In fourteen ninety-two, Columbus sailed the ocean blue. And on that same day, Chief Trump had a Vision. What he saw filled him with fear and anger. So he called together the people of land. The Chief shared his vision of the future:
Most of us will die. The land will be destroyed. Water will be unsafe to drink; air clogged in smoke.
The people huddled together, shrinking from this future.
Is there nothing we can do? They asked.
Already, the white masts of three ships containing religious extremists could be seen on the horizon.
And Chief Trump responded,"Yes, but we must hurry. Our only way out is to build a wall."
"YES! YES! BUILD THE WALL! BUILD THE WALL!" the people cried.
And so, they built a wall.
In twenty sixteen, the wall can still be seen. And on that same day, the ancestors of Chief Trump looked around. They saw a land filled with indigenous people. Rich soil, safe water, clear skies. A beautiful country.
Yes, now I see why European Trump supporters want to build a wall. They are afraid of what our ancestors did when they took over this country, will happen to them.
Heather Leigh,
understanding the wall
Sunday, July 31, 2016
Tuesday, July 12, 2016
Body-less Closets
I made the commitment to myself that I was finally going to do this. No more hiding, no more shucking around the truth of who I am. I'm coming out of the closet to reveal that...I see dead people.
If you know me personally and never were aware of my secret 'other' self, well there it is. Like a Disco Mirror Ball hanging on the ceiling of a cowboy bar, the song of my soul is shining out to be heard.
I assume that most everyone who sees those who have passed, experiences them in a different way. Twice I've seen ghosts with the sight of my eyes. The rest have been as a ...gosh how do I explain this. It will have to be through personal example. About a month ago, I was with a co-worker, and an image came into my head of someone with shoulder length gray hair, sitting on his legs with knees bent, sipping tea. When I told her what I was seeing, she informed me that was her father, who had passed away several years ago. I never knew that her father was dead.
In movies, ghosts are normally portrayed as something evil and scary. That's not true. It's like Hollywood has an anti-ghostism based on fear of the unknown. Or based on a greed to sensationalize the dead and attract movie goers. I'd form a Union for the misrepresented ghosts, but I don't think many people would see the members showing up. Plus, I don't think ghosts give a hoot what bodied people think about them.
There are other's out there who lay witness to the dead. I wonder how big that crowd of weirdos is. Many have already exposed themselves; the Psychic Readers that dot our cities with their signs are one such group. But what if I started a club of us Non-body Sight See-ers. How many would show up to the first meeting? If I look far enough into the future, I can imagine whole days of parades and festivities of Ghost See-ers Pride Day. I'll start working on a more original title for us now.
If you think it bizarre that I see these things, think of it from my end. It's like if your friend came up to you while we were talking, and you completely blew them off. I mean, we are talking total ignore to the ultimate in rudeness. Well, I'd be thinking, why doesn't she acknowledge her friend? Did they get in a fight or something? Sheesh, bad manners; not even an introduction.
And then I remember, oh yeah. We have different views.
So there it is. I've come clean. There are other things about me I have yet to reveal, but this was enough for now. Oh, and it's not something I see all the time. So don't come speeding over to my house, expecting me to talk with your dearly departed. I refuse to ask spirits to come for a visit. They have their own gig on their side of the divide. It is impertinent to ask them to stop by for a chat. Rather, they are like cats, showing up on their terms, or when we need them.
Have a great day and remember to say hello to the ghosts who visit you.
Heather Leigh,
author, and polite to the bodiless
If you know me personally and never were aware of my secret 'other' self, well there it is. Like a Disco Mirror Ball hanging on the ceiling of a cowboy bar, the song of my soul is shining out to be heard.
I assume that most everyone who sees those who have passed, experiences them in a different way. Twice I've seen ghosts with the sight of my eyes. The rest have been as a ...gosh how do I explain this. It will have to be through personal example. About a month ago, I was with a co-worker, and an image came into my head of someone with shoulder length gray hair, sitting on his legs with knees bent, sipping tea. When I told her what I was seeing, she informed me that was her father, who had passed away several years ago. I never knew that her father was dead.
In movies, ghosts are normally portrayed as something evil and scary. That's not true. It's like Hollywood has an anti-ghostism based on fear of the unknown. Or based on a greed to sensationalize the dead and attract movie goers. I'd form a Union for the misrepresented ghosts, but I don't think many people would see the members showing up. Plus, I don't think ghosts give a hoot what bodied people think about them.
There are other's out there who lay witness to the dead. I wonder how big that crowd of weirdos is. Many have already exposed themselves; the Psychic Readers that dot our cities with their signs are one such group. But what if I started a club of us Non-body Sight See-ers. How many would show up to the first meeting? If I look far enough into the future, I can imagine whole days of parades and festivities of Ghost See-ers Pride Day. I'll start working on a more original title for us now.
If you think it bizarre that I see these things, think of it from my end. It's like if your friend came up to you while we were talking, and you completely blew them off. I mean, we are talking total ignore to the ultimate in rudeness. Well, I'd be thinking, why doesn't she acknowledge her friend? Did they get in a fight or something? Sheesh, bad manners; not even an introduction.
And then I remember, oh yeah. We have different views.
So there it is. I've come clean. There are other things about me I have yet to reveal, but this was enough for now. Oh, and it's not something I see all the time. So don't come speeding over to my house, expecting me to talk with your dearly departed. I refuse to ask spirits to come for a visit. They have their own gig on their side of the divide. It is impertinent to ask them to stop by for a chat. Rather, they are like cats, showing up on their terms, or when we need them.
Have a great day and remember to say hello to the ghosts who visit you.
Heather Leigh,
author, and polite to the bodiless
Thursday, June 16, 2016
Pooh And IRS Ettiquette
Why do people leave the bathroom door open just a crack after they've poohed? All other times, it's wide open and welcoming. Do they think the scent flushes away with the toilet? Because it does not. What does happen is that when I open the door to do my thing, I am smashed in the nose with someone else's left overs.
Proper bathroom etiquette: leave the door flung open and proud. Aeration is the key to downplaying what you have left behind.
I'll tell you one organization that knows proper etiquette...the IRS. If you were not one of the lucky millions who read my blog about the big tax showdown we had, I'll fill you in. There was a mistake made two years ago by the accounting firm of my previous employer. As a result, I was being told to pay the IRS one grand, plus interest. After a wee bit of stress, paperwork, the benevolent assistance of that employer, it was finally straightened out after several months.
And, OF COURSE, our fine, upstanding income tax governing officials sent the news that I had never lied in the first place, in a gift basket. Contents: chocolate covered sea salt caramels, spice drops, and a pastel colored Pashmina. They wanted to send a bottle of fine Italian Cabernet, but the Republican controlled Congress said no to free alcohol.
Those IRS folks so live up to their name: IRService. They just know how to serve the public. They do us proud.
Now that I've covered pooh and the IRS (funny how that fits so well in one sentence), I can get to what I really wanted to discuss. Facebook. Yesterday, my cousin with a sense of humor (I have more than one, so he'll have to figure out who he is on his own) posted a questionnaire that reveals whether or not you"re a nerd. If you get the jokes, you are one.
I got the jokes.
But, I've always known this about myself. Did I really need self-geek knowledge smacked into my face like trapped pooh scent?
Since we are one the subject of Facebook, here is my latest whine about that love/hate site that I can't get enough of: all of those stupid kids who are on there doing perfectly amazing things. Twelve year olds singing opera like the fat lady cliche, pre-teen sisters strumming guitars with half the talent of Eric Clapton, dancing children who could take on Micheal Jackson (if he was alive). I know I should be glowing with excitement each time I see this stuff, but the thrill is gone. What truly gets my nerdy, correct pooh etiquette mind going, is the people I encounter every day.
Here is the part where I reveal the cold hard core of my nerd nature: I think 'everyday' people are awesome and amazing. When you watch them unawares, there is beauty in their faces and movements. Listening to individual stories of childhood and current situations gives surprises and viewpoints that fill me with this settling of soulful bliss.
Where do I find these weirdos? A horde of them are co-workers. They know who they are.
Anyways, let's all take a moment to send the IRS a silent thank you for Heather's gift basket. Because, we all know they would never be unthoughtful.
Heather Leigh,
Nerd With Chocolate Caramels
Proper bathroom etiquette: leave the door flung open and proud. Aeration is the key to downplaying what you have left behind.
I'll tell you one organization that knows proper etiquette...the IRS. If you were not one of the lucky millions who read my blog about the big tax showdown we had, I'll fill you in. There was a mistake made two years ago by the accounting firm of my previous employer. As a result, I was being told to pay the IRS one grand, plus interest. After a wee bit of stress, paperwork, the benevolent assistance of that employer, it was finally straightened out after several months.
And, OF COURSE, our fine, upstanding income tax governing officials sent the news that I had never lied in the first place, in a gift basket. Contents: chocolate covered sea salt caramels, spice drops, and a pastel colored Pashmina. They wanted to send a bottle of fine Italian Cabernet, but the Republican controlled Congress said no to free alcohol.
Those IRS folks so live up to their name: IRService. They just know how to serve the public. They do us proud.
Now that I've covered pooh and the IRS (funny how that fits so well in one sentence), I can get to what I really wanted to discuss. Facebook. Yesterday, my cousin with a sense of humor (I have more than one, so he'll have to figure out who he is on his own) posted a questionnaire that reveals whether or not you"re a nerd. If you get the jokes, you are one.
I got the jokes.
But, I've always known this about myself. Did I really need self-geek knowledge smacked into my face like trapped pooh scent?
Since we are one the subject of Facebook, here is my latest whine about that love/hate site that I can't get enough of: all of those stupid kids who are on there doing perfectly amazing things. Twelve year olds singing opera like the fat lady cliche, pre-teen sisters strumming guitars with half the talent of Eric Clapton, dancing children who could take on Micheal Jackson (if he was alive). I know I should be glowing with excitement each time I see this stuff, but the thrill is gone. What truly gets my nerdy, correct pooh etiquette mind going, is the people I encounter every day.
Here is the part where I reveal the cold hard core of my nerd nature: I think 'everyday' people are awesome and amazing. When you watch them unawares, there is beauty in their faces and movements. Listening to individual stories of childhood and current situations gives surprises and viewpoints that fill me with this settling of soulful bliss.
Where do I find these weirdos? A horde of them are co-workers. They know who they are.
Anyways, let's all take a moment to send the IRS a silent thank you for Heather's gift basket. Because, we all know they would never be unthoughtful.
Heather Leigh,
Nerd With Chocolate Caramels
Wednesday, May 25, 2016
Disgruntled Health Nut
I have had it up to here (over my head) with my teenage sons. Just as I was about to top my popcorn addiction with melted butter, one of those beasts informed me that melted coconut oil is not only healthier but tasty as well. I nearly flung the stove top popcorn maker at him. I should have.
Because in the past year, they have both been getting into the health scene. One day we are doing our monthly fast food restaurant visit, and the next they are concerned about the mere quarter cup of processed sugar in one soda. "All of that stuff is junk. It's bad for you," they whine. So there goes my excuse to pig out on grease laden fries and questionable sandwiches.
And exercise? Used to be I could get away with walking our dog around the block. I mean, if it's at a crisp pace, isn't that enough? But noooo. Now I get tethered into gym workouts. I thought I was going in for pie and lattes last month. Turns out I am now signed up for Pilates!!! Imagine my pains, enduring twice a week inner core body moves that the human body was not designed for.
When I try to get out of working out with them, I get eye rolling and guilt trips. What the fudge is going on here, people? Does my suffering know no bounds?
The only thing that saves me is the six daily hours they are in school. They are not home to witness my weekly nibbling of spice drops, the only good candy left in the United States. I know those spicy gelatin wonders are coated in crunchy, thick white sugar. That they are stuffed with corn syrup and hazardous food dye. That baby carrots are yummy, too, but won't wear down my liver. But, dangnabitt! What is the reason for being a hard working writer if I can't savor the wild side of unhealthy living? I have rights too, you know.
But I'll tell you one thing for certain. If they try and take Cabernet from me, I am not making any more tofu stir frys or organic butternut squash roasts. And forget camping trips because nature and sun are supposedly 'good' for you. There is only so much a woman can take.
I am so ruffled by this change forced onto my life style, that I refuse to tell my son that the coconut oil drizzled over the popcorn actually is yummier than butter. And you have better not tell him either! If you do, I will drag you down with me on a pilates-driven ship while we snack on edemame and avoid gluten.
Well, good night then. I have to get a decent sleep because proper sleep time is needed for mental alertness and better health. Yeah, I know. I've succumbed to their way of thinking. Despicable, miserable mother, just trying to make the most out of what life has hit me with.
Heather Leigh,
Coconut oil popcorn martyr
Because in the past year, they have both been getting into the health scene. One day we are doing our monthly fast food restaurant visit, and the next they are concerned about the mere quarter cup of processed sugar in one soda. "All of that stuff is junk. It's bad for you," they whine. So there goes my excuse to pig out on grease laden fries and questionable sandwiches.
And exercise? Used to be I could get away with walking our dog around the block. I mean, if it's at a crisp pace, isn't that enough? But noooo. Now I get tethered into gym workouts. I thought I was going in for pie and lattes last month. Turns out I am now signed up for Pilates!!! Imagine my pains, enduring twice a week inner core body moves that the human body was not designed for.
When I try to get out of working out with them, I get eye rolling and guilt trips. What the fudge is going on here, people? Does my suffering know no bounds?
The only thing that saves me is the six daily hours they are in school. They are not home to witness my weekly nibbling of spice drops, the only good candy left in the United States. I know those spicy gelatin wonders are coated in crunchy, thick white sugar. That they are stuffed with corn syrup and hazardous food dye. That baby carrots are yummy, too, but won't wear down my liver. But, dangnabitt! What is the reason for being a hard working writer if I can't savor the wild side of unhealthy living? I have rights too, you know.
But I'll tell you one thing for certain. If they try and take Cabernet from me, I am not making any more tofu stir frys or organic butternut squash roasts. And forget camping trips because nature and sun are supposedly 'good' for you. There is only so much a woman can take.
I am so ruffled by this change forced onto my life style, that I refuse to tell my son that the coconut oil drizzled over the popcorn actually is yummier than butter. And you have better not tell him either! If you do, I will drag you down with me on a pilates-driven ship while we snack on edemame and avoid gluten.
Well, good night then. I have to get a decent sleep because proper sleep time is needed for mental alertness and better health. Yeah, I know. I've succumbed to their way of thinking. Despicable, miserable mother, just trying to make the most out of what life has hit me with.
Heather Leigh,
Coconut oil popcorn martyr
Monday, May 9, 2016
Improper Birds
Naughty stuff going down in our maple tree. Birdie porn on a branch. Seems there is one particular limb that is a favorite swingers spot for swallows. IN MY FRONT YARD!
How did this particular branch become the local House of Ill Repute? Is there an underground club where such things are chirped about? Is it a privately owned branch with a hired marketing firm? I mean, there must be a thousand limbs on that big tree--why pick on just one?
You are probably thinking that I am supporting the horrid behavior by watching and writing about it. But, sheesh, every time I finish a paragraph and glance out the window, I have a bird's eye view of the continuous party. What once was a healthy habit of not over-gazing at my computer screen has turned into sick, stalker, depraved writing.
It is said that writers need to have many life experiences to yank out topics to write about. I don't know how I am going to use these gross carrying-ons of the local bird gangs. But someday, somewhere, I will use this knowledge. I am certain that Mother Nature did not impose upon my vantage point with out future reason. I have trust in the Universe.
And what about those birds?
Those misguided youths are flagrantly displaying public acts of egg fertilization. I hope they understand the gravity of what they are pursuing for a moment of birdie bliss. Because I can foresee the arduous task of nest building taking over their time. Saturday nights spent chirping on telephone wires will now be taken over by the home building process.
Are these rebellious couples ready to be parents? Do they have what it takes to fish out worms from the soil at all hours of the day? Mush bugs in their mouth for their starving babies? Feed the ever-hungry infants that want nothing but food, food, food all day long.
What about teaching their children to fly? Do those instant-gratifying, feathered beings have the guts to kick their offspring out of the nest in a couple of months? This is not pansy, scaredy cat stuff we're talking about here, folks. Imagine teaching your children to walk by tossing them into oncoming New York traffic, hoping they make it across the street.
Of great concern is our virgin puppy, Daisy. What if she sees those punks mating out the window? What impression will it make upon her innocent, childish mind? We have gone out of our way to keep her unspoiled from the shadow side of wild life. All of our protection could be for nothing if she catches on to what is happening IN HER VERY FRONT YARD! A life of ruin and turmoil will surely follow after her mind is split open by bird coupling.
What is a tree owner to do in these times of trouble?
If you have any ideas as to how to handle my predicament, please, please, let me know.
Until then, I will continue on as the proper author that I am.
Heather Leigh,
Owner of a porn branch
How did this particular branch become the local House of Ill Repute? Is there an underground club where such things are chirped about? Is it a privately owned branch with a hired marketing firm? I mean, there must be a thousand limbs on that big tree--why pick on just one?
You are probably thinking that I am supporting the horrid behavior by watching and writing about it. But, sheesh, every time I finish a paragraph and glance out the window, I have a bird's eye view of the continuous party. What once was a healthy habit of not over-gazing at my computer screen has turned into sick, stalker, depraved writing.
It is said that writers need to have many life experiences to yank out topics to write about. I don't know how I am going to use these gross carrying-ons of the local bird gangs. But someday, somewhere, I will use this knowledge. I am certain that Mother Nature did not impose upon my vantage point with out future reason. I have trust in the Universe.
And what about those birds?
Those misguided youths are flagrantly displaying public acts of egg fertilization. I hope they understand the gravity of what they are pursuing for a moment of birdie bliss. Because I can foresee the arduous task of nest building taking over their time. Saturday nights spent chirping on telephone wires will now be taken over by the home building process.
Are these rebellious couples ready to be parents? Do they have what it takes to fish out worms from the soil at all hours of the day? Mush bugs in their mouth for their starving babies? Feed the ever-hungry infants that want nothing but food, food, food all day long.
What about teaching their children to fly? Do those instant-gratifying, feathered beings have the guts to kick their offspring out of the nest in a couple of months? This is not pansy, scaredy cat stuff we're talking about here, folks. Imagine teaching your children to walk by tossing them into oncoming New York traffic, hoping they make it across the street.
Of great concern is our virgin puppy, Daisy. What if she sees those punks mating out the window? What impression will it make upon her innocent, childish mind? We have gone out of our way to keep her unspoiled from the shadow side of wild life. All of our protection could be for nothing if she catches on to what is happening IN HER VERY FRONT YARD! A life of ruin and turmoil will surely follow after her mind is split open by bird coupling.
What is a tree owner to do in these times of trouble?
If you have any ideas as to how to handle my predicament, please, please, let me know.
Until then, I will continue on as the proper author that I am.
Heather Leigh,
Owner of a porn branch
Thursday, April 28, 2016
Smile Over Sadness: Aunt Judy
My Aunt Judy passed away a few weeks ago. She is the one who illustrated all of my children's book covers (except for Hey, Little Baby). We shared a blog of free stories for children; I wrote, she drew. We spoke or emailed weekly. So guess what? She was a big part of my life.
In writing about her now, I seek to avoid sadness. Yes, she was an incredible aunt and person. But she would laugh and tell me I was being a dramatic writer if I wrote something like that. So I'm going to tell you stuff that will make us both smile.
Okay, so I am the world's slowest eater. Why am I the slowest? Because I no longer have any competition. By the time I get through my salad, others are finishing dessert. Judy had me totally completely beat in our uncompetitive race. She was twice as unfast.
This is due to her addiction to listening. Yes, you heard me. She was one of those wackos who listened when you talked. She told me, "Why would I want to talk about myself? I all ready know about me."
Who says crazy stuff like that? I mean, what is the point of a conversation if you are not fighting for your chance to show off your fine choice of words, brilliant ideas, and exhilarating highlights of every thing that ever happened to you.
Don't let it be thought here that she never spoke. In one conversation, we could solve all of the world's problems. Trouble was, nobody ever asked us. If the Big Shots in power ever followed the Judy and Heather World Advice Discussions, we would have World Peace by this weekend. But I suppose the world was just not ready to listen like Judy did.
She was one of those wackos who 'followed her bliss' by becoming a professional illustrator. Imagine how bizarre this world would be if everyone were in a career that they loved. I shutter just thinking about it. And, of course, just like all those motivational books preach, she made money by waltzing along in life, doing as she pleased, drawing dogs, people as cartoons, animals. She even had the audacity to make pictures that were designed for kids through adults. Realistic to cartoon. Her talent was, sheesh, what is that big word I'm looking for? Oh, yeah...unlimited.
Except that, boy was she ever picky. Could not let anything with her name on it go out into the public that was not to the best of her ability. She even researched her stuff as well. Made sure the dog breeds were just right, surfers were on the waves correctly, elephants had their ears shaped true to form. Wow, you'd have thought she really, truly cared about what was put out into the world.
When my boys were small, I went to her constantly for advice. While every one else was telling me to be more strict, punishing, and to make demands at the drop of a dirty diaper, she talked of a different path. Wild tips like listening, compromise, guidance and love. Learning through example, natural consequences, being firm yet gentle.
And me, being the Judy fan that I have always been, I followed her parenting style. And what do I have to show for my loyalty? Nothing but two thoughtful, caring boys who learned to listen, be polite, discuss ideas, and be wonderful. Just like her son.
Once again, can you imagine a world in which we all listened to our children? Too much for me to handle in one sitting.
She also had to go and have a supportive, kind, respectful marriage to a great guy. Where does that leave the rest of us? Are we supposed to follow in her footsteps and turn marriage into a joyful partnership? Where is the fun in having no abuse, drama, or temper tantrum arguments? Those are some pretty high goals to set for two people.
Now that she is gone, there is a big, gaping hole in my life. Every day, for the rest of my life, I will be attempting to fill it with appreciation of the time I got to spend with her. If I go on any more about this kind of talk, however, I will be crying for another night.
Aunt Judy was splendiferous and will be missed for the rest of my life.
If there is a way for you to get this message in your body-less form: I love you, Aunt Judy. But then, you already knew that.
Oh, if anyone out there passes on before I do and can give her this message, please pass it on: I tried so, so hard, but I can't get into mystery novels. I know you loved them, but I will just never share your favorite book genre. Sorry.
Heather Leigh
Niece of Judy, Aunt Extraordinaire
In writing about her now, I seek to avoid sadness. Yes, she was an incredible aunt and person. But she would laugh and tell me I was being a dramatic writer if I wrote something like that. So I'm going to tell you stuff that will make us both smile.
Okay, so I am the world's slowest eater. Why am I the slowest? Because I no longer have any competition. By the time I get through my salad, others are finishing dessert. Judy had me totally completely beat in our uncompetitive race. She was twice as unfast.
This is due to her addiction to listening. Yes, you heard me. She was one of those wackos who listened when you talked. She told me, "Why would I want to talk about myself? I all ready know about me."
Who says crazy stuff like that? I mean, what is the point of a conversation if you are not fighting for your chance to show off your fine choice of words, brilliant ideas, and exhilarating highlights of every thing that ever happened to you.
Don't let it be thought here that she never spoke. In one conversation, we could solve all of the world's problems. Trouble was, nobody ever asked us. If the Big Shots in power ever followed the Judy and Heather World Advice Discussions, we would have World Peace by this weekend. But I suppose the world was just not ready to listen like Judy did.
She was one of those wackos who 'followed her bliss' by becoming a professional illustrator. Imagine how bizarre this world would be if everyone were in a career that they loved. I shutter just thinking about it. And, of course, just like all those motivational books preach, she made money by waltzing along in life, doing as she pleased, drawing dogs, people as cartoons, animals. She even had the audacity to make pictures that were designed for kids through adults. Realistic to cartoon. Her talent was, sheesh, what is that big word I'm looking for? Oh, yeah...unlimited.
Except that, boy was she ever picky. Could not let anything with her name on it go out into the public that was not to the best of her ability. She even researched her stuff as well. Made sure the dog breeds were just right, surfers were on the waves correctly, elephants had their ears shaped true to form. Wow, you'd have thought she really, truly cared about what was put out into the world.
When my boys were small, I went to her constantly for advice. While every one else was telling me to be more strict, punishing, and to make demands at the drop of a dirty diaper, she talked of a different path. Wild tips like listening, compromise, guidance and love. Learning through example, natural consequences, being firm yet gentle.
And me, being the Judy fan that I have always been, I followed her parenting style. And what do I have to show for my loyalty? Nothing but two thoughtful, caring boys who learned to listen, be polite, discuss ideas, and be wonderful. Just like her son.
Once again, can you imagine a world in which we all listened to our children? Too much for me to handle in one sitting.
She also had to go and have a supportive, kind, respectful marriage to a great guy. Where does that leave the rest of us? Are we supposed to follow in her footsteps and turn marriage into a joyful partnership? Where is the fun in having no abuse, drama, or temper tantrum arguments? Those are some pretty high goals to set for two people.
Now that she is gone, there is a big, gaping hole in my life. Every day, for the rest of my life, I will be attempting to fill it with appreciation of the time I got to spend with her. If I go on any more about this kind of talk, however, I will be crying for another night.
Aunt Judy was splendiferous and will be missed for the rest of my life.
If there is a way for you to get this message in your body-less form: I love you, Aunt Judy. But then, you already knew that.
Oh, if anyone out there passes on before I do and can give her this message, please pass it on: I tried so, so hard, but I can't get into mystery novels. I know you loved them, but I will just never share your favorite book genre. Sorry.
Heather Leigh
Niece of Judy, Aunt Extraordinaire
Monday, March 28, 2016
Dear Readers
This may come as a big shock, but the Internal Revenue Service, IRS, is doing two things that baffle me. Seems that two years ago, there was a screw up between what I reported and what they have on their records. I sent in proof that I am in the right on this issue, BUT IN THE MEANTIME, while it is being sorted out, I will be forced to pay interest charges on the discrepancy. Even if I I am double, triple-proofed as having done the right thing, I will still be punished. And, of course, never paid back those charges.
Do you think I could charge them interest for the hassle of fixing what may be their mistake? How about the postage and handling, stress, copying fees, and time spent away from writing that I am doling out on this fun event. I'm sure they will at least send me a fruit basket for my troubles.
They should, because we are on close terms. I know we are on comfy terms because when they write these letters to me, explaining why I have to pay for what is not my fault, they address the message as: 'Dear Heather Leigh'. Webster's Dictionary defines dear as: beloved, loved. See? They do care.
Nothing like being loved by the IRS.
Although, I am curious as to what they do to those they do not love. Perhaps the uncared for are forced to become an IRS auditor. That must be it. I have always wondered who would volunteer for such a position. Now we know the secret.
There is a locked windowless basement with thousands of forgotten U.S. citizens going through the records of small businesses, tax payers who make below living wages, and elderly on fixed income. So if you get audited some day, remember that the person doing the dirty deed is not your enemy. They are people like you and me who did not pay the interest charges for uncommitted crimes, or non-adored citizens. Pity those poor folk; keep them in your prayers.
And here is my promise to you, my dear Readers. If I find a discrepancy between what you tell me and what I understand, I will never charge you for the misunderstanding. No, not a thing. Because I am nice like that.
In the coming days until the end of the tax season, I wish you non-punishment for whatever you tell the IRS. Stay away from closed-in basements. Be careful who you say 'Dear' to. Put away money for interest in case you are charged for doing the right thing.
If you ever figure out the logic behind the IRS, please let me know. I believe that there may be thousands of other folks who are baffled by what they do. We would all appreciate more clarity with that bureaucracy that kindly takes in our money.
From your beloved author,
Heather Leigh
Do you think I could charge them interest for the hassle of fixing what may be their mistake? How about the postage and handling, stress, copying fees, and time spent away from writing that I am doling out on this fun event. I'm sure they will at least send me a fruit basket for my troubles.
They should, because we are on close terms. I know we are on comfy terms because when they write these letters to me, explaining why I have to pay for what is not my fault, they address the message as: 'Dear Heather Leigh'. Webster's Dictionary defines dear as: beloved, loved. See? They do care.
Nothing like being loved by the IRS.
Although, I am curious as to what they do to those they do not love. Perhaps the uncared for are forced to become an IRS auditor. That must be it. I have always wondered who would volunteer for such a position. Now we know the secret.
There is a locked windowless basement with thousands of forgotten U.S. citizens going through the records of small businesses, tax payers who make below living wages, and elderly on fixed income. So if you get audited some day, remember that the person doing the dirty deed is not your enemy. They are people like you and me who did not pay the interest charges for uncommitted crimes, or non-adored citizens. Pity those poor folk; keep them in your prayers.
And here is my promise to you, my dear Readers. If I find a discrepancy between what you tell me and what I understand, I will never charge you for the misunderstanding. No, not a thing. Because I am nice like that.
In the coming days until the end of the tax season, I wish you non-punishment for whatever you tell the IRS. Stay away from closed-in basements. Be careful who you say 'Dear' to. Put away money for interest in case you are charged for doing the right thing.
If you ever figure out the logic behind the IRS, please let me know. I believe that there may be thousands of other folks who are baffled by what they do. We would all appreciate more clarity with that bureaucracy that kindly takes in our money.
From your beloved author,
Heather Leigh
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