Remember when

Guess what? Despite the title, this isn't another nostalgic post about the merits of classic car ownership. Shocking, I know.

Instead, I'm going to go all serious on you for a moment and remind you that today is Memorial Day in the United States, a day which we have set aside to commemorate those who died while serving in our nation's armed forces.

Granted, nowadays, when we think of the official reason for Memorial Day (if we think of it at all), we view it as a time to commemorate all those who serve or have served in the military. More likely, though, we think of it as the unofficial beginning of the summer season, a great time for shopping and barbecues, a good excuse for a long weekend in ever stingy-with-the-vacation corporate-cultured America, or even the day upon which the Indianapolis 500 takes place. But enough with the cars already.

According to Wikipedia, still my source for all wisdom, Memorial Day was initially begun as Decoration Day, a day set aside to pay tribute, remember, and memorialize those Union soldiers who perished during the American Civil War. Later it was expanded to include all soldiers--men and women--who died in service to their country. However, as there is still a Confederate Memorial Day on the books in some states (I'm not naming names . . .), I'm guessing Memorial Day doesn't necessarily include in the list of honorees those who died in service against their country.

(Editor's note: Oh dear, I've perhaps lived too long above the Mason-Dixon Line. Still, I have seen Confederate flags placed on the graves of fallen Southern soldiers on Memorial Day, at least in Virginia, so perhaps finally we've all moved on.)

Anyway, I think Memorial Day is especially poignant this year. Whether rightly or wrongly, we are a nation at war, in Iraq specifically and somewhat in Afghanistan as well. Despite our best efforts at national distraction (Hillary vs. Barack! Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull! What was Britney/Lindsay/Paris/ Nicole/et al. thinking?!), it is a cold, hard reality difficult to ignore. No matter where you stand on the decision to go to war and on the outcomes of that decision, it is where we are at the moment--and for the immediate future.

I think, too, this Memorial Day is particularly sensitive for me because I keep thinking about my Dad, who passed away more than a year ago. He served proudly in the U.S. Marine Corps for some 30 years but personified the motto, "Once a Marine, always a Marine." He carried the responsibility, discipline, and camaraderie of being a Marine with him throughout his life.

Even in his later years, when he was suffering from Alzheimer's, I can remember being on a visit with him and my Mom to Bandera, Texas, in 2003 or so, and watching his face light up when he overheard a fellow Marine talk about being stationed at Camp LeJeune, where he served in military and civilian posts for many years. Even then, he was able to converse with this comrade-in-arms about their shared experiences as soldiers. Despite his illness, I think some of his strongest remaining memories were positive ones from his time as a soldier in World War II and post-war China.

Frankly, I can't even remember where I was or what I was doing last Memorial Day. In fact, much of last year is a blur at this point, in part because of job change and moving. However, more than anything, things are hazy from last year because I spent most of the year being numb from his rather sudden death.

I've been less numb over the last couple of months, which is both good and bad. Good, if you can call it that, to finally start feeling his loss; bad, if you can call it that, because it comes out at completely unexpected times and sometimes in completely unexpected ways. I can't listen to the song "Solsbury Hill" by Peter Gabriel, a favorite of mine, without becoming upset because it reminds me of an ordinary day in the 1970s when my Dad picked me up at school and that song happened to be on the radio. I can't pass a field or a wood and see the new spring growth without feeling emotional--all that newness and beauty, it just makes my soul ache. And little hassles and really stupid things that people say or do, tick me off rather quickly and deeply, much more so than before. I've never been one to suffer fools easily (including my own foolish self), but this past year has been exceptionally challenging.

Nonetheless, Memorial Day isn't all about me.

Instead, for a complete change of pace, I'm trying to think of others and of ways I can make a contribution, however small, to provide comfort to those who are enduring a particularly grueling task in our name. It is cliché to say perhaps, but whether you're for, against, or debilitated from all feeling about the war, we can at least agree (I hope) that those who serve deserve our support.

Support takes many different forms. Maybe for you it is a protest march against the war or a heated discussion with friends and family about its continued existence. Maybe for you it involves displaying an American flag at the front of your house, tying a yellow ribbon around an oak tree, or supporting "the surge" as a way to get the job done and bring home the troops as soon as possible. So be it. Whatever it takes--as long as you can look yourself in the mirror and know that your sincere intent is to honor the troops, their families, and friends, as well as the people of Iraq and Afghanistan. If you're thinking first and foremost what would be best for all of them, and not trying to promote your own pro- or anti-war agenda, then go forward and prosper. I have no argument with you.

But why not put your money where your dissenting opinions and patriotic gestures are? Why not show some love and share some humanity through a donation to a charitable organization that offers support and comfort to soldiers and their loved ones?

I'm by no means an authority on where to go to do this, but I can at least tell you about a few organizations I've become familiar with over the last couple of months. Maybe one of those is the right place for you to share some time, money, or other resources to make things a little better for everyone. Caveat: I know enough about these organizations to be dangerous, but from the outside looking in, they do seem to have their hearts and heads in the right places.

• Knitting for charity--I recently was fortunate enough to visit the National Museum of the Marine Corps in Quantico, Virginia. The day I visited, there was a group from a local charity knitting helmet liners and other useful clothing for soldiers. Why I didn't take down the name of the charity, I don't know. However, this article from About.com lists some of the major U.S. organizations that accept knitting for charity, including Operation Homefront.
  
• Books for Soldiers--This seems like a great idea, especially since they encourage you to donate books and other media that soldiers actually want, rather than letting you send any ol' thing. The one complication, though, is that they want you to fill out an application and have it notarized before you start sending materials. Seems like an unnecessary extra step, but I'm sure they have their reasons. Anyway, if that's too onerous, you can also make financial contributions to their operations.
• Tunes 4 the Troops--This organization was recently featured as part of the "Heroes" series on CNN, an increasingly useless source for information on practically every topic. Still, I found the story behind this organization impressive. Clearly, sharing music with others is something I'm committed to, if recent postings in this blog offer any evidence. Granted, some of the tunes I would send along might not help a soldier (for example, does a U.S. soldier really need the entire back catalog of the Spice Girls? don't ask, don't tell . . .), but it is a neat idea, and one that would be easy to assist with.
• The USO--The USO has been providing support, comfort, and recreational opportunities for soldiers for nearly 70 years. You can contribute to their efforts by offering your money or your time.

I'm sure there are others that are equally worthwhile. If you have a favorite, please leave a comment or drop me an email, so the news can be shared with others.

In the meantime, no matter where you stand on the political spectrum, for just today, perhaps we can take a moment to remember our service men and women, past and present. More importantly, in the year ahead, perhaps we can take some time from our busy lives to do something positive for the benefit of our troops.

Death and taxes

* * *

Death

Obviously, I've been abnormally quiet lately, not having posted since March 20th and only posting twice during March. Although most of Blogtucky's regulars know the story, let me explain.

After nearly 83 years of life, including 1 marriage of 54 years, 4 children, 3 wars, some 30 years in the Marine Corps, 6 years living with Alzheimer's, and numerous other life achievements and events, my father passed away on Wednesday, March 14th, 2007.

Gratefully, I was home at the time, just having made it to Kansas the previous evening. Not that my being there changed anything or stopped his passing. Maybe it added a little comfort to his final hours. I'd at least like to think so. Still, I'm glad I was there for him, for my family, and for me.

Initially, after he died, a weird sort of adrenaline kicked in. In addition to making an excessive amount of origami flowers, I started thinking through a play-by-play of my emotions and reactions to this (at least for me and my family) cataclysmic event. I thought I would post word of my travels to and from Kansas (surprisingly and gratefully seamless for a change), my family's reactions and emotions, as well as my own. I'd talk about the many friends and neighbors who came to visit with my family and let you know about the food they brought and the kind words and thoughts they shared. I would consider telling about the lovely cards, notes, flowers, gifts, and prayers my coworkers and friends shared with me before and after. And, of course, I would also pay tribute to my Dad.

But, soon after the adrenaline rush subsided, I realized that it just may be too personal and too raw right now for me to tell you all that, especially in an open forum like this blog. Blog's are a funny thing, anyway. How much is too much to reveal? And who cares besides me what my thoughts are on any given topic, especially one as sad as my father's passing?

Nonetheless, talking openly about my Dad's death might do me some good. Despite being more of a feeling person (I skew toward being an INFJ on the Myers-Briggs), reacting to situations more with emotion than logic, I have learned to play things closer to the vest over the years. And, let's face it, our culture encourages this, the valuing of thought and logic over emotion and feeling, even in the most intimate of situations and relationships. In the immortal words of one old boyfriend after a painful break-up (underscored by his taking me to see The Virgin Suicides as a parting gift/shot and not really getting why this might be upsetting), "You know, you really should keep some of those thoughts to yourself."

And I'm nothing if not good at taking life lessons from a walking, talking sphincter.

Still, even writing this post is incredibly difficult. It just makes my father's death all the more real, as if I have to admit it, acknowledge it, as a fact. And, yet, I feel the way I'm expressing my emotions and sadness herein is with as flat an affect as I can muster. I'm saying I'm sad, rather than illustrating that I'm sad. Why is that?

A clue may be gleaned from the words of my friend the Gladman, who said to me the other day, "The thing is you've had this major life event happen to you. You know it's significant. You know nothing's going to be as it was. But, in the meantime, you have to figure out what it means and how to deal with it."

Yes, exactly.

Over the last few weeks, I've felt upset and broken-hearted over my Dad's death, but probably more than anything I have just felt numb and in shock, stunned by his very quick passing and having so soon to return to a "normal life." It seems too soon to go back to business as usual, and so I haven't really. Up until the last couple of days, I've purposefully avoided social events, at least the ones I had the option to avoid. And up until Thursday, to give the appearance of mourning dress, I also have avoided wearing bright-colored clothing, a style (perhaps regrettably) I sometimes favor. I certainly haven't felt like writing or taking pleasure from other pastimes or interests.

The other overriding feelings for me of late are anger and impatience. I don't think I'm so much angry over the fact that my Dad died "too soon"--he lived a good life, even with Alzheimer's, one of the cruelest diseases known to us. But I could be kidding myself. Who doesn't die too soon? You always want more time with someone, more time to say the important things, but also more time just to be with them and appreciate them for who they are. It certainly does feel as though he died too soon for me and my family. So maybe I'm just fooling myself into believing that I don't feel anger toward the world over my Dad's death.

I suspect this anger and impatience may come from another place, though, one best expressed by my friend EcoGal, who sagely said to me upon my return to work, "You think all this was ridiculous and unimportant before you left, just you wait." So true. Because while I haven't felt like returning to my usual interests and activities, I have had to go back to work. Attend meetings, supervise, talk, direct, innovate, present, act, show up, produce, and all the rest. It's hard coming back to an environment I felt somewhat indifferent to and more than a little irritated by before my Dad's death. Now it seems intolerable. I feel like I could jump out of my skin at any minute, quit on the spot, turn on a dime, and walk away, never to return.

Not practical, perhaps, but there you have it, my fantasy way of dealing with the loss and the pain.

While I pride myself on not bringing everyone down with me as I make my way through the murky sewer tunnel of grief, it's hard to return to my ol' jokey, we'll-sing-in-the-sunshine self. Writing and humor certainly are ways for me to deal with my emotional conflict and anxieties. And writing and humor, too, may be a way for me to keep expressing the "Dad" in me. My father was nothing if not funny, not to mention highly opinionated, often at the same time. And, golly, lookit, so am I.

Thanks for that, Dad. And thanks for so much more that you gave me over the years. I wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

Taxes

The other ridiculous and pointless thing I've come home to is tax-filing season.

It's that time again in the U.S., and given recent events, I find I'm behind in getting mine prepped for mid-April's deadline. So, as a result, I spent Good Friday at home, making some progress, finishing my federal and state taxes. Now all I have to do is a recheck, then I can e-file, and wait for the $45 refund from the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania (woo hoo!) and the $110 payout to the federal government (boo hoo!) to be deposited/withdrawn from/to my bank account.

I've never been one of those no-government know-nothings that seem to have taken hold of our federal social policy over the last couple of decades. I'm probably one of the few people in America that wouldn't object to slightly higher taxes, if it meant that those funds went for a stronger social safety net for all citizens and a serious investment in mass transit over highways. But given that any national discretionary income seems to be going toward a war effort that practically no one supports (except some politicos in Washington and the blood-in-the-water research-and-development and real estate firms in the D.C. area that feed off of them), maybe it's less a case of mo' money for the feds than better spending and management of the income already received.

Much a similar argument could be made toward the way I handle my personal finances. Some cases in point in the form of a couple of big reveals from this year's resignation to taxation without decent representation:

• I made slightly more charitable contributions this year than last, but it still seems like an awfully pathetic amount. I can do better.
• I made slightly more income this year than last (a whopping $70). Which, again, seems like an awfully pathetic amount. And, again, I can do better.
• I really have to get a better handle on my retirement accounts, not to mention my spending, but you know, laugh today, cry tomorrow, we're all going to die someday (see above), and whose life is it anyway? So I suspect it's going to be bidness as per usual with the Raplicious family accounts ("Party of one? There's ample seating in the debtor's prison, sir") over the next year. Or ten.

Ah, but what is this letter from the West Shore Tax Bureau that has been hanging around my desk for the last month or so?

Apparently, in Pennsylvania, we have an additional tax "opportunity," if you will, and that is the local, school district tax, which is something I have to admit to being fairly unfamiliar with and ignorant of until this year. Oops.

The year 2006 was my first full year of living in the Keystone State, and thus the first year that 1 percent (and please pay attention to this number, as it's about to rock my world) was subtracted from my pay for local school district taxes. When I lived in Maryland a full 5 percent (or more) was subtracted from my Pennsylvania-garnered pay to fund the Free (?) State's coffers. While Pennsylvania state income tax is currently around 3.07 percent--an incredible bargain compared to Maryland's--things get more complicated in the Commonwealth because of the addition of local school district taxes, which run the gamut from under 1 percent to, I dunno, maybe 3 or more percent, depending on your township/school district/municipality/whatever. And there's a whole 'nuther layer of complication if you live or work in Philadelphia and environs, but we just won't go there until we have to, girlfriend.

It's all relative, I guess. I mean, in Texas I didn't pay an income tax at all, but I was often brusquely shook down for various and sundry--for example, state park entrance fees, which were in the $30+ range for a carload of folks. I'd like to be able to confirm this--it may indeed cost more--but when you go to the Texas Parks and Wildlife Division website and try to search for entrance fees, well, interestingly enough, the information appears to be top secret. Homeland Security dontcha know.

In Pennsylvania, my experience so far tells me that state parks and game lands are free. So, all things considered, I can live with the local school district tax.

However, a problem arises with the fact that I don't happen to live in the local school district where I work. And because of this geographical reality, my employer apparently is only required by the Pennsylvania Department of Revenue (or so I'm figuring) to collect taxes of 1 percent for "out of county" (and thus out of local school district) residents.

All well and good, except that the school district in which I reside charges a local tax of 1.7 percent, not 1 percent.

Thus I find myself a week or so before tax-filiing day needing to pay an additional 0.7 percent or $300 to $400 to meet my tax burden.

Cripes. Talk about tax-and-spend socialism smacking you in the face with a dead Soviet-style communist fish of reality. Ugh. And it's not even Lent anymore. (Is it? Easter traditions--something else I can proclaim to be ignorant of, for good or for ill.)

I can both meet the deadline and pay the burden, although plans for that new home stereo system--oh, and groceries--just got set back by a couple of months. Hey-ho.

Still, bitter misanthrope that I am, I can't help but feel that this is a part of a plot by my employer to impel all worker bees to live within five to ten miles of the company hive. (And just one part of the plot, mind you. Oh, I have other examples, believe you me . . . .)

After all, the local tax rate where I work is the same as where I live. Why not charge me the full amount instead of having to cough up bitter cash during tax season? Who knows? Maybe I'd even get a refund! If you can pay 5 percent to Maryland, why can't you manage an additional 0.7 percent for my Cumberland County school district?

Because, my somewhat suspect reasoning goes, my employer hates the fact that I'm not willing to drink the corporate Kool-Aid, to take a ride on the tail of the comet Hale-Bopp, to get Sirius, to run my dedication up the Mount Carmel flagpole and see whether I salute it appropriately. Instead, it holds it against me that I am not the Borg and I am unwilling to assimilate into the institutional ethos.

Or it could just be an accounting nightmare to deal with--hundreds and thousands of potential school districts and so many employees--not to mention a subtle imperative to get me to save more and often throughout the year. But where's the sturm-und-drang in that approach? Personally, I've never seen a tree of logic and rationality that couldn't be felled by a strong ax of drama under any circumstances.

And INFJ that I am, I couldn't have it any other way.