I suck at my job

I really do.


My job is to take calls from tax payers who have questions about the tax law.  You have a question, maybe "can I claim my granddaughter as a dependent?" and call to find out.  I am supposed to ask you some specific questions, discover you if you meet the criteria to claim the girl, and then tell you "yes" or "no" and why.  Give you the information, educate you as to why, and move on to the next caller.

Problem is, I can't do it.

In the process of taking your call I find out that you are a single person, low income, you sound scared (who isn't, calling the IRS?!), you don't really seem to know a lot about the tax law, and I suspect that you qualify for the Earned Income Credit and the Making Work Pay Credit, both refundable credits that would put some money in your pocket.  But I am not supposed to offer this info.  I AM NOT YOUR TAX ADVISOR!  I am here to answer your question, the end.

It's killing me, not to help these people.  So I find creative ways to phrase my questions so that I can tell you about the credits without just telling you.  In the course of asking the required questions I phrase them in such a way that you ask what it is, so I can tell you a bit about the credit, and then (if we're lucky) you ask if you can get that, too.  When it all works according to plan, I am such a happy camper.  But I have a feeling I am going to get busted for it someday. 

Then there was the combat-wounded veteran I talked to.  He called because money that was to be non-taxable was listed as taxable.  Come to discover, this is something that the courts ordered corrected TWENTY YEARS AGO and the computer programs still haven't been corrected.  I could tell him how to "fix" part of it on his tax return, but the rest - well, finally I had to suggest he call him congressman and senator to get it corrected.  The telephone number I had for him to call to get the other corrections taken care of was one that he already had called.  And their response was basically "sucks to be you."

This was three days ago and I am still steamed about it.

Every day there are people I talk to who simply need some guidance.  They need an advocate.  They need a person who will point them in the right direction.  They aren't looking for someone to do it for them.  They aren't looking for a free ride (although I get plenty of them, too).  They are just simply ignorant of the law, ignorant of their rights, ignorant of how to work through the system.  They want to do things properly, and they sure don't want to arouse the wrath of the IRS.  But they just don't know.

And I want to help them.  But it's not my job.  For every person I spend extra time sneakily finding ways to tell them things they don't know, I am making two others wait on the phone longer than they should have to wait.  It's a catch-22.  Either I help everyone a little bit but not enough, or I help a few people fully and make the others do without.

I'm not complaining about my job, or what I am supposed to do.  I completely understand that I was NOT hired by the US government to be a tax advisor to these folks.  But my instinct is to help; to offer them the full benefit of my knowledge and the tax code.  But that isn't what you all are paying me for.

Anyone want to pay me to be a tax advisor to the good citizens of this country who want to do it right but don't have a clue?

Serenity and Elvis and Making Peace with Your Life

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And the wisdom to know the difference.

I grew up with this prayer and I have to admit I hated it.  It seemed so weak and wimpy.  Maybe because it was one of those responsive readings, and hearing a hundred or more people muttering it on a Sunday morning made the prayer seem embarrassing or silly.

As an adult I ran into it again in various 12-step programs.  Again, it was muttered by the attendees, but since it's Portland, the "God" part was taken out, so we could be addressing whatever divinity or life force or universe we preferred.  (This is the city that houses the Church of Elvis, after all!)

But just a few years ago I ran across another bunch of 12-steppers who did not hurriedly mumble their supplication, reading if from a card or paper.  Instead, they had it memorized and, with heads up, loudly made their demands.

These men and women required serenity.  There were things in their lives beyond their control and they needed serenity to accept that fact.

They wanted courage.  Some things are within our control and must be addressed and changed, no matter how difficult, and so they wanted the courage to set to those difficult tasks.

And the demanded wisdom.  No sense in courageously attacking things beyond our control, now is there?

I loved these people for their faith and dependence and wisdom.  They knew what they wanted and they were not afraid to ask for it.

I thought of the prayer and that little band of stalwarts this morning when I finally decided, at 430, to go ahead and get out of bed.  My yesterday went from bad to worse (no, not MIL issues) and by 930 last night just about everything that could have gone wrong, had.  I won't bore you with details, but suffice it to say my doctor's visit wasn't a 100% happy one, I ended up being 2 hours late to work because of it (thank goodness for sick time to cover that), as the day ended I was handed info on 2 calls that I made that I will be reviewed on today and they were bad calls.  I have been tossing and turning and worrying and fretting all day and all through the night.  (Okay, not tossing and turning at work, but you get my meaning)

But about an hour ago I realized that what is done is done and it can't be undone.  No sense in fretting over it.  Learn from my mistakes and move on.  No, the review will not be pleasant.  And yes, my conviction that my manager doesn't like me will only be solidified by this process, so I will have to work on not taking anything personally, but professionally.  And no, the doctor's visit wasn't quite as positive as I would have liked, but he didn't shake his head and somberly pronounce me dead, so there's that to consider!  (I did have to laugh at my doc, because I think he might be 25 years old.  Or going on 25.  And he was acting all wise and grandfatherly with me as if he was the kindly family GP from a Norman Rockwell painting.  Not condescending or anything, just acting and speaking about 40 years older than he appears to be,)


Today, as I face the music at work and in other areas of my world, I will have to keep this in the forefront of my mind:

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And the wisdom to know the difference.

And maybe I'll stop at church on the way in to work!

Am I smarter than......

Why is #7 on my list "Become a member of MENSA"?  It's really a vanity thing for me.  And maybe a bit of wishful, or wistful, thinking.

I have mentioned before that growing up with three younger sisters meant that we were labeled.  For the convenience of others who couldn't seem to keep us straight.  There was the pretty one, the athletic one, the funny one, and then I was the smart one.  Back then I believed it.  I was the smart one.  Not funny, pretty, or athletic.  But smart.

However, you wouldn't have guessed it based on my behaviors.  I dated the wrong guys, I didn't bother trying in school (although I did take all the AP classes that were out there), I went to an easy-to-get-into college, I married the wrong guy (note to all you single gals out there - if, as you are standing there at your wedding, you find yourself thinking "I can say 'no'.  Sure it will cause an uproar, but Mom and Dad will take care of returning gifts, making apologies, and shielding me.  I really should say 'no'." then SAY 'NO' YOU SILLY GIRL!!  (sorry, had to get that out of my system)

Anyway.  My life has been one stupid mistake after another.  Things that I knew better and did them any way, or didn't, as the case may be.  Getting a degree in Medieval History.  NOT getting a PhD while I could.  Running injured.  Staying in jobs that were literally killing me.  Ignoring good advice.  And on and on.

These days I am feeling pretty dumb.  I look over my thesis and I can barely believe that person who wrote it is me - I swear I don't even know what all the words mean!  I have a Master's degree and have taught at colleges and universities but I  work in a call center.

I find myself doing stupid things or foolish things or silly things and I say to myself "If you're the smart one, how the heck do your sisters even survive?"  I am only half joking when I say it.

I know that there was never a "smart one" or an "athletic one" or any other "one".  We were all each of those girls, just in varying degrees at that moment in time.  And there was no stasis - our smartness or prettiness or funniness levels waxed and waned.  Even today you can't label us that way.  We still are all four works in progress.

But I need something to validate that smart girl part of me.  So MENSA is my choice.  I know, there are all sorts of smarts out there, and successfully meeting the requirements of membership no more "proves" me smart than failure to do so "proves" me dumb.  But is has always been one of those "wouldn't it be cool if..." things, so I am going to try it.

I have sent in for, and received, the practice test.  Now I need to find 30 minutes of quiet to take the test, then mail it in and see what the preliminary analysis is.  If it looks good, I will schedule an appointment to take the real test, with a live proctor, later this spring.

As long as they don't do background checks, looking for "100 foolish things you've done in the past that exclude you from MENSA" I should be okay!

Looking to test your wits?  Try Match Wits With Mensa: The Complete Quiz Book (Mensa Genius Quiz) or The Mensa Genius Quiz-a-day Book

What's in a name?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u0SSeACInqw

To start, go ahead and click on the link.  That will give you a soundtrack for this blog.  It's been going through my head all morning, so you might as well share the love!

I've been thinking about names a lot recently.  My mother-in-law is "Libby" - always has been.  But her legal name is "Elizabeth".  DO NOT CALL HER ELIZABETH!  She never liked the name, never answered to it.  She is Libby.  If you looked at all of her official documents - driver license, bank records, old W-2s, you would swear her name is Libby.  Poor old unloved Elizabeth.  Nowhere to be found.

My mom is Betty.  Also not an Elizabeth.  But she never was.  Her given name is "Betty".  And if you offered to make her an Elizabeth, she would smack you.  She doesn't like the name.  At least not for her.  She likes QUEEN Elizabeth just fine, can't imagine her being "Queen Betty", but don't call Mom "Elizabeth."

My name isn't really "Kate".  I don't care for my first name, so over 20 years ago I just decided to go by Kate.  Someday I will have to go make it legal and official.  I've only ever been Kate to Scott and my Oregon family.  Heck, my son has heard me go by Kate for almost his entire life.  If you asked him what my full name is, I bet he would start with "Kate".

It seems name things are mostly a female issue.  Is it Barb or Barbie or Barbara?  Jean or Jeanie?  Melissa or Missy?  Maureen or Mo?  Caroline or Carol?  We care about what we are called.  Men usually don't mind.  (Although I do have an Uncle Earl who has been "Uncle Bud" always and forever.  His son is a junior, and so goes by "Little Bud".)

At work I have been collecting unique and unusual first names.  When folks are calling to verify their ability to claim a child as a dependent I will ask for the child's first name, so that I can call him or her by name, rather than just "your kid".  So far I have run across a girl named London.  Her brother is Polo.  Her OTHER brother is Tatiano.  (Note the "o" on the end - that makes is masculine and so is fine for a boy's name - that's what mom told me)  There is a young lady named Integra.  Another named Miracle.  And one named J.  Just the letter.  There was one interesting boy's name.  It seems the parent/s were torn between something ethnic and something very Roman Empirish when they chose the name Keyontavius for their son.  What in the world is the name HIS friends call him??

Shakespeare said "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet" and yet Juliet plaintively requested that Romeo "Deny thy father and refuse thy name" so it sounds like even The Bard was conflicted about names.  But my Dad never was.  Although his name is not the sort to cause any confusion (it was "John" after all!) folks still managed to mess it up, mostly because he had a "first name" for a last name, too.  Bu Dad didn't care.  He always said "Call me anything you want.  Just don't call me late for dinner."


If that little taste of Southern Fried Rock made you hungry for more....Lynyrd Skynyrd - All Time Greatest Hits

Nearing the end

This photo was taken in May or June of 2010.  Just 6 months ago.  We (Scott, Jeremy, and Jenn and I) had gone to visit Libby who was recuperating from her broken hip in a nearby nursing home.  Libby wasn't in any pain, and was able to talk and laugh with us while we visited.  I like this photo because it is one of the last ones that show Libby really "with" us.

I wrote a big old blog and then deleted it, because nothing is coming out right.  The short version (if I can keep this one short) is that it is a matter of hours now.  I'm heading off to sit with her (is that a woman thing?  an East Coast thing?  all I know is that Scott and Marv see no reason for me to do it, and I can't imagine NOT doing it) in a few hours, and will stay until the end or they send me home.  I'm guessing I am over my cold enough for it not to be a problem for anyone else in the house, and I don't think it's going to matter to Libby's health, one way or the other.

Reflections on eating a banana

In my efforts to become more mindful - well, who am I kidding, there's no "more" to it, how about simply:

In my efforts to start becoming mindful...

Okay.  In my efforts to start becoming mindful I tried to pay attention to eating my banana yesterday.  Really think about how it felt and tasted in my mouth.  Where my tongue tasted the banana.  How the banana looked as I peeled it.  How it smelled.  I was really trying to pay attention to what I was doing, and to focus on the task at hand, without letting my mind wander.

After all, how long does it take to eat a banana?  I mean it's not a long and involved process.  People practice mindfulness all day long, focusing on the task at hand, relishing it, savoring it, putting all of their psychic energy into what they are doing at the moment.  Surely I could do that for the length of time it takes to eat a banana.

Nope.  Not a chance.  I made it maybe one minute and then realized that something had caught my attention and there I was, mindlessly munching away, thinking about something else.

Ahem!  Back to the banana, please!

It took several attempts at refocusing, but I did manage to finish my banana, thinking more about what I was doing than I have in a very long time.

This is the book that I am currently reading.  It is a slender little book.  Simple.  It requires no great effort to read.  It is easy to understand.

And I have had to force myself to read and re-read the first three chapters over and over.

Because in my haste to learn this thing they call mindfulness, I realized that I keep speed-reading through the book, trying to finish it rather than trying to read it.

That has been a revelation to me.

My focus in life is more about finishing the task than doing it.  And not simply onerous chores, where I could perhaps be excused for my desire to just get it over with so that I can move on.  No, I realized that, like with the banana episode yesterday, I so want to accomplish everything that I think I need to complete in a day, that I never slow down to relish or savor anything that I am in the process of doing.

I read during meals, meaning my mind is divided between my food and my book or magazine, so neither gets the attention it deserves.  I iron and watch TV.  While I put away Christmas things (a weeks-long process at our house - the goal is to have it all down and away by Valentine's Day!) I don't reflect on the items, their sentiment or sentimental value; nor do I wonder why we always put that thing in that place.  I simply put things away, all the while scanning the room for the next object, my mind already leaping ahead to the next task, calculating the absolute minimum amount of time I have to spend putting away Christmas things so that I can safely say I worked on the task.

My life is being lived in anticipation of the future, which sounds great, but what it really means is that I am throwing away the present at the same time.  Perhaps that explains, at least in part, why my memory is so faulty these days.  I am not paying attention to my own life, and so have very little recollection of what happened to it.

So while the whole eating-a-banana-mindfully experiment was not tremendously successful, it demonstrated that I can live mindfully, but I really have to work at it.  And it also caused me to realize that I am throwing away my life, in a sense, by spending all of my time anticipating and planning for the future, which I never fully experience since I am busy planning for the next future.

Today I will choose some other small and simple task to practice mindfulness.  It's time I paid attention to my life.


Interested in other books about mindfulness?  Try these:  The Mindfulness Solution: Everyday Practices for Everyday Problems, Mindfulness in Plain English: Revised and Expanded Edition, A Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction Workbook, and also by Thich Nhat Hanh Peace Is Every Step: The Path of Mindfulness in Everyday Life.

Sick Days

The luxury of a day off.  Why is it that we have to be sick, I mean really, really sick, before we give ourselves a day off of work and chores and responsibilities?  As the man once said, which one of us, on our death bed, will say "I should have gone to work more?" 

Now don't get me wrong, I am all in favor of people having a job.  Work is good for us.  It gives us a purpose.  It breaks up the days.  It means you get taxed so I have a job!  But why is it that we live to work?

I have been fighting a cold all week.  It started last Saturday and here it is, Thursday, and it's still hanging on.  It has me so drained that yesterday at work I literally put my head down on my desk to nap between calls.  I was coughing and sneezing so frequently that I became an instant black-belt practitioner of the use of the "mute" button while talking to the tax payers.  Last night I was so tired when I got home that I fell asleep within minutes of sitting down and still slept all night.  Today I have taken a nap already and it's only 10:19!

Finally common sense asserted itself.  I am sick.  I have sick time accumulated already.  Sick time is to use when you are sick, the idea being you can stay home and get well AND get paid for it.  Pretty nifty idea, huh?  My boss doesn't mind if I take a sick day.  Probably is glad I did, since she doesn't have to listen to me sniffle and snort today.  The government gave me those sick days to use in just such a situation.

So why is it that I felt like a slacker when I called in?

Why do we feel guilty for admitting that we are sick and need a day to recover?

Why do we think that our company will fall apart if we are absent for a mere 8 hours?

Why do we drive ourselves like slaves when we don't need to do it?

Yes, I know that there are folks out there who don't get sick time.  You don't work, you don't get paid.  But most of us do have that available to us and rarely, if ever, use it.  We think we have to be near death to call in sick.

And when I talk about calling in sick Scott always makes me feel like a total slacker.  Don't get me wrong, he NEVER says not to do it.  He encourages me to take the time if I feel like crud.  But somewhere in there he will mention oh-so-casually, that he hasn't missed a day of teaching since 1999.  Oh, except for the one day he took off to go to my dad's funeral.  So that doesn't count, 'cause it was for me, not for him.

Well today I called in sick.  Took my nap.  Sat around and stared out the window at nothing.  Tried to read and couldn't concentrate.  Ditto for playing solitaire.  I did try to get in to see my acupuncturist.  But she's not in on Thursdays.  Drat.  But my massage therapist is, and so I will go see her later this afternoon.  Until then, I'll just sit here and recuperate.  Let my batteries recharge.  Let my body heal itself.

And maybe some day this spring I will take a sick day before I get sick, just to do nothing and enjoy every minute of it.

The Sick Day Handbook: Strategies And Techniques for Faking It; Ferris Bueller's Day Off Bueller...Bueller... Edition (Special Collector's Edition); Probably The Best Music For Relaxation and Meditation