Category Archives: Days in My Life

I don’t just sit around and watch TV.

Your Tax Dollars at Work

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Not exactly a newsflash; just restating how the IRS wastes time and money.

I just got off the phone with the IRS. I’d called them because I needed a confirmation letter with my company name and EIN. I’d had a document like that, but it was likely among those destroyed when my wasband stored cardboard boxes of my personal and business documents, books, and software on the floor of my hangar and the hangar flooded, thus destroying everything in those boxes. If he still wonders why I threw so many of his personal items into random cardboard boxes in the garage during the 10 months I lived in our Wickenburg home last autumn/winter/spring, that should give him a clue. He should consider himself lucky that I didn’t leave those boxes outside or turn the hose on them.

Confirmation of Sin?
Searching for “confirmation of ein” results in this interesting suggestion — on the IRS website?

Anyway, I tried to get the document I needed online. I got some comic relief from the search system on the IRS website before zeroing in on a document with instructions that I thought would help.

Instructions

You can read as well as I can. The third bullet point tells me to call the Business & Specialty Tax Line at a toll-free number. So I dialed it up on my cell phone, pressed 1 when prompted to get English (really?), and then pressed 3 to tell them I needed an EIN certification letter. The machine then warned me I’d have a 30 minute wait time.

I got out my bluetooth earpiece, plugged it into my ear, and turned it on. And then I went about my business while on hold.

I waited more than 30 minutes. It didn’t really bother me because my cell phone has unlimited minutes and the music they were playing was tolerable. I did some banking and wrote a few email messages. I washed the dishes. I updated my to-do list.

58 minutes after dialing, a series of beeps and clicks told me something was happening. After a moment, a woman got on the line.

I told her what I needed. She asked me questions to confirm my identity. Then she said she’d “generate a letter” and that I’d get it “in the mail in 5 to 7 business days.”

I asked if it were possible to have the letter generated as a PDF and emailed to me. She said they didn’t have the ability to do that. That didn’t surprise me in the least. An organization that takes nearly an hour to answer a phone call isn’t one that’s likely to be too technologically savvy.

We talked briefly about my hour-long wait on a toll-free number. It didn’t cost me a dime — directly. But as a taxpayer, it cost me money. If you pay taxes in the U.S., it cost you money, too. After all, toll-free numbers might be free to people who dial them, but they’re not free to the people who answer them. I don’t know what the going rate is, but even if it’s only 5¢/minute, the IRS spent $3 to make me wait on hold. Assuming I wasn’t the only one with an hour-long wait today, that’s $3 for every call they take.

We also talked about the cost of generating that letter, stuffing it into an envelope, putting a stamp on it, and sending it to me. That’s another buck or two in materials cost and labor, no?

Of course, she doesn’t care. She’s got a job and she’d doing it. I understand that and told her I didn’t blame her in the least. I just told her I wished our government could step up into the 21st century with the rest of us.

They could do that, of course, by giving business owners access to the database. Have a front end that asks me the same questions she asked to give me the ability to generate the document onscreen or as a PDF for immediate access. The phone call wouldn’t be necessary, the wait wouldn’t be necessary. I’d have my document now instead of having to wait a week to get it.

Why do I need this particular document? Ironically, so I can upload it to a website as documentation for opening a new account. At least someone is using technology right.

Dear Jackie

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Thanks for the monkey lamp. I’ll miss you.

lamp1lamp2lamp3lamp4lamp5lamp6lamp7lamp8Just a few of your antique lamps. We lit them up and I photographed them to remember them forever.

Dear Jackie,

I’d hoped to see you one last time, to say goodbye and give you some comfort in your final days — the kind of comfort you can only get when people who love you are near. But it was not meant to be. I got the phone call about your death on Monday morning, while driving back from the appointment that prevented me from coming sooner. Although I was sad that I missed you, I knew that you likely welcomed that final sleep. You were finally out of pain after years of deteriorating health and illness, able to rest easy.

Still, the plane tickets were bought and paid for and the time was scheduled on my calendar. My mom was already on her way, driving up from Florida. (She missed her chance to say goodbye by less than 24 hours.) Although you’d made it clear that you didn’t want a service, I knew we’d gather to lay your ashes to rest per your instructions. And then there was your house and all the things inside it — my mom and cousin Rosemary would have quite a chore ahead of them. So I came, of course, and even though I wasn’t able to say goodbye in person, I was able to say goodbye by revisiting my memories of you though the wonderful things you left behind in your home.

And what things! Yes, your house was a mess — but among the clutter were the amazing things you collected over your long career as an antique dealer. No one could imagine the treasures stuck in every corner of your house. I hope you don’t mind that I shared photos of your lamps and candlestick holders and all those VHS tapes with my friends on Facebook. I wanted to give them a glimpse of what we were experiencing as we went through the crazy, wonderful, chaotic clutter you left behind.

First were the lamps. You know how I loved your lamps! After Grandma left me her Jefferson lamp — which she’d bought from you years before — I came to your home to buy a similar lamp to go with it. You sold me another reverse-painted lamp, a Handel. I got so much pleasure out of them in the living room of my home, making sure to light them when company came. They were the first things I packed when I prepared to move out at the end of my marriage; it was vital to protect them from the desperate old woman who’d already begun cataloging my things, so eager to take my place in my home. Everyone in the family had a good laugh at her ignorance when she listed them as “Pairpoint Puffs” on an inventory my wasband submitted to his lawyer.

But although you’d shown me many reverse-painted lamps that day back in 1999, you didn’t show me all of them. Or any of the other styles that really didn’t interest me. One by one, my mom, Rosemary, and I lit them up to admire them. I took photos. I knew that they’d go to auction and I wanted to remember them all. So beautiful! Handel, Pairpoints, Tiffanys, and names I’ll never know. I was tickled when one of my Facebook friends suggested putting them for sale on Etsy, a craft web site. She had no idea that these were the real deal, worth thousands at auction. I’m sure they’ll make many collectors and art lovers happy — at least as happy as I am to have mine.

The Monkey LampThe monkey lamp. Yes, its eyes really do light up.

And yes, I finally got the monkey lamp. You know how much I admired it — how many times did I try to get you to sell it to me? Such an unusual piece in such an unusual house. It reminds me of you and of all the times my family visited you there.

Visiting you at that house when I was a kid was like a trip to a museum. Even though I didn’t really understand what I was seeing, it was all magical to me. So many wonderful things — most of which I wasn’t allowed to touch! Back in the early days, when Victor still lived there with you, you still had the shops in the basement and backyard. I remember walking through that basement shop with my arms obediently at my sides, just looking. Once, you let me pick something from a cabinet — it was a small portrait of Abe Lincoln decoupaged to a piece of wood. Do you know I found that little picture when I was packing last year? I still had it nearly 45 years after you gave it to me!

I remember those days well, especially the Christmas visits. You and Victor always did an amazing job decorating the house with a real Christmas tree that climbed up to the ceiling, covered with antique (of course!) ornaments. A fire was always going in the fireplace — a real treat for us because we didn’t have a fireplace at home — and you’d always make it extra special by tossing in some sort of crystals that turned the flames all different colors.

Backyard The backyard is nothing like I remember it.

And the backyard — in those days it had a rough but well-trimmed lawn with concrete paths that sloped down to the shops in the backyard. But today the yard is a tangle of young trees, weeds, and brambles. The paths are hidden beneath the brush. The small shop is a pile of wood and the large shop is a mostly collapsed mess.

vhsWe found about 1,500 VHS tapes among your things. Why did you have so many? We’ll never know.

But this week, the house was dark with drawn curtains and shades. Even all those lamps couldn’t brighten it up. The air was musty — the same antique smell I remember from childhood, but intensified. We went through your things, organizing, gathering, and discarding while reminiscing about you. The candlestick holders filled your dining room table. The soapstone carvings filled another table in the living room. As I cleared shelves full of VHS tapes that you’d collected for reasons only you know — more than 1500 of them! — we filled those shelves with crystal and silver and carnival glass.We cleared your closets, giving your clothes — including so many pants and shirts that still had store tags on them — and linens to Goodwill. Why did you have so many ties? We’ll never know. And eyeglasses — I’d never seen you wear them, but they were all over the house. Now they’re in a bag, ready to donate to the Lions.

recordsEvery room of the house had boxes of record albums, but the attic crawlspaces were absolutely crammed with them.

The record albums, stored in liquor boxes in every room of the house, were beyond my capabilities. We sent my brother in to handle those. Even he gave up after a while. I don’t know how many there are, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there were 5,000 of them. The boxes stretched into the darkness of the crawlspaces in your attic. We found a Craig’s List browser to take the VHS tapes for free; she came with her husband and a trailer. Those LPs, however, deserve better attention; a record dealer will be coming from New York to look at them on Monday and I hope he comes with a truck and helpers.

There were light bulbs in almost every drawer we opened — too many for even a lamp dealer to have on hand. And plastic bags — what was up with that? It looked to me as if you’d saved every plastic grocery bag you’d ever brought home and talked them into giving you bunches and bunches of brand new ones, too. Lots of paper towels and laundry soap — you must have gotten quite a deal on that stuff in the store to have been stocking up so much. More than once, the word “hoarder” came to mind, but although you saved a lot of things many people would have thrown away, I could never call you a hoarder.

I thought often during the week about our last few conversations on the phone. You’d heard from my mother all about my divorce ordeal, about the man I’d loved and trusted for more than half my life betraying me with lies and infidelity and trying to steal everything I’d worked so hard for my whole life. That’s when you confided in me about your own pain all those years ago, about Victor’s departure and some of the vindictive things he did to you. We had that in common: heartbreak. You understood my tears and tried to comfort me with words over the phone. I appreciated that.

Jack DeGaetano circa 1975.
Jack DeGaetano circa 1975.

I wanted so badly to see you before you slipped into the final sleep. I wanted you to feel the love of family members at your life’s end. I wanted to comfort you, if I could. I’m sorry I was unable to do that. I hope you’ll forgive me.

The monkey lamp is your parting gift to me and I will treasure it always. I promise that it will occupy a place of honor in my new home, never sold or given away. And when guests come by and comment about its oddness and glowing eyes, I’ll tell them stories about you and your home and your wonderful things. It’ll help keep you alive in my memory forever.

Your loving goddaughter,
Maria

Trouble Reading the Fine Print? Try This.

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A life hack for those of us in a certain age group.

SmartDriverThis morning, I faced the challenge of finding the model number on a charger for my Black and Decker SmartDriver screwdriver — AKA, my girlie drill. The charger — which also doubles as a base for holding screwdriver heads — was zapped by a power surge and I needed to replace it.

I held the little box on the end of the cord in my hand and looked at it. I could see there were words there, but I couldn’t begin to read them.

I put on my +1.50 readers. No joy.

I used the Mag Light app on my iPhone to give me an enlarged view. Now I could read the all-important model number, but I couldn’t keep the image still enough to get all the characters.

So I took a picture of it with my phone, being sure to let the camera lens focus on the text. Then I viewed the photo on my phone and zoomed in to the model number information. There it was, clear as day, motionless, easy to read.

Charger Photo
First, use your mobile device to take a photo of the item you can’t read.

Zoomed Photo
Then, zoom in to see the details of what you can’t read.

Technology is our friend.

Now I guess it’s time to get the +2.0 readers. Or maybe +2.50?

I Am a View Person

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It’s not about how big or fancy or well-furnished my home is — it’s about what’s out the windows.

I’ll admit it: I’m selfish. I’m not interested in living in a showplace bought and decorated to impress my family and friends. I don’t care about how big my home is, how many rooms it has, or what designer furniture and fixtures it contains. I don’t care about Pier 1 nicknacks obtained only to fill empty spaces on tables and walls. I don’t care about aromatherapy candles to make my home smell like cinnamon and spice or vanilla or whatever the current season is.

What I care about is what’s outside the windows. I want a view.

And the better the view, the more windows I want to enjoy it, day or night, from the comfort of my home.

It all started back in my college days with my dorm room on the 14th (top) floor of one of Hofstra’s six “towers.” It faced east, with windows that covered one wall. It was only 8 x 12 in size but with a high ceiling that allowed a friend to build me a loft for sleeping. I spent a lot of time looking out those windows, at the other towers nearby and the flat expanse of Nassau County in Long Island. If I’d been on the opposite side of the building, I would have had an unobstructed view of the Manhattan skyline less than 30 miles away.

Later, I lived on the third floor of a row house in Bayside, NY. The big windows and patio overlooked that overlooked Littleneck Bay. It wasn’t the best view, but it was something. Even the constant swoosh swoosh swoosh of cars on the Cross Island Parkway 100 feet below couldn’t detract from it.

Still later, when I moved from the east coast to Wickenburg, Arizona, I was sold on my home primarily because of the view. It looked out to the northeast where I could see the Weaver Mountains beyond a nearby ridge. It also looked out to the southwest, where I could see the top of Vulture Peak. The views were not perfect but they were nice. I especially liked to watch the Weaver Mountains turn almost copper-colored as the sun set.

Looking for an escape from Wickenburg’s oppressive summer heat, I looked at land at Howard Mesa Ranch, a development of 10- and 40-acre lots between Williams and the Grand Canyon. The lot that hooked me was on the very top of the mesa, with amazing 360° views. Although I could see the snow-capped San Francisco Peaks to the east, it was the expansive view to the west that captured my heart. I wanted so badly to build a small home up there with big windows to take in those views, but it was not to be.

Jack the Dog at Howard Mesa
My dog, Jack, looking out over my favorite view at Howard Mesa. The view to the west was expansive — I could often see mountains on the Arizona Strip more than 80 miles away.

In 2012, at the start of my fifth consecutive summer in the Wenatchee area of Washington, I started thinking of a summer homesite in the area. I often visited Malaga Springs Winery on Cathedral Rock Road; it had excellent views out toward the Columbia River. A friend owned land out there and, on a whim, I called to ask who his Realtor was and whether he knew of any lots that were available nearby. Coincidentally, he and his wife had just decided to sell their lot. They’d decided that they were a bit too old to start building their dream home.

Of course, I was immediately sold on the lot. The views were amazing — far better than Wickenburg or even Howard Mesa. Spread out before me were orchards and sagebrush-covered hills, basalt cliffs, and the Columbia River snaking through the broad Wenatchee Valley. I blogged about buying it here.

My New Home
Here’s a shot of the west end of my 10-acre lot, taken from the hillside on the south border of my land. My mobile mansion looks tiny here, no?

But it wasn’t until I moved here — in my RV until my home can be built in the spring — that I realized just how amazing the views were. Every moment of the day, every change of the light or clouds, every day of the year — the view changes. Don’t believe me? Here are three shots from this week, all shot from the front door of my RV.

Cloud View
The sky isn’t always this dramatic, but it was yesterday afternoon. One of my Facebook friends said it looked like the mothership was about to descend.

View at Night
Believe it or not, it wasn’t until I moved here that I was here at night. The nighttime view absolutely floored me. Best of all, I’m still far enough from Wenatchee to have dark skies overhead.

First Light
I shot this photo this morning, not long after sunrise. Yes, that’s snow on the mountains in the distance. Although some of that snow is relatively fresh, there’s snow up there year-round.

My Bad View
My “bad” view isn’t too shabby, either.

Wondering what the view looks like in other directions? Well, the photo here shows my “bad” view — the basalt cliffs on the south side of my property. My first home will be built on this patch of land, leaving the area where my RV is currently parked available for a larger home if I need (or want) one. (Local zoning allows two residences on lots of this size, as long as one of them is 1200 square feet or smaller.)

And you can bet my home will have lots of big windows looking out over the big views I’m showing off here.

In any case, I love the views and I love to share them with my friends and family. So don’t think I’m bragging when I keep posting photos on Facebook and Twitter and this blog. I’m constantly amazed by what I’m seeing and I want you to be amazed, too.

I’m a view person. Are you?

Kayaking the Columbia

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Not quite as exciting as the title might make you think, but very pleasant.

I spent a few hours yesterday kayaking in the Columbia River near my home in the Wenatchee area of Washington.

I bought the kayak a few months ago and, in all honesty, have only taken it out a few times. It’s nothing special — a yellow Costco special nicely outfitted for one person on calm water. My first outing was in one of the Quincy lakes with a friend way back in May. Other brief outings followed. But then I got my little jet boat running and started taking that out instead.

A few weeks ago, while out on the jet boat salmon fishing with a friend in the mouth of the Wenatchee River, I noticed a number of people taking kayaks and paddle boards up the Wenatchee River. The spring flow was long over and it hadn’t rained hard enough lately for floodwaters to raise the flow. Indeed, we couldn’t get much farther upstream with the jet boat than the second bridge because of low water. Low water meant slower flowing water. Slow enough for people to take a leisurely paddle upstream.

That’s what gave me the idea to do the same.

Yesterday I headed out with that in mind. I had a five hour window before I had to be back at the helicopter for an afternoon charter flight. Just enough time for a paddle and a shower.

Washing the Kayak
Washing the kayak is as easy as standing it up in the corner and hosing it out.

I started off by washing the kayak. It had been stored under my RV for over a month and I didn’t want to think of the creepy crawlies that might be in there. Better to just hose it out. So I propped it up against a corner of my RV, connected a spray nozzle to the outside shower, and gave it a good rinsing, letting the water drain through a normally plugged hole on one end. I let it dry while I packed a tote bag with a few things.

Mirror View
I can keep an eye on the kayak in my truck’s mirrors.

Loading the kayak into the back of my pickup isn’t difficult. I lift one end into the bed over the closed tailgate and push it as far forward in the truck as I can. Then I angle the body of the kayak diagonally across the bed. I secure it in place with a bungee cord attached to a corner tie-off hoop built into the truck. It doesn’t move more than an inch in either direction during the drive; I can watch it in the truck’s mirrors.

One of the things I absolutely love about this area of Washington is the sheer variety of outdoor activities available. The Columbia River is a source of many of these activities: boating, fishing, swimming. There’s even an 11-mile bike/hike/skate trail that goes down one side of the river, crosses a bridge, comes back along the other side, and crosses a second bridge to return to a starting point. Parking is free in the loop trail parking lots or any of the parks along the river in Wenatchee or East Wenatchee. There are three boat ramps within a 20-minute drive of my home — all free with plenty of trailer parking.

Where I Kayaked
The area where I kayaked on Sunday.

I decided to put in near the swimming beach at Walla Walla Point Park, which is about 15-20 minutes away from my home. The beach is protected from the river’s main flow by a sort of jetty with a path on it. You can see it in the lower-right corner of this satellite image. I chose this area because I could back the truck pretty close to the water and the little lagoon was a good, calm spot to launch.

I dragged the boat across the grass and down the beach to the water. I put Penny’s life jacket on her and stowed my life jacket and tote bag in the boat. Then I put Penny in the boat, pushed off a bit, and climbed in after her. A moment later, we were gliding across the lagoon. It was about 11 AM.

I could feel my arm muscles working hard right from the start — but not nearly as hard as they had to work when I exited the lagoon and got into the Columbia River’s main flow. There was some shallow water then and the river rushed over it. I had to paddle hard to get through it. I started to think that I’d never reach the mouth of the Wenatchee River about a mile or so to the north.

But then I got through it and into calmer water. I still had to paddle hard to stay ahead of the current, but it wasn’t a frantic paddling. I stayed close to shore and the water got calm. I might make it after all.

The satellite image above shows the river with the water at a higher level. Northwest of where I put in is an area that reminds me of the marshes in Newark, NJ. You know — where the NJ Turnpike goes past the Meadowlands? The difference here is that the water isn’t tidal. The little side inlets exist only as long as the river’s water level is deep enough. Although the image shows lots of watery passages between trees, on Sunday there was only one channel that went through to the mouth of the Wenatchee.

I know this because I found it. I didn’t have a map or satellite image. Instead, I just paddled close to shore, saw an opening in the trees, and decided to explore. What I found was a calm water passage surrounded by trees and water weeds and inhabited by ducks and herons. The water was glassy smooth and shallow — in some places barely deep enough to paddle over. There was the tiniest bit of current to convince me to keep moving forward, that water had to be coming in from somewhere.

Penny on the Kayak
Penny rode on the forward deck as I paddled us through glassy smooth water.

It was sort of magical in there. Quiet and private, with the occasional sound of a motorboat out in the main channel of the river to remind you that you weren’t paddling the remote Amazon. Trees hanging over the narrow parts of the waterway gave us cooling shade every now and then. Bubbles and bits of debris on the water surface cast shadows on the sandy bottom, assuring me that the water was indeed moving in the opposite direction I was.

Near the end of the waterway, we met up with a man on an inflatable boat with oars. He was alone but talking to someone. At first, I thought it was me. But then when we got near him he laughed, held up his smartphone, and said that he was sharing a virtual float trip with friends in Georgia.

The world is getting smaller.

Parked on a Log
Parked up against a log, looked down the Wenatchee River and across the Columbia River to the far shore in East Wenatchee.

The waterway dumped us out at the mouth of the Wenatchee River. I turned left and started paddling up that river. There wasn’t much current, but there was more than there had been for the past 30 minutes. I paddled upstream on the south side, pausing when I reached a log jutting out of the water. I pulled in upstream from it and let the current take me downstream until the kayak was lodged against it. I rested there and tweeted a photo (as I so often do) and took in the calmness of the rivers around me.

How can anyone not like this area? It’s got the dry air of the desert but is full of water. It rains, but not too often. It gets hot, but not too hot. It gets cold but not too cold. And all around are beautiful mountains and forests and orchards and farms and rivers and lakes. Boating, fishing, hiking, motorcycling, biking, wine tasting. Beautiful sunrises and sunsets, magnificent thunderstorms, star-filled skies. Quiet, private places to live and work. A major city less than an hour away by air or three hours away by car. And people who are friendly and happy and youthful — even if they’re not exactly young anymore.

How did I live in Arizona for so long when I had this to tempt me for five consecutive summers?

(Well, I know the answer to that question but we won’t go there.)

Finished with my rest, I paddled across the Wenatchee River into one of the water channels on the opposite shore. I paddled around on that side down one channel and up another before finding a third to take me back out to the Wenatchee River again. Along the way we saw Canada geese, seagulls, and killdeer. Penny barked at the geese.

I crossed the Wenatchee River again and headed back into my quiet waterway for the return trip to the park. This time some kids were walking along one of the sandbars, catching fish in a cutoff milk jug while a man paddled a canoe. As I paddled past him, he said, “I see your dog is getting you come exercise.” I laughed and told him she was guiding me.

Back out in the main flow of the Columbia River, I let the current do some of the work for me. I had to paddle hard to get around the tip of the jetty and back into the swimming lagoon. There were lots of people there now, kids swimming in the designated area, dogs fetching balls in the water nearby. I paddled up to shore and we got out. I ran into a friend of mine and chatted for a while before dragging the kayak back to the truck.

By 2 PM, I was back home prepping for that afternoon’s flight. It had been another great day out.