Granddaddy Daycare is, well, grand

Now on my second day of partial day daycare, I thought I would begin to describe the experience. Unlike yesterday where she slept most of the time, today after sleeping for quite a while after her mother feeding at 5:00 AM, she decided she was rested enough. Thank goodness she plays well with her hanging floor toys or I wouldn't be able to write this now.

She also seems to enjoy the banging bodies of basketball. I had to turn the sound off to get her to finish her bottle. Once she did that, it wasn't long before she filled her diaper to overflowing, literally. I must have put the back of the diaper too low when I changed her after she awoke. After wiping her backside and a new higher diaper, I put a clean pair of pajamas on her and laid her down to play.

She is a delight with a ready smile, especially to my silly song repertoire, which encourages me to sing. She also smiles at herself in the mirror. I'm not sure she realizes that it is her in the mirror but just the other day she looked at her image, looked at my image, and then looked at me. She repeated this three times before getting distracted. (Or maybe I moved on. She is getting heavy.)

I can't help but think that life has some interesting compensations. If a couple of major changes hadn't happened in my life, I wouldn't have been in a position to enjoy my first grandchild nearly so much.

Next Tuesday will be a full teaching day of Granddaddy Daycare. I'm looking forward to it! A longer time to teach her to say Granddad, or Gaga, or anything I can claim she is saying Granddad.

Taxes

For years, except for the 1986 tax year, when we moved to California, and recently, I did my taxes myself, by hand. The last few years I did it, I used TurboTax.

When we moved in 2006, the tax free capital gains, the transfer of our property tax base, and other complications had me going to a tax preparer. It has been worth it.

Not only was I never sure that I was getting everything back due me, even and perhaps especially with TurboTax, I hated doing them. Besides, the experience typically rubbed my face in it in some way.

When IRA's first came in, I was participating in qualified retirement/pension plans and was not allowed to save in them. Then for a few years I was. Around the time that I qualified for the IRA "catch-up," I was fortunate enough to be making just enough that I was no longer able to contribute again.

Now, throughout the year I throw everything that has a tax consequence into a folder for tax preparation. Then, I spend a few minutes sorting it into income and deductions. I spend a few more minutes going over it with my tax preparer and leave. Well, we both leave because he meets me in a temporary office in town. His official office is in a town about 15 miles away.

A few days later, I get an email with a password protected file that is my taxes. I respond that it looks fine to me and he sends me all my papers back with a hard copy and I pay him with a check in the return mailing that also contains my authorization to file electronically. It's not that much more expensive than Turbo Tax and I didn't have to do very much at all let alone avoiding all that frustration. Besides, I'm sure I get back more than I would if I had done it myself, possibly more than what I'm paying for him to do it.

Now the fact that I'm getting anything back is potentially a problem in that it represents an interest free loan to the government, particularly since both State and Federal governments are under so much water. This year, getting something back is truly a blessing and was basically unavoidable. My severance package paid me for half a year--at the rate I was making while working and the withholding was as if I were going to make that amount for the whole year.

A blessing this year will become a curse next--unless I do find job that will help me pay my taxes.

Woo Hoo, I came in fourth...

Last Saturday was area H4's Toastmaster International Speech contest, one that, because of a lot of other things going on, I really didn't have the time for. But this time I had a speech that the area governor said I should enter in the contest, so I did. I even had it memorized!

Since I had it memorized, more than any other speech I've given, it followed what I'd written, included below, extremely closely. While I really didn't want to come in first because of all that I currently have going on, I had hoped to do better than fourth. Now I suppose is the right time to tell you how I know I came in fourth. Like the recently concluded Winter Olympics, they gave out medals for First, Second, and Third. Since there were only four contestants, I know I came in fourth.

An interesting side bar, I was the third speaker. The first speaker spoke on scooters; the second speaker spoke on scooters and motorcycles; and I spoke on motorcycles.

The speech: (modified somewhat from an earlier posting)

Why do I do it? Why do I ride a motorcycle? Other than a way to get fabulous helmet hair, let me tell you why.

I first thought about riding a motorcycle when I was headed off to college and was looking for cheap transportation. When I rode behind my cousin on one, I suddenly remembered that I was going to school in Ohio and because of the cold weather wouldn’t have been able to ride it for most of the school year anyway. Whew. [Draw hand across brow.]

About 15 years ago I finally convinced myself that it really was the weather that had stopped me from getting one. My wife claimed that even thinking about getting one was just a mid-life crisis. While I always agreed [Shake head no.] with my wife, I was secretly hoping that it was more like a pre- mid-life crisis. Whatever it was, I got my license, bought a motorcycle, and started riding.

It didn’t take long to ride over all of the closer “good” riding roads and after getting stung by a rather large insect on a particularly hot day I became a perfect weather rider. The day had to be cool enough to allow me to keep my jacket completely zipped up but not too cold. After a few attempts to commute into San Francisco from Fremont on the I-880 corridor I realized that I really liked BART even if the weather was perfect. Let’s just say that riding during rush hour was a little too exciting.

I bought my current bike in 2005. Due to a host of reasons, I really didn’t ride it all that much before last year but for some reason, last year I decided to ride across country.

Since I had never truly ridden a long distance, I rode down to visit my daughter and son-in-law a couple times for practice, 400 miles each way. I noticed something that never occurred to me on my shorter rides: Riding for a long time with no phone, radio, or iPod, only allowed thinking. [Circle finger at head in "crazy" signal.] Now, how I became a Twit is another story but it was on one of those practice rides that I got the idea that saying anything meaningful in a 140 character Tweet requires information density very much like poetry. My son-in-law suggested I call them “twoetry” or “twoems.” He also said something about Elmer Fudd. I don’t think he was referring to me.

When I finally started going cross-country, I did ride for a long time. My longest mileage day, 750 miles, was actually cut short when it started to hail. Even though I desperately wanted to get out of Kansas, which has to be the most boring state for motorcycles, I stopped. At least there wasn’t a lot of rain because with a lot of rain my chaps [Hold out chaps.] act a lot like downspouts and my blue jeans [Hold pockets of jeans.] act a lot like a sponge.

One morning I started late to let the rain pass and found myself riding late as well, which led to me composing my first, and so far last, limerick:

Riding late into the night,
With bugs who fought the good fight.
‘Though my visor is hurtin’,
Their salvation is certain.
Because they all saw the light.

Yes, the bugs are bad. I was glad that I had to get gas every two hours or so because that let me wash and squeegee my visor. [Bend over and mime using gas station windshield washer and squeegee on visor with helmet on head.]

Then there are the smells. You know the good smells are few and far between when “l’odeur du skunk” is one of the more pleasant smells. Other than diesel exhaust, which makes my eyes water and my nose itch, the worst smell I encountered was when I was trapped behind a hog hauler in St. Louis. At least I didn’t notice any diesel exhaust but then I was trying not to breath.

I also found out that there is no speed that makes 103 degrees feel anything cooler than HOT. Kansas, again.

If you’ve ever ridden a motorcycle you know that taking your right hand off the throttle slows the motorcycle down, quickly. I was barely a quarter of the way across the country and already feeling the strain on my right arm and shoulder when a motorcyclist waved at me with his “right hand.” I immediately jumped to the obvious conclusion: He had cruise control. Two thousand miles later I got one of my own and quickly discovered that a constant throttle is nothing like a constant speed. If there were hills, downhill would be much too fast and uphill would lug the engine. I did get to use it for about 50 miles, in Kansas, until a truck tried to pass me. The truck provided enough of a windbreak that my constant throttle sped me up to keep me right beside it. After a couple of miles I took my cruise control off and let him finish passing. I don’t think it was the same truck that ran me off the road when I got to California.

Heat, rain, hail, bugs, smells, traffic, why am I riding a motorcycle? It’s fun. Besides, it truly is the best way to get helmet hair.