Forgetful?

I was thinking about my posts from the last days of February in previous years. 2012. 2011. 2008. Sometimes there is introspection, other times not so much. I haven't thought so much about my birthday this year. I've been preoccupied with my aunt, with travel, with not having time to exercise or go to church, with reading and with knee injuries and trying to find the perfect dress. It's been one thought after another with an avoidance of turning a year older. Something about 37 makes me forgetful. I forget if I'm turning 36 or 37 or 38 or 39. Or I confuse my age with my husband's. Or I just have to stop to count. I don't know if this is intentional or just strategic or just a distraction. It's ridiculous, really.

I think I have certain goals in mind for myself, and I find that I've made no progress toward where I want to be and what I want to have in my life and who I really am. I'm not sure if this has been much of a progressive year. I haven't set any racing records, and I haven't made any changes on the homefront or the professional front. I did go to Africa, so that is something. But I don't know much beyond that.

I leave for Austin tomorrow, and I will have a couple of days alone but surrounded and I won't have the time to think. More time to forget, really, and more time to forget turning 37. I strive to turn this into something unforgettable, really, if I can. I am happy to have had another year, and I don't take that at all for granted. There's something daunting if you don't know if you are guaranteed another birthday. Hell, none of us are owed anything. It's all day to day. Minute by minute. But some have more odds stacked against them than others.

I suppose on Monday I may have this sudden burst of introspection, and I will wake up and feel differently. But otherwise, I'll just chalk it up to another 30-something birthday, and be grateful. Just be grateful.

New Cave Singers

The Cave Singers have a new album coming out next Tuesday. Naomi is currently streaming online here. I am incredibly excited to stream it, and I very much hope to see them locally again at the Rock & Roll Hotel on April 9.

Miami

Miami was a nice little getaway at a time when a lot is going on. The Trump-esque resort was certainly in need of a much-needed renovation, since it seemed stuck a bit in the 1960s. But it's only very recently Trump,and I'm sure the changes coming will be done quite well. 

We also spent some time on South Beach, including some bliss on the beach. It was in the 80s, mostly sunny and warm. I sat and listened to my Django Django album and just did nothing. We didn't have a beach towel or anything, but it was worth it. We also lunched at Grillfish and had some very fresh grouper, corn on the cob, and pasta. Yum. I also rested my liver after a late night on Saturday. But that was fun, too, sitting with new friends telling crazy stories of teacher stalkers and kindergarten bullies in the suburbs of Washington, DC.

It was truly an escape, even with the very late night and long line in the airport. Just a little bliss when so much else is going on. Thankful for that.

Miserable

Detroit comes in first, for miserability. Is that a word? Anyway, nothing to be proud. It's been a bad week for Detroit.

And it's been a hard week here, with people I've worked with passing away, finding out about paternity scandals, beating their wives, getting fired from entry-level jobs, and sabotaging their chances for a great appointment.  Not to mention everything happening at home. And now I'm off to Miami. What else could happen?

Why Pay Taxes?

Half of Detroiters don't pay property taxes. And one reason why? Their properties are severely over-valued, and they receive no services in return.

Delinquency is so pervasive that 77 blocks had only one owner who paid taxes last year, The News found. Many of those who don't pay question why they should in a city that struggles to light its streets or keep police on them.

"Why pay taxes?" asked Fred Phillips, who owes more than $2,600 on his home on an east-side block where five owners paid 2011 taxes. "Why should I send them taxes when they aren't supplying services? It is sickening. … Every time I see the tax bill come, I think about the times we called and nobody came."

Detroit has the highest property taxes among big cities nationwide and relies on assessments that are seriously inflated. Many houses are assessed at more than 10 times their market price, according to new research from two Michigan professors.

It's no wonder people don't pay. Why should they? 

Lee has dutifully paid his nearly $4,000 annual bill despite believing it's too much. His stately brick Tudor in the University District is assessed at $53,810, meaning the city pegs its market value at $107,620. A recent appraisal he paid for found the house was worth $35,000.

"It was my commitment to seeing the city working," said Lee, 67, a consultant who has lived there since 1982. "I know our difficulty is we are still operating like we have a million people. We have to have somebody to support that. … But it's not fair that such a small percentage is paying."

The rule of law and order is only respected by a few, and in good conscience, they pay. As they should. But something, mutiny or anarchy, is resulting, when so few respect the rule of law. And it's not wonder why the city is going bankrupt.

Bankrupt

The Drudge Report headlines reads Detroit: $14 billion in the hole. 

Yeah, it didn't take a rocket scientist to realize that Detroit's finance have so sharply deteriorated that only bankruptcy might save it. Might.

Among the findings: 

The city did not balance its checkbook every month, just once a year.

The city sometimes recorded expenses in the wrong place, wrong account or the wrong year.
Some information about city workers did not match information in the personnel files.
When the city paid some insurance claims, they kept a record of the payments, but not of the claims that forced them to make the payment.
The city had no process for anonymous reporting of ethical or fraud violations.
The city used restricted funds to pay for things those funds could not pay for. That's why they're called restricted funds. As a matter of fact, some funds shared the same bank accounts.
The city sometimes determined weekly paychecks without computers and without having the amounts verified by managers. So some paychecks, perhaps many paychecks, were wrong.

And worse:

• As far back as 2005, the city’s general fund has operated at annual deficits ranging from $155.4 million to $221.9 million. The primary method of reducing it: issuing more debt in the form of bonds.
• As of June 30, the 36th District Court had $279.3 million in uncollected fines, fees and other costs from parking violations, civil infractions, traffic and drunken driving cases and other misdemeanors. The court’s collection rate of 7.7% is way below the 60% rate in suburban courts.
• The Detroit Police Department has about 2,030 employees, but the city has “no reliable information” on how they are deployed. Some city officials said one-third are on patrol, but police officials say that number is 68%.
• The city charter contains restrictions that make it “extremely difficult to restructure city operations in any meaningful and timely manner.”
• Detroit’s long-term liabilities, including unfunded pension obligations and retiree health care, exceeded $14 billion in 2012. Those obligations are expected to cost $1.9 billion over the next five years, yet the city has “no satisfactory plan” to address the issue.

And yet: "Councilwoman JoAnn Watson said earlier today that the council should challenge a finding by the state that Detroit is in a financial emergency because corporations, the state and others owe the city more than $800 million. But that’s a figure Bing and others in his administration say is overestimated." Worse: "Watson called the takeover a "right-wing agenda" that's "anti-union" and "anti-black.""

And worse: "Community activist Sandra Hines objected to the review team's finding. She is part of the group Free Detroit No Consent, which opposed the city's consent agreement with the state.
"We have a mayor. We have a council," Hines said. "We feel it's nothing the city can't handle.""

Really?  What is "anti-black" is continuing to let the hundreds of thousands of Detroit citizens dwell in dire, stark poverty, with accruing debt, and citizens being shot outside of 5 year olds birthday parties. What is "anti-black" is for no one to intercede, no one to do anything. Intervening is the only thing to do.

I hate to see the city I grew up in descending into bitter partisan squabbling over trying to fix one of the very many problems plaguing the city. If the City Council proved at all able, there may be an argument for letting them take the lead. But their paralysis demonstrates otherwise. Let the state do what it can before more time is wasted.

Weekend Awaits

While a certain someone was released from the drudgeries of work at 3pm, I am still officially on the clock. I do get a free night tomorrow, and I intend to fill that with a workout, trips to Target and the grocery store and the mall, cleaning, maybe church depending on the weather, and then lazy time at home reading and watching bad videos. Girl's night alone is a rare occasion, and I do need to commemorate my last free Saturday night for a month. Ugh, that is a depressing concept.

I need to find a good meetings dress, either from Ann Taylor or elsewhere. And a good Miami outfit. With any luck, it'll be in the 80s there next week. Granted, we'll be facing a wintery mix. But of course.

Reading List

After much longer than it should have taken me to read, I finally finished Anne Applebaum's book on the Iron Curtain. 

I read the last 100+ pages enroute to and from Minnesota last week. The book was tragic and sad, and the hopelessness and helplessness experienced in Eastern Europe was so dire. And it made me angry that the West just abandoned the lands beyond the Iron Curtain, and American just surrendered them away. One of my most memorable undergraduate papers was one on the Czech Spring, and those protesters who lost their lives should still be mourned. Just like in Hungary in 1956.  Those voices of protest never really died, but they were confined to whispers behind closed doors. What patriots were men like Vaclav Havel and Lech Walesa. Where are those leaders today, I wonder? It made me appreciate John Paul II all the more, as Applebaum had detailed the myriad number of ways that the Catholic Church was stifled by the Soviets. What a hero he was! (And how utterly ridiculous he was not honored with a Nobel Peace Prize, and Barack Obama was! Ludicrous!)

Next on my agenda, besides continuing with my Hemingway tales, is Amity Shlaes' new book on Calvin Coolidge. George Will previews the book, including one anecdote that failed to make it in the new volumn:

When President and Mrs. Coolidge were being given simultaneous but separate tours of a chicken farm, Grace asked her guide whether the rooster copulated more than once a day. “Dozens of times,” she was told. “Tell that to the president,” she said. When told, Coolidge asked, “Same hen every time?” When the guide said, “A different one each time,” the president said: “Tell that to Mrs. Coolidge.”

19 Years Later

Last night, it suddenly struck me that it was 19 years since Grandpa Joe had passed away, and I nearly had forgotten. Next year, it will be two decades. And his great-grandson and namesake will be in kindergarten then.  Now he's nearly five years old.

That was already half of my lifetime ago, and it's nearly 105 years since he was born in 1908. How much the world has seen and changed in that century...automobiles and televisions and space travel and the internet. He would have marveled at little Joey taking everyone's pictures with a telephone, with a precision that I find very impressive for a boy only in preschool. It always amazes me at how much he reminds me of Grandpa.

That generation has faded. As I read my way through Hemingway, who was of the generation who served in World War I, very few remain who remember that time. No one survives who served. And someday my brothers and I will be the link that remains of those who remember him. Luckily, we will be there to tell stories and show photographs and he will probably be fascinated by his great-grandfather and want to know much more about him. He will see photographs and look for a resemblance in a smile, a recognition of a similar trait. He is a lucky boy to have that gift of a namesake.

Wedding Weekend

Atlanta was fabulous. It was a fun weekend away, with friends, at a gorgeous hotel. I had the best fried chicken ever at South City Kitchen, which was quite the indulgence. Maggiano's was a fabulous choice for a rehearsal dinner, complete with speeches from high school friends, college friends, siblings, work friends, and other family members. And the wedding--the beautiful church and the reception--were both perfect venues. I certainly could have done without such heavy dinner food, like pulled pork and brisket and creamy spinach.

The weather was gorgeous on Saturday, too. 60 degrees and sunshine. Perfect. I had two good runs through Piedmont Park. I really could get used to southern winters, since everyone assured us it was unusually gloomy for the rest of the wedding weekend.

We also had dinner with friends and lunch with family. A good weekend. A beautiful wedding.

"An Act of Great Humility"

The Holy Father steps down. A tremendous moment for the Catholic Church, so shortly before Lent, and it has not happened for nearly 600 years. God bless him. 

However, in today's world, subject to so many rapid changes and shaken by questions of deep relevance for the life of faith, in order to govern the bark of Saint Peter and proclaim the Gospel, both strength of mind and body are necessary, strength which in the last few months, has deteriorated in me to the extent that I have had to recognize my incapacity to adequately fulfill the ministry entrusted to me. For this reason, and well aware of the seriousness of this act, with full freedom I declare that I renounce the ministry of Bishop of Rome, Successor of Saint Peter, entrusted to me by the Cardinals on 19 April 2005, in such a way, that as from 28 February 2013, at 20:00 hours, the See of Rome, the See of Saint Peter, will be vacant and a Conclave to elect the new Supreme Pontiff will have to be convoked by those whose competence it is.

A Gift

A very touching story in today's Post, about a man few ever knew, who in death was beyond generous.

Family Matters of Greater Washington is set to hold a splashy news conference Wednesday at the National Press Club to announce that [Richard] Herman, who died in November at 100, left the organization 60 percent of his vast estate — $28 million, which the group says is one of the largest gifts ever to a local social service organization...

Over the years, [cousin] Betsy Paull had occasionally prodded him to add a few more zeros to his modest donation because she knew of the nonprofit group’s work in helping teenage mothers and low-income seniors and sending disadvantaged kids to camp. But why — as someone who never had a family of his own or even displayed a special fondness for children — Herman chose to give such a large sum to Family Matters remains, like the man himself, a bit of a mystery.

Family Matters administrators knew they were named as beneficiaries of the estate but were unaware of the extent of the gift until trust officials contacted them after Herman’s death.

“I started crying. I dropped the phone, and I fell to my knees on the ground in my office,” said Tonya Jackson Smallwood, president and chief executive of the group, which is headquartered downtown. She said she left the trust officer on the line for a good five minutes as she tried to compose herself.

“I was crying in part because he had passed . . . and in part because I was aware he was leaving us something significant in his will,” she said.

The gift, which is more than twice the charity’s annual budget of $12.5 million, will have a major impact on its efforts to help the city’s neediest residents, Smallwood said. (The Washington Post Co. is a longtime supporter of the organization’s summer camp.) The group also plans to establish an arts program for youths and seniors in Herman’s name.

24 Hours in Minnesota

It was literally about 5 degrees the entire time I was there, but hey, I'll take it when you never have to go outside. Minnesota's Skyway was in a word, bewildering. I was so lost in its maze of Chinese take-outs, taco places, chains, coffee shops, and sandwich places. Pretty blah food, though damn cheap. Dinner at Zelo was a bit more creative, and I could have eaten another slice of that lasagna. Yum. I only wish I had arrived earlier for happy hour.

But like all travel, I was so grateful and so ready to get home. It's been a long 26 hours of being away, of being away, being stuck in a hotel room. And in another 42 hours, we are off again. Hello Atlanta!