I'm Sorry Mom

I'm sorry Mom. I know you taught me better and I've always followed the rule up until this year. Even though "the crowd" and the "experts" have been saying it's okay for years, I knew in my heart that it wasn't. And I didn't do it...until this year.

I admit it. I wore white after Labor Day. I just wasn't ready to put my white pants or white sandals away. In my defense, it's still in the 90s here in Texas. I know it's wrong, but I did it anyway. I'm sure that if I still lived in Ohio, such a thing would never have happened.

I still remember when Princess Diana visited Houston all those years ago and wore white shoes after Labor Day. She was a fashion icon. I didn't care. I was appalled. What kind of upbringing did she have? I couldn't believe that no one told her. Everyone knows the rule! When I worked at Sun, we ("we" meaning the women on the team) were having a discussion about it. One of the men was listening in. He didn't believe that there was such a rule. He went home that evening and asked his wife. He came back the next day marveling that his wife knew all about it. "How do all women know this?" Easy -- our mothers teach us.

It doesn't matter what the fashionistas say. Search the web and you'll find thousands of listings to inform you on "how" to wear white after labor day. Mom's way was easier - just don't.

Fashion has not changed. If you don't believe me, perhaps you'll believe Kathleen Turner in this clip from "Serial Mom".

How Socks Escape

Last Friday I did some laundry. I know - I lead a really exciting life. But since I can't afford to buy clothes and toss them after I've worn them, doing laundry is just one of those necessary things. And I'm not sure how they do it, but socks seem to disappear in the process. Socks who've lost their mates make great dust cloths, but there's a limit to the number of dust cloths that are needed. Having more than my quota of dust cloths, I started buying only white socks - in packages of six. That way, when socks disappeared I would still be able to match them up.

But then in May, I had a DSW coupon for $10 and not finding the shoes I wanted, I decided to buy socks before the coupon expired. Brightly colored socks! Yellow, pink, purple, blue and green! But let's get back to Friday's laundry.

As I folded the clothes and matched up the socks, I noticed a purple sock was missing. "I'm missing a sock." Without even looking up from his iPad, Mark remarked that he'd seen one along the side of the road. Of course he did. We all see socks along the side of the road. You wonder how they got there. Jerry Seinfeld even did a bit about how socks try to escape. Click here to watch it.

I rechecked the dryer and the laundry room floor. No purple sock. It will either turn up or I'll have a very colorful dust cloth. Either way, it's time to get ready to go out. We're going to meet up with some friends we haven't seen in a couple of months. We're going to Lavendou, so we need to be on the dressier side of casual. I wore cotton pants with an embellished tee shirt. Mark wore khaki pants with a tee shirt and a button down shirt over it left unbuttoned.

We had a great evening. Great food. Great company. When we arrived back home, Mark asked, "Sit on the porch?" It's what we do most evenings - sit on the back porch in our rockers, listen to music and admire our garden. A perfect end to a perfect evening. In response to his question, I reached out to give him a hug. I reached inside the button down shirt and noticed a strange lump inside his tee shirt. "What is that?" I pulled his tee shirt up and there was my purple sock!

"How did you not notice there was a sock inside your shirt?? This could have fallen out anywhere!! This is how socks end up on the side of the road!!!"

One mystery has been solved. But here's my advice to you when you've lost a sock - hug your husband. You'll find what you're looking for and you might even find your missing sock.

Do the Math!

Yesterday I attended a Chamber of Commerce presentation on what will happen when (or if) the Bush-era tax cuts expire. For now, let's forget about the reduced standard deduction and the increase in the capital gains rate (all bad news, but an extra layer of complexity that I don't want to talk about because I'm certainly not an expert) - let's just look at the standard tax rates. (The numbers used to project the current brackets come from Forbes.)

Right now, the lowest rate is 10% - for married people filing jointly who make less than $17,400. That rate will go to 15%. Wait a minute - that's a 50% increase - on couples who make less than $17,400! They can't be serious.

The next bracket up is 15% - for married people filing jointly who make more than $17,400 but less than $70,700. (That's a pretty wide range - a big spread between 17,400 and 70,700. Also, why can't they make it easier and just call it $14K or $70K?) That rate will jump to 28%. That's an 87% increase. Yes, 87%. Wow! If you are in that bracket you are about to get hammered. With a capital H.

The next two brackets, 25% and 28% will jump to 31% and 36% which represents an increase of 24% and 29%. These rates are for married people filing jointly with net taxable incomes of $70,701 to $142,700 and $142,701 to $217,450. Don't get me wrong, a 24% or 29% increase is bad, but it's not as bad as 50% or 87%. Not by a long shot.

Currently there are two more brackets, 33% and 35%. Currently these are for married people filing jointly with net taxable incomes of $217,451 to $388,350 and anything over $388,351. These two brackets will become the one top bracket of 39.6%. (Why not just make it 40% or 39%?) This represents the smallest increase - 20% and 13%.

I have absolutely no idea whether the net taxable income levels associated with these brackets will change. Hopefully they will. There is a great deal of talk about making the top level applicable to people with incomes in excess of $250K. Right now it is $217,451.

Apparently this is about to befall us because the so called "super committee" couldn't come to terms. A pox on all their houses!

But in reality, we can't continue to run at a deficit. After WWII the top bracket went to 94% to pay for the war. We don't have the will or discipline to do something like that now. I'll be the first to admit that I don't have the answers. I don't know what should happen. I sure don't want to pay higher taxes. No one does. (But seriously, 0% on capital gains probably isn't enough, although I'm personally quite happy with it.) But I think these "new" rates are what we paid before George W. Bush became president. Since these tax cuts have been in effect for over 10 years perhaps we've been spoiled.

But I think the really big issue is that EVERYONE believes that the government squanders the money. I know I believe it. Don't know anyone who doesn't believe that. Giving money to government is like sending a six year old kid into the store to buy school supplies and being surprised (and disappointed) when he comes out with candy instead. Our elected officials have no idea how to prioritize. And no one agrees how the money should be spent. I personally don't like spending billions on foreign aid to people who want to kill us, particularly when we don't have enough to take care of our own people. I believe in generosity. It is a principle of my Christian faith. But charity is the role of the church and other humanitarian relief organizations, not of government. (Which is NOT to say that government should not provide a safety net for its citizens. Indeed, it should.)

I'm really surprised that the people in the top brackets are whining the loudest. After all, they're getting the smallest increase. But they're threatening to take their money and leave if anyone tries to increase their taxes. I'm not sure where they're going. But I'm sure it won't be anywhere in Europe.

As for me, I plan to render unto Caesar. But I'll be meeting with my CPA soon to ensure that rendering is kept to a minimum.

Falling Behind

It's my goal to read two books per month this year. I am now officially behind because it is mid-September and I've only read 14. By this time, I should have finished 17. Three behind. This is the fault of Alan Hollinghurst, who wrote The Stranger's Child, a novel I picked up in Heathrow Airport back in June. I finally ended my struggle with it yesterday.

The review excerpts on the inside cover promised "richly textured prose", "imaginative flair and depth", "highly entertaining", "intricate, witty, playful", "magnificent coherence" and "a masterpiece". The notes on the back of the cover said it was "powerful, absorbing and richly comic...a masterly exploration of English culture, taste and attitudes over a century of change". I should have been able to breeze through something like that, even if it was 564 pages.

I won't argue with "richly textured prose" or "imaginative flair and depth", although "flair" probably isn't the word I'd choose. But I can assure you that it was NOT highly entertaining. It was intricate to the point of being confusing. I clearly missed the "witty and playful" bits. (It's possible I was fighting sleep.) And clearly, if it took me two months to finish it, it wasn't particularly absorbing.

I thought I had a pretty good handle on English humor. But since I missed the witty, playful and richly comic, perhaps I do not.

It was hard work, but I'm glad I'm done. Now to move on to some really good books so I can catch up!

Hold the Eggs

Three eggs and style! I don't need to read any further! This is what I want! Except I don't like eggs. So I'll just have the style with pancakes and bacon - hold the eggs. I'm not sure whether they are serving up bohemian, casual, sophisticated, vintage, or some other style. After all, there are so many styles.

I like to think I have style. But you can never have too much. That is why if you have an opportunity to have some for breakfast you should take advantage of it.

Although, I must admit that I am a bit fearful because this particular style is part of the "Golfers Special". I think I'm safe because I'm a woman. If I were a man, I'd have serious doubts about it. It may be what John Daly ate.

In the end I decided not to risk the style and settled on a BLT.

But I think they should consider serving class. There are far more people who could benefit from having a little class.

Buses vs. Cars

No more walking on the beach. We're back home and I'm walking my usual route over to the park, around the track and back. But now it's a bit more challenging because school is back in session.

Why is it challenging? For starters, most of the streets around here don't have sidewalks. Not a big problem unless you have a lot of traffic. And now that school is back in session, there is a lot of traffic! Mostly cars, but a few buses. I typically encounter about three buses, each with an average of two kids on them. (Unless the little darlings are so short that their little heads don't extend past the top of the seat.) These aren't those cute little mini buses like the ones the daycare centers have. These are big, "you can take the entire team and pep squad" yellow school buses.

Why are the buses virtually empty? I don't know. You would have to ask the parents who are blocking normal traffic taking their kids to school. It might be the lack of sidewalks, but the streets are virtually traffic-free except for the parade of parents driving their kids to school. It is a parade that goes on for about 30 or more minutes. The elementary school is near my walking route. But the situation is the same at the middle school. If I want to play golf on Tuesday I need to leave 40 minutes earlier than when school isn't in session just so I can get through the queue of parents dropping their kids off at school. (It's a bit better driving by the high school because those kids are driving themselves and parking.)

When I was in elementary school, I walked for 20 minutes to get to school. It probably kept me fit. I walked in the rain and in the cold. Most days I walked back home for lunch and then back to school again. My mother only drove me if it was a thunderstorm or a torrential downpour. When we moved to the country when I was in junior high, my mother only drove me to school if I missed the bus. That's pretty much the only time I drove my son to school, too. Not that many kids could possibly miss the bus every day. Something else is going on. But what? I know that in high school it wasn't "cool" to ride the bus - but if my friend with a car was ticked off at me, I had to suck it up and ride the bus. Has this concept of "cool" extended all the way down to elementary school? I don't know.

I'll just have to wonder why the school tax dollars that I pay are used to pay for huge buses with two kids on them while parents are making the streets impassable lining up to drop off their kids.

Life's a Beach

We arrived in Myrtle Beach on Monday. We both love being near the sea. We love the cool breezes off the water and the smell of the sea air. I ate seafood for lunch and dinner all week. I'll miss it when we get home. There just aren't that many really good seafood restaurants in Dallas. But they have plenty of good ones at the beach. We were very lucky to meet up for dinner almost every evening with either one of my long lost cousins who lives nearby or some friends from Dallas who were also vacationing at the beach. The "Calabash" Seafood buffet is popular there. A number of places advertise that they have over 170

items on their buffet. Really? Who can eat 170 items? (Although I did see some people on the beach who looked like they tried.) We just don't do buffets. They are priced for people who eat far more than we do. Not to mention the food has been sitting out for who knows how long with people coughing, sneezing, and handling the spoons and ladles. (And you just know some of those people did not wash their hands.) We stuck with the full service places, which worked really well for us because that is what is located along the boardwalk and near the piers. What was really nice is that everywhere you came off the beach, whether to go into a hotel or onto the boardwalk, there was a place to rinse off the sand. All of them are two-tiered so you can rinse off your entire body, or just your feet.

Our room at Sandcastle South was adequate. It was oceanfront, which is what we wanted, so we could open the balcony door at night and fall asleep to the sound of the surf and enjoy the cool breezes. It was advertised as having a kitchenette, which we wanted because we prefer to eat breakfast in rather than out. What do you call it when it's smaller than a kitchenette? A mini kitchenette? A micro kitchenette? Basically, they'd taken what used to be a generous closet, put a fridge, cooktop, miniature sink, and microwave in it. No counter space at all! And the closet was no longer generous. It was small.

But the mini-micro kitchenette was okay for preparing bacon, eggs, and toast. (Although no counter space meant that you had to leave a burner free so there would be a place for the toaster and cleaning up presented some challenges.) And cleaning up was very important because there was a notice that indicated we would be charged $50 if we left dirty dishes in the room. I don't know if that was $50 dollars for each dirty dish or $50 for all dirty dishes. Either way, we made sure it was all pristine before we left. (We even videotaped it in the event someone tries to pull a fast one.)

In addition to a day of sailing and a bit of golf, we walked on the beach every day. I love walking on the beach. It's a very clean beach, dotted with the ruins of children's sandcastles and bits of shells and marine life. While we were out walking we would often see the same dogs. (Funny how I noticed the cute little scottie with the red and black hat, pefectly fitted so her little ears stuck out the two holes in the top, but I couldn't tell you anything about the person on the other end of the leash.) But I was talking about walking, not about dogs. I believe that as a species, we were intended to walk barefoot in the sand. It made me feel so good I had to fight the urge to break into a sprint. I don't typically have to fight off that type of urge. I had my last beach walk this morning. Now it's back to shoes and concrete.

We are now en route to Atlanta.

Almost Heaven, West Virginia

We spent the weekend in West Virginia. Back in the hills where the cell phone and the wi-fi won't work. The "road" back into the hollow is part dirt track and part creek bed. Very rocky. You need an off-road vehicle to get there. Go Jeep! It's not a smooth ride, but we are still clean when we got there. (Unlike some people who chose to drive four-wheelers or ATVs and arrive covered in mud or dust.) You know you've reached your destination when you can see two cabins, one very high on the hill with a road up to it that is probably a 50 degree incline (too steep for anything but an ATV or a dirt bike) and another one at the bottom of the hill. There is a bright blue and white awning set up next to the lower cabin and two long folding tables - one of which looked like it had been out in the weather since the previous year. There are some really sturdy wooden picnic tables. These are new. Then the people, and the food start to arrive. Country ham, roasted chicken, fried chicken, Italian sausage, meat loaf, stuffed peppers, mashed potatoes, potato casseroles, noodle casseroles, cucumber salad, taco salad, pasta salad, cakes, pies, brownies, cheesecake. I'm sure I haven't named everything. It's the Mohr Family Reunion - an annual gathering of four generations of Mohr descendants.

A day of fun and games for all! There was a game for couples where you had a coconut between you and you had to get it to where both of you could kiss the coconut without using your hands. Mark told me that this was an engineering problem. I should stand on the incline. It would take a screwing motion to get the coconut from waist to face. I imagine that is exactly what they were going for. We didn't win, but we didn't drop our coconut. I have no idea who won. I only know that my aunt and uncle were still playing with their coconut after everyone else had stopped.

Then there was a game where men were blindfolded and had to pick their partner's hand out of a line of women (okay and a man or two) with their right hands out. Mark was brilliant. He knew my hand just by feel. Okay, almost everyone got it right. Only one cousin picked the wrong woman. Jeremiah applauded Mark for bravery. Jeremiah declined to play, comparing it to playing with a loaded gun.

There was a "pie" eating contest. Chocolate pudding and whipped cream in a pie tin that had to be consumed without the aid of eating utensils or hands. No thank you. And then there was an obstacle course relay. The instructions were so complex we bowed out. I can only tell you that it involved blowing marbles up an incline and frozen tee shirts.

Then there was the auction. The money raised by the auction goes to fund the next year's reunion. There are always an abundance of hand-crafted items, as well as some silly things, like a stick one of the kids found in the woods and a jar of "pickled hinies". You could bid on home grown tomatoes, sassafrass tea, and hot sauce.

It rained off and on all day, but it was dry under the awning and while it might have slowed us down, it didn't stop us.

And now we're headed for the beach...

Drama of the Day

We decided to stop in Lexington because they have a five-star Indian restaurant. Who could resist? But once again, Mark had to book the room because I was driving. He booked it for September 9th instead of last night. How does he do it? Poorly designed websites, bumps in the road, nothing much to do with him it seems. But once again he had to call customer service to get the reservation changed. He repeated his sad tale no fewer than three times. I wasn't sure if he was dealing with someone who didn't speak English or was hard of hearing. Turns out they just kept passing him on to someone else until he got to a person who was willing to step up and help him out.

We arrived in Lexington around 3 PM. Mark had booked a downtown hotel so we'd be close to the downtown shops and restaurants. As it turns out, this particular property was no where close to downtown. That was fine. It looked lovely. But then the real drama started.

I sort of expected someone to come out and give us a hand with the bags. But perhaps they didn't know we had arrived. I decided to go inside and commandeer a baggage trolley. Meanwhile, Mark was taking our bags out of the car. I had my hand on the trolley when the young lady at the desk asked if I was checking in. "Yes, I am." We went through the entire registration process very quickly and she told me that our room was on the ground floor - "just over there". "You don't need the trolley. You can park over there and just take the bags in. Entrance A. Just over there."

When I went back outside without a trolley and told Mark it was "just over there - Entrance A" he decided that reloading the bags into the car would be too much trouble. He thought he could just walk the bags over there. (The bags consisted of a large roller, a small computer roller, a small back pack (for meds) and a medium-sized overnight bag for shoes and toiletries.) He set off on foot and I set off in the car.

I passed Entrance 1 and turned the corner. Entrance 2. I am suspicious. Where is Entrance A? By the time we got to Entrance 3 I stopped the car and told Mark that I don't think there is an A. But we pressed on - me in the car and Mark on foot with the bags. When I got back around to the front I went in and informed the front desk staff that I had circumnavigated the building and did not see Entrance A. Several of them looked confused, but the young lady who had checked me in said "Entrance 1 - I said One". Whatever! I heard A. I know I am getting old but my hearing is still pretty good. I parked the car outside Entrance 1 and set off to help Mark with the bags. By this time, Mark had also circumnavigated the building, still lugging the bags. Now we know why it's called "luggage". When I said it was Entrance 1, not A he threw the bags down and stormed inside. Let me say that in the not quite 15 years that I've known Mark, this is about the third time I've seen him angry. He does not curse at people, nor does he shout at them, but he leaves them with no doubt that he is angry. It's rare, but it's effective. People were summoned from the inner depths of the hotel to help us with the bags. Two different managers knocked on our door to apologize for the lack of service. Free things were coming our way. We were driven downtown to the concert in the park.

Later that evening as we were having dinner in the hotel dining room I went to the ladies room and somehow managed to leave my handbag hanging on the hook there. It was rescued and returned to me by the same young lady who had misguided me earlier and who probably got chewed out over the incident. Although in fairness, I think the reprimand probably had more to do with the failure to offer assistance with the bags than with the misguidance.

Anyway, I'm sure she thought that I'm not only old and hard of hearing but that I'm half senile, too. Can't go to the loo without losing my bag. Oh well, I just can't get too worked up about what people I will probably not see again think.

By the way, we never found that Indian restaurant.