.
I continued, “I’d buy you lunch, but I don’t have 5 bucks on me.”
Friday, February 27
Are You Ever Really Afraid?
So, have you ever really been afraid of something? I remember when I first moved into my home....I was used to living alone. There is only one time in my life that I lived with someone, and that certainly wasn't under circumstances of being roommates, it was more like, help me please.
Anyways, I have always been a bit introverted. I like my personal space, and needs lots of personal down time to recoup and recover from a busy day. A lot of noise overwhelms me. Babysitting my niece and nephew when they were babies just downright exhausted me.
I love my home because its my personal retreat. My place to recharge and get ready to face another day.
But, there are times, when living alone, in a home that doesn't offer the typical securities of a high rise building, can be downright frightening. Tonight is one of those nights.
I should be sleeping soundly in my bed, but rather, a storm is coming in. We are in the 50's so its a cold front for sure, bound to bring snow and the wind is whipping.
My master bedroom is on the southwest corner of the home. Weather here in Ohio moves in from the West and North of course from the Lake.
This southwest corner of my home takes a beating when its windy, and coincidentally, I was the genius who thought the forest lot situated directly behind me would be a beautiful serene view and offer privacy; which it does, but it also offers me the fear of god when its windy.
Branches fall and hit the windows and the side and back of the house.
There is this one tree situated just outside my master bedroom, that is dying and breaking apart. Three failed written attempts to the HOA to have it taken down and I'll be writing my fourth letter tomorrow.
It is nights like these, when I am genuinely scared. When the wind kicks my stomach drops, and I will lay here in my bed as long as I can take it, until I surrender to the wind and take refuge in the front bedroom which is on the opposite side of the house from where the wind does not come. The bed is not as comfortable and I will not sleep as sound.
Emily will saunter in and follow after me. Feeling inconvenienced that I moved because she is snuggled here beside me, warm and asleep.
For it is nights like these, that I do wish I had the feeling of safety lying beside me.
Gentleman, the single most beautiful gift you can give your special someone is the feeling of safety. Take good care of the woman in your life, and let her know that no matter what, she will always be safe with you.
Alright, got to go now. That front room is calling my name.
Anyways, I have always been a bit introverted. I like my personal space, and needs lots of personal down time to recoup and recover from a busy day. A lot of noise overwhelms me. Babysitting my niece and nephew when they were babies just downright exhausted me.
I love my home because its my personal retreat. My place to recharge and get ready to face another day.
But, there are times, when living alone, in a home that doesn't offer the typical securities of a high rise building, can be downright frightening. Tonight is one of those nights.
I should be sleeping soundly in my bed, but rather, a storm is coming in. We are in the 50's so its a cold front for sure, bound to bring snow and the wind is whipping.
My master bedroom is on the southwest corner of the home. Weather here in Ohio moves in from the West and North of course from the Lake.
This southwest corner of my home takes a beating when its windy, and coincidentally, I was the genius who thought the forest lot situated directly behind me would be a beautiful serene view and offer privacy; which it does, but it also offers me the fear of god when its windy.
Branches fall and hit the windows and the side and back of the house.
There is this one tree situated just outside my master bedroom, that is dying and breaking apart. Three failed written attempts to the HOA to have it taken down and I'll be writing my fourth letter tomorrow.
It is nights like these, when I am genuinely scared. When the wind kicks my stomach drops, and I will lay here in my bed as long as I can take it, until I surrender to the wind and take refuge in the front bedroom which is on the opposite side of the house from where the wind does not come. The bed is not as comfortable and I will not sleep as sound.
Emily will saunter in and follow after me. Feeling inconvenienced that I moved because she is snuggled here beside me, warm and asleep.
For it is nights like these, that I do wish I had the feeling of safety lying beside me.
Gentleman, the single most beautiful gift you can give your special someone is the feeling of safety. Take good care of the woman in your life, and let her know that no matter what, she will always be safe with you.
Alright, got to go now. That front room is calling my name.
Thursday, February 26
This, That and A Little Bit More
Its Thursday and technically is a Tuesday for me. I came down with the flu this week and took two full days off from work. I am dehydrated beyond comprehension, but glad to be on my feet and finally feeling back to my old self. And work, oh god, I can't even go there. I'm so behind I will for sure be there all day Saturday.
It never ceases to fail. Put me on an airplane, and I am bound to get sick. I think I bring it on myself. Each person coughing, sniffling, wiping their nose with their bare hand, using the restroom too quick to have being able to wash their hands. I watch people do these things, or not do these things, too closely, and I swear this obsessing about cleanliness makes me sick.
When I travel, I always take Airborne, hand sanitizer and wash my hands constantly, and no matter what, I get sick. Must be that infected air just circulating through the plane. This is why I believe any final destination must be a place where it is at least 80 degrees during the day. Basking in the sun is a perfect way to ward off a cold or flu.
Which brings me to a thought I had the other day. I'll preface this comment by claiming its a significant thought, keeping in mind I am naturally blonde, and all though I can hold my own, I certainly have my moments. This thought came to me as a "Oh my god, that's it!" until I shared it with my mom and she was like, "Yeah, that's what a lot of people think".
Anywise, I figured out that its not the cold that bothers me as much as the snow. Rain, I love. But snow, I mean, after the first fall, its filthy and messy. In the winter, each pair of slacks needs to be taken to the dry cleaners each time you wear them, because the salt and snow soot gets on EVERYTHING. Add to this the fact that I love to wear black and it makes stepping out of the car more a single swift intentional movement that requires careful calculation of the distance of the pant leg to the car door. Snow is filthy. I also can't stand the fact that its near impossible to get outside. Sure, I see those MILF's out jogging in their full up winter gear, keeping it real even in the winter, but oh god girl, do you know what that is doing to your skin. Alternative, the gym...but its like so unbelievably packed. My only alternative, P90x - love you Tony.
So, that's my significant thought for the day. Snow totally sucks. It can snow for Christmas, and for New Year's that's cool... when the pretty little crystals fall upon the landscape during times of nostalgia. But after Jan 1 - Adios! After Feb 1 - Get the hell out of here. After Apr 1 - Fuck you.
I've got a long weekend in late April planned for Naples. Most definitely a trip to Miami, Marco, maybe even the Keys. All I know, is that I again will be escaping this hellish weather - well not exactly hell - more like hell frozen over.
It never ceases to fail. Put me on an airplane, and I am bound to get sick. I think I bring it on myself. Each person coughing, sniffling, wiping their nose with their bare hand, using the restroom too quick to have being able to wash their hands. I watch people do these things, or not do these things, too closely, and I swear this obsessing about cleanliness makes me sick.
When I travel, I always take Airborne, hand sanitizer and wash my hands constantly, and no matter what, I get sick. Must be that infected air just circulating through the plane. This is why I believe any final destination must be a place where it is at least 80 degrees during the day. Basking in the sun is a perfect way to ward off a cold or flu.
Which brings me to a thought I had the other day. I'll preface this comment by claiming its a significant thought, keeping in mind I am naturally blonde, and all though I can hold my own, I certainly have my moments. This thought came to me as a "Oh my god, that's it!" until I shared it with my mom and she was like, "Yeah, that's what a lot of people think".
Anywise, I figured out that its not the cold that bothers me as much as the snow. Rain, I love. But snow, I mean, after the first fall, its filthy and messy. In the winter, each pair of slacks needs to be taken to the dry cleaners each time you wear them, because the salt and snow soot gets on EVERYTHING. Add to this the fact that I love to wear black and it makes stepping out of the car more a single swift intentional movement that requires careful calculation of the distance of the pant leg to the car door. Snow is filthy. I also can't stand the fact that its near impossible to get outside. Sure, I see those MILF's out jogging in their full up winter gear, keeping it real even in the winter, but oh god girl, do you know what that is doing to your skin. Alternative, the gym...but its like so unbelievably packed. My only alternative, P90x - love you Tony.
So, that's my significant thought for the day. Snow totally sucks. It can snow for Christmas, and for New Year's that's cool... when the pretty little crystals fall upon the landscape during times of nostalgia. But after Jan 1 - Adios! After Feb 1 - Get the hell out of here. After Apr 1 - Fuck you.
I've got a long weekend in late April planned for Naples. Most definitely a trip to Miami, Marco, maybe even the Keys. All I know, is that I again will be escaping this hellish weather - well not exactly hell - more like hell frozen over.
Monday, February 23
Wild Wild West
As I hope someday soon to be closer to warmer weather, Ill have to say that I always imagined Miami as my final destination. After being dragged to a Professional Bull Riding (PBR) show this weekend, the West maybe something to consider.
There are many types of sports out there. Some sports require a lot of physical aptitude and a little mental fortitude. Some require a lot of both.
When it comes to PBR, I think it is quite fair to say that aside from having steel nuts, it really only requires physical strength.
The fact that PBR may not require a lot of mental discipline does not deter me from the like of the sport. I find this surprising as I consider myself to be driven more mentally than physically. I was pleasantly surprised how much humor and excitement I felt from a misbehaving bull or rider who is likely to get a horn up his ass if he failed to spring to his feet quickly.
Maybe it is the simplicity of the sport in a complicated world? Maybe it was the smell of dirt? It was not the smell of shit, I could have passed on that. Then, as I sipped on my Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer, an appropriate and selective (ugh) ode to a sport whose initials are PBR, it dawned on me. I love a man in uniform and in this case…leather chaps. Wear them on a horse, on a Harley…whatev, its pretty hot.
Now truth be told I am a baseball fan. Football is not my thing; aside from the Superbowl and a well matched challenger for my home team (which unfortunately had no matched challengers this past season). The warm weather, night games, a beautiful landscape and ages old style uniforms are tied to a nostalgia, its personal origination unknown.
I do also like boxing.
I am not sure what it is about a man in a uniform. Perhaps it’s the attire that represents his passion, his calling, his duty. Whatever the reason I find when a man wears his uniform with pride and works to perform at his best, it’s an enjoyable scene.
Gitty Up.
There are many types of sports out there. Some sports require a lot of physical aptitude and a little mental fortitude. Some require a lot of both.
When it comes to PBR, I think it is quite fair to say that aside from having steel nuts, it really only requires physical strength.
The fact that PBR may not require a lot of mental discipline does not deter me from the like of the sport. I find this surprising as I consider myself to be driven more mentally than physically. I was pleasantly surprised how much humor and excitement I felt from a misbehaving bull or rider who is likely to get a horn up his ass if he failed to spring to his feet quickly.
Maybe it is the simplicity of the sport in a complicated world? Maybe it was the smell of dirt? It was not the smell of shit, I could have passed on that. Then, as I sipped on my Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer, an appropriate and selective (ugh) ode to a sport whose initials are PBR, it dawned on me. I love a man in uniform and in this case…leather chaps. Wear them on a horse, on a Harley…whatev, its pretty hot.
Now truth be told I am a baseball fan. Football is not my thing; aside from the Superbowl and a well matched challenger for my home team (which unfortunately had no matched challengers this past season). The warm weather, night games, a beautiful landscape and ages old style uniforms are tied to a nostalgia, its personal origination unknown.
I do also like boxing.
I am not sure what it is about a man in a uniform. Perhaps it’s the attire that represents his passion, his calling, his duty. Whatever the reason I find when a man wears his uniform with pride and works to perform at his best, it’s an enjoyable scene.
Gitty Up.
Thursday, February 19
How I Took My Credit Score from 580 to 800
It was in the spring of 2003 that I realized that I had issues with my credit. In my twenties, I spent frivolously when I discovered that I could buy whatever I wanted by opening up a line of credit and charging it. What I did not understand was when I chose to do this was that I was going to have to pay a finance charge for having this money upfront. Yes, I was naive enough to actually believe they were giving me the money in advance at no cost.
At the time I began to open up lines of credit, I'm sure my credit was most healthy. I did not know what the score was, but I can only imagine it was strong, because I had college tuition loans paid in full and car loans paid off, both thanks to my generous parents.
When I began working, I had no good understanding of money. I spent money on whatever I wanted and when it ran out, I stopped spending until next pay day. Sometimes I would go a few days with just pennies in my account. Other times I would go 10 days with just $10. I had no concept.
And then it happened. I was standing at the Victoria’s Secret counter, and my card was declined. I could not buy the tango black lace panties and matching bra that I desired so badly. I had not opened up a single piece of mail that had been sent to my home when I started to receive the bills. My subconscious obviously working overtime in avoiding the inevitable because it was so much fun to eat out, drink out, be dressed to perfection with all the accessories, have a gym membership, a fab condo and all the furnishings to boot.
I still remember to this day, that feeling of embarrassment standing at that counter. I drove home, crying, knowing full well that I put myself in this situation and needed to get myself out.
I went home, pulled out the mail and opened every last single statement and jotted down the numbers on a piece of paper and added them up on the calculator on my cell phone. The number was astounding. It was not what I expected.
So then I began to research. Online, at the library, asking friends and family. How did credit work? How could I fix this? I learned about finance charges, revolving balance, credit limit, minimum payments, non revolving credit, APR, debt to income ratio, and FICO score among many other terms. I also learned of Experian, Equifax and Trans Union.
It took about five days for me to get the courage up to order my credit report and FICO score, and because I intended to fix my situation, I ordered a credit report and FICO score from all three agencies.
It took me a couple of days to filter through all the credit reports. My credit score ranged from 580-610 depending on the agency. My debt was deeper than what I was earning in a year.
That realization motivated me in ways that today I am grateful for it. I understood that value of working hard to earn money, the value of negotiating my worth to an employer, and the value of earning the things I had thought I was just deserved.
One by one I paid off those bills. Meticulously accounting for 3 years, each penny spent, each dollar earned. Sometimes Id fall off the bandwagon. I found I could restrain myself, just not as much as Id hoped. Rather than spending $1000 at Vickie's, I stopped at Starbucks more than once a week which was a violation of my self discipline. I would remind myself that this was an improvement not a failure to not be too hard on myself.
It has been over two years now that I have been debt free, aside, of course, from my mortgage which provides me a bit of tax relief. I have established a solid credit foundation by selecting a few reputable creditors, making purchases and them paying them off entirely. About mid way through my credit repair project, I pulled all credit reports again…my way to self motivate to achieving the credit I desired.
In these hard economic times, I encourage you to take advantage of the relief that the government is providing to improve your financial situation in a responsible way. Take fiscal responsibility for yourself and do not be a menace to society by overextending, or taking an adjustable mortgage rate that you know full well you will be unable to pay in the future…only to place these poor choices as tax burdens on others.
Use this time as an opportunity to wipe your slate clean and enjoy the freedom of life without the pressure of, “Can me or my family make it to next pay?” We may not all agree that the stimulus package is the right solution, but its here whether we like it or not.
From someone who has experienced debt and poor credit herself, I can promise you, the journey to debt and credit recovery will me humbling and rewarding. It’s empowering to know you can borrow, when absolutely necessary, get the most competitive rates and have no fear about the process.
At the time I began to open up lines of credit, I'm sure my credit was most healthy. I did not know what the score was, but I can only imagine it was strong, because I had college tuition loans paid in full and car loans paid off, both thanks to my generous parents.
When I began working, I had no good understanding of money. I spent money on whatever I wanted and when it ran out, I stopped spending until next pay day. Sometimes I would go a few days with just pennies in my account. Other times I would go 10 days with just $10. I had no concept.
And then it happened. I was standing at the Victoria’s Secret counter, and my card was declined. I could not buy the tango black lace panties and matching bra that I desired so badly. I had not opened up a single piece of mail that had been sent to my home when I started to receive the bills. My subconscious obviously working overtime in avoiding the inevitable because it was so much fun to eat out, drink out, be dressed to perfection with all the accessories, have a gym membership, a fab condo and all the furnishings to boot.
I still remember to this day, that feeling of embarrassment standing at that counter. I drove home, crying, knowing full well that I put myself in this situation and needed to get myself out.
I went home, pulled out the mail and opened every last single statement and jotted down the numbers on a piece of paper and added them up on the calculator on my cell phone. The number was astounding. It was not what I expected.
So then I began to research. Online, at the library, asking friends and family. How did credit work? How could I fix this? I learned about finance charges, revolving balance, credit limit, minimum payments, non revolving credit, APR, debt to income ratio, and FICO score among many other terms. I also learned of Experian, Equifax and Trans Union.
It took about five days for me to get the courage up to order my credit report and FICO score, and because I intended to fix my situation, I ordered a credit report and FICO score from all three agencies.
It took me a couple of days to filter through all the credit reports. My credit score ranged from 580-610 depending on the agency. My debt was deeper than what I was earning in a year.
That realization motivated me in ways that today I am grateful for it. I understood that value of working hard to earn money, the value of negotiating my worth to an employer, and the value of earning the things I had thought I was just deserved.
One by one I paid off those bills. Meticulously accounting for 3 years, each penny spent, each dollar earned. Sometimes Id fall off the bandwagon. I found I could restrain myself, just not as much as Id hoped. Rather than spending $1000 at Vickie's, I stopped at Starbucks more than once a week which was a violation of my self discipline. I would remind myself that this was an improvement not a failure to not be too hard on myself.
It has been over two years now that I have been debt free, aside, of course, from my mortgage which provides me a bit of tax relief. I have established a solid credit foundation by selecting a few reputable creditors, making purchases and them paying them off entirely. About mid way through my credit repair project, I pulled all credit reports again…my way to self motivate to achieving the credit I desired.
In these hard economic times, I encourage you to take advantage of the relief that the government is providing to improve your financial situation in a responsible way. Take fiscal responsibility for yourself and do not be a menace to society by overextending, or taking an adjustable mortgage rate that you know full well you will be unable to pay in the future…only to place these poor choices as tax burdens on others.
Use this time as an opportunity to wipe your slate clean and enjoy the freedom of life without the pressure of, “Can me or my family make it to next pay?” We may not all agree that the stimulus package is the right solution, but its here whether we like it or not.
From someone who has experienced debt and poor credit herself, I can promise you, the journey to debt and credit recovery will me humbling and rewarding. It’s empowering to know you can borrow, when absolutely necessary, get the most competitive rates and have no fear about the process.
Wednesday, February 18
To Audrey Jean
I remember my grandmother fondly, even though I lost her when I was young. The mother to my father, she was a lady of simple needs, great persuasion in the most subtle way, modest and giving – to those in need and to her family.
She was short, light skin and blond, my build, complexion and hair color most definitely from her genes. Ovarian cancer was her fate.
I remember her teaching me how to care for myself. How to bathe, how to dress, how to sit like a lady. She used to make me oatmeal for breakfast. The place sitting complete with the bowl, a spoon, a vitamin, a glass of orange juice and two small creamer holders…one with milk and one with brown sugar. The delicious and appropriate toppings for steel cut oatmeal.
She always drove what I called a fancy car. A Cadillac, a Lincoln. The typical car for a sixty something grandmother who was fit, good looking and active in the community. Her car always smelled new. She used to say,
“There will be two things in life you will always have to pay for. A house and a car. And you should get a new car every two years before you have to start fixing things on it.”
She worked as a bookkeeper for local businesses and kept my grandfather and her financials in line. She was loved by her sons, cherished by her husband and respected by those whose lives she touched.
She died during the winter months. When this time of year comes by, I feel the overwhelming loss of her. Winter months are a strain on my parents, my father in particular, for it is these months that remind him of her slow death. Endless trips to the hospital and her pain.
I’ll stop by to visit her grave, drive past the house she once lived in on Hillard Blvd, and remembering how she would tuck me in at night when I’d sleep over. Ill stop by the perfume counter at the mall, and purchase Oscar De La Renta, the scent she always wore.
I miss you grandma. For it is now that I miss, not just your warm oatmeal, but your good advice. There are times when I feel lost and unfound.
Saints of God come to her soul
Come to meet her angels of the Lord
Receive her soul and present her to God the Most High
Now that she has passed from this life
May she live on in your presence
All my love goes to you today Audrey Jean.
She was short, light skin and blond, my build, complexion and hair color most definitely from her genes. Ovarian cancer was her fate.
I remember her teaching me how to care for myself. How to bathe, how to dress, how to sit like a lady. She used to make me oatmeal for breakfast. The place sitting complete with the bowl, a spoon, a vitamin, a glass of orange juice and two small creamer holders…one with milk and one with brown sugar. The delicious and appropriate toppings for steel cut oatmeal.
She always drove what I called a fancy car. A Cadillac, a Lincoln. The typical car for a sixty something grandmother who was fit, good looking and active in the community. Her car always smelled new. She used to say,
“There will be two things in life you will always have to pay for. A house and a car. And you should get a new car every two years before you have to start fixing things on it.”
She worked as a bookkeeper for local businesses and kept my grandfather and her financials in line. She was loved by her sons, cherished by her husband and respected by those whose lives she touched.
She died during the winter months. When this time of year comes by, I feel the overwhelming loss of her. Winter months are a strain on my parents, my father in particular, for it is these months that remind him of her slow death. Endless trips to the hospital and her pain.
I’ll stop by to visit her grave, drive past the house she once lived in on Hillard Blvd, and remembering how she would tuck me in at night when I’d sleep over. Ill stop by the perfume counter at the mall, and purchase Oscar De La Renta, the scent she always wore.
I miss you grandma. For it is now that I miss, not just your warm oatmeal, but your good advice. There are times when I feel lost and unfound.
Saints of God come to her soul
Come to meet her angels of the Lord
Receive her soul and present her to God the Most High
Now that she has passed from this life
May she live on in your presence
All my love goes to you today Audrey Jean.
Love The Space You're In
Have you noticed how unbelievably well priced home furnishings are in today’s economy? Having brought a home about two years ago, I have steadily purchased things to make my space more ‘homey’.
The trick to adorning your personal space with furniture, art and collectibles is to be patient in your choices. It is quite costly, not to mention that you’ll need to feel the inspiration that something will work, rather than just go out and purchase a whole bunch of stuff. It takes time.
Case in point, my friend K, bought a home and felt the pressure to completely furnish it and fill its empty rooms. The end result with her quick purchases was paying interest on furniture, knick knacks and what nots, and ending up with a whole bunch of stuff that could not withstand her changing tastes. The likes of Pottery Barn and Crate & Barrel which are more appropriate for a few here and there to change the look through seasons, rather than the foundation of your canvas.
I am in need of a flat screen TV, a surround sound, a wine storage system, a nightstand and two large area rugs. I could as well use a foyer table. What I really want is a new watch, and a clock for my nightstand that I can stand looking at when I wake up; preferably this one: http://www.artdecocollection.com/1160.htm
If you prefer clean lines, muted earth tones and a variety of textures Ethan Allen and Herman Miller dealers are offering prices so reasonable, that if you pass it up, it could be considered a sin.
This 6 drawer dresser:
http://www.dwr.com/category/furniture/bedroom/matera-collection.do
which normally retails for $3600 was located through a dealer for $1800.
This chandelier:
http://www.ethanallen.com/product?productId=384&categoryId=8051
which normally retails for $3500 was located at my local store for $999.
6’ x 9’ all wool rugs solid print or subtle patterns for under $500
Stainless Steel, All Clad kitchen cookware sets for under $800
Name brand kitchen cutlery sets for a fraction of their typical resale
…and the list goes on.
It’s a great time to be furnishing a home. For those of you whom trust a interior designer to do the grunt work then consider yourself advised. When you receive your designers invoices…ask it to be line itemed, and be sure your are not paying full retail for the furnishings. Unless, of course, its something that you can not possibly live without.
The trick to adorning your personal space with furniture, art and collectibles is to be patient in your choices. It is quite costly, not to mention that you’ll need to feel the inspiration that something will work, rather than just go out and purchase a whole bunch of stuff. It takes time.
Case in point, my friend K, bought a home and felt the pressure to completely furnish it and fill its empty rooms. The end result with her quick purchases was paying interest on furniture, knick knacks and what nots, and ending up with a whole bunch of stuff that could not withstand her changing tastes. The likes of Pottery Barn and Crate & Barrel which are more appropriate for a few here and there to change the look through seasons, rather than the foundation of your canvas.
I am in need of a flat screen TV, a surround sound, a wine storage system, a nightstand and two large area rugs. I could as well use a foyer table. What I really want is a new watch, and a clock for my nightstand that I can stand looking at when I wake up; preferably this one: http://www.artdecocollection.com/1160.htm
If you prefer clean lines, muted earth tones and a variety of textures Ethan Allen and Herman Miller dealers are offering prices so reasonable, that if you pass it up, it could be considered a sin.
This 6 drawer dresser:
http://www.dwr.com/category/furniture/bedroom/matera-collection.do
which normally retails for $3600 was located through a dealer for $1800.
This chandelier:
http://www.ethanallen.com/product?productId=384&categoryId=8051
which normally retails for $3500 was located at my local store for $999.
6’ x 9’ all wool rugs solid print or subtle patterns for under $500
Stainless Steel, All Clad kitchen cookware sets for under $800
Name brand kitchen cutlery sets for a fraction of their typical resale
…and the list goes on.
It’s a great time to be furnishing a home. For those of you whom trust a interior designer to do the grunt work then consider yourself advised. When you receive your designers invoices…ask it to be line itemed, and be sure your are not paying full retail for the furnishings. Unless, of course, its something that you can not possibly live without.
Monday, February 16
Schizophrenic, Maybe So
In news today, a South Florida blogger has been detained and admitted into a psychiatric hospital, after it was found he was blogging with himself incessantly by creating fictional characters that he conversed with daily.
After a brief interview with Staff Psychiatrist, Dr. Shumie, it was discovered that this blogger who was thought initially to have a serious mental illness, may in fact just be brilliant, similar to the movie character in 'A Beautiful Mind' . What he believes to be true is actually not, however, his writing and characters so entertaining no one could resist reading his blog.
"He is an avid writer." Dr. Shumie stated.
"Do not mistake him for a fool, but take him for who he is." Dr. Shumie defended.
In a brief interview with the blogger, he had but only one comment which many are trying to understand...
"Is it Shumie time yet?"
In a strange twist, the blogger continues to ask for mashed potatoes?
After a brief interview with Staff Psychiatrist, Dr. Shumie, it was discovered that this blogger who was thought initially to have a serious mental illness, may in fact just be brilliant, similar to the movie character in 'A Beautiful Mind' . What he believes to be true is actually not, however, his writing and characters so entertaining no one could resist reading his blog.
"He is an avid writer." Dr. Shumie stated.
"Do not mistake him for a fool, but take him for who he is." Dr. Shumie defended.
In a brief interview with the blogger, he had but only one comment which many are trying to understand...
"Is it Shumie time yet?"
In a strange twist, the blogger continues to ask for mashed potatoes?
Saturday, February 14
Always and Forever
She was young when she realized she needed to free herself from the protection of her parents. She was working, loved her job and spending too much money and clothes and clubs and what nots. It was a fury of rage that motivated her to make the decision to rent her first apartment. She barely made enough to support her social happenings, and she worried about the sacrifices she must make to have her own space, but it would be worth it.
She dated a man whom she would later realize, fulfilled her in ways never known to be imaginable. He was sweet, sensitive, an attentive listener, knew what she liked and did not like, took care of her, embraced her family, and was willing to make their relationship the focus of their future. She had no idea how good he treated her until later relationships would prove that he was exceptional, not the norm.
She moved into the apartment. A one bedroom, which smelled of stale smoke, and its occupants more the single parent family type and older people, than people her age. But it was cheap. It was $350 a month. She could rent that space and still shop at Victoria’s Secret. So she took it.
Her parents were there to support, helping her move the hand me downs she had accumulated from friends and family when they heard of her choice to claim her independence. It would be a modest space. A pea green couch sectional, a full size bed and bed spring, with a mattress frame but no headboard and footboard. A ginormous dresser from the 70’s and a Kmart bookshelf which she adorned her 19’ TV.
J and she were madly in love. They were excited about the prospect of her new space because their sexual life was intense, active and explorative. They fantasized the weeks before the move about what their lives would be like. He was not going to move in, but they both knew that he would always be there. Knowing he would be at that apartment often gave her further strength in her fear of being alone…she knew he would be there whenever she needed him.
It was a few months she lived in that apartment before the first Valentine’s Day came around. J and she had simple plans. He was going to come over after work and school, she was going to get out of work early, make dinner and surprise him with a few treats. She left work at 3pm and went to the local grocery to pick up the fixing up a chicken breast dinner. J and A were lean, they ate healthy and only overindulged sexually.
She prepared the meal and left it in the stove. It was not what mattered most. What mattered most was her preparing herself for him. She wanted to take his breath away when she opened the door. She wanted him to forgo the dinner and move straight to dessert. She had brought herself a black silk thong, a black bra to match and a silk robe. Along with that she wore thigh high stocks, stiletto heels, red lipstick, curled her blonde locks and kept her eye makeup simple, just enough to make her eyes striking; showing off how green they were. She took a long hot shower, cleaning her canvas and preparing her body for the work of art she wanted to become for him. She covered every inch of her skin in his favorite lotion, it was sweet and it reminded him of her. He often liked it when her scent was left on him after a night of passion, him rushing to work and not having the time to take a shower, but the benefit being he could taste her and smell her the next day and call her to reminisce of the night past.
Her stomach was doing flip flops in anticipation of seeing his face when he opened the door. She knew he would be early; he could never help himself from wanting to see her. It was still early when she heard the rap on the door. The lights were off, the candles were burning, and the table was set. She took a final peek in the mirror, checking things front sideways and back, ensuring that every inch of her was just as she intended for him. She walked to the door, working to adjust her emotion to passion rather than showing the excitement that overcame her. She opened the door, their eyes met. He was standing there in his suit, a relatively expensive suit that he could made look like its worth a million bucks. He was holding red roses, and a box of chocolates, and he smelled like himself. He saw her, and couldn’t help himself. He walked in, took her by the waist and did not spend anytime presenting her with his gifts, but rather placed them on the foyer table…it was not to bother. He grabbed the back of her waist, pulled her close to him and tasted her, deeply. His hands floating over her skin. Whispering to her how beautiful she looked and how she made him feel. She melted in his arms, the passion overcoming her, and then the sweet surrender.
Happy Valentines Day J. My heart will always be with you.
You made me feel like a woman.
She dated a man whom she would later realize, fulfilled her in ways never known to be imaginable. He was sweet, sensitive, an attentive listener, knew what she liked and did not like, took care of her, embraced her family, and was willing to make their relationship the focus of their future. She had no idea how good he treated her until later relationships would prove that he was exceptional, not the norm.
She moved into the apartment. A one bedroom, which smelled of stale smoke, and its occupants more the single parent family type and older people, than people her age. But it was cheap. It was $350 a month. She could rent that space and still shop at Victoria’s Secret. So she took it.
Her parents were there to support, helping her move the hand me downs she had accumulated from friends and family when they heard of her choice to claim her independence. It would be a modest space. A pea green couch sectional, a full size bed and bed spring, with a mattress frame but no headboard and footboard. A ginormous dresser from the 70’s and a Kmart bookshelf which she adorned her 19’ TV.
J and she were madly in love. They were excited about the prospect of her new space because their sexual life was intense, active and explorative. They fantasized the weeks before the move about what their lives would be like. He was not going to move in, but they both knew that he would always be there. Knowing he would be at that apartment often gave her further strength in her fear of being alone…she knew he would be there whenever she needed him.
It was a few months she lived in that apartment before the first Valentine’s Day came around. J and she had simple plans. He was going to come over after work and school, she was going to get out of work early, make dinner and surprise him with a few treats. She left work at 3pm and went to the local grocery to pick up the fixing up a chicken breast dinner. J and A were lean, they ate healthy and only overindulged sexually.
She prepared the meal and left it in the stove. It was not what mattered most. What mattered most was her preparing herself for him. She wanted to take his breath away when she opened the door. She wanted him to forgo the dinner and move straight to dessert. She had brought herself a black silk thong, a black bra to match and a silk robe. Along with that she wore thigh high stocks, stiletto heels, red lipstick, curled her blonde locks and kept her eye makeup simple, just enough to make her eyes striking; showing off how green they were. She took a long hot shower, cleaning her canvas and preparing her body for the work of art she wanted to become for him. She covered every inch of her skin in his favorite lotion, it was sweet and it reminded him of her. He often liked it when her scent was left on him after a night of passion, him rushing to work and not having the time to take a shower, but the benefit being he could taste her and smell her the next day and call her to reminisce of the night past.
Her stomach was doing flip flops in anticipation of seeing his face when he opened the door. She knew he would be early; he could never help himself from wanting to see her. It was still early when she heard the rap on the door. The lights were off, the candles were burning, and the table was set. She took a final peek in the mirror, checking things front sideways and back, ensuring that every inch of her was just as she intended for him. She walked to the door, working to adjust her emotion to passion rather than showing the excitement that overcame her. She opened the door, their eyes met. He was standing there in his suit, a relatively expensive suit that he could made look like its worth a million bucks. He was holding red roses, and a box of chocolates, and he smelled like himself. He saw her, and couldn’t help himself. He walked in, took her by the waist and did not spend anytime presenting her with his gifts, but rather placed them on the foyer table…it was not to bother. He grabbed the back of her waist, pulled her close to him and tasted her, deeply. His hands floating over her skin. Whispering to her how beautiful she looked and how she made him feel. She melted in his arms, the passion overcoming her, and then the sweet surrender.
Happy Valentines Day J. My heart will always be with you.
You made me feel like a woman.
Love Potion
She was a young girl, once in love. The promise of a commitment with its potential fully unrealized was her motivation. It is the anticipation of what’s to come that allows her to survive and have hope. When her heart was broken, she set herself feel to find her true self, and be dependent on nothing but the possibility of what future life she could have. She is free, she is happy and she has barley scratched the surface of her deepness.
Her heart is wide, her soul is deep, her mind challenged, her loins hungry. She will not divulge to one who is anything but her ideal and whom treats her as if she is the single most important thing is this crazed insane social world we call life.
For today, is another day, in which we are reminded that love is an emotion, a feeling, a reason to be vulnerable, to surrender, to give faith and trust…and if nurtured it will indeed give back.
May each of you be touched in the most special way today by someone you love. A mother, a father, a brother, a sister, a friend, a spouse, a lover…the day to recognize the person in your life who is always there for you, can embrace you and make you feel better, and that you can trust without any hesitation.
Happy Valentine’s Day
Today I am going to have the time of my life, in this glorious space I’ve chosen to be.
Her heart is wide, her soul is deep, her mind challenged, her loins hungry. She will not divulge to one who is anything but her ideal and whom treats her as if she is the single most important thing is this crazed insane social world we call life.
For today, is another day, in which we are reminded that love is an emotion, a feeling, a reason to be vulnerable, to surrender, to give faith and trust…and if nurtured it will indeed give back.
May each of you be touched in the most special way today by someone you love. A mother, a father, a brother, a sister, a friend, a spouse, a lover…the day to recognize the person in your life who is always there for you, can embrace you and make you feel better, and that you can trust without any hesitation.
Happy Valentine’s Day
Today I am going to have the time of my life, in this glorious space I’ve chosen to be.
Saturday, February 7
To J
This morning I’m preparing myself for a wedding shower. What seems to be my twelfth wedding shower in two years. One of those wedding showers for my brilliant brother and his absolutely gorgeous and amazing now wife, the others for friends. Some friends I keep up with, some friends I have not seen but a few times in the past years, but the reunion and participation in something so fantastic in their life truly is a treat.
Today is the wedding shower for my friend J, and I could not be more happy to support her and spend this special day with her.
J and I go back to the age of nine. We have barely kept in touch over the years but each time we see each other we pick up right where we left off. Anticipating this shower, Ive taken a trip down memory trip with J. The drinks that accompany our conversation are the catalyst to our weeping childhood retreat, her typical choice margarita, mine vodka.
The memory I remember most is how she and I used to play on the “Slip ‘n Slide” in the summer. Both coming from very financially modest families, our imaginations were what inspired our activities. The “Slip ‘n Slide”, outside of the “Green Box” at the park around the corner, was about as good as it got and we did not feel slighted in the least bit.
We soaked up (pun intended) every bit of fun we could squeeze out of sliding on our bellies over the green grass and the occasional rock, rightly earning our bruises, in an attempt to stifle off the summer heat. This game included a running lead, a length equal to at least half the length of the slide. “Ready, Set, Go!” we would shout to each other. The first taking off, running as fast as we could, pumping our arms, gritting our teeth, speed was critical. Just as we approached the edge of that glorious yellow wonder, we’d launch from our toes, land on our belly, and take a wild ride all the way to the end. It was important, you know, to spread your arms out before you hit the end to stop yourself from going beyond the end. The result was worse than a rug burn from wrestling our brothers.
We would giggle in delight, meet at the foot of the slide, and turn to each other and say, “Nice to see you here. What a qa-winkie-dink.” And over and over and over, until we felt we would lose from our belly our Wonder white bread, Jif peanut butter and Smucker jelly sandwiches (hers grape, mine strawberry), which, oh by the way, we would add potato chips onto and then fake to mom that the bread was stale and crunchy. Chocolate milk to boot. It did not get any better than that.
Today J, I dedicate my post to you. I can’t wait to see your face when you open up my gift, a 9-cup food processor…and a “Slip ‘n Slide”. See you in the summer to test it out.
Today is the wedding shower for my friend J, and I could not be more happy to support her and spend this special day with her.
J and I go back to the age of nine. We have barely kept in touch over the years but each time we see each other we pick up right where we left off. Anticipating this shower, Ive taken a trip down memory trip with J. The drinks that accompany our conversation are the catalyst to our weeping childhood retreat, her typical choice margarita, mine vodka.
The memory I remember most is how she and I used to play on the “Slip ‘n Slide” in the summer. Both coming from very financially modest families, our imaginations were what inspired our activities. The “Slip ‘n Slide”, outside of the “Green Box” at the park around the corner, was about as good as it got and we did not feel slighted in the least bit.
We soaked up (pun intended) every bit of fun we could squeeze out of sliding on our bellies over the green grass and the occasional rock, rightly earning our bruises, in an attempt to stifle off the summer heat. This game included a running lead, a length equal to at least half the length of the slide. “Ready, Set, Go!” we would shout to each other. The first taking off, running as fast as we could, pumping our arms, gritting our teeth, speed was critical. Just as we approached the edge of that glorious yellow wonder, we’d launch from our toes, land on our belly, and take a wild ride all the way to the end. It was important, you know, to spread your arms out before you hit the end to stop yourself from going beyond the end. The result was worse than a rug burn from wrestling our brothers.
We would giggle in delight, meet at the foot of the slide, and turn to each other and say, “Nice to see you here. What a qa-winkie-dink.” And over and over and over, until we felt we would lose from our belly our Wonder white bread, Jif peanut butter and Smucker jelly sandwiches (hers grape, mine strawberry), which, oh by the way, we would add potato chips onto and then fake to mom that the bread was stale and crunchy. Chocolate milk to boot. It did not get any better than that.
Today J, I dedicate my post to you. I can’t wait to see your face when you open up my gift, a 9-cup food processor…and a “Slip ‘n Slide”. See you in the summer to test it out.
Wednesday, February 4
Playboy Much?
When you were a kid, at what age did you begin to become aware of sexuality? When did you know that sex was something that existed, to be desired, to experience?
My father was an avid fan of Playboy. When we were kids, it wasn’t until I was 12 that I started to ask why a particular magazine in the mail came in a plastic cover that was black. I was on to my mother and fathers secrecy…I just didn’t know what it was.
My mom had the most amazing grand walk in closet. The closet was full of pretty colorful clothes, jewelry, handbags, scarfs, stockings, hats. It smelled like her perfume. A pretty musky scent. On the occasional opportunity I had to sneak into her closet and play dress up, I took full advantage. This normally required my mother and father to be invited to a wedding, a night out of the town with their friends, or a dinner date! I would convince the babysitter that my mom didn’t care if I tried on her clothes…played dress up. She didn’t really, but mom would scold me for being persistent with the babysitter rather than just obeying her.
So I would organize my mothers things. Fold her stockings nicely, try on a hat. I loved to try on her high heels. I used to pretend I was older, and of course sneak in a tube of lipstick and look at myself in the full mirror in the closet.
One time, I was fumbling around, and noticed the lower half of a small enclosed area went further back than I have ever noticed. Almost like into a secret attic area. I scrunched down and wiggled myself back there. Once I got through, the ceiling rose again and I could stand up. It was an attic, just behind the closet.
There were boxes everywhere. It was dark, smelled musty and kind of hot. I couldn’t find a light so I ran back to my bedroom and got my flashlight. The trusty flashlight my dad put in my room in case the lights ever went out. I knew exactly where it was if I was ever scared... and needed a night light.
I ran back excitedly to the attic area and flicked the on switch of the flashlight. I remember thinking briefly that it was boxes of money. I don’t know why, I just remember wondering how my mom and dad always had money. I had several friends whose parents couldn’t even swing a 5 dollar bill for taco bell for lunch. When I looked more closely, I realized they were boxes and boxes of books.
As I went through the books, I came across a variety of topics. Nursing books, law enforcement books, old cookbooks, fiction novels, dictionaries. Then I stumbled upon something interesting. A box filled with old magazines whose cover had pictures of naked ladies, and really pretty naked ladies. I opened up the book and could not believe my eyes. There were naked, and look like my mom naked, but their busts bigger, and the waists smaller.
I remember the feeling overcoming me excitement. Not in a sexual way, but in a girlie way. It was as if I knew that someday I would look like that, and I couldn’t wait. Ah ha, now I knew that those magazines were covered in that black plastic. I sat down, and read the magazine. The articles were weird. Things I didn’t understand but could tell there were funny things to adults. I liked most to read the stuff the girl who was in the centerfold wrote about herself…and they always had the most bubbly hand writing.
As I heard the babysitter coming up the stairs calling my name out wondering what I was doing upstairs in my moms closet for so long, I hustled to put the magazines back just so, turned off the flash light, hid it under a pile of stockings and pretended like I was trying on a hat.
“What are you doing in here” the babysitter asked.
“Nothing, just pretending like Im a big girl” I responded.
“But you already are a big girl” she said.
“But not a really big girl” I replied.
She laughed, grabbed my hand and took my downstairs and made me some popcorn. She was the coolest babysitter, Missy.
From that day forward, any and every opportunity I had to sneak into that closet and look at the pictures and read I took full advantage. My curiosity was overwhelming.
My father was an avid fan of Playboy. When we were kids, it wasn’t until I was 12 that I started to ask why a particular magazine in the mail came in a plastic cover that was black. I was on to my mother and fathers secrecy…I just didn’t know what it was.
My mom had the most amazing grand walk in closet. The closet was full of pretty colorful clothes, jewelry, handbags, scarfs, stockings, hats. It smelled like her perfume. A pretty musky scent. On the occasional opportunity I had to sneak into her closet and play dress up, I took full advantage. This normally required my mother and father to be invited to a wedding, a night out of the town with their friends, or a dinner date! I would convince the babysitter that my mom didn’t care if I tried on her clothes…played dress up. She didn’t really, but mom would scold me for being persistent with the babysitter rather than just obeying her.
So I would organize my mothers things. Fold her stockings nicely, try on a hat. I loved to try on her high heels. I used to pretend I was older, and of course sneak in a tube of lipstick and look at myself in the full mirror in the closet.
One time, I was fumbling around, and noticed the lower half of a small enclosed area went further back than I have ever noticed. Almost like into a secret attic area. I scrunched down and wiggled myself back there. Once I got through, the ceiling rose again and I could stand up. It was an attic, just behind the closet.
There were boxes everywhere. It was dark, smelled musty and kind of hot. I couldn’t find a light so I ran back to my bedroom and got my flashlight. The trusty flashlight my dad put in my room in case the lights ever went out. I knew exactly where it was if I was ever scared... and needed a night light.
I ran back excitedly to the attic area and flicked the on switch of the flashlight. I remember thinking briefly that it was boxes of money. I don’t know why, I just remember wondering how my mom and dad always had money. I had several friends whose parents couldn’t even swing a 5 dollar bill for taco bell for lunch. When I looked more closely, I realized they were boxes and boxes of books.
As I went through the books, I came across a variety of topics. Nursing books, law enforcement books, old cookbooks, fiction novels, dictionaries. Then I stumbled upon something interesting. A box filled with old magazines whose cover had pictures of naked ladies, and really pretty naked ladies. I opened up the book and could not believe my eyes. There were naked, and look like my mom naked, but their busts bigger, and the waists smaller.
I remember the feeling overcoming me excitement. Not in a sexual way, but in a girlie way. It was as if I knew that someday I would look like that, and I couldn’t wait. Ah ha, now I knew that those magazines were covered in that black plastic. I sat down, and read the magazine. The articles were weird. Things I didn’t understand but could tell there were funny things to adults. I liked most to read the stuff the girl who was in the centerfold wrote about herself…and they always had the most bubbly hand writing.
As I heard the babysitter coming up the stairs calling my name out wondering what I was doing upstairs in my moms closet for so long, I hustled to put the magazines back just so, turned off the flash light, hid it under a pile of stockings and pretended like I was trying on a hat.
“What are you doing in here” the babysitter asked.
“Nothing, just pretending like Im a big girl” I responded.
“But you already are a big girl” she said.
“But not a really big girl” I replied.
She laughed, grabbed my hand and took my downstairs and made me some popcorn. She was the coolest babysitter, Missy.
From that day forward, any and every opportunity I had to sneak into that closet and look at the pictures and read I took full advantage. My curiosity was overwhelming.
Tuesday, February 3
Monday, February 2
Da Bears
It was late summer of 2006. I was traveling quite frequently between Cleveland and Florida. My travels to Florida took me to Gainesville and Jacksonville to manage client contracts.My friend, G who lives in Atlanta, normally spent a long weekend in the late summer with friends, deep in the woods. The forest was about 2 hours outside of Atlanta and, according to G, had spectualar campsites. No electricity, no running water…however a small river to bathe in.
He convinced me to go. Although I must admit I had a lot of anxiety about not having a blow dryer. I decided I would embrace the experience of connecting with nature, and “roughing it” the way our ancestors used to.
We would be heading to the campsite early Friday morning, with plans to arrive early Friday afternoon. Doing this would give us time to set up the tents, chairs, cookwear, fire pit, etc. and to hit the local grocery store to stock up on essentials for fireside cooking. You know, eggs, green peppers, onions, sausage, beer, and marshmallows.
We would spend Saturday hiking and mountain biking. Sunday we would again hike and then head out early enough to beat the rush of traffic moving back into Atlanta and spend Sunday and Monday recovering back in civilization. A hot shower and a full meal would be the top priority when arriving in Atlanta.
I drove from Jacksonville to Atlanta and arrived late Thursday night. The group of us rose early Saturday and filled the SUV’s with all the essentials and hit the road. A quick stop at StarBucks along the way.
The air was warm, the conversation great and the anticipation of doing nothing too mentally intense and challenging our bodies physically was discussed at length.
“Are there bears in these woods”, I stupidly asked.
“Of course”, G replied.
“So how do we protect ourselves from getting mauled?” I inquired.
“The bears will not come around us. We just need to be sure we don’t leave any food on the campsite and we have to be very careful to rinse down any pot or pan that we cook in. The key is to dispose or get rid of any food scent so as not to lure the bears to the campsite. They are more afriad of us than we are of them” S explained.
“Really? Did you hear about that group of joggers? Last jogger disappeared, only for the group later to discover she was snatched up by a bear. The article was talking about how the bear was probably hunting and seeing the last jogger as the weakest and the easist to catch. Scary stuff.” I rebuttaled. “They didn’t even know it happened until hours later.”
“A bear is not going to come onto our campsite. Besides, if it does and it looks like it might attack, Ill shoot it” M exclaimed.
“Yeah, lets not wait to see if its going to attack. If a bear comes on our campsite, just shoot it.” I demanded.
As we pulled into the small town, we talked about the simplicity of the lives of those that lived in that town. Catering to people like us to experience what they lived every day. We were humbled by their dedication to living the simple life, and their need for nothing too grandiose. Some of us, secretly jealous.
We drove up and down the hilly area, deep into the wooded area and far into a campsite. We pitched our tents at a campsite just along a river. The campsites next to us were a good distance away so privacy was not an issue. A few of us drove to the local mart and picked up our weekend supply of sustanance. As we drove back, I could not but again wonder, ok worry, about the bears. I could tell from how deep and thick the forest area was, and how expansive, that there were probably a plethora of bears. How would their curiosity not get the best of them?
“So, this bear thing” I again said.
M began laughing out loud. “Oh this again!”.
“Yes, I said. Im not buying that a bear wont come onto a campsite. Are you sure we don’t have to worry about it when we hit the sack? I mean, can’t we buy something that we can burn or put around our camp area that would deter a bear if he came around?” I inquired.
“We’ll get so drunk that we wont care if there is a bear on our campsite” M joked to try to make me feel better.
“Uh yeah right, then instead of shooting the bear, the idiot with the gun shoots a person. Real cool M. Sounds like a Dateline story to me” I said.
It was at this moment that I felt vulnerable. I mean, I knew these people well enough, but like a scary movie, who the hell knows what goes on back here in these areas. I freaked myself out.
When we arrived back at the campsite, I decided to grab my mountain bike and head out for a ride. I needed to blow off some steam and get my head back on track. I had myself so worked up over this bear that I was afraid that I wouldn’t enjoy the weekend.
We had a great Friday night. We cooked, we chowed, we drank beers, we talked, we listened to music, we discussed theory, philosophy, current events. The evening was long. Each person showed respect in allowing another to voice their opinion at length and we really dug deep into some life topics, rather than just scratching the surface. At about 3am, we all retreated to our tents, pairing up. As I stumbled into my tent, I jokingly shouted out to the other tents
“Hey M, you got that gun handy right”.
“Go to bed” M responded. “Ill protect us all if need be.”
I laid my head on the pillow, inhaled the fresh air deeply and slept like a baby.
The next day, I rose to the smell of coffee perculating on the smoldering fire.
“Good Morning” G said to me as I exited the tent.
“Good Morning”, I said as I stretched to the sky and again inhaled deeply. “My God is it gorgeous here”.
It was early enough that the fog in the forest was low. The temperature had dipped in the evening and the September heat had not rose yet to burn off the fog. Suns rays darting through the tall pine trees, the sound of the river rushing by, and birds chirping.
I took a quick dip in the river. Talk about a way to wake up! It was so frigid, every inch of my skin tightened as I entered the water. “Who needs a pour minimized mask at a spa when you’ve got this” I chuckled to myself.
As the others arose, we nibbled on eggs, sipped our coffee and prepared for our day of hiking and mountain biking.
After a physical day, we all headed back to our campsite about 4pm. Exhausted, covered in mud, our muscles aching, our minds free. We all again bathed, prepared our meal and began our evening fesitivties.
Chicken, cous cous and asparagus was the meal. M prepared the meal with great attention under my influence. We flavored the cous cous with rosemary and pine nuts. Again, another great evening of food, conversation and alcohol indulgence. This evening, however, we were heavily influenced by alcohol. It was near 4am when the last of us decided to settle in and rest. We did a quick once over of the campsite to be sure the garbage was in the dumpster, the pots and pans cleaned, the beer bottles disposed of and the picnic table and seating area watered down to rid of any food droppings.
I had closed my eyes for what seemed like only a minute.
“CRASH” was the noise I heard from just ouside my tent. The firepit was still slightly burning, so it gave off a amber glow. I sat straight up. The noice of the crash was familiar. It sounded like the cooler full of ice had been dumped over.
A loud grunting noise came from outside the tent. I knew what it was immediately. My body froze. My heart raced and I could hear it pounding in my ears. I lightly shook G awake and as she opened her eyes I covered my lips with my index fingering signaling her to keep quiet. She sat up. She looked at me and could tell I was frightened. She sat up and saw what I saw. The amber glow from the fire outlined the body of a bear, just outside our tent rummaging through our campsite.
There was a gentleman whose campsite was across from ours. He was very familiar with the campsite as he frequented the camp every weekend in the summer. He and a few good old boys spent their weekends at the campsite. I heard him from afar,
“Holy shit, look at that bear over there on that campsite!” He shouted.
Effing fantastic I thought to myself. He is an expert and even he is surprised. I could not hear the others in their tents and most imporatntly, M. He had the gun. Was he awake? Does he hear or see the bear? Will the bear attack? The bear is less than four or five feet from my tent. If the bears comes over to the tent, how do I respdon? Do I try to scare him? Do I play dead? Do I yell? Do I escape out the backside of the tent and run? Will that put others in danger? I had no idea what to do. I regretted that I did not read up on how to handle such a situation when my instincts had warned me that this was a possibility. Where the eff is my blackberry so I can google, “How to Scare A Bear”. I felt totally and completely helpless. Although I did not know what to do, what I did know for sure was that this would all be over soon, and I had to do the best that I could do and deal with it. Better to deal with it in confidence than in total fear I reminded myself. You’ll make a better decision if you tell yourself you can handle this!
The fear was paralyzing but I needed to do something. I wanted to see and know what I was up against. My hand shaking, I pulled the front flap of the tent, which was not zipped, to the side just a smidgen. What I saw was a large brown bear on the picnic table. I watched for what seemed like an eternity but was probably only a few minutes. He would smell a morsel on the table and use his large paws to try to pick up that morsel from the table and would sit back on his hind legs and lick his paws. When he sat back on his hind paws I would guess he was six feet tall, maybe even seven. He was massive. I knew that if he approached the tent, I would not be able to defend myself. But I watched him, his every move to anticpate what was next.
Sunday, February 1
Hug A Jew
Tomorrow celebrates the annual, “Hug A Jew" day.
A few Jews I’d like to send a hug to:
Sigmund Freud – I studied you intensely and I am in love with you. Psychoanalysis is a widely underappreciated mental health science.
Bugsy Siegel – You know you raped her, we know you raped her, she knew you raped her, you should not have done that. Your death is ironic. Rest in Peace, your life brought you none and you deserve peace.
Anna Freud – The children you helped thank you.
Albert Einstein – Ok, well I totally don’t get the physics but I love the theory.
Lisa Carver – Crazy bitch, you just need a hug.
Bob Dylan – Because your music moves me and touches my soul.
Joseph Brodsky – I read you naked.
Howard Schultz – I don’t care what you put it in, its grand and your campaigns to bring fresh water to those who don’t have it, is a good thing – Ive bought a million of those bottled waters, and yes, I recycled them.
Jerry Seinfeld – Yes I am a fan.
Neil Diamond – Sweet Caroline!
Jennifer Connelly – How do you do it? I always believe your character.
Selma Blair – You crack my shit up.
Paul Simon, Gene Simmons, Lisa Loeb, David Lee Roth, Linda McCartney, Taylor Dane, Jakob Dylan, Beck, Woody Allen, Mel Brooks.
And to my favorite Jew, whose name must remain unmentioned. For it is you I think of often. You are one of a few who touched me at a time in my life when I needed it most. Thank you, for being there. You gave a second chance.
Elle Michelle - you love him entirely, and I thank you for that. May you always be to each other what you are unable to be to yourselves.
Carrie Michelle – keep it real girl, you always have and you always will, you will prevail, you will defeat and its only the beginning for you!
A few Jews I’d like to send a hug to:
Sigmund Freud – I studied you intensely and I am in love with you. Psychoanalysis is a widely underappreciated mental health science.
Bugsy Siegel – You know you raped her, we know you raped her, she knew you raped her, you should not have done that. Your death is ironic. Rest in Peace, your life brought you none and you deserve peace.
Anna Freud – The children you helped thank you.
Albert Einstein – Ok, well I totally don’t get the physics but I love the theory.
Lisa Carver – Crazy bitch, you just need a hug.
Bob Dylan – Because your music moves me and touches my soul.
Joseph Brodsky – I read you naked.
Howard Schultz – I don’t care what you put it in, its grand and your campaigns to bring fresh water to those who don’t have it, is a good thing – Ive bought a million of those bottled waters, and yes, I recycled them.
Jerry Seinfeld – Yes I am a fan.
Neil Diamond – Sweet Caroline!
Jennifer Connelly – How do you do it? I always believe your character.
Selma Blair – You crack my shit up.
Paul Simon, Gene Simmons, Lisa Loeb, David Lee Roth, Linda McCartney, Taylor Dane, Jakob Dylan, Beck, Woody Allen, Mel Brooks.
And to my favorite Jew, whose name must remain unmentioned. For it is you I think of often. You are one of a few who touched me at a time in my life when I needed it most. Thank you, for being there. You gave a second chance.
Elle Michelle - you love him entirely, and I thank you for that. May you always be to each other what you are unable to be to yourselves.
Carrie Michelle – keep it real girl, you always have and you always will, you will prevail, you will defeat and its only the beginning for you!
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