I went to the United States Post Office to mail a package,
which I know is so last century, but I’m quaint that way. As the package was
being weighed, the postal worker asked me if I wanted to buy insurance for the
package – against damage, loss, or rifling.

What?

Damage, I can understand; accidents happen. Loss? Ok, I see
where could happen too. But rifling? That’s never an accident. That means
someone is willfully and maliciously going through your package and taking whatever
they want. 

So, let me get this straight.  I am handing my package over to the
USPS.  The postal service employees are now
responsible for my package. I can understand offering insurance against an
employee accidentally losing or damaging the package while it is in their
custody.But asking me to buy insurance against rifling is like asking me to pay
protection money for my package.

I didn’t pay it. Now I’m waiting to hear if the package
arrives safely, or if I’m going to be taught a lesson about buying that insurance.

Since I diligently read my horoscope at least once every 3 years, I figure I should take it seriously every time.  This time, it said that I should write a manifesto.  Not being sure what a manifesto was, but pretty clear that it was not an Italian side dish, I figured I should look it up. 

Manifesto: A public, official and authoritative declaration making announcement or explanation of intentions, motives, or principles of actions.  From the Latin manifestus – struck by the hand

Ok.  Simple enough.  So I wrote one to now publicly declare and explain the principles of my actions:

• all work is done based on the idea that someday I would like to retire
• all play is done based on the idea that someday I would like to retire
• all children will be forced from the nest as early as possible based on the idea that someday I would like to retire
• all children will be expected to compensate parents for their upkeep, upbringing and uprooting, based on the principle that someday I would like to retire

I didn’t just write my manifesto; I made it semi-public – I announced it at the dinner table.  We have enough people there to actually qualify as a quorum of the local village, hence the semi-official designation of the semi-public status. (and I am semi-serious about that)

After delivering my manifesto, I was reminded of the Latin origins of the word, and that it meant ‘struck by the hand’.  That was pretty much the response from my family, although nobody actually hit anyone – it was more of a metaphorical slap.  I’m guessing it was the fourth bulleted point that was not appreciated by most of them.

My husband and I thought it was a great principle, but we are vastly outnumbered by our offspring, hence our votes and opinions wouldn’t count for much in our semi-public forum, if we were to run it as a democracy.  That’s the reason we operate as more of a dictatorship, which is from the Latin dictatus, meaning ‘the old people are in charge here’.

Ballot-box budgeting is a huge problem in California.  Well-intentioned people keep writing propositions as end runs around the state legislature and its frustratingly non-functional budget process.  The propositions are often based on good ideas – no one can deny that more after-school programs would be beneficial, for example – but their cost reduces the funds available for education, public safety services, and everything else covered by the state budget.  In attempting to meet certain needs, we the people of California are making our State increasingly difficult to manage. 

Our representatives lack the integrity to do what’s necessary when it might be unpopular.  Their constituents – that would be us – demand something for almost nothing, and then denounce any elected official who attempts to show us that we’ll get what we pay for.  And then, desperate to accomplish something constructive, we try to avoid the politicians entirely.

We write propositions like Prop 21, which asks if I’m willing to pay an additional $18.00 in car registration fees in order to fund public parks.  In spite of my strong, sincere belief that propositions are the wrong way to handle things, the truth is, yes I am.  Our public parks are a vital resource, and I’m willing to pony up, especially when given the opportunity to do so in a way that avoids giving our California State Legislature any jurisdiction over my $18.00. 

Are public parks more important than education, health services, or safety personnel?  No.  But I’m not being offered the opportunity to directly fund any of those.  I have this one $18.00 opportunity to save something from the debacle that is our government management of public resources.  And I just may take it.

 Teaching my daughter to drive may be the hardest thing I’ve ever done as a parent, and that includes the 33 hours of labor followed by the C-section with which she entered the world.  And I have to confess that I don’t think it’s her.  It’s me.  If I were teaching me to drive, I would stop the car, get out, walk around to the passenger side, remove me from the car, and beat me to a bloody pulp.  I am SO annoying.  So annoying that I give hitherto unfathomed depth and meaning to the word.  I know it, and yet I can’t help myself.

She handles it pretty well, considering.

I won’t even bother to write much about how my right leg has a permanent cramp from shoving my foot to the floor on the imaginary brake; I understand that’s a common phenomenon for parents.  And I suppose many parents have caught themselves involuntarily crying out, “Brake!” 

I don’t do that.  I yell, “Brake!  Brake!  BRAAAAAKE – for the love of God and all that’s holy!”  At every intersection.

The other night as she overcorrected on a turn, and overcorrected, and overcorrected again, I lost my head.  I am ashamed to say that I actually screamed out, “Jesus Christ, what the hell are you doing?!!!!”  I was so rattled that when we got home, and someone dropped something, I yelled it out again – “Jesus Christ!” 

Her brother, a complete smart mouth, said, “Oh, is Jesus Christ here?” 

My daughter replied, “Yeah.  He was in the car, too.”

So she still has a sense of humor.  She’s holding up way better than I am.  I have a crick in my back because I spend every trip leaning over to the left, away from the door on my side, because in my opinion, she is far too close to the parked cars.  In theory, I know that expecting her to keep at least 6 feet away from them is unreasonable.  In practice, it’s the only way I can handle it.  I have developed a nervous twitch that starts whenever she’s in the vicinity of the car keys.  I have no fingernails left on my left hand; I’ve chewed them all off.  On my right hand, they still look pretty good, because I’m so busy hanging on to the door handle for dear life that I can’t get at them. 

On the plus side, my relationship with God is much stronger lately, in spite of the little “J C” incident, because I spend so much more time in prayer – every driving lesson. 

My computer has so many wonderful features.  It’s not just solitaire and email; now I have even more with this great sidebar that shows me the weather, the latest news headlines, and a slideshow of all the family photos on our computer. 

I love the weather updates, especially the feature that shows me the week’s forecast. 

I am much better informed now about all the latest important developments in the world, like Tiger Woods’ rehab, Brangelina’s non-breakup, and the latest “used to be a celebrity” or relative thereof who has had a run in with the law.  With a twitch of the mouse, I can read the whole story and be “in the know.” 

I am entranced by the slideshow of family photos.  I can just sit and watch for hours – I often do – reliving those moments when the children were smaller, and so was I.

All this is very entertaining, and seems almost necessary.  However, as I am not the queen, nor even the court jester of self-discipline, it’s easy to see why I’m not getting any work done!

A test of my resolve to be cold and impervious to all salespeople and mail offers soon arrived in an impressive-looking envelope bearing the seal of the “Major Money and Award Reporting Office,” a division of the “Important Matters Ofc.”  The envelope had even been “sealed at time of enclosing contents”.  Clearly, this was official, and I had now won something big.  I chided myself for being so judgmental, and resolved to have more faith in people.  I even wondered if I could still use those vouchers. 

Inside this fancy envelope wasn’t just a letter, but a “Direct Contact Letter” about me winning the $2,100,00 prize.  Yippee!  As I read my Direct Contact Letter, however, I realized that nowhere did it say I had actually won the money.  It was full of statements that implied my winning, but all it really said was that I would now be “On Record as ‘Receiver’ of Prize Identification data now Confirmed.”   

I was feeling mighty peeved and deceived about the whole thing, until I noticed the capital C in “Confirmed”.  Then, when I read that this wasn’t just any old letter, but a “Real and Actual Notice,” I felt much better.  I mean, if they’re using capital letters AND underlining words, then it must be for real, right?  That’s when I noticed the letterhead. 

At the top of my “Real and Actual Notice”, was the following address:  “direct contact – main building.  headquarters building in some city, some state.”    Really.  I am not making this up. 

Maybe it was that address that made me decide NOT to send my $14.98 proceduring fee, or maybe it was the fact that they called it a “proceduring” fee.  Either way, I wasn’t falling for that old trick; I know better than to send money to try and win money.  At least not to a company located in “some city” of “some state” that makes up words and misuses capital letters.  Maybe if they had an actual address.  Or used proper English….. 

Ah, hope springs eternal.  Or maybe I’m an idiot.  I’m going with the hope thing, but maybe that’s just me….. being a sucker.

After the last episode, I called the sweepstakes company back to ask that my information be removed from their database.  But apparently, once I gave them my phone number, I was locked into the system, and it was impossible for a phone agent to take me out.  A polite gentleman gave me an address where I could send a letter with my removal request, but repeatedly asked me if I really wanted to miss my chance at $2,100,000?

Yep, I really did.  I wrote the company’s address on my “to do immediately” list, and of course that’s as far as it went.  Good thing I didn’t write to them, though, or I wouldn’t have gotten my next mailer from the Sweepstakes Clearinghouse Department of Notifications – with 6 checks for $400.00.  Woohoo!  Clearly, I had been hasty in labeling the whole thing a scam.  I would enjoy the $2,400, and readjust my outlook on life and prize letters.  From now on, I would live each new day in the hope of promising mail offers.  

As I worked into my new attitude, I began to wonder why they sent six separate checks.  Looking more closely, I saw that each check was marked “not a check”.  Huh???

These were credit vouchers, and could only be used to purchase the items shown on the enclosed brochure.  Such as a $779.95 laptop that would leave me with a remaining balance of $379.95, payable by check or credit card, or by using their convenient lay-away plan.  All this was explained in the “Official Directive”, otherwise known as a “letter”, in which J. Johnston of the Sweepstakes Clearinghouse Department of Notifications expressed that he was extremely happy to pass on this wonderful news.

Well, I would be extremely happy not to buy anything from his dumb old Sweepstakes Clearinghouse Whatever, so there.  How stupid did these people think I was?  (That is a rhetorical question, btw)  My next new attitude was going to be cold and impervious to all mail offers and salespeople.  It wouldn’t be long before I got to try out this new attitude; tune in next week for the fourth and final (yes, there is a God) installment of me not being such a complete fool after all.

After scaring the mail carrier, I made sure to stay inside the next day, and as I had predicted, the bills were delivered.  Oh joy.  I also received an “Important Delivery Letter” marked “Second Notice”.  I didn’t recall any “First Notice”, but went ahead and opened it anyway.  Thank goodness I did, because the Sweepstakes Clearinghouse Department of Notifications had been trying to reach me about my $2,100,000 sweepstakes identification number, and I needed to call them right away.

Not being a complete fool, I knew this was a trick.  I knew full well that I hadn’t entered any sweepstakes.  Furthermore, I knew that just making the phone call would put me on who-knows-how-many mailing lists for things like pleather umbrellas and self-folding socks.  I knew it was a scam.

So of course I called.  An actual person answered the phone.  This was a bad sign; any legitimate company would have at least put me on hold. But the young lady was very nice as she asked me to please identify myself and give my $2,100,000 sweepstakes number, so I did.  When she asked for my phone number, I hesitated, but then I reasoned that it was probably already on her caller ID, so I gave it to her.  She congratulated me; my $2,100,000 sweepstakes identification number was now confirmed.  Hooray!  Then she began to tell me about their special offers for people with confirmed numbers.

Well, I may not be the sharpest knife in the deck, but at this point I realized that I’d been suckered.  I walked the phone over to the front door, opened it, and said, “No, thank you very much; have a nice day,” and hung up.  Then I closed the door.  My practice had paid off.

Tune in next week for part the third of me being not a complete fool, but pretty darn close to it.

Maybe it’s just me, but does anyone else have trouble saying “no” to things?  Like salespeople?  Special offers?  Manatee adoptions?

Okay, the manatee thing was only that one time, but the other stuff is constant.  It’s like I send out a “Gullible Fool” signal. In flashing neon. It’s hard for me to balance being open and hopeful with not being a complete idiot.

For example, a few weeks ago, a lovely woman came by selling cleaning fluid.  I said no, but she didn’t listen.  Being the hard-nosed person that I am, pretty soon I had invited her in and we were chatting about our kids.   She was actually a lot of fun, but finally – just so she’d leave – I bought a $40.00 bottle of cleaning fluid.  Considering the dilution factor, I’m pretty sure it’s not as bad as it sounds, except for the fact that I don’t need it, and I’ll never use it because I’d have to learn calculus just to figure out the fluid/water ratio.

I wrote the purchase off as a learning experience, and started practicing a routine where I open the door, say, “No, thank you very much; have a nice day,” and then firmly close the door.  I’ve run through it several times now, and I can probably pull it off with the next salesperson.  Unfortunately, my timing on the practice sessions hasn’t been so hot, and I’ve now scared away three Girl Scouts, the Avon lady, and the mail carrier. 

But hey, we don’t really need the cookies, I’m going to wrinkle no matter what lotion I buy, and the mail would have been bills anyway, right?

 Tune in next week for Part B of Hope Springing – Eternally

Maybe it’s me, but is it possible that I have been unkind in writing about my family’s foibles?  Was it perhaps unwise to make sport of my nearest and dearest? 

Nah, I didn’t think so.  Lest we forget, what was it my husband said when I first started writing?  ”Well, as long as you get paid for it, then I can take it.”  I usually run most things by him at some point, though.  So far, he hasn’t been offended, but he did say that it might be good to ask him BEFORE I publish the article.   A point to consider, I suppose. 

The kids are okay with being mentioned, at least mostly, since I don’t use their names, and nobody really knows who I am.  Not yet, anyway.  I asked them what they would do once I made it big and became a well-known public figure…… Continue reading →