A Shred of Dignity

I spent most of today going through 14 years of documents; is it safe for me to throw away 1995's tax returns? What about copies of angry emails to exes? I'd hate to forget what I was mad about eleven years ago.

I got curiouser while writing this, so I looked it up. According to the IRS.gov website:

Note: Keep copies of your filed tax returns. They help in preparing future tax returns and making computations if you file an amended return.

1. You owe additional tax and situations (2), (3), and (4), below, do not apply to you; keep records for 3 years.
   
2. You do not report income that you should report, and it is more than 25% of the gross income shown on your return; keep records for 6 years.
   
3. You file a fraudulent return; keep records indefinitely.  You do not file a return; keep records indefinitely.
   You file a claim for credit or refund* after you file your return; keep records for 3 years from the date you filed your original return or 2 years from the date you paid the tax, whichever is later.
   You file a claim for a loss from worthless securities or bad debt deduction; keep records for 7 years.
   Keep all employment tax records for at least 4 years after the date that the tax becomes due or is paid, whichever is later.  
   

I sort of love #3.

It started with my firebox. It got so crowded that Annie had to get her own. Ridiculous. What could be so important that I need an entire firebox to document it? And I'm not talking about standard file folders in a cabinet. I'm not talking about them yet. Just the superflua from the box.

Good news! This stuff is not worthless!


If you've done this recently, you remember that it's not emotion-neutral. The handmade Mother's Day cards, the certificates of achievement, my late-in-life college diploma, letters from absent friends. I'm talking serious poignancy, people. Those things aren't in the kitty nest.

I guess I only need one copy of the divorce decree. What will Social Security want from me if I decide to claim his benefits instead of mine? [This is not entirely rhetorical - comment if you know.]

The filing cabinet yielded (yelt?) a huge box of discards that I don't have to shred, and a small box I must. Remember when Social Security numbers would never be used for identification? I don't, but I've read stuff.



Check this out! Our cats would love this. What would work that isn't $210? I have no woodworking skills, so the curving of the wood is right out. Suggestions solicited.

Generating Interest

Our Honda generator isn't even out of the box, and has already garnered the coveted Two-Cat Seal of Approval.



I've recovered from the yard sale and am still loving the uncluttered feeling.  As predicted, I don't remember what went to the Salvo.

I'm having more eye surgery this week, so I probably won't feel motivated to do much for a couple of days afterward.  I need to move forward just a little to ward off impatience and discouragement;  maybe today is the day!

Check, and check.

The inverter and automatic transfer switch installation was completed yesterday.  The same day, Annie ordered our generator (a Honda EU2000i), on sale at Camping World for $100 off.



This marks the last of the planned major projects for the Duck before it flies south.

Clarification.

• My lovely bride suggests that I made three typos.
• My reading glasses, not my readers, need to be stronger.

Everyone's an editor!  Thanks, hon, for pointing out my errors.

What He Said.

One of the bloggers I follow is J.D. at Get Rich Slowly.  His overall aim is building personal wealth, which is nice, but not in my 12-month plan.  I do like his philosophy of frugality, though, and I use it to remind myself that it's not a ridiculous concept.

The post I linked resonated with me.  Annie and I are lucky, because we live in a community and have personal community that supports and embraces simplicity.  Still, I felt bad for this guy who is swimming upstream against a river of want.  I responded, and am posting the response below, not because it's a great comment but because it's really how I feel.  And, I don't want to have to write real twice. 


Ditto to all this.  We shut off our satellite and gave our TV away years ago.  Before very long, we realized that neither of us wanted nearly as much stuff as we once had.  Rob's co-workers are buying the hype, and their TV-advertising habits just feed the hysteria.  We still watch what we want, but on Hulu or on-demand with the minimum Netflix subscription.  Or we actually wait for the DVD to be released.  Sometimes we read books in the evening, or read to each other.


Because we "live big, spend small," our finances weren't devastated when I was laid off, nor were they crushed when, three years previously, I had decided to work only part-time.  Now, we are both in a position to try something completely new with our lives - live a dream - because we didn't need expensive toys or an oversized house.


I think the hardest part may be the low blows about "depriving" the family;  it would be for me.  Plus, kids always think they'll be happier if they can watch all the TV their eyes can suck in.  SO not true.  Rob should keep in mind that his kids will remember the time they all spent together.  They will grow to be people who know how to be with other people in a satisfying way.  They will have social skills.  They will learn to be happy people, and that's just not something you can buy for a kid.

Not an ad. [Roxi]

If you read this blog by feed, you are not exempted from content-based advertisements, usually one, and always at the end.  This is what I read this morning when I checked the feed:



What luck!  Now you can send me a tasteful bereavement card for the loss of my stuff.  I'm touched.  You shouldn't have.

Synchronicity. [Roxi]

I tagged along with some talented women who were lunching at Moosewood today.  One of them just returned from a sabbatical on the road in a Class B;  she has a blog.  Hi Barbara!  I'm so glad I accepted the invitation.  And spoke.  I need to remember to keep doing that.

And the others:  mashed mud?  Hardly.  Just not RVers.  I'll talk more about them in my other blog, Great Therapists and Town Clerks I Have Known.

I'm going back to see if there are interior shots of their B.  Annie and I are still tempted by the smaller rigs, but we were won over by a B Touring Cruiser we cruised at Camping World.  Really more of a tiny Class C, but more spacious than the B's we've looked at.  That's all harmless envy, because we've got the rig and it's loaded for duck.

So, I've got to just say it here and be done with it.  I'm grieving my stuff.  It had to happen, I knew it would happen, I expected it to happen, and it happened.  I can say it here because you people won't chide me for mourning, even if the grief is for mere stuff.  Grief is not always what it looks like.  My therapist would say that I'm not really grieving a carload of unnecessary possessions, but a little of every other loss I've never completely grieved.  Don't pshaw;  you do it, too.  Have you ever said, I don't know why I'm crying.  It's just a stupid vase?  You may have shattered a vase, and you may have liked the vase.  But, it's also the dog you lost this summer who was 14 and your layoff you thought you were over and the fight you had with your husband when he stormed out and for a while you thought it might really be over.

My son is 23 today.

And ... you just witnessed my epiphany.  Stop averting your eyes.  

Whew.

Well, that's (almost) over.  A few items were "distributed" to friends while they were not at home, a pile of stuff went to the curb and mostly disappeared before bedtime, and our Prius is loaded with boxes for the Salvation Army.

Getting rid of stuff drains me.  It's an archaeological dig through the strata of my life [cue music].  Unearthing memories that get stuck in each layer is too much and too hard.  This morning I'm trying not to picture the things in the boxes;  by next week I really won't remember them at all.

Holy cow, did my back hurt last night!  I inflated my side of the bed as far as it would go just so I could turn over.  It created a precipice in the middle and twice I rolled down it and crushed Annie.  Sleep is dangerous.

Now the living room seems gloriously empty!  I can stop thinking about how I'll get rid of the stuff I was looking at, because I have. 

Sale!

Who knew a yard sale could be a spiritual experience?  You would think a yard sale was root canal, the way we've avoided having one all summer.  We are so excited to have stuff out of our living room that we actually talked about dancing there.  Next step:  getting it out of our front yard.

The gaps in the house have made me feel a little more like we can progress with getting the house on the market.  New least-favorite conversation:

When are you leaving?

We want to sell the house first.

Is it listed?

[sheepish] No.

You might want to do that!


This is not a conversation I can blame on the inquirer!  The question is legit, the answer is lame.

Winter Eyes. [Roxi]

Annie mentions winterizing the Duck every so often. I finally realized that I was mounting a fierce internal resistance every time she talked about it. My guts were puttin' up their dukes. It's not such a big deal, now that I'm talking myself through it. "Winterizing" sounds like what you do when you've given up for the season. It's a sensible thing to do when you're no longer going to use a fifth wheel for the winter, and you'll pick up having fun in May. NO! those pesky viscera kept saying. We're leaving soon! We're not giving up!

I'm letting Annie talk me down from this ledge of irrationality. She won't even use that orange stuff in the lines, she'll just blow the water out. Meanwhile, we're still winterizing anyway by running the furnace. Cheaper to blow than to heat up, as Granny used to say. [I don't know what that means.]

We're doing some little things out here this morning. I say little because Annie's doing them, so they seem really easy.

We slept out here last night, after watching a couple episodes of The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency (great series). Boy, oh boy, was it cold! Until we turned the heat up. And the bed is still aces in my book. I get warmer faster than I do in the hosue with our heated mattress pad.

I told a new acquaintance about our plans yesterday. She was very kind and said we were brave (instead of crazy). We've been lucky to have in our circle only brave-sayers instead of a lot of crazy-sayers.

The Duck - Unplugged.

We towed the Duck to a friend's house in Groton and boondocked there overnight.  Since we don't have an inverter yet, we had only propane and DC power; that runs heat, stove, refrigerator, some overhead lights, water pump.  Now that I say it that way, it's a lot of stuff. 

I love our new comforter. With the trailer heat set as low as it would go without being off, I had to kick my socked feet out from under to release some body heat.

Annie found a good inverter set-up for us online.  It was a 2500 watt modified (square) sine wave inverter, along with an automatic transfer switch.  As soon as she ordered it, though, she got a call from the company.  The inverter is out-of-stock.  He asked if he could substitute a Xantrex 2000 watt pure sine wave unit in its place for the same price.  Oh mister, can you!!


The power that you enjoy in your house is more or less pure sine wave.  If you could see it, it would look something like the red line:



The squares are what modified sine wave power looks like.  Output, on the average, is equivalent, but while PSW output is smooth and pretty, SSW power is clunky and awkward like a 13-year-old boy.  Square sine inverters are okay for most things, but have a few drawbacks.  Fluorescent lights may hum.  Sensitive electronics (like desktop computers) will revolt.  Most things are fine.  We use laptops, which can be disconnected from AC while in use, and shut off during recharging.  We figured that's not a problem.  Fluorescents might be a problem, but not a huge one.

Pure sine wave inverters produce grid-quality-and-better sine wave power.  Not surprisingly, they cost twice what their adequate-but-inferior half-siblings run.  So, ratcheting down the power output a little and upgrading was a good surprise.

Gave our brand-new Farberware stovetop percolator its first run.

Nice-looking, perks well, and was broken right out of the box.  Amazon provides free return shipping, and has shipped out another (hopefully intact) unit.  Shame on you, Farberware.  You used to be my shiny, stainless steel hero.

It's curtains for you. [Roxi]

I "made" two pairs of curtains for the Duck bedroom.  I grasped fabric tightly in my fists and applied a sewing machine to it.  Now the windows are covered and the room is dark:  Success!  I rate the curtains as two full style points above a Marlboro beach towel duct taped to the wall.

We're taking her out this weekend!  A boondocking (no hook-ups) overnighter in Groton.

Holding on, letting go.

Going through my stuff is my everyday occupation.  When I'm not actually running my fingers through it, I'm fondling it with my mind.  Right this minute, I am both sitting on the sofa in my bathrobe and upstairs in the attic plotting the fate of a ceramic bunny.  The bunny is poised over the Toss pile, except my imagination keeps taking it out and putting it in the Keep box.  This isn't a bunny of great worth or deep sentiment.  I just think it's cute.

I'm also trudging through a thick layer of meta-analysis.  Why does a porcelain rabbit speak to me when my grandmother's silver does not?  I can't wait to get the depression glass and majolica back to my mother.  What is wrong with me, that I can't get the holding on right?

Being able to store some things has created ease in making decisions.  I don't have to watch my possessions tumbling into the abyss of the Goodwill bin if I'd rather not.  Mostly, though, the bin is a symbol of my freedom and I welcome it.  And, let's not forget the great emotional No Man's Land:  the yard sale.  Nothing like having strangers judge your stuff and find it not worth 25¢ to shake your self-image.

Let me be clear:  the bag of rocks my son gave me when he was six, so I would "remember him when he grew up and got married"?  They stay.  The truck he made with his grandfather out of wood bits and glue?  You know it.

I mentioned a friend who traveled west with only as much as would fit in her car.  She returned for love and duty, and discharged her obligations, but why stay?  She told me about her house - a three bedroom ranch - which she shares with a cat.  Her things fill the home, things that matter to her.  Why wouldn't they matter?  She is careful to surround herself with beauty and joy, and her possessions tell a story about her.  She loves books, art, theater.  This isn't junk she lives with.  It's her own aura.

Still, it bothers her that she is attached to her possessions.  Her Buddha self would like to practice unattachment, to let go and GO.  She says her inner and outer lives don't match.

These are not just more gratuitous italics I've thrown up here.  This seems really important to me, maybe because I've never thought of things just that way.  This thing I think of as happiness - is it simply a quest to get my outtards to go with my innards?

Blog housekeeping.

Sometimes you guys leave comments.  LOVE! We do respond to them, but Blogger has no way to thread the comments, so the replies just get dumped under the comment.  So, if you're using euphemistic special symbols (#%$@*&%!) when you think of us because we're too snooty to answer, WE DID!  You'll just have to go back to the comment to find us.

Release the Hounds!

I had visitors yesterday!  Bruno (referred to hereafter as "Annie K") and Violet came to see me the cats and to look around, as Violet says.  Violet is five, and can say things like I want to look around your house without getting the stink-eye.  She did suggest I clean up the bedroom, but she wasn't judgmental about it.

I was actually pretty honored that she chose this stop on her rounds;  since Annie K was facilitating an afternoon of fun.  She tried to pet Lily, who swatted her hand without preamble.  Lily CrankyPants.

Later, Violet said to the cat I'm calling you GRAYFACE.  And just like that, Lily was put in her place.

Violet also wanted to examine the Duck.  She asked pertinent questions that cut right to the heart of what matters.  How do you flush the toilet?  [I demonstrated what passes for a "flush" in a composting toilet.]  Where is the food?  [I showed her the refrigerator.]  Where is your music player?   [Stereo on.]  She also wanted to take a cat out, so I brought Bob along.


Annie K asked "What's next?" and Violet considered out loud.  What do I love?  What do I love?  which seemed like the sort of question we ought to be asking ourselves all the time.

All Good Things. [Roxi]

Annie went back to work today, where they were happy to see her.  It was sad here at home, though, because she's my chief source of comedy and entertainment.

Some things that were:

• water heater thermocouple replaced
• shelves made
• wine drunk
• windows washed
• two cats brought out (temporarily)
• clothes moved
• bookshelves finished
• books moved
• table reattached
• nights slept through

Here's Treetop Annie getting caulky:









Isn't she cute?



I helped:



We've been searching for a furnace vent cover.  The hole is irregularly sized, and we threw away the old covers (d'oh!).  Once we exhausted the conventional options, we started thinking outside the Big Box for more imaginative ones.  Checked out Significant Elements, which is a nest of ideas in general;  specifically, no go.  Then we went on to Finger Lakes ReUse, which is a good place, but a little pricey.  We found an old iron grate, painted pink, complete with its guts (not useful to us).  It was way in front of any other "solutions" we had found, but they wanted $25 for it, and we just wanted the top piece.  This is where Annie drew her line in the sand.  $25!  And it's old!  And pink! And $25!  Outrageous.  So uncharacteristic, really;  I've never seen her balk over money before.  Still, it was a solution, and a decent one.  Sometimes solutions come cheap, but now and then you have to bleed for them.  Long story short (oh, too late!), she talked them down 10% and I talked her down the other 90.  So:

• iron grate painted

Let me go on and on about our Sleep Number bed, RV edition:  Awesome.

Today.

Annie and I both have surgeries coming up;  mine is in December, and hers hasn't been scheduled yet.  We will have insurance to cover the procedures, which is most of the point of having them done now.  Still, that means we'll be here instead of on the road.

Our goal is to move us toward living in the Duck and getting the house on the market.  While we're lolling around not trying to sell the house, we're literally and psychically stuck, and getting no closer to our goals.  That's the big plan, but I'm going to work on the small steps that Maria mentioned.  I'm going to put my clothes there.  I'm going to move my books out.  I'm going to go potty there.  I am going to make the Duck more me-friendly and the house less until it's just natural to head there instead of to this couch.

This afternoon I bagged up 62 liters of peat moss into gallon bags.  Nevermind the incompatible units of measurement - the Nature's Head is ready for full deployment.

Annie is working on the water heater and refrigerator, also turning the 90's valances into bookshelves.  I am in the middle of polyurethaning the future dinette table that will mount to the wall and fold down when not in use.

Tonight:  to the Duck for our first sleep-out!  Tomorrow:  think about curtains.

Apparently, Annie is the key.

She's on vacation this week, and suddenly we're accomplishing stuff.  Stop judging me!  I need help.

The fresh water tank and the water pump rest under the bed, so there's that.  The water pump seems to be holding its water, so we assembled the bed, but first we had to attach the plywood back over the water system.  In this set-up, there is a big empty space under the rest of the bed that must be used for storage (RVs abhor a vacuum).  Annie installed a long hinge to the plywood so that it can be lifted by one person.  Maybe the other person gets something out of storage.  I think we forgot the safety latches; it's not too late!

The idea is that the plywood over the frame forms a space for the water, and another compartment for storage, then becomes the base of the bed. We have an RV edition of the Sleep Number bed that we've been itching to set up, so we did that.  There's a big question mark and a storm brewing in the air over our heated mattress pad:  I say Pshaw, who needs it?  and Annie says My organs are fused to it and it's coming with us.  So, consumed with the chill in the air and our consumer lust, we shopped for and bought a down-alternative comforter and cover.  I'm happy to report that the comforter is very warm and if I had napped under it for an hour and fifteen minutes it would probably have been really cozy.  Probably.  If.

We got that crazy fuse kit, too, then blew out a fuse using the 12v plug in the living room.  No problem!  We'll put in another!  Annie glanced at the old one - 75 amps - then replaced it with a smaller, 30 amp fuse.  Stupid decimal point! but we found the mistake before it mattered, and replaced the 7.5 amp fuse with a 5-er.

Awesome discovery:  those kits come with a puller that also tests the fuses, in case we don't know which one is bad.  NAPA, people!  Who knew there were good things there?

There was a frost warning last night, so we left the heat on and came inside.

The table is back in the living room - great for holding pizza and beer.  Come on over!

"Annie and Carolyn" have said it's okay to use their real names, Bruno and Alphonso, here in the blog.  Here's a shout-out, guys!

Today, I have decided to fire up the poop element of the toilet by adding peat moss.  It has to happen sometime.  Lots of details later.

Mantra. [Roxi]

You don't need a plan.  Just go.  ~  Linda K.

Linda has walked the walk - she has cred.

It's electric!

Our electrician came out and looked around.  He addressed our concerns about the converter (it's working), and confirmed Annie's suspicions about it needing a cut-off when we get an inverter.  The "fan" lever may or may not have been on, causing the fan to blow endlessly, but there's something else hinky about that thermostat, so we want him to redo it.

When I pulled the furnace fuse this week, I casually tried putting the fuse back to be sure it was the one.  Abort!  Abort!  Dave the Electrician said we need a fuse kit with those safety tweezers.

I think Annie tried to get me to understand her concerns about the inverter/converter loop that would be endless except that the batteries die altogether which does end the process.  I couldn't get it.  I had to look directly at the converter and see that it plugs into an AC outlet to make the connection.  The inverter converts stored battery (DC) power into AC (outlets).  That's good, except the AC powers the converter, which would then use that AC to charge the batteries.  In a completely, 100% energy-efficient world that wouldn't matter, but in our world it would kill the batteries before very long.

Tonight we haul the Duck back over to Bill's for mechanical work (the leaky everything).

The sun is shining, and you know what a world of difference that makes to SAD bears.  So, woohoo!