January 23, 2002
Dear Everyone:
Last week an old, and very dear, friend of the family, whom we’ve known since before “Jeannie” was born, passed away. Mother arranged to fly down on Friday so she could attend the memorial service. Since I didn’t have any meetings scheduled that day, it was an easy thing to run out to the Oakland airport and pick her up, taking her back to my office until the end of the workday.
Not so easy was the sudden realization, after I finished the phone conversation with her Wednesday evening, that I had exactly two nights to get my place presentable. (Or, as I exclaimed: “Oh, crap! I’ve got to clean this place!”)
It just goes to show how much you can get done in just a few short hours when a few short hours is all the time you have. I guess that’s the converse of the adage that housework expands to fill the time available. I quickly pulled all the papers off the futon in the west bedroom, where Mother would be sleeping, and divided them into two piles: Recycle; and Shred, then recycle.
Made a neat pile (a really big, but neat pile) of all the mail I hadn’t dealt with yet. Ran the dishwasher. Emptied the dishwasher. Filled the dishwasher. Ran the dishwasher again. Cleaned both bathrooms. In other words: “Battle stations! This is not a drill!”
Fortunately, the bedding for the futon was clean, since Mother stripped the bed before I could stop her the last time she was here. What a good thing I got rid of all those cobwebs last month. And thank goodness I’d finished that Christmas puzzle earlier in the week and could break it apart. Things looked respectable by Thursday night.
And I took a really big bag of garbage to the office Friday morning. So you can imagine my delight when I got home this past Monday to find a brand new garbage can waiting for me. I knew it was waiting for me because it already had my street number written on the front and lid.
Not that the street number alone would stop that miscreant from helping himself to another “free” garbage can. The previous one had the full address on the lid and the number on all four sides. However, I’m betting a 20’-25’ chain and a couple of padlocks will at least slow him down. It needs to be long enough for the truck driver to pick the can up with the grapple and lift it high enough to dump into the hopper. I shall confer with the experts at The Big Orange Hardware Warehouse Store next weekend.
As to how “free” the new garbage can is, I just paid the quarterly bill. So I won’t know until April if I was charged for the replacement. We’ll see.
And, although the reason for her visit was a somber one, “Jeannie” and I managed to have lunch with Mother on Saturday. Then she and “Jeannie” helped me take down the Christmas tree, which was still occupying much of the living room. The three of us managed to break it apart and mash the branches together well enough to force it back into the box from whence it came (more or less).
I also, after taking Mother out to the airport on Sunday, went through that enormous stack of ignored mail, resulting in much shredding and recycling and 14 empty envelopes to be mailed back to the “debt pushers”.
“Debt pushers” are those companies which, like drug pushers, offer you a “sample” at little or no cost (try our credit card at a very low “introductory” rate), then jack up the price once they have you hooked. Ever notice that the “you’re already approved!” applications come with a prepaid envelope? That means the recipient (the credit card company) pays for the postage. But they only have to pay if the envelope is delivered to them. They don’t pay if you just drop the envelope into the shredder along with the application. (Don’t have a shredder? Get one. Or train the cat to sharpen its claws on stacks of paper.)
So now, I always return the empty envelope to the dept pusher. And, if you get a lot of those credit card offers affiliated with some noble cause, like Amnesty International, or the Shakespeare Festival, you may notice that the return envelopes often go to the same address. So you’re not hurting Amnesty International, just the debt pushers who have to pay for the postage, and for people to open and discard the empty envelopes. One has to take one’s revenge where one can find it.
And, also in the mail, I got a summons for Jury Duty. Didn’t I do that just last year? No, it was the year before. And, just like the last time, the date falls right into the time frame for an upcoming project, so I’ve requested an extension. Again.
Love, as always,
Pete
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