Crime Doesn't Pay

    Yesterday we received an official-looking letter from New York State Department of Taxation and Finance.  That can't be good news, I thought, as with trembling hands I slit open the envelope.  My fears were confirmed.  It was for taxes due.  For the tax year 2012.  That was the year I had to file and claim for an estate as well as ourselves.  I did my best, but the IRS found I owed slightly more than I'd paid. I didn't even try to figure out where the discrepancy was, just paid the additional amount, no problem.
   But the New York State Taxation Department never rests and is not to be denied.  They received notification that the IRS had adjusted our 2012 return, thereby affecting the amount we owe to NYS.  Therefore, they recomputed our NY tax to include the federal changes.  The Tax amount of the adjusted amount owed is $40.00 + $8.99 Interest.
   Our choices are to pay, which speaks for itself;  to disagree, for which there is a form and which must happen by Jan. 18, or else subject to collection actions; or to not respond, which will result in additional interest and additional penalties.
    Since the letter points out that there is no time limit when NYS may send a bill for additional tax in such cases, I think we'll just go ahead and pay.  We have until January 16, so I'm confident I can come up with the $48.99 by then.

Childhood Connection

A poem by Naomi Nye, found while looking through my child's Baby Book:
        "Supple Cord"
   My brother, in his small white bed,
   held one end.
   I tugged the other
   to signal I was still awake.
  We could have spoken,
  could have sung
  to one another.
  We were in the same room
   for five years,
   but the soft cord
   with its little frayed ends
   connected us
   in the dark,
   gave comfort
   even if we  had been bickering
  all day.
  When he fell asleep first
  and his end of the cord
 dropped to the floor,
I missed him terribly,
though I could hear his even breath
and we had such long and separate lives
ahead.

Season in the Sun

    I just came in from raking the yard, the area where the peonies are.  The irises look as if they want to grow, and the daffodils have sprouted up an inch or so. And the red peony shoots, which typically wait awhile, are also making an appearance.  I hope they recover from the inevitable.  Meanwhile, I think I'll have minimal raking to do this spring---will anyone want to go shopping?  Lunch?

The Chip----Ahoy.

     I know it's for our own good, and maybe it's effective, but that chip which is now installed on our credit cards can be problematic.  At Stewart's, it would not accept my card with chip at the gas pump so I couldn't pay outside.  At some registers,you must swipe your card first and then the section with the chip.  At other registers, you  need to insert  only the chip section.  But worst of all is the dialog that goes along with the credit card chip.  If you've paid this way, you know what I mean.  Innuendo, double entendre.  (I know I'm not the only one.)

That Sinking Feeling

    I hate to make mistakes, especially those that cannot remain concealed.  Recently, I sold an item on eBay, an item that had been relisted.  I could not find it. Because of large objects having been delivered to my house, things have  been packed and moved and redistributed all over the place. Anyway, I searched for 2 days trying to find a certain book.  To no avail.
    My first inclination is to avoid the computer where the issue lies. Though it demands some action on my part,  I don't want to face it.  I evaluate my feelings---that I am disorganized, incompetent, stupid, clumsy, careless, embarrassed, incapable.
   I appreciate that this departure from the norm  is between only myself and one other person, who seems not to be very concerned. A trifle really.
   I am so grateful that I am not Steve Harvey.
     

Nothing is simple anymore...is it?

     Yesterday, on a Wednesday, after my chores and responsibilities at home were taken care of, I drove to Clifton Park to see if I could do a little shopping.  I knew it could be an aimless pursuit but thought I might find inspiration through browsing.  I walked into a few of the smaller storefront shops, but left empty-handed. Then down the sidewalk a bit to Marshall's.  It was super-crowded at mid-day in mid-week.  Giving up on inspirational purchases, I got in my car and drove to Joseph A. Banks.
    I was interested in buying a sweater.  A single sweater.  One.  The sweaters were on a shelf, front and center of the store.  I know the store is rather pricey; the pricetag says  $109.  That is for one sweater, but wait.  The sign on the display reads, "Buy One, Get Two Free."   The last time I saw that type of deal was at Price Chopper, and I ended up paying full price for each of two English muffins because I had picked up only 2 packages instead of the 3.
  I'm anxious to buy something, so my rare day of shopping won't be a complete waste, so I have this thought.  I'm not sure of what size sweater to buy, so if I buy two  different sizes, one should fit, and the other could be returned.  I'm not even thinking about the third sweater by now.  I don't want to do anything even borderline sneaky, so I share this strategy with the clerk, and ask what the return policy would be.  She said the refund should be one-third of the price I paid, and she would give me gift receipts.  That seems okay with me, so I say I'll take the deal--3 sweaters, 2 sizes.  As she's checking me out, she asks me if I want to enroll in their customer-some-program-or other.  I politely decline, saying maybe some other time.
    Another salesman approaches the desk.  The store is not busy at all, with only one other person there, possibly a customer, or maybe an employee. He  sees my charge of $118 being rung up on the register, and says if I spend another $25, and enroll in the program, the last purchase of the $25 will be free.  All I have to do, he tells me, is provide my name and address.  OK, I say, and give that information.  Now, what can I buy in this store for $25?  I knew the answer to that.  The helpful rep showed me to the socks display.  The lowest three-pack of socks sold for $34, but since they were on sale for $24, I would need to buy two packs to qualify for the free $25.  By now, I probably would have bought the Brooklyn Bridge, so I'll take 2 packs, I tell him.
   My 3 sweaters are on the front counter where the first rep has neatly folded them.  The second rep brings the 2 packs of socks to the same area.  While I submit my credit card (that damn erratic chip), the second rep puts my purchases into one of their large shopping bags, and slides 5 gift boxes into another of the shopping bags.
    I put the 2 large shopping bags into the trunk of my car, and I'm so exhausted when I get home, I just leave them there.  I look at my receipt.  I paid $119.38 for 3 sweaters and 6 pairs of socks.  The receipt reads, "You saved $251.60."  That's not too bad, I tell myself, even if SNL does make  fun of it. And if they don't work out as gifts, I have receipts: gift receipts and original.
    This morning, I woke up early and retrieved my purchases from the trunk of my car.  One shopping bag held the 3 sweaters and the 2 packages of socks.  The second shopping bag held the 5 gift boxes, and, at the bottom of the bag, a pair of jeans with the pricetag of $89 and a plaid shirt with pricetag of $79.  I will return  them, but not until my next trip, I'll tell them.
 

Yay!

Am getting my washer repaired!  

Turkeys and Trees

   All of what we once erroneously considered traditions have gone by the  boards over the years, the latest to succumb being the tradition associated with the Christmas Tree.  Our first tree, in our Schaghticoke apartment, was perhaps the least spectacular. I have a vivid memory of walking up the two flights of outside stairs with my mother, who was helping my pregnant self carry groceries, and showing her the tree, and thinking it was not quite as impressive as its predecessors in her living room.   It was tall, though, and full, probably a pine.  It was in the corner of our living room, and so did not display as well as the trees that followed, 46 of them, which were always in front of the living room window.  All of our trees were tall, some fuller than others, and following in the tradition of the fore running  Thanksgiving turkeys, each considered to be spectacular in its own right.  I suppose if I really tried I could locate pictures of each and every tree, though that could be a lengthy and painstaking effort.  Such pictures may or may not substantiate their claim of being the best tree ever, but each did have its moment of glory.
    But change has come to our Christmas Tree tradition, at its own inexorable pace.  We can no longer  afford to relinquish our rather limited space to accommodate a tree of any significant size.  I forced myself to to overcome my long-standing aversion to artificial trees, knowing it was based on those creations of long ago-----the ugly, malformed sprigs of green plastic adhered  to stubby brown branches, the shiny silver celluloid tree, the pink frothy one.  So I went to Lowe's and looked at their displays.  The large trees were quite beautiful, but I didn't want large.  The smaller ones were less attractive, and it was challenging to try to match the display model with the stacks of boxed-up trees.  Which was which, and what kind of stand came with each, and how tall was the tree when in the stand.  I finally picked one out and put it in my cart, a pre-lighted tree, figuring  with all that shiny brightness, how could I go wrong.  But inexplicably, as I wheeled the cart toward checkout intending to buy the tree, I swapped it out for a living Norfolk Pine which was in the front of the store next to the cashiers.
    So our 48th Christmas Tree is a three-foot-tall potted Norfolk Pine, looking as such pines do, more tropical than Christmassy.  It's front and center, in our window, with an angel on top,  but I don't know if it will ever be camera-ready.
   

Countdown

   Lingerie drawer almost empty and lingerie hamper almost full.  It's been 24 days since the Whirlpool died, and 4 more days until a reprieve.  The weather is nice so I could wend my way down to the river and pound the clothes against the rocks, or, Heaven forbid, even  wash some clothes in the sink.  But thanks to my hoarding issues, I'm confident we can last until Home Depot arrives on Wednesday.

The IRS, Green Dot and Peter Pan

   What a day!  First I give  my SSN to an IRS agent to avoid imprisonment, and then I divulge the serial number so as to reload my Green Dot Money Pak Credit  Card.   Finally Peter Pan, fresh  from filming the Geico commercial, shows up to remind me that these scams happen to people over 70, and suggests that I not answer my phone.  But these callers---they want to help me.  My mind is so torn that I'm beginning to find common ground with Donald Trump.

Dirty Laundry

     Yep, I've got some, lots of it as a matter of fact.  Ever since the Whirlpool left us way too soon.  They said I was qualified to buy a Repair +1 Warranty because the machine has not been serviced or scheduled to be so.  The cost would be $331 for 1 year.  So stupid.  Anyway, I'm down to the bottom of my underwear drawer, to the place of the low-rise briefs, so I'm anxious for next Wednesday's delivery.  Either a new washer or new underwear.

Frank's #100

   Other than connecting him to "Family Guy," which I abhor, I didn't know that  much about Seth McFarlane, but I thought he was the best vocalist  on Sinatra's birthday celebration show.

Wash Cycle and Update

     Today I drove to Clifton Commons Lane to visit the Sears Home Appliance Showroom which we had been to during our visit last spring to the neighboring Miracle Ear store.  Where Sears had once been is now a pet products store.  So I decided to go over to Boscov's to their second floor appliance area.  That has been eradicated in favor of a larger furniture display and lots and lots of beds and bedding.  So I stopped at Lowe's and looked at the washers there.
      The salesman was readily available and agreeable enough, but rather detached.  I had 2 requirements;  a washer with an agitator and without a computer.  They are getting rather hard to find.  I suspect the manufacturers, repair departments, and warranty sellers are behind the switch to computerization.  That means a lot more business.  We found what I wanted, but the capacity was less than 4 cu. ft.  And with the agitator present, it looked like it wouldn't  wash even a single basket of laundry.  I found another model, about $100 more than my first choice, but I'll consider it.
  When I got home,  I checked the price of that model against Sears.  It was exactly the same. I put the item  in my check-out cart, but the box said no free delivery to my zip code.  I asked why, and the rep said she would make that available to me because, we all know, I'm such a good customer.  However, delivery can't be until December 17.  I'm not sure I have enough underwear to go that long sans laundering.  Maybe I'll just wait to hear from Jeff the CEO...
    Dec.5-- An ad popped up in the sidebar from Home Depot, so I checked and found the same model washer for significantly less.  I ordered it online with delivery scheduled for Dec. 16.
Sun., Dec. 6--Received an email response from  Whirlpool  Customer eXperience Center inviting me to call them during business hours.  I'm up for that...

Shake It Off

   Today I mailed a letter to the Chairman and CEO of the Board of Directors, Executive Board at  Whirlpool Corporate Headquarters.  I am so confident of the outcome that tomorrow I plan to buy a new washer, hoping to find a model that has an agitator and lacks a computer.
     On my third attempt to get my 16 month old washer back into working condition, after the suggestions first to re-boot and then to re-calibrate, I was told that since those attempts failed, I would need to replace the control board in the console.  I looked up the price for the part, which is over $200.  Even if I could install it myself and avoid the repair cost, that would be over $200 spent on a washer that crapped out after not much use.  Fie on it!

That "Tower of Song"

"Well, my friends are gone, and my hair is gray
  I ache in the places where I used to play..."

Expressions from the Past

    We used to visit relatives on occasion,when we were kids. All the visits had to be on weekends, usually Sundays, as I recall.  My father worked every day, and I don't think he ever took a day off.  He did have one week of vacation time, which after a number of years built up to two weeks, so maybe some of the longer visits took place then, like to his relatives in Glens Falls and Schenectady.
    Every two weeks or so, we did drive to my mother's old homestead to visit Nanny, Helen, and Matt and to her sister's house in Melrose,  where we kids felt more comfortable. And much less frequently to my father's brother's family in Hoosick Falls.  There were kids there.
      But on the extended visits to the other relatives, we kids usually sat quietly on the couch while the adults talked.  Back then, we kids may have been greeted when we walked in, but were otherwise ignored.  We just sat in silence.  Most of the people on those visits seemed to be of a generation older than my parents, or at least my mother who always seemed young to me.
     Not that I had much interest in the conversation of these adult strangers, but there was no option but to hear what they were talking about.  I remember there were two  expressions that bothered me at the time.  I suppose they triggered a kind of depression in me, though I would have had  no idea what that meant.  I only knew I found it unsettling when the adults spoke the words.  I was thinking about this the other night and it came to me that no one says these words anymore.
      One of the terms arose when someone  would announce, in response to an  affliction or potential health crisis affecting an elderly relative, "She's beginning to fail."  It was delivered in such a resigned fashion that I would wonder why anyone would admit or accept that state of health.  Well, they don't anymore.  Just ask Medicare.
     The other expression occurred when one of the women (always the women, the men were in the kitchen or out back, speaking their own language), would  say, in reference to something bad happening to someone young, how tragic it was.  "If it happened to me, I could understand, "the woman would say, "Because I've  had my life."  I just couldn't comprehend how living people could talk as if their lives were already over.   I don't think anybody ever says that anymore either.

Musing

   Is Carson Daly starting to look like a younger brother of Tom Hanks?