Lemonade

I am dead tired of making lemonade.

Not only lemonade, but lemon chiffon and/or meringue pie, lemon curd, lemon custard, lemon squash, lemon anything-else. I'm done with it.

This year, 2007 threw bucket-loads of lemons at me. And I am fearful and hopeful at the same time, because while the year is winding down, more shit could happen.

To wit, a fast recap (not dispassionate, not at all, not an iota):

Early in the year, the IRS audited me. Corporate for all my professional life, the first year out as an independent, and whammo. I pushed back, the claim is in appeals (abeyance, a moratorium), so I am not dwelling on it as much. The sum might amount to $4 or $5K. It's not a lot, and that's not the issue. It's the principle of the thing.

In spring, Jake passed, after more than sixteen years of cat life. Aida, his litter mate-sister passed more than a year earlier, and although I allowed him to slow down in his old age, without veterinarian intervention (I have doubted that decision often, even when I counter it with the knowledge that the vets would have injected him with needles, placing him in an intensive-care, metal cage - and that would have been worse), his little body withered away until he fell into a coma.  He breathed his last, collapsed on my bed, as I whispered the stories of his life. I miss him every day.

My younger sister, 39-years-old, was diagnosed with breast cancer, stage four. And before she had a fighting chance, her husband carbon-monoxide asphyxiated her, their innocent five-year-old daughter, and himself in a double-murder-suicide. This happened on September 7, and made the front page news for a handful of days in Portland, Oregon. All I know is that the dysfunction in my family saved me this time. I hadn't seen or really communicated with my sister in, I guess, ten years. I never met my niece. If I had, I would be writing this through a medicated haze. As it was, I self-anesthetized the first week after it happened. Did the tragedy mend other rifts in my riven family? I have no hard evidence yet. I have exchanged some conversation with my brother, who acted heroically, traveling to Portland with my father, making identifications at the coroner, collecting some of my sister's belongings from the scene.

I do know that my mother's and stepfather's hearts are broken, and the best I can do is to spend time with them, no mean feat in these cash-strapped days.

Over the Thanksgiving holiday weekend, my car was stolen. My beloved 2001 Audi S4 Avant (the bi-turbo engine, limited production, no longer available), was taken from right in front of my building in Chelsea. The police weren't positive, but I was. I checked my EZPass account. For those who do not have these indispensable windshield devices, they allow drivers to pass through toll booths without stopping. The toll is electronically recorded from the windshield device. Women have caught cheating husbands from reviewing their EZPass accounts online. I think a reference was made to such an activity on an episode of The Sopranos. The moment I checked my EZPass account, I saw that my car had been taken between four and five in the morning, to Newark, also known as "cop shop central." The car was targeted. Just last night, a Maserati, several BMW's, Volvos, Range Rovers, and an Escalade were parked on my block. I am shit-out-of-luck, and playing the GEICO paperwork-waiting game. The interim courtesy rental has been a 2008 Pontiac Grand Prix (not worth the hyperlink, trust). The very first car I owned (in high school) was a 1969 Pontiac Grand Prix. The irony is not lost.

A week after the grand theft auto, my bank called to tell me someone was using my debit card to make peculiar online purchases. The identity thief spent about $100 before we closed the account. The bank will restore the money, it's just more paperwork. The thief ordered a Tupac CD, an XBox game, VistaPrint business cards with my name and some gobbledygook data - an incomplete address, a science fiction book, some other services. Some of the goods and notifications were mailed to my NYC address (even though the address was incomplete). Bizarre. I attempted to return the merchandise, without much success, but I did notify my bank.

One company, who sent skin care products called Hydroderm, accepted the cancellation, but allowed me to keep the products. I have to say, this stuff feels much better than the Hymed line I've been sampling recently. (I doubt that any cream reduces wrinkles, but I like when a skin product feels and smells nice.)

I think I can sense an improvement coming with the new year. I will be renting my loft out for a while, it can pay for itself until I can refinance and drop the payments to a manageable level. I took an apartment in the East End. I plan on coming back into the city once a week, stay with many of my dearest and wide-ranging group of friends. Soon, I'll be driving some kind of other car - I allowed myself to muse a bit. Which make or model?

Tomorrow I travel to New Mexico, to spend the holidays with Mom, let her be Mom. We'll pass into 2008 in each other's company.

Comments

[kitty]

Wow. What a year for you.

I found your site by sheer chance on the NYC Bloggers site, and I'm glad I did. I like your writing. The tone of this post, at least, reminds me of 'The Orchid Thief'.

I'm very sorry for your sister. I guess yes, it's good you weren't closer. There's always a worse possibility.

And I'm sorry for you cats, too.

Hope you have a better year,

-k

[nocow]

Very odd. I've never encountered anyone whose life is so similar to mine. Same background, same situation, same age (I think). Powerful description of your cat. My oldest 18. I know how to reverse kidney failure and all sorts of things the vets can't touch, using amino acids, vitamins and other supplements. W/tell you if you want to know. Went looking for you cuz saw your name in connection w/book I like. Have bk proposal--3 agents say "best seller potential" but no "platform". Was going to seek your help.