MEMORIAL DAY

Remembering those who served, who serve now, but most of all those who paid the ultimate price for my freedom.

SEVEN DOLLARS.....

It may not seem like an enormous amount of money, but...

When my daughter - the single mother raising a thirteen year old who is eating her out of house and home - told me she couldn't cash the check from her part-time job, that was the answer I got.  "Seven dollars."         "Huh?"  was all I could say.    She went on to relate she doesn't have an account at the bank the checks are drawn on, therefore if she wants to cash the checks she is charged seven dollars.  Per Check.    

I can't say that the ills of the world were suddenly clear to me - can we say Corporate Greed in unison... -  but within the space of a few minutes I was on the phone to to the bank while my daughter drove to her bank to deposit the check.

I asked to speak to the manager and was told she was busy and they would have her return my call.

When she did an hour later ( time enough to do a complete check on my financial history I am sure)  I asked her what the purpose was to charging seven dollars to cash a check drawn from that bank if one does not have an account and is this legal ( 'cause I fully intend on calling the CT. Banking Comm. to find out).   Her answer was that it is a small processing fee and it is approved.   Hmmm. 

Two days later I received a call from another woman.  The head of the state division of said bank.   I once again explained the situation, and posed the question, "Come on, how often would you cash a hundred dollar check or less from a part-time job and pay seven dollars?"

Well I was on a roll still mullin' things over and wondering how we have been caught up being held hostage by banking institutions attempting to monopolize the free world by forcing us to have an account with them in order to cash their checks, when I received a call today from the bank in question's corporate headquarters in another state.          It is no help that a friend has been given the run around for the past three years on a refi deal.   The seven dollars broke the camel's back if you will.

I went through the entire sad tale again.  This woman assured me corporate would be dealing with my complaint personally.   I was beginning to wonder if the entire personnel pool consisted of women.   Ruthless ones at that.      I hit her with my seven dollar story.  Her solution was to open a savings account for the minimum twenty-five dollars required, that would 'qualify' as an account, eliminating the seven dollar check cashing processing fee.     I advised her I had not yet heard back from the banking commission on the legality of the fee, but as long as she was trying to hold us hostage by forcing my daughter to actually open an account at their bank, would she mind telling me the minimum amount required in a savings account to avoid any fees on that?    "Oh, she replied, well that would be a three-hundred dollar minimum."          "Right, and what is the FEE, if one cannot afford to fork over the three hundred dollars, and starts with the twenty-five dollars?"           The pause on the other end of my phone was significant.     "Four-dollars and twenty-five cents.  Per month."

Yup.   That did it.   I asked her how far removed she was from the days we were, as children, marched into the bank, given an official savings passbook with a five dollar gift from the bank.  Something I did for my children as well.    Every little thing that could be scraped up from shoveling snow, raking leaves or any other chore that a monetary reward could be claimed for was lugged down to the bank to put in the savings account.  Every time a deposit was made, the interest was added in as well so watching the money grow made it all worth while.

 I asked her to please file another complaint in my name regarding this little matter as well because while I was reminiscing about little kids and savings accounts I was punching numbers into my calculator.  She said she would add this complaint and was there anything else she could help me with and not being one to turn down help of course I said yes.    I went on to inform her that my daughter has worked this part-time job for well over two years, which means she would have cashed at least forty two checks in order to use cash and avoid being charged by her bank for writing checks (1.00 per check written- yet another pesky processing fee).   This would, in fact, result in over three hundred dollars - required to maintain a "free" savings account -  and would they like to refund the money they have charged to started a savings account for her? 

It may be a stretch, but it could be part of the reason more children these days don't grow up appreciating the simple pleasures in life.   Such as being thrilled with a giant root ball.

Or exploring uncharted territory with Mom.

Wisteria deep in the woods.

And violets just over the third stone wall.

I'm not waiting for an answer with baited breath.    

In more agreeable matters......
Our INDOOR cats are now going OUTSIDE during the day...

Sort of.

The son built an escape hatch through the basement window.

Seen here being blocked by an indecisive soul.

They have a, er, birds eye view of the wildlife wandering through the yard.

And sunsets while we try to coax them inside at dusk.

Which is when the coyotes that are as big as a German Sheppard take their stroll.

:}

WELL, I JUST NEVER KNOW......

What my daughter will find in the grocery store....

:}

15 APRIL 1912 - ONE CENTURY LATER

After having read all the books on the subject years ago, I discovered it is not truly known if in fact the orchestra did play while the ship sank. The official legal proceedings held after the disaster verified the Captain was ordered to move the ship more quickly in order to meet or exceed a deadline.  Even then commerce appeared paramount.

Robert Ballard was actually on a secret mission with the NAVY and used that to search for the wreck of the TITANIC as a personal project which made his name.

The auction of TITANIC relics is soon.

I sometimes wonder if the desire for money is greater than respect for the victims of any tragedy.

It remains to be seen.

MEANDERING ADVENTURES

Despite the seven day spat of near eighty degree weather the temperatures are near normal for this time of year again.  Cold.   There is something about being out of shape that makes the body want to camp out near the fireplace and simply wait for the warm weather to return.   Despite the temperatures I braved the cold to venture out and hopefully see the maiden  crash  flight of the kids plane.

I was told to head out the rural route and look for the 'dirt birm' with a dirt road on my left.   Yup.  Those were the directions.   I asked about a sign.  "Oh, well, the sign is about a hundred and fifty yards in, its a little yellow sign, can't really see it from the road."     No, you certainly can't.   After traveling down several dirt roads on my left that shouldn't be traveled with anything less than four wheel drive, I finally found the correct one.   I drove down the dirt road staying in the ruts.  It would have been impossible to get out of the ruts unless I wanted to leave half my car behind.

I came out of the woods and headed to the clearing where I encountered this...

Good Grief.  Things were begining to look menacing.

The kid had his plane together and judging from the trailer you see in the background this is some serious hobby.  That trailer is to carry this...

Enormous Plane.

With a fake man inside, which prompted me to ask my son why he did not have a fake man as well.

Which prompted one of the 'experts' to remark, "Yah don't want to put that much into the aesthetics until you know if it will actually fly."  Here they are configuring one of the frequencies on the transmitter to the planes receivers.  Yuh, it gets more complicated.  Apparently one of the club administrators has to fly the plane first, then watch the kid fly it to certify him to fly at the airfield.

Like this guy.

But today would not be the day for the big plane.  Something wrong with the rear flaps.  So out came the ready-made power assist glider...  It has a little prop that flips up from the body of the back of the plane when needed with a flick of the switch on the radio transmitter, and with another flick of the switch, it plops back into the plane. He uses the same transmitter on a different frequency. Pretty nifty.

And with that I took off down the ruts and headed to the feed and grain store to search for an extremely large kennel.   Its time the cats get to come and go as they please, and feel the breezes in their fur as my father liked to say.  Right after he let my mothers cat out the back door....  

My mother's cats never got out the door unless Dad was home on leave.  As a result they were chronically attempting escapes the second they heard an outside door begin to squeak.   Whether they escaped or were intentionally allowed out to feel the breeze in their fur by Dad, my mother would not go to bed until they were in.  No matter what time she had to go to work in the morning.  Which more often than not would result in her being in the yard way past the neighbor's bedtime screaming, "MORRIS!"   because it was always Morris who wanted to spend the hours of darkness prowling around.  Usually under the barn.  It never ceased to amaze and amuse my sister and I when we would look out the bedroom windows only to see our mother's butt pointed straight up in the air, her head under the opening in the barn sill and hearing a muffled "Morris come out here now."   Occasionally the phone would ring during the ordeal.  One of us would go answer it, only to hear one of my mother's friends give a current location of the escapee in a curt tone, "He's under our porch."  We'd relay the information and off mother would trot.    The coup de grace was always when she was able to reach under and grab him by the scruff of the neck.  Poor Morris always like to play hard to get and remained ever so slightly out of reach, but occasionally he would miscalculate.  That was when my mother would grab his neck with lightening swiftness, while Morris dug into anything his feet could grasp, and tried to hang on for dear life. Neither one would ever come out of those battles unscathed, it was either Morris covered in dirt with grass and weeds poking out from between his toes, or my mothers pants covered in dirt at the knees, her hair always standing on end.   Once he was safely inside Morris would stand in the kitchen and glare at my mother until she was so guilt ridden she would give him Bumble Bee tuna as a treat, all the while grumbling to the cat about how his father should stop feeding him the line about the breeze in his fur.

Never the less, I'd like to be able to see the cats outside within a safe enclosure where the coyotes and fisher cats cannot view them as lunch.    

I became distracted by the scenery immediately upon my arrival.  After I moved to Connecticut my sister used to say,  "There is no country in Connecticut."  She was correct to a certain extent, but there are little areas that necessitate this type of stuff...

A farm owners Dream Machine..

I had a Match Box one just like this.

I'm thinkin' ancient cement mixer?

Prettiest little tractor I think I've ever seen.

Aside from arm machinery, old and new - all for sale - there were plenty of artistic touches to make the place more interesting.

This one is made entirely of used horseshoes.

And just because I can never remember who wrote this poem.  I am not, as a general rule, into poetry which is why I remain curious as to exactly why I have never forgotten this one...

Changing The Wheel

I sit by the roadside. 

The driver changes the wheel.

I do not like the place

I have come from.

I do not like the place I am going to.

Why, with impatience, do I

Watch him changing the wheel?

No extra charge for the dry rot   :}

Stay warm, unless you are down south, and then for Gaud's Sake rescue me....

:}

SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO

My sister left this fine earth.

True to my word, I would continue my brother-in-law's wish to promote Breast Cancer Awareness.

So Ladies Please, for your loved ones, if not yourselves.

After her husband left, my sister's best friend called to say she felt as if the nightmare were over, they were together for Eternity, and told me to listen to the following song that had been released.  For it was their story. And it is.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=62okXWj5c9s&feature=fvst

Thank You all For Bearing With Me.

:}

ON PERCEPTION...

The weather took a turn back on the dial to ABSOLUTE COLD, and what is better than to be surrounded by good reading next to the fireplace, so off the daughter and I headed to the BOOK BARN  ( http://www.bookbarnniantic.com/ ) .  Course the visit wouldn't be complete without a spin around all the out-buildings, and saying "hey" to one of the rescue goats.

We are seriously addicted to Chai Tea (with cream) so a trip to Mystic Village before heading home was on the agenda.   We stood patiently in line at the little store that sells specialty coffees from all sorts of exotic places.   We were patient because the elderly gent in front of us was asking where each coffee was grown and had to smell a sample of each, before he ended up walking out sans fresh coffee beans. 

Chai Tea in hand we headed back out the winding walkway toward the car, when we were overtaken by a miniature person in pink.  She was about two feet tall, maybe three years old with a pink parka, pink dress, pink tights, and pink hat.  My daughter looked at her Chai Tea cup and was mumbling something about pink elephants when the little girl stopped short in front of us turned, saw her parents closing in fast and took off again ( that is one child that will need some serious monster-movie-therapy  before her brain turns pink). In the meantime my daughter found the bear, sitting alone begging for someone to sit and take his picture, so of course the kid (my ADULT kid...) runs over to pose.  Just as I was taking her picture the young couple walked behind me with their pink child.   The young mother said, "Oh gosh I hope our little girl is as much fun as you guys when she gets older, your sister is too funny."       ahem, yuh.     They were clear to the parking lot after my turn with the bear before my daughter had finished mulling over what the young mother had said.  I had taken it as a compliment, thinking, "Hey, do I really look young enough to be my kid's sister?"

My daughter was highly insulted thinking, "Oh cripe, do I really look old enough to be her sister?"

Which led me to some serious thoughts on perception. Was it my age that made me think of this quote?  “We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”     Oscar Wilde

While I had to wait until I got home to look up a compairable quote to describe my daughters veiw of the incident. 

“Life is 10 percent what you make it
and 90 percent how you take it.”
― Irving Berlin

:}