In memory of my nephew, Nolan McIntyre, who was "Intuitive Thinking". Nolan died suddenly on Feb 10, 2009, at the age of 27.To read about Nolan, go to http://www.salon.com/ and read my posts:
Thursday, March 19, 2009
The Sudden Death of Intuitive Thinking
In memory of my nephew, Nolan McIntyre, who was "Intuitive Thinking". Nolan died suddenly on Feb 10, 2009, at the age of 27.
Monday, February 2, 2009
The True (and uncensored) Story of My Dad, Part 2
So, the readers at salon.com wanted to know what happened after Doris and I found our dad in Seattle. This is the rest of the story.
My dad, circa 1967, shortly before he left the family, and 11 years before he died
***************************************************************************
I was in Sun Valley, Idaho when I got the phone call. It was 1978, years before cell phones, email, and the constant connection to family and friends. So when my sister, Doris, left me a message at the Sun Valley Lodge, I knew something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
I panicked, afraid to listen to the painful words I would surely hear from the other end of the telephone line.
"Don't tell me, Doris. Please don't tell me anything bad"
"It's not the worst one", she said.
Not the worst one.
I knew right away who she meant. I felt relief, pain, then guilt. "I'm sorry, Daddy", I whispered, lifting my eyes up towards heaven. "I'm sorry you died. I'm sorry we had only four years. And I'm sorry I think of your dying as not the worst one."
I couldn't talk. Couldn't think. Couldn't breathe.
I called my oldest sister, Millie, the pastor's wife. "I want to pretend that he never came back, that he's still living somewhere else, that we never had these four years, because it's too painful."
"You can't do that", she said, then gave me advice about death and grieving, forgiveness and acceptance.
"Are you with someone you can talk to?" she asked.
"Yes, my friend Sallee. We're leaving right now. We'll be in Portland tonight."
I was surprised when I found out that Sallee didn't understand my grief. She knew the story of my dad, and didn't understand why we had to cut our vacation short. She knew how his drinking had torn our family apart. How Daddy just packed up and left us that Spring day in 1968 when I was finishing my Junior year in high school. How Mama was suddenly left with the responsibilty of 3 school age children, and had to find a job at the age of 47, after twenty-three years as a homemaker. How Doris and I found him 4 years ago - living in a hotel room in Seattle - and brought him back to Portland. She didn't understand how I could grieve, so on that day, I lost a friend as well as a father.
A one day trip home turned into two days, as Sallee drove us back to Portland in her blue 1968 VW Bug, meandering along country roads instead of taking the interstate, because she was angry with me.
For two days I thought about the past four years. First, I cursed Aunt Lilly. Cursed her and Uncle Frank for taking Uncle Onnie away. One day Uncle Frank showed up in Seattle unannounced and took Onnie back to Wisconsin with him. Didn't even say hello or goodbye to Daddy. "Now that Wayne's been reunited with his family, he doesn't need Onnie anymore", was the way they put it. "It's best that Onnie's back home with us".
Aunt Lilly and Uncle Frank didn't realize that Daddy needed to take care of Uncle Onnie. He figured he hadn't taken very good care of us, so this was his second chance. When he went to the Summerplace Nursing Home the next morning and found Onnie gone, he was devasted. I suspect that he might have started drinking again.
When Doris and I drove to Seattle in the summer of 1974, we had not talked to Daddy in over six years. We soon found out that during those years, he and Uncle Onnie worked as ranch hands in Montana, Idaho, and Washington, until Onnie became too sick to work. In each town they worked, Daddy scoured newspaper archives at the local library, looking for any news about the family he had left behind. He kept in touch with Aunt Lilly, and she sent him photograhs of us, copies of the ones Mama had sent to her. He stopped drinking before Onnie got sick and was diagnosed with alzheimers. Stopped cold turkey, he said.
He never stopped thinking about us, he said. We didn't ask him why he never called. The tears in his eyes told me he was sorry, and that those lonely days on the road were too painful to remember. So, we embraced him. And he asked us if he could visit us.
The first thing Daddy did after that day in Seattle was buy a train ticket to visit Millie and her family in California. He spent a month with them, doing odd jobs around the house, making up for lost time with his oldest child, and getting to know his 2 grandsons. The boys were mystified by this new stranger in their lives. Daddy had lost his left eye in his 20's, so he wore a glass eye, and slept with that eye open. One day while Daddy was napping in a chair, 4-year old Eric climbed onto his lap, looked at the opened glass eye and excitedly called to his mother "Mommy, I didn't know my grandpa was bionic!"
Next, Daddy and Uncle Onnie visited us in Portland. Mama was nervous, and we were unsure of how she would react around him. Would she demand an explanation? Tell him to leave us alone, like she did after he left us 6 years earlier? But when he walked in the door of her house, she took one look at the broken man, and softened.
"Mama, I'm sorry", he said. That's all he had to say.
After Uncle Frank took Onnie back to Wisconsin, Daddy decided to move to Portland for good. Doris offered to let him stay at her house, but he said 'no thank-you', he was more comfortable living downtown. He worked in the soup kitchens and chopped fire wood for rich families. One Thanksgiving he had his picture on the front page of The Oregonain, serving food to the homeless. He wanted to stay busy. He never wanted a handout.
One Christmas day Daddy took the city bus to Doris and Rod's house - took the bus because he didn't want anyone to go out of their way picking him up from downtown. He showed up with his glass eye in backwards. Rode the bus for 20 miles that way. "Mama, you need to tell Daddy his eye's in backwards", we told her. I guess they didn't have mirrors at the Gospel Mission Hotel.
Mama and Daddy became friends, but they could never live together again. We spent two Christmases together as a family before that fatal day in 1978 - when he had an aneurysm while chopping wood.
During the 2 day drive from Sun Valley I tried to think of all the good times we had with Daddy over the past 4 years. I didn't want to think about the bad times before - what good would it do?
When I finally got to Portland, I learned two things: 1) Millie had given me wonderful advice, and 2) funerals are for the living.
When I finally got to Portland, I learned two things: 1) Millie had given me wonderful advice, and 2) funerals are for the living.
My family needed this time together to grieve. To remember. To be thankful that we were able to spend his final four years with him. That he had finally found peace. And so had we.
When my brother, Gary was handed the American flag that had been draped over Daddy's casket, I saw the tears streak down Mama's face. They had met and married during World War II - Daddy was an Army Sergeant serving stateside, on account of his glass eye.
When my brother, Gary was handed the American flag that had been draped over Daddy's casket, I saw the tears streak down Mama's face. They had met and married during World War II - Daddy was an Army Sergeant serving stateside, on account of his glass eye.
Later that day, we received a box of Daddy's belongings from the Gospel Mission Hotel. All of his wordly possessions were in one box. It contained: a small white Bible my youngest sister, Connie, had given to him for his birthday when she was 5 years old; 3 Zane Grey books; the cribbage board he taught me to play on when I was 10 - his cigarette burns were still on the edge of the board; his army discharge papers; his wallet that contained his social security card and 4 photographs - photos of his 4 grandchildren. There was nothing else in his wallet.
We were about to close the box when we noticed something else. On the bottom, in a envelope, were retirement papers he had received from the City of Portland. He had just turned 60 years old before he died, and having worked over 15 years with the City in the 1950's and 1960's, was entitled to a retirement. Even though my parents were divorced, he had made sure that Mama was listed as his beneficiary. What he couldn't give to her in life, he gave to her in death.
On Febraury 5, 2009, my dad would have been 91 years old.
Friday, January 9, 2009
I'm Taking A Break...so please read my story
I'm taking a break from my blogging for awhile. I'm not sure how many readers I'm getting, and it seems to be too time consuming to learn how the whole blogging process works. What I really like to do is write. I've been posting my stuff on OpenSalon at salon.com and have been getting some positive responses. So I decided to write some stuff just for OS. I've been learing alot about writing...much of it I should have already known from some of the creative writing classes I've taken. But it's good to be reminded and get feedback from people. One of the writers I admire at OS has taken an interest in what I've written and has given me some pointers. I wrote the following story after our last communication and got good reviews. My new 'mentor' thought it was great, and the editors at OS rated it as an "Editor's Pick". So...I'm leaving this blog for awhile. If you want to catch me, you can find me writing as Proud and Progressive at: http://open.salon.com/content.php?cid=77362
Now, here's my new story. It was difficult to write, but I wanted to share it with you....whoever you are out there.....
The True (Uncensored) Story of My Dad
Aunt Lilly and I were standing at her kitchen sink washing the dinner dishes when she whispered to me “My heavens, you look just like your father”.
Although we had talked non-stop ever since I stepped off the greyhound bus that afternoon, I think that was the first time she really looked at me. I felt uneasy, like I was a ghost. I looked out the window and thought about the last time we were all here together, as a family. I had fond memories of that time, but I suspect that was when Lilly found out about Daddy’s drinking.
“He wasn’t always like that,” she said, as if reading my mind. “No matter what your mother says… “
Don’t talk about my mother, I wanted to scream. She’s not the one who left us, I wanted to say. But I didn’t, because Daddy is Aunt Lilly’s brother, and she loves him, flaws and all. And I guess I do too. After all, that’s why I made the 2000 mile trip to visit Aunt Lilly.
“He was such a fancy dresser. A good cook too. And boy, could he sew”.
Oh, shut up! Daddy never dressed up for us. He didn’t cook or sew either. Mama did those things. He was the one who left us.
In the beginning there were good times. Before the drinking. After Daddy left, I heard Mama yelling into the telephone “I don’t want your stinkin’ money. If you don’t wanna be a husband and father, then leave us alone.” He left us alone.
Aunt Lilly is talking on and on about Daddy. I don’t want to listen, I want to listen. I know the alcoholism is a disease, an addiction that he can’t, or won’t quit. I know it doesn’t have anything to do with me, or with Mama. I didn’t always know that. When he started drinking, I prayed that he would move away. When he left, I prayed that he would come home.
I tried to think about the good times, like the time he took us skiing, neighbors and all. He drove us up to Mt Hood in a ’56 Chevy Impala, with no seat belts. We couldn’t afford ski bindings, so Daddy attached our boots to the skis with leather belts. My brother, Gary and I each had one ski and one ski pole. Gary skied right into a snow drift, screaming “I’m drowning, I’m drowning!” We didn’t know this wasn’t how you were supposed to ski. I thought of the summer evenings when Daddy sat on the front porch, playing his accordion, and all the neighbors gathered around, singing and dancing.
I looked at Aunt Lilly and asked “Do you know where he is?”
“He’s in Seattle, taking care of Onnie”.
Uncle Onnie. Our favorite uncle. Uncle Onnie is 10 years older than Daddy, but they look so much alike, they are easily mistaken. Uncle Onnie used to give us and the neighbor kids a quarter each time we mistook him for daddy. We made a lot of money the summer he stayed with us. Onnie’s the one who taught me how to stand on my head and how to ride my bicycle with no hands.
“Where in Seattle?” I asked.
“Onnie’s in a nursing home. Your dad lives close by and visits him every day.”
Oh, hmmmm. I looked at the field outside Lilly’s window and remembered the hay ride we took all those years ago. Afterwards, Daddy and Mama sang and danced, and Daddy made everyone laugh. Then he left, I suppose to go to a tavern, because he was gone for the rest of the night.
“Would you like his address?” Lilly asked me.
I clutched Onnie’s and Daddy’s addresses to my chest as I boarded the greyhound bus two days later. When I got home I called my sister. “Doris, how would you like to go see Daddy?”
First, I wrote a letter to Onnie. Doris and I were going to be in Seattle in a couple of weeks and would like to visit him. The nurses at the nursing home called to tell us, yes, he would love to see us.
Next, I told Mama. “Why do you want to see him?” she asked. Then when she walked away, I watched as she observed herself in the mirror, running a comb through her hair and touching up her lipstick. If Mama can forgive Daddy, I guess I can too.
Two weeks later Doris and I drove 3 hours up I-5 to the Summerplace Nursing Home in Seattle. We found Uncle Onnie flirting with one of the nurses, ‘Madge’ her name tag said. We were told he had the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s and might not remember us. But he did, because when we started to leave, he handed me a quarter and said “Give this to your dad”.
Twenty minutes later Doris and I walked past a ‘Men Only’ sign at the entrance of the Mission Hotel. Our hearts pounded as we stood in front of room 303 and knocked. A small, thin man opened the door. He was fresh shaven and wore a clean, though slightly wrinkled red flannel shirt and brown khaki pants. The three of us stood there for a moment, staring at each other, and then embraced. I felt all three heartbeats beating together, felt his bony shoulders, smelled his cheap aftershave, and wept.
He led us into his room, decorated with a bed, table, two chairs, a TV and a small desk. On the desk were photos of his 5 children and 4 grandchildren. Where did he get those, I wondered. From Aunt Lilly? He saw me looking at the Oregon, California, and Missouri phone books on the table. “I wanted to always know where you kids lived” he said, with tears in his eyes.
He wanted to show us the city, so he took us to some of his favorite places. At the library he showed us how he found his daughter’s wedding announcements and grandchildren’s birth announcements. At the Soup Kitchen, he introduced us to some of his friends. “This is my daughter, Doris, she’s a professor and her husband runs the city of Portland. And this is my daughter, Sandra; she’s a Vice President at a big bank.” The details were a little off, but we didn’t correct him. Somehow he knew what we did for a living, so we didn’t care. Let him brag.
We went to a coffee shop and he bought us each a cup of coffee and a maple bar. “I quit drinking”, he said. “I quit after Onnie went to the nursing home. Stopped smoking, too.” I stifled my urge to say – you stopped for Onnie, but not for Mama and us. There was no need to say anything; it’s all in the past.
We walked him back to the Mission Hotel and made arrangements for him to visit us in a couple of months.
“Sandra”, he called to me as I walked away.
“Yeah?”
“Tell Mama I’m sorry”.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Don't Wait Until it's Too Late
Friday night we had a Progressive Cocktail Party in our neighborhood. Sixteen people arrived at our neighbors house across the street at 6pm for savory appetizers and cranberry vodka cocktails.....and after progressing thru two more homes, ended up at the final neighbor's house at 9m for dessert and champagne....with the last guests leaving shortly before midnight.
Some of us met that night for the first time. Some knew a few others only in passing...a 'hello' as we walked past their homes, or when they walked their dogs. Some of us were more intimate....sharing dinners together in each other's homes. Ages ranged from the late 20's to the mid 60's. One couple just moved in a month ago, while we have been here for twelve years. Yet, on this evening, we were all more alike than we were different.
Our snow had pretty much melted by Thursday night, but we all awoke Friday morning with an inch of new fallen snow, that quickly turned into ice. The sixteen neighbors literally grew closer together as we walked arm-in-arm, or hand-in-hand across the icy street as we progressed from house to house.
I'm telling this story because of one person I met that night. The newest neighbor. The youngest neighbor. In a previous post of mine titled "Is my job boring, or am I boring?", I told the story of how my husband wanted to pretend to be a Motivational Speaker (like Chris Farley on SNL). He gave up that little gig when we heard that a real Motivational Speaker was moving into our neighborhood. We met him Friday night, and my husband jokingly told him about his fake job. Thank goodness, he was pretty good natured about it. After all, he is a Motivational Speaker.
But this story isn't really about him. It's about you. It's about me. It's about all of us.
Since he is so young, I wondered how this man became a Motivational Speaker. He said it all started when he was 19 years old and was in a serious car accident, with serious injuries. He eventually recovered, while the driver, his best friend, suffered damage that would alter his life forever. While my neighbor was near death, he wondered...if he died that night...would he have loved enough...mattered enough....made a difference. As he started telling his story, he was asked to give speeches, to inspire people.
Now, I might be putting words in his mouth, but what I gathered from our conversation was that he didn't want to have regrets. He wanted to matter. He wanted to make a difference. He wanted to love enough and be loved enough. He didn't want to wait until it was too late.
That made me think about my dad. He grew up in a small town in Wisconsin, but moved 'out west', as he called it, to make a better life for his family. He worked for the Water Bureau, sometimes managing the reservoirs at Mt Tabor or Washington Park. I don't know if taking care of the roses was part of his job description, but that was something he always proudly showed off to us, whenever we accompanied him to work.
My dad was proud of the life he made for himself in Portland, and proud to be part of the Rose City. He came from a large family and urged his siblings to visit us. My mother's family visited often, but few came from my dad's family. He died in 1976 and is buried at Willamette National Cemetery, on a beautiful hillside overlooking the City of Roses.
About 15 years after my dad died, two of his recently widowed sisters decided to visit Portland. One of the first things they wanted to do was see his grave. My aunt, his oldest sister, looked sadly at the grave and said "All these years Wayne begged me to visit him, and I didn't. I'm so sorry that when I'm finally here, all I see is his grave".
I still tear up whenever I think of that day. At what she missed. That he missed sharing the day with her.
Don't wait until it's too late!
Some of us met that night for the first time. Some knew a few others only in passing...a 'hello' as we walked past their homes, or when they walked their dogs. Some of us were more intimate....sharing dinners together in each other's homes. Ages ranged from the late 20's to the mid 60's. One couple just moved in a month ago, while we have been here for twelve years. Yet, on this evening, we were all more alike than we were different.
Our snow had pretty much melted by Thursday night, but we all awoke Friday morning with an inch of new fallen snow, that quickly turned into ice. The sixteen neighbors literally grew closer together as we walked arm-in-arm, or hand-in-hand across the icy street as we progressed from house to house.
I'm telling this story because of one person I met that night. The newest neighbor. The youngest neighbor. In a previous post of mine titled "Is my job boring, or am I boring?", I told the story of how my husband wanted to pretend to be a Motivational Speaker (like Chris Farley on SNL). He gave up that little gig when we heard that a real Motivational Speaker was moving into our neighborhood. We met him Friday night, and my husband jokingly told him about his fake job. Thank goodness, he was pretty good natured about it. After all, he is a Motivational Speaker.
But this story isn't really about him. It's about you. It's about me. It's about all of us.
Since he is so young, I wondered how this man became a Motivational Speaker. He said it all started when he was 19 years old and was in a serious car accident, with serious injuries. He eventually recovered, while the driver, his best friend, suffered damage that would alter his life forever. While my neighbor was near death, he wondered...if he died that night...would he have loved enough...mattered enough....made a difference. As he started telling his story, he was asked to give speeches, to inspire people.
Now, I might be putting words in his mouth, but what I gathered from our conversation was that he didn't want to have regrets. He wanted to matter. He wanted to make a difference. He wanted to love enough and be loved enough. He didn't want to wait until it was too late.
That made me think about my dad. He grew up in a small town in Wisconsin, but moved 'out west', as he called it, to make a better life for his family. He worked for the Water Bureau, sometimes managing the reservoirs at Mt Tabor or Washington Park. I don't know if taking care of the roses was part of his job description, but that was something he always proudly showed off to us, whenever we accompanied him to work.
My dad was proud of the life he made for himself in Portland, and proud to be part of the Rose City. He came from a large family and urged his siblings to visit us. My mother's family visited often, but few came from my dad's family. He died in 1976 and is buried at Willamette National Cemetery, on a beautiful hillside overlooking the City of Roses.
About 15 years after my dad died, two of his recently widowed sisters decided to visit Portland. One of the first things they wanted to do was see his grave. My aunt, his oldest sister, looked sadly at the grave and said "All these years Wayne begged me to visit him, and I didn't. I'm so sorry that when I'm finally here, all I see is his grave".
I still tear up whenever I think of that day. At what she missed. That he missed sharing the day with her.
Don't wait until it's too late!
Monday, December 22, 2008
A Norman Rockwell Morning
What a difference a day makes.
We shovelled our driveway this morning, then decided we wouldn't go to work after all. So we put on our cross-country skis and explored the neighborhood. We headed up hill to the right, following last night's tire tracks, lightly covered with a new dusting of snow. Since most people couldn't either get their cars out, or just decided to stay home, we felt pretty safe gliding in the middle of the road. Traversing down the hills, we met children snow-boarding, sledding, and just playing. Everybody was friendly. Everyone was happy.
We followed trails through the woods, marveling at the stillness and beauty of our surroundings.
We met our new neighbors, recent transplants from Montana, via San Francisco. We played snow toss with another neighbor's dog. We stood in our front yard, a cup of hot chocolate in hand.......as a family walked up the hill, pulling suitcases behind them. No, they didn't need help. They were almost there.
The snow is beautiful, and even though I met new neighbors and talked with strangers, I miss my family and friends. We will make it one way or another to my sister's house on Christmas morning....over the river and through the woods....way on the other side of town.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Toy Soliers......on Salon.com
I posted Toy Soldiers on salon.com and it was an Editor's Pick. I don't know who picks 'em and who the editors are, but I heard there's at least 500 new posts a day on salon.com. So.......whatever.
Shades of Grey on a Snowy Day
Photo taken at 9:15 am Sunday 12/21
Ok, so I'm whining.
We've had a full week of snow, unusual for Portland. Right now we have a foot of snow in our yard, with 2 foot drifts in some spots. The car tracks in the street are covered over from last night's blizzard. This morning we woke up and our power was out. Luckily, we have a couple of gas fireplaces, so we lit them to keep warm. We have a gas range and can light the pilot light to cook. But what about coffee? How do I make my latte? And how do I grind my coffee beans? And where's my Sunday paper?
I found some old coffee in the cupboard, heated water on the stove, and found my camping coffee maker in the camping stuff. Ugh. Terrible. Added a little cocoa to make a cafe mocha. Bad. Note to self: throw out all old coffee.
Since we recently 'bundled' our cable service.....Internet, cable TV, and phone....we were without a phone (that's because this moron didn't charge up her cell phone last night and the battery is low). We sat in the car in the garage for a few minutes charging my phone, and trying to catch some news on the radio. Its funny....the TV news stations show the storm coverage 24/7, whether we like it or not, but try to find out what's happening on the radio when your power is out....no such luck! No TV, no Internet, no phone, no lights, no coffee. I didn't realize how much I counted on electricity.
I went for a walk, for something to do. Neighbors are out, shoveling their walks, walking dogs, or trying to dig out cars that have been left by the side of the road for the past 5 days. Walked to our little "Village Marketplace". Starbucks was closed, but there was a stack of The Sunday Oregonian. Papers were taken and money was left as payment. I grabbed a paper and left 2 bucks.
When I got home the power was on. Yea! I can have my latte and read the paper. Isn't life grand?
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Fashion Queens.....or Easter Seesters
Easter morning, circa 1959I'm on the left, with my 2 older sisters and next door neighbor
When I was little and would complain about not having something, my dad would say "I complained about not having any shoes, until I saw a man without any feet". Nice advice, but I wonder what he was thinking when he and my mom sent me off to church in my new Easter dress with these shoes.......tennis shoes with no laces!?!? I wonder what my play shoes looked like.....
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Toy Soldiers
Now that Christmas is around the corner, and you might be wondering what you should get the little ones....what toy will make them say WOW! and create lifetime memories....I'd like to share with you the toys I shared with my younger brother and sister. Clothespins. That's right. Plain old wooden clothespins.
I found a box of clothespins in my mom's stuff when we were cleaning out her apartment. I don't think these were the actual ones we played with when we were kids, but it sure brought back memories. It's funny how we all grew up to be anti-war.....that we mostly played army with the clothespins. Sometimes we played cops and robbers, and sometimes cowboys and Indians....but mostly it was army. We'd build a small fort in our backyard, probably out of other household items, like cans of vegetables, forks, combs, or pots and pans. Then we'd station our army men (the clothespins) around the fort and fight battles. We would spend hours playing this way.
My family didn't have a lot of money, so we didn't have many toys. My older sister had one doll with a painted on dress. A doll she cherished. We love these memories. I guess in a way, I'm sort of glad we didn't have much. It's made me appreciate the things I do have.
Every year I make a gift for my great-niece who lives in Florida. Her mother told me she loves the homemade gifts, so I'll continue until she's too old to appreciate them. I made her something really special this year....and I promise, it's not made out of clothespins.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Warrior King - part 2
I wanted to add something to my review of Warrior King.
Nathan Sassaman comes from a long line of military men. This was his career. It's now over. Although he admits his 'cover up' was wrong, he thought he was doing the right thing at the time. Due to the ineptness of the way this so-called war was run, he was a scapegoat. Just like the soldiers convicted in the Abu Ghraib scandal were scapegoats.
Please read the book. Like I used to say when I gave my book-reports in grade school..."you have to read the book to find out how it ends".
Nathan Sassaman comes from a long line of military men. This was his career. It's now over. Although he admits his 'cover up' was wrong, he thought he was doing the right thing at the time. Due to the ineptness of the way this so-called war was run, he was a scapegoat. Just like the soldiers convicted in the Abu Ghraib scandal were scapegoats.
Please read the book. Like I used to say when I gave my book-reports in grade school..."you have to read the book to find out how it ends".
Warrior King - Book Review
On the heels of Obama's naming of General Eric Shinseki as Secretary of Veteran's Affairs, I'd like to recommend a book written by a veteran of the Iraq war - "Warrior King - the triumph and betrayal of an American Commander in Iraq" - by Nathan Sassaman.
Nathan Sassaman was a 1985 graduate of West Point....captain and quarterback of Army football team....one of the most celebrated officers in the U.S. military....and also happened to belong to my sister and brother-in-law's church.
I borrowed this book from my brother-in-law. I was surprised to see him reading it, because I never, ever see him reading a book, except for the Bible. But he told me Nathan had been in his youth group at church and that he was an honest, stand-up citizen. Nathan sent my sister and brother-in-law a flag that had been flown in Iraq - as a thanks for their support of him throughout the years. I'm telling you this because I think it's important to understand who Nathan Sassaman is.
You might remember reading about the cover up and (apparent) drowning of two Iraqi detainees after American troops purportedly forced them to jump into the Tigris River. This was Sassaman's battalion and he was the person who was responsible for the cover up.
Nathan Sassaman Commanded 1st Battalion 8th Infantry Regiment in Iraq from 2003 - 2004. In this book, he is critical of the way the war was executed. There were errors and miscalculations from the Bush Administration (in particular, Rumsfeld), and some mid-ranking military personnel. He talks about the politicization (and cover up) of Jessica Lynch and Pat Tillman. About the pay-offs to Iraqi citizens to appease their losses. About how we can't win the war, because it's not a war anymore, it's police enforcement. He criticized Bush's 2003 announcement that “major combat operations in Iraq have ended” as a rather spectacularly ill-informed display of hubris.
While this book is dry at times when he describes the day-to-day military operations, three passages resonated with me.
On pages 50 -51
About going to war in Iraq: "I also suspect rather strongly that the issue had been on the table for quite some time, perhaps long before 9/11".
About WMD's: "There were no hardcore chemical or nuclear weapons anywhere in that country. I don't think there ever were. I think the Bush Administration used the issue of weapons of mass destruction as a legitimizing argument - in other words, for public relations issues".
On page 30
About our next steps: "What I think our next president (whoever he or she might be) ought to do. Bring our soldiers home - now. Start today".
I have always been against the war in Iraq. I remember after 9/11 how everyone wanted justice for what had been done. How we went into Afghanistan to get bin Laden and those responsible for the attacks. Then one day...all of a sudden...out of the blue....I heard on C-Span that there was some sort of threat in Iraq. I remember thinking...Huh?...what happened to Afghanistan?
I remember watching Colin Powell saying things like - we can see the weapons right there - as he pointed to a hand sketched diagram. I remember Codoleezza Rice talking about giant mushroom clouds. They had me scared. But still, I thought....what about Afghanistan and those guys who attacked us?
Reading this book answered my questions. I would like to hear comments from anyone else who has read the book.
(Note: for those who do not know, General Shinseki, as Army Chief of Staff, said we would need more troops if we were to win in Iraq, was ignored, then promptly asked to retire. As we now know, he was correct.)
Nathan Sassaman was a 1985 graduate of West Point....captain and quarterback of Army football team....one of the most celebrated officers in the U.S. military....and also happened to belong to my sister and brother-in-law's church.
I borrowed this book from my brother-in-law. I was surprised to see him reading it, because I never, ever see him reading a book, except for the Bible. But he told me Nathan had been in his youth group at church and that he was an honest, stand-up citizen. Nathan sent my sister and brother-in-law a flag that had been flown in Iraq - as a thanks for their support of him throughout the years. I'm telling you this because I think it's important to understand who Nathan Sassaman is.
You might remember reading about the cover up and (apparent) drowning of two Iraqi detainees after American troops purportedly forced them to jump into the Tigris River. This was Sassaman's battalion and he was the person who was responsible for the cover up.
Nathan Sassaman Commanded 1st Battalion 8th Infantry Regiment in Iraq from 2003 - 2004. In this book, he is critical of the way the war was executed. There were errors and miscalculations from the Bush Administration (in particular, Rumsfeld), and some mid-ranking military personnel. He talks about the politicization (and cover up) of Jessica Lynch and Pat Tillman. About the pay-offs to Iraqi citizens to appease their losses. About how we can't win the war, because it's not a war anymore, it's police enforcement. He criticized Bush's 2003 announcement that “major combat operations in Iraq have ended” as a rather spectacularly ill-informed display of hubris.
While this book is dry at times when he describes the day-to-day military operations, three passages resonated with me.
On pages 50 -51
About going to war in Iraq: "I also suspect rather strongly that the issue had been on the table for quite some time, perhaps long before 9/11".
About WMD's: "There were no hardcore chemical or nuclear weapons anywhere in that country. I don't think there ever were. I think the Bush Administration used the issue of weapons of mass destruction as a legitimizing argument - in other words, for public relations issues".
On page 30
About our next steps: "What I think our next president (whoever he or she might be) ought to do. Bring our soldiers home - now. Start today".
I have always been against the war in Iraq. I remember after 9/11 how everyone wanted justice for what had been done. How we went into Afghanistan to get bin Laden and those responsible for the attacks. Then one day...all of a sudden...out of the blue....I heard on C-Span that there was some sort of threat in Iraq. I remember thinking...Huh?...what happened to Afghanistan?
I remember watching Colin Powell saying things like - we can see the weapons right there - as he pointed to a hand sketched diagram. I remember Codoleezza Rice talking about giant mushroom clouds. They had me scared. But still, I thought....what about Afghanistan and those guys who attacked us?
Reading this book answered my questions. I would like to hear comments from anyone else who has read the book.
(Note: for those who do not know, General Shinseki, as Army Chief of Staff, said we would need more troops if we were to win in Iraq, was ignored, then promptly asked to retire. As we now know, he was correct.)
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow!
This photo was taken in our backyard at 9:15 this morning. Winter has come to the Northwest!
I can hardly believe that exactly 1 week ago I was golfing in a short-sleeve shirt.
For those of you who live in the mid-west or the east coast, this is a big deal for Portland. The city will shut down for the day. As for me, I'll curl up next to the fireplace with a good book and a cup of hot chocolate.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Bus Stories
My friend, MoverMike, drives a school bus and sometimes he writes a 'Yellow School Bus' story on his blog. That got me thinking about my own experiences with buses.
Way back in the old days when I worked at a bank, I rode the city bus to work everyday. One morning my dad called me, waking me up. Yikes, I thought...I had overslept...sleeping through my alarm clock. "Gotta go, daddy", I said. Then ran to my closet and got dressed, without even taking a shower. I ran the 1-block to my bus stop and hopped on the bus. Everyone looked different to me. You see, when you ride a city bus every day, so do other people. So you see the same people every day. But these people were different. When I got to the bank, I walked into a dark office. I was there an hour early.
But my favorite story happened to my friends Kim, Jeff, and me. A group from the bank played volleyball every Tuesday evening. Afterwards we would go to the local watering hole for pizza. One particular Tuesday the party eventually ended up at Kim and Jeff's house. Since I knew it would be a late night, I planned on spending the night. We must've had a little too much wine to drink, because the next morning our brains were foggy and our movements slow. We were running a little late getting ready for work, with one bathroom between three people. Dashing to the bus stop, we waved down the bus as it appeared to be passing us by. Huffing and puffing, we climbed on the bus and moved towards the rear. As Kim and I searched our purses (and Jeff his wallet) for our passes, we felt tiny little eyes staring at us. Then we heard giggles. Looking around slowly at the 30 or so miniature heads, we realized we were on a school bus.
Those were different days. I wonder if my friend MoverMike would've picked us up on his school bus. Probably not.
Way back in the old days when I worked at a bank, I rode the city bus to work everyday. One morning my dad called me, waking me up. Yikes, I thought...I had overslept...sleeping through my alarm clock. "Gotta go, daddy", I said. Then ran to my closet and got dressed, without even taking a shower. I ran the 1-block to my bus stop and hopped on the bus. Everyone looked different to me. You see, when you ride a city bus every day, so do other people. So you see the same people every day. But these people were different. When I got to the bank, I walked into a dark office. I was there an hour early.
But my favorite story happened to my friends Kim, Jeff, and me. A group from the bank played volleyball every Tuesday evening. Afterwards we would go to the local watering hole for pizza. One particular Tuesday the party eventually ended up at Kim and Jeff's house. Since I knew it would be a late night, I planned on spending the night. We must've had a little too much wine to drink, because the next morning our brains were foggy and our movements slow. We were running a little late getting ready for work, with one bathroom between three people. Dashing to the bus stop, we waved down the bus as it appeared to be passing us by. Huffing and puffing, we climbed on the bus and moved towards the rear. As Kim and I searched our purses (and Jeff his wallet) for our passes, we felt tiny little eyes staring at us. Then we heard giggles. Looking around slowly at the 30 or so miniature heads, we realized we were on a school bus.
Those were different days. I wonder if my friend MoverMike would've picked us up on his school bus. Probably not.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Bill Bennett is a Mean Spirited Idiot!
I vowed never to be mean or do any name-calling in my blog, but today is an exception.
Last night I was watching FOX News (yes..,,sometimes I watch FOX....I think it's important to find out what people from all sides of the spectrum are saying). Anyway, Bill Bennett is trying to link Obama with the Illinois Gov..........only because of one common thread...the state of Illinois! He kept saying things like there's gotta be a connection somehow, I mean Obama started his political career in Chicago.
Guilt by association. Even though the Guv HATES Obama. And Obama has no love for the Guv.
We have a couple of sleazy politicians in Oregon. One is Senator Packwood. If you don't remember, he groped women while drinking cheap box wine. So, are all politicians from Oregon cheap wine drinking gropers?
Here's another one....Neil Goldschmidt. Portland Mayor, Secretary of Transportation under Carter, Governor. He was probably our best mayor ever, and was a pretty good governor. However, a few years ago it came out that while he was mayor back in the 70's he had sex with a 14-year old neighbor girl...not once, but several times. A lot of people knew about it. He apparently paid to off not to talk. Talk about creep!
OK, my brother-in-law worked for Goldschmidt when he was mayor. They worked in City Hall together. He and my sister went to his house for a party. Did he know about the girl? Guilt by association? I don't think so!
Bill Bennett is a Mean Spirited Idiot! This is the same hypocritical pro-life guy who said on his radio show....There would be less crime if all black babies were aborted.
Last night I was watching FOX News (yes..,,sometimes I watch FOX....I think it's important to find out what people from all sides of the spectrum are saying). Anyway, Bill Bennett is trying to link Obama with the Illinois Gov..........only because of one common thread...the state of Illinois! He kept saying things like there's gotta be a connection somehow, I mean Obama started his political career in Chicago.
Guilt by association. Even though the Guv HATES Obama. And Obama has no love for the Guv.
We have a couple of sleazy politicians in Oregon. One is Senator Packwood. If you don't remember, he groped women while drinking cheap box wine. So, are all politicians from Oregon cheap wine drinking gropers?
Here's another one....Neil Goldschmidt. Portland Mayor, Secretary of Transportation under Carter, Governor. He was probably our best mayor ever, and was a pretty good governor. However, a few years ago it came out that while he was mayor back in the 70's he had sex with a 14-year old neighbor girl...not once, but several times. A lot of people knew about it. He apparently paid to off not to talk. Talk about creep!
OK, my brother-in-law worked for Goldschmidt when he was mayor. They worked in City Hall together. He and my sister went to his house for a party. Did he know about the girl? Guilt by association? I don't think so!
Bill Bennett is a Mean Spirited Idiot! This is the same hypocritical pro-life guy who said on his radio show....There would be less crime if all black babies were aborted.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Is my job boring, or am I boring?
A few years ago I was talking to a woman I had just met at a friend's party. She asked me what I did for a living. I told her my husband and I had a furniture refinishing business. "Oh...can you make a living at that?" she asked. Not only did I think that was a really rude question....I thought it was a really stupid question. Maybe I should have said "No, this is my hobby. I really make my money as a prostitute." Or...."No, this is just my cover. I'm really a major drug dealer". Or...."No, I only do this because I don't make enough money at my real job....selling Happy Meals at McDonald's for minimum wage."
I guess maybe I didn't make my job sound exciting enough. I know people who can talk about eating a sandwich and make it sound like a thrilling adventure. But my mother taught me that it's not nice to brag about myself to people. I guess mom was not always right!
After my encounter with the woman at the party, my husband and I decided we would make up an occupation for the next time we met someone new. He was going to be a Motivational Speaker, loosely based on a Chris Farley character on SNL. He practiced his spiel with some friends and was so convincing that one friend almost hired him until her husband said "It's just pretend". Then one day we found out that a real motivational speaker moved into our neighborhood, so he nixed that idea.
OK, now what? We hadn't met anybody new who would be rude enough to ask "Can you make a living at that?", so we forgot about it for awhile.
Then one day on the golf course, we were playing with a couple of guys we did not know. They were in the hi-tech industry and asked what we did for a living.
"I'm a doctor" I said.
"Really?" one asked, looking interested, and sidling up next to me.
"Yeah, I'm a furniture doctor. I fix furniture" I replied.
"Heh, heh.......", then off they went down the fairway, looking for their drives.
I guess maybe I didn't make my job sound exciting enough. I know people who can talk about eating a sandwich and make it sound like a thrilling adventure. But my mother taught me that it's not nice to brag about myself to people. I guess mom was not always right!
After my encounter with the woman at the party, my husband and I decided we would make up an occupation for the next time we met someone new. He was going to be a Motivational Speaker, loosely based on a Chris Farley character on SNL. He practiced his spiel with some friends and was so convincing that one friend almost hired him until her husband said "It's just pretend". Then one day we found out that a real motivational speaker moved into our neighborhood, so he nixed that idea.
OK, now what? We hadn't met anybody new who would be rude enough to ask "Can you make a living at that?", so we forgot about it for awhile.
Then one day on the golf course, we were playing with a couple of guys we did not know. They were in the hi-tech industry and asked what we did for a living.
"I'm a doctor" I said.
"Really?" one asked, looking interested, and sidling up next to me.
"Yeah, I'm a furniture doctor. I fix furniture" I replied.
"Heh, heh.......", then off they went down the fairway, looking for their drives.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
The Truth about Health Savings Accounts (Note: I've made some adjustments to the original post...in RED)
Today on the Thom Hartmann radio show, I heard some guy say that people who can't afford medical insurance should get a Health Savings Account. That's the same thing George W Bush was saying when he pretended to be concerned about the millions of uninsured and under insured Americans.
Just what planet are they living on?
First of all......a Health Savings Account is NOT medical insurance. It is exactly what it says it is: A SAVINGS ACCOUNT. Anyone who cannot afford to purchase medical insurance cannot afford to put extra money into a savings account.
Second......in order to qualify for a Health Savings Account, you must FIRST PURCHASE MEDICAL INSURANCE. That's right, you must purchase high deductible medical insurance, in order to open up a Health Savings Account.
Third......once you have a Health Savings Account, you pay for all your medical expenses out of that account up to the amount of your deductible. If you don't have enough money in that account, you pay for it out of your pocket.
Fourth......your medical insurance kicks in after you've used up your deductible. If your deductible is $2500, you must pay the first $2500 from the money you've put into your Health Savings Account (or from your own pocket, if you don't have enough money in that accout).
Fifth.....Most people open up Health Savings Accounts (HSA) so they can deduct it on their tax returns. The money they put into their Health Savings Account is pre-tax dollars. So if you don't need the deduction, there is no need to open up an HSA. You might as well just pay for high deductible medical insurance and pay for your medical bills out of your pocket. It's the same thing, basically. Plus, you don't have to put any money in your HSA if you don't want to. You can put in between $1 and the maximum allowed for the year ($2900 in 2008).
My husband and I are self-employed. Medical insurance is expensive, but thankfully we are healthy. This is why a Health Savings Account works for us. Here's how it works:
We purchased a high deductible medical plan ($2500) for $622 a month, for 2 people. This is for medical only; we do not have dental or vision coverage. We can each put up to $2900 annually into a Health Savings Account, which is tax deductible, and can be carried over from year to year. Because we are both over 55 years old, we can each add an additional $900 this year. All of our medical bills are paid from this account. When we retire, we can withdraw money from this account, much like an IRA.
Since our medical expenses have been below $2500 each year, we have paid for everything out of our HSA. But because we have medical insurance, our insurance company will sometimes make adjustments, and we get our services at a reduced fee. This does not apply to dental or vision.
The reason a Health Savings Account works for us is twofold: 1) since we are self-employed, we are able to deduct the amount we contribute to our HSA ($7600 for 2008. It will be raised $8000 in 2009); and 2) we are healthy, so our medical expenses are not high.
The total cost we will pay this year is $7467 for our high deductible insurance, and $7600 for our Health Savings Account. That's $15,067. And this is considered cheap, because we don't have any pre-existing conditions. How can someone making minimum wage afford this? How can a family with children afford double this amount? How can someone with medical problems afford this?
Basically, a Health Savings Account is a tax-deductible savings account that people can use to pay their medical expenses. But it is not medical insurance. You must have a high deductible medical insurance policy in order to qualify for a Health Savings Account.
The next time you hear someone say that a person without medical insurance should get a Health Savings Account, ask them to explain it to you. I don't think they can, because they probably don't understand it.
Ask them "Just what planet are you living on?"
Just what planet are they living on?
First of all......a Health Savings Account is NOT medical insurance. It is exactly what it says it is: A SAVINGS ACCOUNT. Anyone who cannot afford to purchase medical insurance cannot afford to put extra money into a savings account.
Second......in order to qualify for a Health Savings Account, you must FIRST PURCHASE MEDICAL INSURANCE. That's right, you must purchase high deductible medical insurance, in order to open up a Health Savings Account.
Third......once you have a Health Savings Account, you pay for all your medical expenses out of that account up to the amount of your deductible. If you don't have enough money in that account, you pay for it out of your pocket.
Fourth......your medical insurance kicks in after you've used up your deductible. If your deductible is $2500, you must pay the first $2500 from the money you've put into your Health Savings Account (or from your own pocket, if you don't have enough money in that accout).
Fifth.....Most people open up Health Savings Accounts (HSA) so they can deduct it on their tax returns. The money they put into their Health Savings Account is pre-tax dollars. So if you don't need the deduction, there is no need to open up an HSA. You might as well just pay for high deductible medical insurance and pay for your medical bills out of your pocket. It's the same thing, basically. Plus, you don't have to put any money in your HSA if you don't want to. You can put in between $1 and the maximum allowed for the year ($2900 in 2008).
My husband and I are self-employed. Medical insurance is expensive, but thankfully we are healthy. This is why a Health Savings Account works for us. Here's how it works:
We purchased a high deductible medical plan ($2500) for $622 a month, for 2 people. This is for medical only; we do not have dental or vision coverage. We can each put up to $2900 annually into a Health Savings Account, which is tax deductible, and can be carried over from year to year. Because we are both over 55 years old, we can each add an additional $900 this year. All of our medical bills are paid from this account. When we retire, we can withdraw money from this account, much like an IRA.
Since our medical expenses have been below $2500 each year, we have paid for everything out of our HSA. But because we have medical insurance, our insurance company will sometimes make adjustments, and we get our services at a reduced fee. This does not apply to dental or vision.
The reason a Health Savings Account works for us is twofold: 1) since we are self-employed, we are able to deduct the amount we contribute to our HSA ($7600 for 2008. It will be raised $8000 in 2009); and 2) we are healthy, so our medical expenses are not high.
The total cost we will pay this year is $7467 for our high deductible insurance, and $7600 for our Health Savings Account. That's $15,067. And this is considered cheap, because we don't have any pre-existing conditions. How can someone making minimum wage afford this? How can a family with children afford double this amount? How can someone with medical problems afford this?
Basically, a Health Savings Account is a tax-deductible savings account that people can use to pay their medical expenses. But it is not medical insurance. You must have a high deductible medical insurance policy in order to qualify for a Health Savings Account.
The next time you hear someone say that a person without medical insurance should get a Health Savings Account, ask them to explain it to you. I don't think they can, because they probably don't understand it.
Ask them "Just what planet are you living on?"
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
They Ride Horses, Don't They?
When I was a little girl I asked my dad if I could have a horse. He told me....."sure....when my ship comes in". My brother and I thought he really had a ship, and would wait daily for it to come in, carrying my pony and his Red Rider BB Gun. One day, we went to the beach, and my dad pointed out a big ship in the horizon. "See, there it is" he said. We wondered why it was taking so long for it to come in.
Needless to say, my dad didn't have a ship, and I didn't get a horse. But I never stopped dreaming about one.
I watched all the TV shows with horses in them....Bonanza....My Friend Flicka....Mr Ed. When I grew up, I rode horses at the local stables. That was way before liability insurance skyrocketed and you could actually rent a horse at a stable. My secret dream was to meet a real cowboy and live on a ranch. Imagine my excitement when it almost came true.....or so I thought.
I met my faux cowboy when I was 34 and he was 39. But wait, let me back up a bit.
I lived in LA in the early '80's, where I had a good friend who also loved horses. Every Saturday morning, we'd get in the saddles and run freely through the woods, reliving our childhood fantasies of being Elizabeth Taylor in National Velvet. Unfortunately, she moved to the east coast and I was without a riding companion. Until.........
Until......the ski club I belonged to got a group together to take horseback riding lessons. Every Friday night for 2 months we'd meet at the stables by Magic Mountain and learn the fine points of horsemanship. One night a new guy showed up to class. I had seen him at the ski club meetings and on a couple of ski trips, but I did not know him. The next week, I broke my tail bone while roller skating at Venice Beach, so my riding was put on the back burner.
Now, fast forward a few weeks. This young cowboy asked me out on a date, and we went putt-putt golfing. Golf, he told me, was his....ahem...second favorite sport. As soon as I healed and was able to get back in the saddle, we joined my fellow riding students for an afternoon ride. As the horses were beginning to cantor, my friend's stirrup broke and I accompanied him back to the barn. As we approached the barn, the horse decided to roll over, with him still in the saddle.
Needless to say, my dad didn't have a ship, and I didn't get a horse. But I never stopped dreaming about one.
I watched all the TV shows with horses in them....Bonanza....My Friend Flicka....Mr Ed. When I grew up, I rode horses at the local stables. That was way before liability insurance skyrocketed and you could actually rent a horse at a stable. My secret dream was to meet a real cowboy and live on a ranch. Imagine my excitement when it almost came true.....or so I thought.
I met my faux cowboy when I was 34 and he was 39. But wait, let me back up a bit.
I lived in LA in the early '80's, where I had a good friend who also loved horses. Every Saturday morning, we'd get in the saddles and run freely through the woods, reliving our childhood fantasies of being Elizabeth Taylor in National Velvet. Unfortunately, she moved to the east coast and I was without a riding companion. Until.........
Until......the ski club I belonged to got a group together to take horseback riding lessons. Every Friday night for 2 months we'd meet at the stables by Magic Mountain and learn the fine points of horsemanship. One night a new guy showed up to class. I had seen him at the ski club meetings and on a couple of ski trips, but I did not know him. The next week, I broke my tail bone while roller skating at Venice Beach, so my riding was put on the back burner.
Now, fast forward a few weeks. This young cowboy asked me out on a date, and we went putt-putt golfing. Golf, he told me, was his....ahem...second favorite sport. As soon as I healed and was able to get back in the saddle, we joined my fellow riding students for an afternoon ride. As the horses were beginning to cantor, my friend's stirrup broke and I accompanied him back to the barn. As we approached the barn, the horse decided to roll over, with him still in the saddle.
For some reason, he was reluctant to get on a horse after that. But he still rode with me from time to time. They were short rides. They were walks, actually. But that didn't matter. The guy seemed to love horses. I had met my cowboy.
Now fast forward a few more months. I moved back to Portland, and he came with me. One of the first things I did was open the Yellow Pages to find the phone number of the old stables where I used to ride. "How about next Saturday?" I would ask him. "Ummmm......I was thinking about golfing on Saturday" was his reply. Every time.
I'm not sure if it was before or after I had the wedding ring on my finger that he said "There's something I have to tell you. I really don't like to ride horses".
What?!?! Had he been leading me on, just like my dad with his ship?
"Why did you pretend to like horses?" I asked him.
"Well, you pretended to like golf" he replied.
Hmmph. Now 23 years later, I really enjoy the game of golf. And my horse?.......now I'm waiting for my ship to come in.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Tax Facts....(not that there's anything wrong with them)
In a classic Seinfeld episode, Kramer damaged Jerry's stereo, then filed a claim, saying it was broken during shipment. Jerry questioned how he was going to make the post office pay for it:
Kramer: They just write it off.
Jerry: Write it off where?
Kramer: Jerry, all these big companies, they just write off everything.
Jerry: You don't even know what a write off is.
I think most of you know that businesses and individuals 'write off'' whatever they can to lower their taxable income. However, during the Presidential campaign, some people seemed to suddenly forget what they learned in Tax Code 101......we are taxed on taxable income, not gross income. And, we have a progressive tax.
Throughout the campaign, I kept hearing from middle and lower-income people that Obama was going to raise their taxes. Then when Joe the Plumber surfaced, small businesses were going to fail because their taxes would be raised. Poor Joe the Plumber....he wanted to buy a business that grossed $250,000 in annual revenues, and was concerned that his taxes would be increased. But his business would have to net over $250,000 in taxable income to get a tax increase. So Joe the Plumber didn't have anything tlo worry about.
I'm not a CPA, but I am a small business owner, so I know a little bit about taxes and deductions. To reach my taxable income, I deduct all operating and overhead expenses, such as salaries & benefits, insurance, rent, utilities, supplies, advertising, and auto expenses. I can tell you that any small business netting $250,000 in taxable income is doing quite well.
What some people also seem to forget is that we are taxed on a progressive basis. If taxes are raised on small businesses earning $250,000 in net income, only the amount over $250,000 would be taxed at the higher rate. Everything under that would be at the lower rates.
So poor Joe the Plumber.....I wonder how much his company's gross income would be for him to worry about having his taxes increased.
As far as individual taxpayers, Obama never said he was going to raise taxes. In fact, he always said he would lower taxes on the bottom 95%. As for the upper 5%.....he said he would readjust their taxes to the percentage they were during Clinton's administration.....which was 39.6% on the amount of taxable income over $372,951 (single, or married-filing jointly). Currently, that rate is 35%. I don't know about you, but I would love to make that much money in taxable income.
I don't see anything wrong with raising taxes on the upper 5%, especially during a time of war. Looking back through history, between the years 1940 - 1981, taxes on the top bracket fluctuated between 70% - 94%. In 1982, it dropped to 50%, and in 1987 to 33%. During WWII, taxes on the bottom bracket were between 19% - 23%. On the top bracket, they were 88% - 94%.
For some reason, people don't want to raise taxes on the super-wealthy, yet they don't seem to care that we are borrowing billions of dollars from foreign countries to pay for a so-called war in Iraq. Maybe they just don't know what a write off is.
Kramer: They just write it off.
Jerry: Write it off where?
Kramer: Jerry, all these big companies, they just write off everything.
Jerry: You don't even know what a write off is.
I think most of you know that businesses and individuals 'write off'' whatever they can to lower their taxable income. However, during the Presidential campaign, some people seemed to suddenly forget what they learned in Tax Code 101......we are taxed on taxable income, not gross income. And, we have a progressive tax.
Throughout the campaign, I kept hearing from middle and lower-income people that Obama was going to raise their taxes. Then when Joe the Plumber surfaced, small businesses were going to fail because their taxes would be raised. Poor Joe the Plumber....he wanted to buy a business that grossed $250,000 in annual revenues, and was concerned that his taxes would be increased. But his business would have to net over $250,000 in taxable income to get a tax increase. So Joe the Plumber didn't have anything tlo worry about.
I'm not a CPA, but I am a small business owner, so I know a little bit about taxes and deductions. To reach my taxable income, I deduct all operating and overhead expenses, such as salaries & benefits, insurance, rent, utilities, supplies, advertising, and auto expenses. I can tell you that any small business netting $250,000 in taxable income is doing quite well.
What some people also seem to forget is that we are taxed on a progressive basis. If taxes are raised on small businesses earning $250,000 in net income, only the amount over $250,000 would be taxed at the higher rate. Everything under that would be at the lower rates.
So poor Joe the Plumber.....I wonder how much his company's gross income would be for him to worry about having his taxes increased.
As far as individual taxpayers, Obama never said he was going to raise taxes. In fact, he always said he would lower taxes on the bottom 95%. As for the upper 5%.....he said he would readjust their taxes to the percentage they were during Clinton's administration.....which was 39.6% on the amount of taxable income over $372,951 (single, or married-filing jointly). Currently, that rate is 35%. I don't know about you, but I would love to make that much money in taxable income.
I don't see anything wrong with raising taxes on the upper 5%, especially during a time of war. Looking back through history, between the years 1940 - 1981, taxes on the top bracket fluctuated between 70% - 94%. In 1982, it dropped to 50%, and in 1987 to 33%. During WWII, taxes on the bottom bracket were between 19% - 23%. On the top bracket, they were 88% - 94%.
For some reason, people don't want to raise taxes on the super-wealthy, yet they don't seem to care that we are borrowing billions of dollars from foreign countries to pay for a so-called war in Iraq. Maybe they just don't know what a write off is.
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