Monthly Archives: April 2011

Your Words Cut Loose the Fire And You

Posted by Tata on

Time and events are rushing past me. I’m struggling to keep more balls in the air than a condom factory. Yeah, I kiss my sweet old Grandpa with that mouth.

Yesterday, we embarked on the annual bond-buying extravaganza. If you’re just joining Poor Impulse Control: Pete and I have two brothers and five sisters. I also have three first cousins and one grown daughter. Between all these crazy people, who must smell good to someone, we have sixteen children who need Christmas and birthday presents every year and I have a very, very short attention span. Further: you should never underestimate how much I do not want to shop where I have to interact with the other humans, so I skip all that and buy the kids goddamn savings bonds. Yesterday was that red letter day.

Pete brought home forms from his bank. I filled them out. Checked them. Checked them again. Figured out how much they’d cost. Finally, we were ready. We grabbed our forms and a buttload of cash and went to a regular-sized branch, which was empty and nearly silent when we walked in. A greeter directed us to the one cashier behind the counter. I explained what we were doing and in slow motion everyone in that building went a little crazy.

Suddenly other customers grumbled behind me and a quartet of brunette cashiers waltzed behind the counter, seemingly unable to complete transactions. Apparently, my cashier was the only one with a key to something because customer after customer was told that everything had to wait until after my transaction was finished. By coincidence, the ATM machine was being repaired and nobody could do anything about the drive-through customers for some reason I couldn’t divine. Meanwhile, my cashier could only enter a few bonds at a time and we didn’t agree on money.

Tata: I owe you more money than this.
Cashier: Let me count it again.
Everyone else in the room: GROAN.

That happened at least four times. One of the brunette cashiers sidled up to mine, eyes on me the whole time and whispered confidentially, “Are yooooo okay?” My cashier was a no-nonsense broad. She barked, “Leave me alone, willya?” As my transaction proceeded, the level of panic in the bank rose palpably. I spoke calmly in short sentences and in a voice that could not be mistaken for threatening. The other cashiers made few efforts that I saw to assist the customers behind me – though every time I turned around the people behind me seemed different. Finally, we reached an accord about what was being ordered and how much money I should have paid for it all. The cashier handed me back a $50 in triumph. My receipts did not add up. In the car, I said, “Hey Pete, don’t be surprised if your bank asks you to hokey pokey in some other dancehall.”

Treasury Direct used to sell savings bonds online, but quit because credit card fees cut into the selling price. Seems to me now would be a fine time for the Treasury to tell banks savings bonds were fee-exempt.

Explain It Don’t Understand

Posted by Tata on

Spring arrives in dribs and drabs. Pete spent the afternoon setting up a raised bed in the backyard. We’ve gone back and forth on shapes, sizes and locations, but Pete chose a spot in the middle of the backyard and about a step from the plastic tent that passes for our greenhouse. Tomorrow, we’ll shovel in garden soil we saved from last year’s agricultural adventure and buckets of compost because woohoo, now it’s a party. It’s still too soon to plant vegetable seeds outside. The cold nights have not given way to consistent warm ones. This week, we’ll figure out how many plants the raised bed might accommodate, set up a weeper hose and decide what we’ll plant where. Sometimes, at this moment, I lose my mind and buy flats of tender seedlings. This type of decisive action has usually been followed by a month of sloth, during which our little seedlings went tits-up. I admit it: moving the water from the rain barrel to the plants was often too hard to do a gallon at a time before work so I let it go. So this year, we’re attaching weeper hoses to the rain barrels and threading them where stuff is. It’s a simple plan: on days I’m bicycling to work in good weather, I can open the valve on the rain barrel. Later, after Pete luxuriates in cozy bed, he can close the valve and go about his glamorous biz knowing the little sprouts are properly sauced. It’s not a great plan. Some folks will tell you not to use rain barrel water on your garden, but I’ll be blunt: we’re in New Jersey. Toxins rain from the sky, bounce off tar roofing and land on our lettuce. We’re freaking doomed – but arugula is a reason to live.

As for drab: I spent today cleaning out kitchen cabinets, because stuff growing in there is just gross.