It’s probably a waste of good material to throw it up like this, without trying to digest it.  I should go to bed and sleep on it; dump it on you in the morning.  Tonight was our post-Christmas celebration at my sister’s new apartment.  Instead of exchanging presents, we all got her stuff for the apartment and my brother brought his tools so he could put everything together.  Linen rack, shoe rack, book shelf.  Oh, how I wished I were good with tools.  Instead I drank most of the bottle of wine I brought, while my mother pissed us all off.

It’s a trade-off, now that my mother is a guest and not the host.  For years she was too busy in the kitchen to talk very much.  Then she came to our houses but she was on her best behavior in front of my husband’s mother and father and my sister’s family.  But now that it’s just the family of origin we’re right back where we started.  Only now we can talk back.

She’s rewriting history.  Again.  When my father pulled this really sleazy thing with the family business and the stock that was supposed to be in our names, she divulged all this stuff about him.  My mother finally let us know what kind of creep he really was.  About that time he got cancer and died.

So now that everything’s died down and he’s probably resting in peace, my mother starts backpedaling, changing the stories.  It just felt so sick to be sitting around, having her tell us how it really was, like we should give a shit.  Bringing up old stuff, stirring up old wounds, almost like she was trying to get a rise out of us but using the opportunity to go on record with this latest version.  I could have walked over there and bashed her head in.  Yeah, I have issues. 

But here’s little miss I’ll-follow-you-blindly telling her to basically shut the fuck up.  Nobody’s ever given my mother a talking to until tonight.  But my newly independent sister got all riled up and let her have it.  And it felt like the mob mentality like we were all going to jump her.  My brother and I got up and went in the kitchen while she was yelling, to exchange looks I guess.

This is just such old stuff to be dragging up.  And since there has been an announcement that Henry’s getting married in July we had to talk about how I felt about that. Worse yet, I had to listen to how they felt about it.  I listened to my family and it was the kind of talk they make TV shows out of with an overbearing mother and four maladjusted kids.  No amount of wine made it tolerable.

Just sent my article in and am getting drunk on left-over booze.  My first annual Christmas dinner was a huge success and I have the dishes to prove it.

Note to vexations :) The neighbor across the street, in my last house, WAS from South Dakota and I DID sleep with him.

I need a break.  My article is due by midnight and my brain has turned to mush.  So let me tell you about Raymond.  I know I’m doing a lot of character sketches lately but I’m creating a file for future reference and every day it seems like I have great material.  I want to get it down while it’s fresh.  And believe me, Raymond is good stuff. 

I first met Raymond when I had just purchased this house.  I forget what the problem was but it was Friday night, after 6:00pm, and my boyfriend couldn’t fix it.  It had to have been electrical or plumbing because that’s Raymond’s specialty.  He does both if you can believe it. 

I was leery about calling a stranger over here.  The person on the other end of the phone, who I’d gotten out of the yellow pages, said he had a guy he could send over who did odd jobs for him. But as soon as I saw his earnest, little-boy face and the honest set of his jaw I took him down to the basement.

He looked a little sickly then, and I remember his story (quite lengthy) about how he left his business and drove to Portland, looking for a little peace and quiet.  He was diabetic I think it was and he had been doing all the electrical and plumbing for his entire town and the next town over.  The stress was gonna kill him he said, especially since, in addition to that business, he did all the weddings in both towns; that was his first love, photography. 

What I remember most about our extensive visit in my basement — My boyfriend left because he couldn’t stand it a second longer — was his attire.  He had freshly laundered and ironed overhauls on but they weren’t like the kind I wear or any kind I’d seen.  And he had a khaki, buttoned-down, starched shirt on.  His glasses were expensive and he looked like an engineer.  The guy exuded intelligence with a South Dakota mentality.  I think that’s where he was from, maybe it was more rural. 

He fixed the problem and charged me next to nothing.  I got his card and have called him over the months if I had a problem.  The last time he talked me through it.  Then he sold me a reverse osmosis filtration system.  Which he maintains.

So today he called to see if he could drop by and change the carbons.  I’m doing Christmas on Sunday and my downstairs toilet was plugged up plus I’d purchased a new toilet seat for the upstairs bathroom and was afraid to put it on.  I said, “Come on over.”

Raymond looks a lot better these days.  I always forget how tall the guy is; he’s gotta be 6’4.  He’s my age but in perfect physical condition.  He has the body of a swimmer with long, lean muscles.  He didn’t mean to but he had a very trendy hairdo.  His hair is gray and he has a healthy head of it.  When he came through the door I immediately noticed the way it spiked out here and there, like he’d just been electrocuted.  He probably just didn’t remember to comb it this morning.  No, it probably got rained on and he ran his hands through it while he was figuring out something and the stray pieces stayed up there.  He had some new kind of glasses on which were clear plastic and industrial looking, like a welder would wear. 

He has eyes that sparkle and a beautiful smile but he’s missing some teeth in the back.  Raymond is always a little timid and all about business at first but by the time he has come back from the inevitable trip to the hardware store he is lingering in the kitchen, standing like a model.  And that’s when I realize I could imagine having sex with him.  I shudder and put the thought out of my mind but the way he extends one leg and leans back with with an authoritative air, as he tells yet another story, makes me realize he probably had his share of attention from those gals in South Dakota.

When he was done I made him a sandwich and gave him a glass of our freshly filtered water.  He told me more stories about the jobs he’s been doing and that’s when I remembered why I like him so much.  He’s a smart-ass for one thing and once he’s settled in with you he starts to cuss a bit.  He’s also a meticulous observer so his stories are peppered with description and humor.  But oh, they do go on.  So I pulled out my checkbook and asked, “How much?”  Knowing he was torn I let him spell out his last name, buying him time.  “Make it eighty.”

If I weren’t so tired I’d try to fix this new, blue type.  When I copied and pasted Brian’s info it showed up and CLASHED.  I like my page clean.  Anyway, let me tell you about this girl because I’ve never met anyone like her. 

Unfortunately I got there late, so I missed her introduction.  She looked 24 but she might have been 34.  She talked fast, tripping over her words, she was so excited.  She kept us spellbound, flipping her wild hair and bouncing on the couch she was perched at.  She had short legs that just reached the floor and her little girl’s feet had purple suede Mary Janes on.  I never got her name but I have a sheet with prices that has her Email on it.  She had these pink framed glasses — That’s funny because she really did look through rose-colored glasses– very trendy with nothing on the top or bottom just the middle and sides.  Then there was a bindi in the middle of her forehead, pink to match.  She looked like a little curly-haired fairy.

She sat next to her case of bottles, always within reach.  She is an aromatherapist.  I think that’s what you call it.   She said she was going to look at each of us and know what we needed.  We were supposed to close our eyes and she would prepare strips of paper dipped in these essential oils. 

But first she had to invite the fairies and gnomes to come.  And the way she did that was by singing to them.  Out of her mouth came the most beautiful, soft soprano, calling like you’d sing to your baby.  I had to open my eyes and see if it was really her singing and not some music she brought.  I barely opened my eyes and she was looking right at me.  I shut them quickly and she started another song.  She had a different tune for each group she was inviting.  Who knew there were all these little creatures?  All I could think was thank God my daughter didn’t come, I never would have heard the end of it.

Does anyone know of a book that deals with all the little secrets of the financial world?  I thinks it’s odd that after all these years, my bank divulges that I can have overdraft protection at 6% instead of 20% or whatever horrible amount they were charging me.  It wasn’t until I paid my reserve balance off and I had them on the phone that they mentioned it.  And I have had at least two previous conversations with them, regarding my reserve line.

And why didn’t I know about this thing where there’s a dollar amount that I can afford in realized gain?  When I look at my taxes from last year they’re so straightforward but I remember in 2002  when I was an independent contractor (that’s what my boss said to call it so he didn’t have to mess with W2s) and I got to write all this stuff off.  I need to get that going on again. 

I met with my stock broker tonight.  We went out for drinks and appetizers.  I knew it was going to be fun.  We talk on the phone, a lot, and he is always teaching me stuff but I have only been with him once, outside the office, and that was at my divorce.  I went to his office fifteen years ago, when I first started investing, and then after the divorce I went in to try and figure out what everything was and what I could sell in order to buy a house.  But I was on chemo so I don’t remember much about it. 

Most everyone else had gone home but there Brian stood in his yellow sweater with his earphone on, talking to a woman it sounded like.  He laughed that intimate way he does with me, and I felt silly.  That’s just how he is with everybody.  Here I thought we had a special bond. 

He carefully took off his sweater the way I would if it were cashmere, – that was a surprise – put his suit jacket on and we left for the restaurant next door.  He said he’d never been, another surprise.  When we got upstairs to the bar, a friend of his hailed him and I stood back, inspecting the place.

It was dark with lots of low, warm light; expensive looking and very masculine.  It felt like a party, everyone was having fun.  His friend was sitting on a bar stool with maybe 20 other people, on either side of a very long table.  It looked like a Christmas party.  We took the empty seats at the end, and I was immediately glad because it was more comfortable to be part of a group.  Not that we talked to them.

We talked about a lot of things, easily.  Over the phone we talk about stock but tonight we didn’t.  And I was relieved to find we had common interests so the time flew by.  I didn’t want to leave but I had my herbal class to get to.

I can hardly wait to tell you about how the woman sang to the fairies and gnomes.

There’s one other thing I want to say.  On the way back to the elevator where we would part, he mentioned again that he’d never been there before.  I had said how much I like it.  He did, too, and it made him feel good to know people there.  I said I thought that had been a table full of people from his work.  He said, no, that guy had been a fraternity brother from his hometown.  He hadn’t seen him in three years.  Granted he wasn’t with some hot young chick, although that wouldn’t have looked too good, but I knew Brian felt like a man about town.  We both had a good time.

I got this from pea_patch:  Desdemonasleeps has issued a challenge. She wants to see your kitchen table. I’ve never read Desdemona but I remember seeing some good comments of hers.  Pea is one of my faves.

Okay, I have an island which has a stove top in the middle but lots of room at both ends, with outlets under each.  There are stools opposite the stove and that side of the counter is free of clutter, except for a wire basket filled with blown-glass fruit.

What was I thinking, of course there’s clutter.  I found my bowl and crackers from when I ate chili earlier.  And there were a couple CDs of Christmas music.  That stack of library books I read, alternately, as I eat, sits behind this cool, mesh wire crate on the end of the counter which is visible to me now.  Next to it is the filing cabinent which never made it upstairs.  It’s my new station for the mail.  I now have a system whereby I plop the stack at the end of the counter, then I divide it into recycling or the mesh box, to be filed later.  And when I go to pay the bills I sift through the mesh box and file stuff in the filing cabinent.

So then at the other end of the counter, across from the built-in oven that my daughter broke the dial on, is my portable oven.  It’s big enough to cook a turkey in and I’m loving it.  But it takes up most of that end.  Which is good because then I don’t pile anything else around it.

If I want to sit down at the table, I will step down from the kitchen into the great room.  I haven’t called it that since I moved in but that’s what it looks like.  I’ll go over by the gas stove to my cafe table — Again, I’ve never called it that — It’s round and there are two over-stuffed chairs on rollers.  I read the newspaper over there.  There is a potted fern in a giant coffee cup and saucer sitting in the middle.  Two candles, a couple books and the newspaper is all I can see from here.

Finally, and I never eat on it, but I bought a table for the dining room, and I do projects out there.  It’s on the other side of the kitchen, divided by the dog gate.  We all pile our stuff on the floor, like purses and shoes, anything we don’t want the dog to chew up.  I have a gaming table — Or do you say game table? — which I got at an estate sale.  It’s got these great swivel chairs, also on rollers, with cane backs.  I really like sitting in comfortable chairs that I can move around in.  The only thing is they are odd looking.  Not cheap but — maybe that’s what game chairs are supposed to look like.  I reversed the table top so It looks like mahogony.  And that’s covered with wrapping paper and ribbon.  So now you know how messy I am.

How do daytraders leave the house?  I sat here all morning waiting for the flippin’ stock to go back up because Nelson said I could sell just enough to provide income so as to balance the realized gain.  Finally, because we’d had a snow and ice storm here yesterday, and I never got to the store, I made a run for it, knowing I could get back just before the bell at 1:00.  I got here at 12:45, and in the hour I was gone the stock jumped back up and had just come down the minute I walked through the door.  It made me sick how much money I lost but I was afraid to wait another day for fear it wouldn’t go back up again.  Had I sold it while I was sitting in Nelson’s office ( it shot up in the time it took me to drive over there ) I wouldn’t have had to part with as many shares. 

Like brendaclews suggested, I called my ex for advice.  He politely said I was in a house that was too big and when pressed said the tax guy probably shouldn’t be the final say as to how much of the house I pay off.  Nor should my broker, who just wants to keep my money.  My ex said I should sell a little at a time, which I took to mean just like I’m doing, selling what I can afford to claim.  I can’t figure it out, I don’t hear any animosity in his voice anymore.  One day it just left.

I remember writing a little something about the lawyer who did my will, because that’s one of the great things about Xanga is the sharing of information.  Now I want to introduce you to Nelson Rutherford.  Don’t you just love his name?  It was given to me by Jim Cavanaugh, the guy who did my will.  They go back.

So, I went to Nelson to have him do my taxes.  And because I had this stock portfolio as my only source of income, and because I didn’t know much about stocks, I was anxious to have him look at it.  Turns out he also does financial advice.  I’m probably saying that wrong. 

Anyway, as I’m sitting in the waiting room, waiting to meet him that first day, I hear his thunderous footsteps coming down the hall, fast.  I am fooled because he is my height, not much heavier than I, and generates an unusual mix of positive — You know what it’s like?  It’s like going to the tax doctor.  He’s totally open-minded.  He enjoys people, at least he seems to enjoy me.  When I start talking he throws up his hands, goes to his ten-key, grabs a pen and turns to a fresh page on his yellow-lined legal pad, reining me in.  I sit, quiet, taking comfort in the line-up of assorted pencils and pens, at the ready.

When he looks at my portfolio and my last year’s taxes and the money I’ve been borrowing from my line of credit with the house, he says I’ll be broke before I’m 70. 

I tell him about how the blogging turned into writing and how the support group turned into volunteering and how those have come together lately.  He hands me this card and says “Call her.  Get a job.”

Life’s weird like that.  I kind of knew I’d end up going to an agency,  because I got nowhere on my own.  Not even one interview did I generate with my resume.  But my stocks did pretty well for a couple years there, and then I thought I was going to buy and sell houses.  And then I got all caught up in the writing.  But I had a really shitty year.  I owned Merck, for one thing.  Why doesn’t that sucker die?  I’ll tell you why, because pharmaceuticals have their asses covered like I never knew.  Docs have the insurance companies holding one ball and the drug companies holding the other and the FDA holding the whip.  Just my opinion.  I probably shouldn’t have sold Merck.

My biggest holding, PG, is going nuts (it’s most of my portfolio) CLIMBING [see me jumping for joy] and he’s telling me to sell it and pay off the house.  My broker is telling me to hang on and let the stock enjoy it’s rise. ”Why sell when it’s a buy?”  He’s also telling me to get a job.  These guys are being firm, now that I’m keeping the house.

But, as Nelson was crunching the numbers, I was realizing that there are tricks to dealing with all this; that I was smart to borrow the money at 5% rather than selling the stock in a down market, especially since the house appreciated so much.  The problem is that it’s an adjustable and the rates are up.   I have a lot to learn about all this.  What about the interest I can write off which will off-set the capitol gain, not to mention the loss on Merck?  The big problem with my good stock that’s going CRaaazy is that it was worth next to nothing when I got it so there’s huge capitol gain.  Help!!!! Now I’m studying up on capital gain and how to off-set it.  I have to figure this out fast.

I called the woman who owns the agency.  I’m supposed to bring my resume and two pieces of ID, Wednesday.

Jeez, you guys, here I was all ready to change my ways.  And when I’m at the hospital I will, and probably with family.  But with my friends maybe I will continue to say it like I see it.  I have to tell you how relieved I was Island Mama and Anam, because I spent some time worrying about what I said to both of you.  Anam I have history with so I figured she’d forgive me.  But I felt like I’d put some distance between us.  island_mama, I’m not sure what changed for you but I have to say you are one of my very, very favorites.  And your pal, pina_la_nina, I really went out on a limb there.  A couple of times.  And I knew it was a risk but she’s such an amazing woman with SO MUCH POTENTIAL.  That woman, I swear, she strikes me as having some serious power.  When she’s tapped into it, her writing is a thing of beauty, fiction or non.  It’s her soul; it enriches the words.  And it’s her brain; she sees all the dimensions, the layers to life.  Anyway, those are the people I was thinking I might have been a little more reflective with, in my listening.

Okay, back to me:)  I had another bizarre day, like the one I didn’t know what to make of.  It started out with our annual breakfast.  The nurse who co-chaired my support group and who’d been with the hospital FOREVER retired but she still goes to the annual Breast Cancer Symposium in San Antonio and when she gets back we have this breakfast meeting so she can fill us in on the latest research.  This is probably really shitty but my main objective was to find out what to invest in.  And I know that’s probably a conflict of interest because when I started snooping around at the hospital about up-and-coming drugs and who manufactured them my boss said it was.  Woops.

So sue me.  Anyway, when I got home with the name of the drug I looked up the pharmaceutical company and saw that the stock is unaffordable because they manufactured the drug that was last year’s darling.  In that one year the stock more than doubled.  Soooo, I started snooping around and found that there is a new test they give to patients who receive this drug so I researched that and its stock is much more affordable.  I also found out that this new drug works in tandem with another drug put out by a third company and that stock is affordable, too.  Funny thing is that all these stocks are down.  Which is odd because the conference ended on the 11th.  Hmmm.

As I’m getting deeper and deeper into the drugs and the research I latch onto a site for Johns Hopkins and the material is so dense I don’t quite get it all but I know I am onto something important.  Like I have a major hard-on over it.  Now, some of you are going to think this is really bizarre but the acupuncturist I go to has discovered he is an intuitive.  I have been going to him since 2001 and at that point he had no idea he was. I called him up worried about what this scientific stuff meant to me.  He said it wasn’t about my health it was about “the work you do” ???  My column?  My volunteer work?  What work?  I don’t work.

So how the hell am I going to figure this stuff out and what am I going to do with it?  My next article is due by the 23rd but I don’t know that the hospital would let me print it.  It’s not the direction they’re going in at this point, I don’t think, and it’s still in the clinical trial phase but it’s happening and people should know about it.  And how cool for the director to read about it in my column.