Wednesday, January 29, 2014

City Ana Half

Most of my friends and relatives who have birthdays right around Christmas celebrate their half birthdays. I think this is an excellent idea: I think everyone should celebrate their half birthdays as well as their actual birthdays. You don't know if you're going to be around in six months: believe me, I've just been through it.

Well, it's my half birthday today: 60½. Last year at this time I was hoping we would start real plans in the next year for retiring to Eureka, also wondering why Steve's bronchitis wouldn't clear up. He seemed to get a cold or flu during the holidays every year, so part of it I chalked up to psychosomatic sources. In a little over a month, however, we would find out his true diagnosis.

I went down and talked with my new tax guy today. He seems really nice, so I'll have to be super organized for him. Just skimming over last year's return and discussing this year's happenings, he was fairly certain that there would be no tax owing.

The Morgan-Stanley Guy sent an e-mail yesterday saying the transfer of the IRA into my name is complete, and the account has been fully funded as of today. I also got a call from my attorney on Monday, saying the probate petition had been approved; neither of us has to appear in court, and the new deed will be registered with the county in about six to eight weeks.

Checking the mail, the Gas Company finally sent a bill in my name (it took two months to make the change). Also in the mail today, 1099s and other tax-related documents. Tomorrow I go down to the Social Security office to submit the final paperwork for Survivor Benefits.

On the personal front, I have to get the car's 60,000 maintenance done, as well as sign up for Covered California: No matter where I turn, monotonous obligation demands attention and payment. It's difficult, if not impossible, to try and focus on generating some spiritual cohesion and healing in this maelstrom of money and materialism.

So I'm planning a trip. I'm going to take a month and visit all those friends and relatives around the country whom I keep saying I am going to visit: Florida, New York, Wisconsin and Seattle. I'm also going to take the last two legs of the journey (Wisconsin to Seattle and Seattle to home) on Amtrak. I have always wanted to take those two journeys from beginning to end.

I'm reserving a roomette, so I will have my own window and a comfy wide chair in which to lounge. It also comes with perks like a first-class-only club car with WiFi, all meals included, and of course the sleeping car porter at one's beck and call. The additional cost is much less than one would pay for food and accommodations in a hotel.

So this means lining up someone to come in and check on the cats. And renewing my passport, since my leg to visit Rick and Candy will land me in Montreal. I'll have to let my clients know that nothing is going to get done during that period. I'll take my laptop, but it's for viewing DVDs, writing, playing computer games and linking up one or two times to do practical things like check e-mails and pay bills.

I am so looking forward to visiting all these folks. And I'm starting to look at extravagances like this as practical, since I don't think I'll have the opportunity to do something like this for a while. You might call it the beginnings of my bucket list.

Steve never had a bucket list, but I kind of forced one on him: Taking a trip to London and Paris, adopting Eureka as a home away from home (even if we didn't reach retirement there). And I'm sure there were dozens of other things that he never would have done if I wasn't there as an instigator. But you'd have to ask him, and he's unavailable.

That's probably the saddest part of someone dying: you can't communicate with them anymore. If you have questions, they will forever go unanswered. Past topics will never be expanded upon, and you have to guess at what might have been their opinions. They weren't simply someone you loved dearly and shared comfort with, they were a vital information source woven into the very fabric of your life, and now that corridor is silent.


Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Angles in America

There's a hole in my heart that goes all the way to China:

Cindy Lauper lyrics that I've always considered somewhat cute and clever. But I'm missing Steve something fierce this week, and suddenly I understand the quality and meaning of those words: playful and painful, both at once.

I am presently fighting with the flu or a cold. I rarely get sick, so this is the first time in several years at least that I've felt this bad. Luckily, I'm the kind that just wants to be left alone when ill, so I make a couple of phone calls, then head back to bed for a nap, exhausted and wanting rest; get back up again and mount another task, which also exhausts me.

After Steve's illness, this is nothing. But it does remind me that things happen, unplanned, and that there's nothing one can do about it. I'm already starting to feel fatigued just organizing this blog in my head.

My BFF Jessie called just now to see if she could stop for a visit tonight after her ballet class. She usually drops by Thursday evenings and we go out for dinner, but she can't make it tomorrow. I told her about being sick, to which she replied, without a beat, "I could bring you some chicken soup," taking no heed of the infectious miasma in which she would be placing herself. Me, honestly; I just want to be left alone.

Today was kind of whacky. I got a call from my attorney, Pat, this morning, asking me to come down to their offices and sign some papers. Seems there's yet another round in the probate petition process: I can't imagine how lengthy a full probate hearing would be.

On top of that, I e-mailed the guy at Morgan Stanley who's handling the transfer of Steve's IRA into my name. I sent all the paperwork by certified mail, and I received the return proof of delivery card last week showing the packet had been delivered on the 6th of January.

Morgan-Stanley man replied that he had not gotten the package, and that the person who signed for it doesn't exist in his office. I sent a jpg image of the card along with the tracking number, letting him know that he had better find it in short order. By this afternoon they had located the packet and he was going to process it ASAP.

I'm still trying to get an appointment with the woman at Social Security to finalize my application for survivor's benefits. I leave voice mails but she doesn't return my calls. My next move (once I'm not feeling like a pile of garbage) will be to simply go down in the morning when the office opens and camp out until I'm seen and the application is complete.

It floors me when I realize that most of these processes were begun in mid-November of last year. After two months, things are still dragging on. But as my sister Kittie said, it takes at least six months for all the paperwork to be completed.

Kittie experiences "Big Bang" celebrity
Speaking of Kittie, she and husband Dave came down this weekend for a visit, probably the last one until April 15, as tax season has started and she will be working weekends and nights for the next couple of months. Dave is still free to come down, but I don't want him to feel obligated to schlep down every other weekend.

My sister is a "Big Bang Theory" fan, so one of the things I wanted to make sure and do while they were here was go to the Cheesecake Factory in Old Town, as it regularly figures into the story lines of the show (one of the characters works there as a server). So Saturday we went down to Old Town and wandered around. We stopped by a really neat (and very overpriced) store called The Gold Bug, which has nifty tchotchkes for the 21st century.

David eyes Kittie's Alfredo
The wait at the Cheesecake Factory was only about 20 minutes (it's usually much longer, which is why I don't go there too often). We ended up with a really great table in the middle of the main room. Kittie had the Alfredo (I think that's what it was), David had a Chinese chicken something (not sure about this; check out the photo and let me know what you think), and I got the pressed Cuban pork sandwich (a culinary addiction I picked up on my trip to New York): All very yummy.

The course that was not photographed was the dessert. You can't go to the Cheesecake Factory without getting cheesecake, for goodness sake. Not unless you're buying one to take home with you (which is dangerous behavior for me).

Caught using my water to clean Cuban
sandwich off the front of my shirt.
I chose the Key Lime cheesecake, which was an extraordinary (and successful) marrying of the two elements. I can't recall Kittie's selection, but David had "Linda's Cake," which is chocolate, chocolate and more chocolate, covered in chocolate and chocolate. (I just typed chocolate so many times that it looks misspelled to me.)

On Sunday, we hung out at the house. David took a spritely hike up Lake Avenue to the local donut shop and scored sugary breakfast foods. Later, I got the objects and items I had accumulated in cleaning out the bedroom, and the three of us went through it all: mostly old jewelry and cuff links, and lots of AA coins, pins and buttons. I plan on taking all of it down to Ray (my antiques client) and see if there are any valuable pieces.

In the afternoon, Kittie and David watched the Broncos-Seahawks game. I puttered upstairs for most of it and joined in near the end of the game. They ended up leaving here at nearly 7 p.m. I was quite surprised when Kittie called up just after 10 o'clock to let me know they had arrived safely.

On other fronts, I closed my small IRA account and moved the money into the bank for bills and such. It has become obvious to me that focusing on the business is not going to be a major part of the next couple months, and I have no idea when the survivor's benefits are going to kick in, so it seemed like a good way to get the cash flow going again. And the remaining medical bills will more than offset the taxes I'll have to pay on a lump sum.

This also provides the opportunity and the cash to do a little traveling once the weather warms up in the rest of the country. So I've been checking out itineraries and modes of transportation in order to put together a grand tour of all the relatives off of which I enjoy freeloading (that's pretty much all of them). If you haven't heard from me yet, you probably will presently.

More on those emerging plans later.

Sunday, January 12, 2014

Same Time This Year

Blue Post and Lentil
by John Harvey
McCracken
It's hard to believe (at least for me) that it's been over two weeks since I've written anything here. I think it's because here I am, in the new year, still mired down with probate petitions and processing paperwork and forms to get the IRAs settled. I need access to Steve's so I can pay his medical bills out of what's there. Same with filing for survivor's benefits with Social Security: Paper-paper-paper.

David and Kittie came down last weekend, but had to dash off Sunday morning, as Kittie had a vocal recital at which she had to perform (she's been taking voice classes). So it was what our cousin Robin calls a "ninja run": Driving down Friday night, staying a day and then returning as quickly as they arrived. These trips were often made by those of us in SoCal when the Moms were alive: just a quick trip to check up and catch up on them.

Assembly of Sea Forms by Barbara Hepworth
For this weekend, I was determined to have a fully cleaned kitchen to show off (not only to let Kittie know I do remember how to do housework, but also because I tend to have a sink full of dishes and pans when they leave), so I cleaned to get a leg up.

This week, David was determined to get me out of the house. Also,  I think he was just bored stiff and wanted to enjoy some of the unique things that Pasadena has to offer. So on Saturday, we had brunch at Andy's, picked up boxes at the Box Store next door, then went to the Norton Simon Museum (that's the building you see across the street during the Rose Parade with a big floral rose on the outside wall).

Asian-Indian collection downstairs
It's been a while since I was there. Steve and I went during our courting period. I floored him by guessing the date of a piece of abstract art and getting it dead on.

One of a whole
bunch of Buddhas
The museum has a nice collection of impressionists, as well as a good contemporary art collection. But it's real jewel is the Asian-Indian art collection, which is quite extensive. They also have a nice sculpture garden, with a couple of Henry Moore pieces (an artist I was first introduced to visiting the Toronto Museum of Art).

Going public places with David and Kittie is always fun, because one or both of them inevitably wander off to find something more exciting or inspiring.  And though it's never planned, we always seem to meet back up, having discovered something wonderful to share with the others.

Saturday evening was pork chops at home for dinner. Since they had to leave early, we headed to bed around 10:30. I stayed up in the office, working and playing for an hour or so.

Triptych: JC talking to the elders.
When they left on Sunday morning, I decided to take the rest of the day off, and ended up napping off and on for most of the day.

This last week has been touch bases, move forward, make contact, find bureaucratic closure. I'm still not on solid ground financially, but I have a long way to go before I'm living out of a shopping cart. I have everything lined up for Social Security, I returned all the paperwork for transferring Steve's IRA, but there's still a list of phone calls to make and little things to take care of. It seems like this process is never going to end.

David and Kittie on the Norton Simon Asian Patio
This weekend I spent organizing and packing up all the extraneous books in the house. And everywhere I go, I uncover stuff I didn't even know was there. For instance, the original copy of the deed to the house and the original mortgage papers were leaning up against the bookcase in the bedroom, hidden under one of those 37 coordinated decorative throw pillows that I never put on the bed unless company's coming.

And photo albums: literally dozens of photo albums from decade after decade, full of people I don't know, most of whom are probably dead at this point. Then I'll come across photos that were obviously his mother's (just this side of tintypes) that I can't bear to toss, just because they're old. But, unlike the mass of photos I have from Mom when she died, I have no connection with these folks. Still, I can't think that they're worth keeping to make a sassy old-timey sepiafest montage at some point.

Most of the more contemporary photos are not only of no relevance to me, but they're also the worst of family snaps, with little visual value other than chronicling unknown people and places from Steve's past. Keeping some snaps of him from days gone by is one thing; holding on to a couple thousand bad pics of strangers in strange surroundings is quite another.

In any case, I can only take about 30 or 45 minutes of this weird wading through someone else's life: I take a break and a breather and then jump back into the fray. It seems like a never-ending process, but then I have to remind myself that this is not about extricating Steve's existence from my life; this is about re-organizing my life and getting rid of what I'm not going to need to move forward.

So it's not just Steve's stuff I'm 86'ing here. I have to go through the stuff I've accumulated over the decades and take a good look at what will continue with me into the next phase of my life. I think I'm avoiding beginning that process: if Steve's stuff gets me going emotionally, then whatever is going to be my reaction when I have to start tossing the stuff I've been carrying around since my college days?

And the big question encompassing all this upheaval and renewal is: What the hell comes next? Somehow, at 60, I didn't think I was going to be asking myself that question.

I believe life keeps you young or it kills you. The unhappy people in the world are those who don't understand that. It's reveling, rigor or recluse: Take your pick. And although I have no idea what will happen, I have an innate sense of where I want to go from here, I just can't label the place or time that will actuate what I sense before me. But, for sure, I'll know when I've arrived.