A Chaos Theory

chaosI must say this upfront, in case you are new to my blog –  I am not a scientist, nor physicist.

( My long-time readers can stop laughing now …)

Yet, I have proven this chaos theory many times over the years. In fact, I am doing so this week, in my very own office, just trying to move back in.

Somehow, despite all the cabinets and shelves my office has now, there is not enough room for everything designated to be there. SIGH. This turns the fun in putting things away, to dreaded decision-making. About my stuff crap.

Yes, I have gathered much, over the past 50 years, but I’ve only held on to the most precious crap. Then, my mother and sister move on to their eternal rest, and stick me with their precious crap. My inner-teen whines, “this is just SO unfair!”, as I go through boxes of precious family crap and realize I must keep a lot of it for historical and sentimental reasons. It is my duty as the only survivor.

I cannot part with the boxes of genealogical research, and reference documents my mom worked with before she became ill. They, combined with my hubby’s mom’s research, may help me discover the (missing) link between our individual Richardson family trees. If nothing else, there are some great things in there for a novel…

OK. I decide to put all the family research on the top shelf. It won’t be in the way there – I can’t reach the shelf under it without a step-stool.  The shelf I can reach, is the ‘staging’ area for the upper shelves until hubby emerges from his shop, or wherever he is at the moment, and puts them up for me.

Yesterday, hubby shocked me with the news that he needed some file space in my office too. What!?!  It turned out he only needed 5 hanging folders, but he scared me. He has most of his files in the shop’s filing cabinet, but wanted to keep personal files in the house. I gave him permission, what the Hell. Someday, I may need a square foot of shop space. For what, I don’t know. But it’s good to be prepared. The Military Girl Scouts taught me that.

Spring has sprung up here – the days are getting warmer, the bees are wildly spreading pollen, and the squirrels are flirting and chasing each other. I would normally be out on the deck with my laptop, re-writing chapter five of my novel, but I need to gather all the boxes that waited around in closets and the garage for me to put them away. Hubby wants to park in there – this year.

Then, the chaos should reach its peak, and in a few days, my little office will officially be open for business!


Guess Again

Just when (you think) the chaos in your life is at the maximum level, the post-office puts a bomb in your mailbox.


Not the exploding kind, but the kind that raises your blood pressure and makes the headache that you thought was already bad turn into a migraine. You know you’re in trouble because the return address is: “Internal Revenue Service” and it is not even near the holidays.

Sure enough, we made a mistake. A typo that our software should have noticed when it did the math. We were too excited about getting a refund for once, to realize something was off.  The official document  insisted we send them $10,000.oo. Yes, you read that number correctly. And who says the IRS has no sense of humor?

Hey! Wait a minute. There is a typo on our 2010 form and we have to pay them what we still owed. Plus interest. We were not the ones that took 2 years to find the mistake – we sent our return in on time.  Now they want the interest that the absent money could have earned. Oh, Really? I want to know where the Hell they invest their money. I would like to earn that kind of  interest myself!

I can understand about the interest. Almost.  But a fine??   Sorry, we messed up and here’s your money + interest. Now please go away.  But NO,  you’re  punishing  us. To teach us not to mess with the IRS? We don’t. Hell, they know how much money we earn – they have the damned forms.

Thanks for letting me get that off my chest.   Tax Form

We shall pay their bill (what choice do we have?), but not until the other chaos in our lives has settled down and we can find where we hid the damned thing….

photo credit(mailbox): Steve 2.0 via photo pin cc

photo credit (form): Josh Thompson via photo pin cc

Assistant to the Castle

House For Sale

I used to be The Woman of the House. Now I am The Houses Woman  Slave.

My new morning routine is to coffee up, tidy the kitchen, hide things, and try to get some work done on my sister’s memorial before the phone starts ringing.

Our house is quite popular. I schedule showings for agents and their clients all day long. We have had a few good nibbles, but no offers we couldn’t refuse. All we want is our listed price and a buyer with a pre-approved loan. We think that’s reasonable.

Our agent is surprised that we have so many showings during the week. We are damn lucky, because we can’t show the house this Saturday. It would just be too tacky to give tours of the house during a memorial service. Wouldn’t it?

Chaos will begin tomorrow evening when my beloved girls &  favorite son-in-law arrive. There will be musical beds, hidden toys to be found, and plenty of hugs & giggling. The reason for our gathering, and the person missing from it, will add an undertone of sadness, that, shared by many will be a lighter burden. Which is why we have these things, I suppose. And along those lines, I must bid you adieu and get back to work.