Here is something new I learned about my husband today, after spending a great proportion of the last 35 years in his presence, or at least nearby. He is truly susceptible and vulnerable when it comes to the IRS. He worries that he really might not have done something right, or that we are in actual danger of getting in trouble. This is amazing to me, as he is incredibly careful about making sure all the numbers make sense, that they line up, that he has thought of everything before he pushes the button and sends them in. It would never occur to him to try to get away with anything, so any mistakes he might make would be entirely honest.
On various occasions, we have found messages on our answering machine from "the IRS" saying that we had to call them back right away. And I have convinced him each time that the IRS does not operate that way, and the call is a scam. Somehow today, the message hit some kind of a nerve with him and he felt he just had to call them back, despite my assurances that it was not necessary.
I was on my way out the door, heading to a midday class on the prophet Elijah, one of those fun things I do in the winter. I heard him making the call to the phone number that they left, so I decided I should probably stay and listen. (Red flag -- it was a 202 number. Since when does the IRS leave a local number?) From what I heard, I remained entirely unconvinced that this was a legitimate call from the Internal Revenue Service. But somehow they managed to keep him on the line for many minutes, and he grew increasingly agitated and drawn in. Then I HAD to stay, to make sure that he didn't do anything foolish. Every now and then I admonished him, "Don't give them any information!"
The next clue was that they called him Jonathan Newcomb. I would have hung up on the spot. He told them that wasn't his name, and he straightened them out on what his actual name was. They did not ask him for any information at all. The whole thing was ridiculous and from what I could hear, the language was totally unprofessional. They had his phone number, a reasonably related name, and his address. Everything that anyone could have had. He got transferred to another agent, who gave him his "badge number."
I could hear from across the room that the first person to answer and the second person had the same accent. This was a huge red flag to me. Since when would the IRS have two foreign people who sounded exactly the same? It just got worse and worse. I kept telling him to give me the phone, but he wanted to resolve it himself, even though by this time he was yelling at the guy. The guy told him that he had waited until the absolute last day to respond to all their mailings, including certified mail (another blazing red flag -- we have received no mail, certified or otherwise) which he said Jon had signed for, or maybe he didn't say that, but Jon kept asking him if his signature was on the return receipt.
In my experience, watching my mother deal with the IRS for this and that and the other thing, there is no such thing as an absolute last day. They will talk with you about your case forever. For years. They want to resolve things. They don't threaten. They certainly don't threaten to put you in jail or sue you. They want their money but there is a deliberate process.
The whole thing was absurd to me, but they must have been good. They had him hooked. They wanted him to send his payment today. Oh good grief! I would have had to wrestle him to the ground and tie him up if he went down that path.
I wanted to take the phone and ask, "please describe for me the room you are sitting in. What is outside the window? Are there palm trees? What language is everyone speaking? Is it just you and this other lady or are there more of you running this scam?" This is why Jon wouldn't hand me the phone.
Jon finally decided he wasn't in danger of getting sued by the IRS because it was just getting weird. (I forgot to mention the first red flag of all -- I cannot imagine the IRS calling and leaving a message using its initials. They would only say The Internal Revenue Service, ever. And they would NEVER CALL. They send letters saying that we have to call them, and refer to this or that identifying number on the correspondence.) The man said the sheriff would be here in half an hour to take Jon to jail.
Incredible. I can only hope that other vulnerable people in our lives (parents, parents of friends) would have the good sense to say that they don't do business over the phone. I am seriously considering disconnecting our land line after this, because we rarely answer it anyway, and if two reasonably sensible adults can spend this much time on a stupid phone call, it really needs to be gone.
Betsy says we should report the phone number, although it probably already has been reported. Of course, part of Jon's vulnerability is that he has had his identity stolen before, and there is always the possibility that that has messed up his whole taxpaying identity. There are reasons for his nervousness, but I am here to keep him from giving anything away by mistake...
Tuesday, January 19, 2016
Monday, January 11, 2016
Blessingway
When I got the invitation by email a long time ago, I wasn't very excited about going. I didn't really understand what we would be doing, although I knew that we were gathering to celebrate Katherine's baby that is due in February. It was clearly going to be different from a regular baby shower -- we were invited to bring a bead, some fabric, a blessing or a poem. No mention of baby stuff, although there was some tiny little link to a gift registry.
I am not a fan of parties that are focused on gifts. I go because I like the mother-to-be or the bride-to-be, but the whole thing is not really my idea of fun. I do love weddings and babies, and obviously people need material goods, but I would be perfectly happy to send a gift with someone who enjoys attending showers.
Anyway, I accepted the invitation, and postponed thinking about the bead and the fabric and whatever else. The biggest obstacle, really, was the distance: 150 miles. But in the winter we have plenty of time and no real excuses. Carrie (and baby Zoey) and my mother and I planned to ride together, and it would take the whole day, from 9:00 in the morning until almost 7 PM.
Thank goodness for our friend Becky who always knows what to do and gets it done. She bought the baby gifts and had them shipped and she came over for lunch and brought her collection of beads and fabric for us to look through. Her next baby is due in about six weeks, so she was skipping the long car ride. We all like Katherine, and we want to be part of a happy baby experience, but this whole thing just seemed more whoooeeee than we were.
Carrie and I got up early on Sunday and filled up the CSA room with piles of luscious kale and spinach and turnips and other colorful root crops, leaving it in the care of a loyal volunteer for the whole day (the CSA customers must have wondered what was going on). Then we all got in the car and headed south. Zoey, the super agreeable three month old, fell asleep after less than half an hour and snoozed the whole way. We chatted, Carrie drove, I knitted some, Mom napped some.
We arrived at Katherine's new little farm, saw her precise and professional hoop houses and her gardens all nicely tucked in with row covers. She is a do-er to the nth degree. There were about 20 women in her cute little house, doing activities created to engage us while we all assembled (a little different from a normal shower, but pretty reminiscent). Her mother and her mother-in-law were both there, glowing with happy grandmotherliness. Almost everyone had driven for a good long while to get there, as they live pretty far from most people.
We had a nice lunch, provided by friends and family, just the kind of food we would expect. Vegetarian, made with good ingredients, simple, perfect. Everyone was happy and smiling and nice and it seems that the current fashion is both pants and a skirt. Most people besides us were wearing that. Who knew?
And then we got to the substance of the matter. We went outside where it was windy and sunny, stood in a circle in the backyard, facing the mountains to the west, and we sang. Many people knew the song already and it was easy to learn -- more of a chant, really -- about I am woman, I am infinite, with no beginning and no end. Two cheerful women brought out smoking smudge pots (Mom told us later it was sage) and waved them up and down and around each one of us, solemnly, while we continued to sing. No explanation, no chitchat. Just singing and smoke.
Then back inside to sit on pillows and couches in a small circle, with an altar of candles and family memorabilia in the middle. First we introduced ourselves, one at a time, telling our name, our mother's name and our mother's mother's name. Then we went around and said how we all knew Katherine (I had been wishing and waiting for this part, and was glad to know who all these women were) -- many knew her from going to herb school with her (Sacred Plants, Clinic 1 and 2) and some of us knew her through farming, some were related, one knew her since elementary school. It was also an opportunity for each of us to say what we admired/liked/loved about Katherine, which was very nice. We each lit a candle from the big candle in the center. Again, no explanation, we just did it. I guess everyone else already knew what a Blessingway is.
And then came the beads. I was knitting by this time because things were going very slowly and I was getting twitchy. Each woman slowly and solemnly explained why she had chosen this particular bead and then she carefully strung the bead on the necklace while everyone waited patiently. After about four of these stories, which were lovely, I was wondering whether this might take all night. I lightly suggested that we tell the stories but not watch the person who was stringing the beads because that seemed like unnecessary pressure on the stringer (it was hard). People were ready for that suggestion (phew).
And so we said our blessings and our wishes and gave our maternal advice, with lots of love, while Katherine sat with her feet in a small tub of hot water and special herbs. Katherine's mother had a very tearful afternoon, barely able to speak, which made the rest of us cry too. But her tears were wonderful. Of course I cried when I said my piece -- I wanted to tell her that she was going to learn what it is to love someone so much that it makes you vulnerable to great grief. But I let them off the hook, and they laughed, when I said, "Blessings on you as you learn to be powerless." And my mother always cries; she invoked the need for peace in the world, as well as in our lives. (Carrie and Zoey were listening and nursing and napping in the next room so they didn't join in the blessings and beads.)
More singing, more chanting, some guided meditation. And a long dark ride home.
So now we have been to a Blessingway. I am glad we went, it was much more interesting than a shower, and I felt like we were giving Katherine strength and comfort and all sorts of warm fuzzies. Her sister-friends were full of calm and wisdom, probably because they are herbalists who deal in sacred sorts of thinking more than most of us. We vegetable growers are less spirit-touched. But we can sing and we can share and it was good.
The final ritual was winding a ball of red yarn around each of our wrists or ankles, attaching ourselves with this umbilical cord, singing "we are the flow, we are the ebb, we are the (I forget), we are the web" and then cutting it, but tying a knot so that we each have a red yarn bracelet to wear until this baby is born. In some ways, that seems like a lot to ask, having this red string on my wrist for the next five or six weeks, and in other ways, it is a very effective way of reminding me to think about Katherine as she gets closer and closer to giving birth. And to think about all the other women with red yarn on their wrists, as we wait for this baby.
I am not a fan of parties that are focused on gifts. I go because I like the mother-to-be or the bride-to-be, but the whole thing is not really my idea of fun. I do love weddings and babies, and obviously people need material goods, but I would be perfectly happy to send a gift with someone who enjoys attending showers.
Anyway, I accepted the invitation, and postponed thinking about the bead and the fabric and whatever else. The biggest obstacle, really, was the distance: 150 miles. But in the winter we have plenty of time and no real excuses. Carrie (and baby Zoey) and my mother and I planned to ride together, and it would take the whole day, from 9:00 in the morning until almost 7 PM.
Thank goodness for our friend Becky who always knows what to do and gets it done. She bought the baby gifts and had them shipped and she came over for lunch and brought her collection of beads and fabric for us to look through. Her next baby is due in about six weeks, so she was skipping the long car ride. We all like Katherine, and we want to be part of a happy baby experience, but this whole thing just seemed more whoooeeee than we were.
Carrie and I got up early on Sunday and filled up the CSA room with piles of luscious kale and spinach and turnips and other colorful root crops, leaving it in the care of a loyal volunteer for the whole day (the CSA customers must have wondered what was going on). Then we all got in the car and headed south. Zoey, the super agreeable three month old, fell asleep after less than half an hour and snoozed the whole way. We chatted, Carrie drove, I knitted some, Mom napped some.
We arrived at Katherine's new little farm, saw her precise and professional hoop houses and her gardens all nicely tucked in with row covers. She is a do-er to the nth degree. There were about 20 women in her cute little house, doing activities created to engage us while we all assembled (a little different from a normal shower, but pretty reminiscent). Her mother and her mother-in-law were both there, glowing with happy grandmotherliness. Almost everyone had driven for a good long while to get there, as they live pretty far from most people.
We had a nice lunch, provided by friends and family, just the kind of food we would expect. Vegetarian, made with good ingredients, simple, perfect. Everyone was happy and smiling and nice and it seems that the current fashion is both pants and a skirt. Most people besides us were wearing that. Who knew?
And then we got to the substance of the matter. We went outside where it was windy and sunny, stood in a circle in the backyard, facing the mountains to the west, and we sang. Many people knew the song already and it was easy to learn -- more of a chant, really -- about I am woman, I am infinite, with no beginning and no end. Two cheerful women brought out smoking smudge pots (Mom told us later it was sage) and waved them up and down and around each one of us, solemnly, while we continued to sing. No explanation, no chitchat. Just singing and smoke.
Then back inside to sit on pillows and couches in a small circle, with an altar of candles and family memorabilia in the middle. First we introduced ourselves, one at a time, telling our name, our mother's name and our mother's mother's name. Then we went around and said how we all knew Katherine (I had been wishing and waiting for this part, and was glad to know who all these women were) -- many knew her from going to herb school with her (Sacred Plants, Clinic 1 and 2) and some of us knew her through farming, some were related, one knew her since elementary school. It was also an opportunity for each of us to say what we admired/liked/loved about Katherine, which was very nice. We each lit a candle from the big candle in the center. Again, no explanation, we just did it. I guess everyone else already knew what a Blessingway is.
And then came the beads. I was knitting by this time because things were going very slowly and I was getting twitchy. Each woman slowly and solemnly explained why she had chosen this particular bead and then she carefully strung the bead on the necklace while everyone waited patiently. After about four of these stories, which were lovely, I was wondering whether this might take all night. I lightly suggested that we tell the stories but not watch the person who was stringing the beads because that seemed like unnecessary pressure on the stringer (it was hard). People were ready for that suggestion (phew).
And so we said our blessings and our wishes and gave our maternal advice, with lots of love, while Katherine sat with her feet in a small tub of hot water and special herbs. Katherine's mother had a very tearful afternoon, barely able to speak, which made the rest of us cry too. But her tears were wonderful. Of course I cried when I said my piece -- I wanted to tell her that she was going to learn what it is to love someone so much that it makes you vulnerable to great grief. But I let them off the hook, and they laughed, when I said, "Blessings on you as you learn to be powerless." And my mother always cries; she invoked the need for peace in the world, as well as in our lives. (Carrie and Zoey were listening and nursing and napping in the next room so they didn't join in the blessings and beads.)
More singing, more chanting, some guided meditation. And a long dark ride home.
So now we have been to a Blessingway. I am glad we went, it was much more interesting than a shower, and I felt like we were giving Katherine strength and comfort and all sorts of warm fuzzies. Her sister-friends were full of calm and wisdom, probably because they are herbalists who deal in sacred sorts of thinking more than most of us. We vegetable growers are less spirit-touched. But we can sing and we can share and it was good.
The final ritual was winding a ball of red yarn around each of our wrists or ankles, attaching ourselves with this umbilical cord, singing "we are the flow, we are the ebb, we are the (I forget), we are the web" and then cutting it, but tying a knot so that we each have a red yarn bracelet to wear until this baby is born. In some ways, that seems like a lot to ask, having this red string on my wrist for the next five or six weeks, and in other ways, it is a very effective way of reminding me to think about Katherine as she gets closer and closer to giving birth. And to think about all the other women with red yarn on their wrists, as we wait for this baby.
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