The Caribbean Circle

I didn't realize until the cruise was almost over that the itinerary had a name - The Caribbean Circle Cruise. So named because it starts at Fort Lauderdale and heads southeast toward St. Thomas and progresses down toward the southernmost Caribbean island of Trinidad. From there it heads northwest toward Curacao and ultimately back to Fort Lauderdale - a big circle.

We stopped in St. Thomas, St. Maarten, St. Kitts, Martinique, Barbados, Trinidad, Curacao and Aruba. Some places we'd been to before but most were new to us. Of course we didn't do much in most of the ports other than walk around the town a bit. We only had "activities" planned in a few ports - a Range Rover tour in St. Kitts, a beach day in Barbados, and a sunset sail in Aruba. And there were days when one or both of us didn't feel up to moving so it was good not to have too many obligations.

So I asked myself if we had a favorite island. I thought St. Kitts was more ruggedly beautiful but it could be because we got out of town and went up into the hills. We also talked about going to Aruba for a vacation (not just a cruise port visit) - but we've done that before. (We liked it but never went back because it was challenging to get there from Texas. It will be easier from Florida.) I also liked Curacao. It seemed a lot like Aruba - very clean. But I've determined that you can't tell much about a place by walking around for a few hours. If/when we go back, I'd like to see a bit more of the countryside.

Here are a few pictures of the islands.

St. Thomas

St. Maarten

St. Kitts

Martinique

Barbados

Curacao

Aruba

Muddling Along

We've been back from our cruise now for two weeks and I haven't written one word. Probably because we got home and I still had remnants of a cold, and a broken toe, and then it was Thanksgiving and then it was time to put the fall decorations away and get out the Christmas decorations.

But let's talk about the cruise. Mark started getting sick in St. Thomas and by the time we got to Martinique he was too sick to get off the ship. It was bad enough to see the ship's doctor. (There's a hefty fee associated with that, so you don't do it lightly.) Of course, he shared it with me so we muddled along the other days until we got to Trinidad where neither of us felt well enough to get off the boat. But that was the one port that came with warnings not to venture outside of the main tourist area and to be constantly on your guard - so if we had to miss a port, that seems the best one to miss.

I say we muddled along because I caught my foot trying to settle into my beach chair on Barbados and broke my toe - the same toe I dropped a shredder on a month or so ago. I was not going to let that ruin my beach day. I figured the salt water would make the bleeding stop (and it did). I just pretended to be asleep when the beach vendors came by. They're selling everything from ice cold beer to jewelry and beach cover-ups and I didn't want to buy anything. When we got back on the ship, I decided I needed to see the doctor because even though I'd been fighting off getting Mark's cold, I was losing that fight. He also took a look at my ailing toe and told me it was most likely broken. The only way to confirm it was to do an X-ray. I asked if it made any difference in the treatment options. (It didn't so there didn't seem to be any reason to go to the expense of the X-ray.)

And now we've been back for two weeks and I've seen my doctor here to get more antibiotics in hope of finally getting rid of the cold. My toe is still broken. It's healing and I may mention it to the orthopedic doctor this afternoon when I see him, not because I think he can or should do anything about it, but because I re-injured my wrist at the same time I broke my toe.

Barbie and the Bible

Mattel introduced Barbie in 1959. I was nine years old and I wanted one. I still wanted one when I was ten.

In my family, you received gifts on your birthday and Christmas. So when I didn't get a Barbie for my November birthday, I was sure I'd get it for Christmas. That was pretty much the only childhood Christmas that I remember being disappointed. No Barbie doll.

But then came the big opportunity. The youth group leaders at church announced a contest. A competition with a prize. And the prize was "anything you wanted that didn't cost over $15". The leaders gave the example of a new bike. Back in 1960 a Barbie doll cost about $3. This was going to be so easy. All you had to do was show up, memorize Bible verses and be faster at looking up Bible verses than the other kids. This was going to be so easy. I don't remember whether the contest was going to last 6 weeks or 8 weeks. It didn't matter. At the end of the competition, I'd be getting the Barbie doll!

And at the end of the competition, which I won, all I had to do was tell the group leaders what I wanted. In my excitement, I told my mother that I won the contest and that I would be getting the Barbie doll.

And the following day, the excitement was over. My mother told me that I didn't want a Barbie doll. My dad had decided that I wanted a Schofield Reference Bible. What??? I didn't even know what that was and besides I had a Bible - a pretty white one with my name engraved on the front that I got from my Grandma. I didn't need another one. I had no Barbie dolls. None. Nada. I didn't want a reference Bible. I wanted a Barbie doll. There may have been 10 year olds who wanted reference Bibles. I was not one of them.

I know I cried. I was being coerced into saying I wanted something I didn't want and I wasn't going to get the thing that I did want and that I'd worked hard to get. I probably pitched a fit. And I knew my mom didn't really care if I asked for the Barbie doll, but my dad considered it an embarrassment that his child should ask for something as mundane as a doll. But my dad almost always communicated with me through my mother and in the end, Mom negotiated the deal. I would tell the youth group leaders that I wanted a Schofield Reference Bible and my mother would buy the Barbie and an over-the-top Barbie outfit (which cost way more than the actual doll.)

I still have both the Bible and the Barbie, although neither is in "mint" condition.

10-4 Good Buddy

Friday, October 4th. Let me tell you about my day.

I had a list of things to do:
Drop my car off at the Chrysler dealership
Stop by a post office to send priority mail
Get a doll stand for a teddy bear
Go to the doctor's office to see a nurse practitioner
Stop by the grocery store to pick up a few items
Go to the farmers market for fresh fruits and vegetables

First on the list - taking my PT Cruiser in for service. The tail light keeps going out. When I bought that vehicle, I bought an extended warranty - lifetime. Chrysler is supposed to fix anything that goes wrong with that car except for the power train (issue covered in previous blog) and all I pay is a $100 deductible. That was working fine until that little jerk at the dealership in Sherman, Texas told me it was a power train issue when it wasn't and I paid $1200 for the repair which I was unable to recover from Chrysler. So I switched to a dealership in Frisco, Texas and they were wonderful. But then we moved to Florida. Let me say that I'm not a fan of this dealership. I told him when I took it in a month ago that it wasn't the tail light but he insisted that it was. So for the past month I've been stopped by friendly neighbors who want to let me know that my tail light is out. I hope they will fix it this time. But they don't really want to work on the car, so they took it on Friday morning and let me know that they wouldn't be getting around to it until Monday. By the time I left that dealership, they weren't going to get to it until Tuesday. And this dealership annoys me because they keep referring to "the warranty company". The "warranty company" is Chrysler. You are a Chrysler dealership. Stop referring to it like it's somebody else who has nothing to do with you.

Meanwhile, I need to get the car registered in Florida. When we were back in Texas last week I went to the DMV to request a duplicate title. I'm pretty sure it's in a box somewhere in my house but I thought it would probably be easier to get a copy than figure out which box. I went in there, filled out the form and waited for my number to be called. The young lady said I needed a release for the lien. I told her the car had been paid off for seven years. No liens on the car. And she told me that the release on the lien had never been filed with the state. She gave me a phone number to call to get another release since I suspect it's in a box in my house, but I'll never find it. Bottom line - I could not get the title. With no way to prove I own the car, I can't register it in Florida. 

I called the number for TD Autofinance and the young lady promised to send another release form. I fully expected it to be in the mail when I got back to Florida. It wasn't. I ended up ordering it online and getting it expedited at a cost of about $50. But I was able to take that with me on Friday so I could overnight it to TX DMV and hopefully, I'll get the title in a week or two so I can register the car in Florida.

The appointment with the nurse practitioner wasn't til 11 am. So I went off to the post office to get the application for a duplicate title in the mail. By that time Michael's was open so I stopped in long enough to find out that they didn't have what I wanted. Now my options are find a Hobby Lobby or order one online.

Next up is the medical practice. My appointment was in Davenport. I've been suffering with an ear infection for weeks. We still don't have a primary care doctor in Florida. Except for Mark's hematologist, we have no doctors here. Mark tried to make an appointment for me several weeks ago with a nearby practice and I'm not sure what happened because usually all they want is your Medicare supplement policy. But for some reason they insisted that I have my Medicare card. Mark was going through my purse looking for this stuff because I was in pain. Long story short - he didn't know what he was looking for and even though the woman said she would give me some time to find it, when I called back to say I had it, that woman was gone and there was a guy who said there were no appointments. Period. No appointments. Not in Poinciana. Not in Davenport. I was fairly put out with that and I didn't want to call them again this time, but given that I left a message with the other local practice and they didn't call me back, I felt I didn't have many options. The other doctor had a two-star rating. Who wants that? So I made the appointment with the first practice's Davenport office because I had to take the car to Davenport, so it wouldn't be so far out of the way.

When I got there, they wanted my medicare card, my insurance card, and my ID. I was good on everything except the ID. I'd had to scan a copy of it to send in with the lost title application and it was still on the scanner. Now, in Texas the receptionist would have said "That's okay sweetie, you just fax it or email it over to me when you get home." But this ain't Texas. "If you don't have ID, no one will see you." All I had was a business card with my picture on it. Not good enough. So I went back out to the truck where Mark was waiting, because their waiting room was full. I told him I would not be seen and why. He was upset. He was going to go speak with the supervisor.

I waited in the truck but decided that there was really no point in us wasting anymore time with them. I went in and told him we should just go and not waste anymore time. Probably just in time, because when he wanted to speak to the receptionist's supervisor she threatened to call the police. Seems a bit extreme to me. We'd read the online reviews for several practices in the area and they were all the same, the doctors were great but the front office staff were all rude and horrible. We just hadn't believed that it was really as bad as everyone said. But it is. And life's too short for that kind of BS. I've since learned that if you want people who act professionally you need to go to downtown Kissimmee, Celebration or Orlando. Poinciana (which is actually closest to us) has rude and unprofessional staff. So I got him out of there before the receptionist called the police - which he was encouraging her to do. But I was a bit upset because I've been struggling with this ear infection for weeks and nobody anywhere else in the world would have treated someone the way that practice treated me.

Next up - get food. We were going to go back to the Publix in Poinciana and then to the farmer's market in our community. We were driving through a rural area on the way back home. It's a US Highway - not some obscure backroad. But there were three people on bicycles. One of them was trying to carry an umbrella (it wasn't raining) and he dropped it. He stopped, which forced one of the other riders (who had a cart attached to the back of his bicycle) to pull directly in front of us. I mean directly. We'd slowed down when we saw them pedaling down the road, but when he swerved in front of us Mark slammed on the brakes and we somehow managed to avoid hitting anyone. Bicycle versus F250. It wouldn't have gone well. We stopped and rolled the window down and to be truthful, I can't remember exactly what we said to them. It is possible that the word idiot may have been used - it was certainly appropriate. Who other than an idiot pulls out in front of an F250 traveling at 55 MPH? We did have to brake extremely hard - everything in the back seat was on the floor - glad I hadn't been to the grocery store to buy eggs yet.

But instead of apologizing for pulling out in front of a moving vehicle on a US highway - not some rinky-dink side street - the guy with the umbrella started yelling at us to "get on down the road and mind your own business" and "don't call my son an idiot". Keep in mind, his son is now firing up a cigarette on the side of the highway, which is what I suppose you do if you've just had a near death experience. And it did look like near death from where I was sitting.

Got my groceries from the store and from the farmer's market and went home to deal with "stuff".

Part of the "stuff"  I was trying to deal with is getting a Florida auto insurance policy. Be cause it's something else I'll need to register the vehicle.This is where I started getting depressed. I'd always carried comprehensive coverage on my car. I never did any comparison shopping - my car insurance and homeowner's insurance were all bundled together and I never really questioned what I was paying for anything. But now that I have to make changes, it's all coming under closer scrutiny. I needed to drop the Ford Ranger off our policy since we sold it a few months ago. And I needed to change the house from our principal dwelling to a rental, which drops it considerably but since I don't have a tenant yet, it puts it back up to almost as much (maybe more) as when we lived there, even though there's no furniture in it. It doesn't make a great deal of sense to me. I suppose in some neighborhoods a vacant house would pose a greater risk to the insurance company, but I really don't see that in this case. But I digress, back to the car insurance. They asked if I'd had any accidents in the last 5 years. No. None. But when they got my driver's license number it turns out that the report showed an "at fault" accident in January of 2018. So I was racking my brain trying to figure out how I'd had an accident that I didn't even remember.

Turns out that when the RV fell off the hitch while we were parked and crushed the truck's tailgate, they decided to make that an "at fault" accident. And they decided to make it my fault, I guess because I was the one who called it in, even though no one was driving at the time of the accident. Something else to fight about. (Sigh.) But back to my state of depression. The price I was given for 6 months coverage seemed exorbitant, granted it went from $100 to $150 per month when they decided I'd had an accident, but that still seemed really high. I still need to look and see what I've been paying although comparing Texas rates to Florida rates is probably like comparing jalapenos and oranges.

But then I started thinking about the car. It's an 11 year old car. Other than the tail light problem that the dealership is supposed to fix, it's in perfect condition. I've maintained it and fixed anything that ever went wrong. I've been happy with it. But the sad fact is that if someone hit me and totalled it, I'd probably collect about $1000 on it. Which makes me wonder why on earth I'd pay out $1000 per year to insure it. I guess I didn't realize how little it's worth because we had a 1994 Ford Ranger that was mechanically sound but it needed a new paint job and the interior upholstery was shot. We sold that for $800 which is about what Kelly Blue Book says I can get on a trade for my PT Cruiser. Doesn't seem right that a 25 year old vehicle that needs a lot of TLC would be worth the same as an 11 year old vehicle that doesn't. But things don't always make sense and right now, we need to figure out whether we want to trade the PT cruiser in, or trade-in the F250. Or buy a new car and sell them both outright. Or just keep the PT cruiser and rent a car for long trips- although long trips may be a thing of the past. After this last trip, flying is looking more attractive - but I know I'll change my mind about that the next time I get on a domestic flight. There are numerous possibilities and I need to decide on one.

No wonder I haven't had time for a pedicure.

It's Not Vegas

We're not much into gambling. I used to like to play a hand or two of blackjack when in Vegas, but that was years ago and now it's all changed. Everything is electronic - you've got to have a player card. I don't think you can just walk past and drop a nickel in a slot anymore. So I no longer know how to lose money in a casino.

But that's okay. We stay at casinos when we travel because the price of a room is typically lower than in a similar hotel without a casino. At least in places like Louisiana and Mississippi. It's because all the losers are subsidizing the rooms.

But Mississippi and Louisiana are not like Vegas. They have those rules about the casinos being on the water, so there's no "strip". You can't easily wander off to another casino if you're not feeling lucky where you are.

Earlier this year we stayed at the Ameristar in Vicksburg. We stayed there one night. All we could stand. We weren't gambling and of the four restaurants they're supposed to have, only one was open - the bakery/deli. We went for a drink at the bar before dinner and it was essentially empty except for one other couple. The bartender got the order wrong and then she disappeared. Someone else came in to correct it and when he left, we were on our own. No one came back. So we went to the restaurant. The restaurant did have nice views of the river. We were seated in the VIP area which was nice because we're not VIPs. But our waitress treated us like we were, which was reflected in her tip. But still there was nothing much to eat there besides fried food. If we hadn't wanted to see the Civil War sites, we would have packed up and left in the morning.

But instead we moved down the river to Margaritaville. Like no other Margaritaville I've ever visited. This one had given up on being a casino and had become a giant video arcade targeted at kids. I had no idea about that when we booked online. The place was crawling with kids, not toddlers under the control of parents, but teenagers, on school trips with minimal chaperones. Only one restaurant, again with mostly fried foods but we were in walking distance of some places with stunning river views and nice food. And thankfully, we were only there for one night.

We also stayed at the Eldorado in Shreveport/Bossier earlier this year. All of their dining venues were open and we chose the steak house. Excellent food and service. So on our drive back from Texas this time, we noticed that the Isle of Capri in Lake Charles was owned and/or managed by the same group that owns Eldorado. Unfortunately there were no similarities.

For some reason, I was unable to book online. I called to make the reservation and was told that the only vacancy was in the Inn, which is across the parking lot from the Casino/Hotel. That was fine. Since it was a Saturday night, I asked if I needed dinner reservations. The young lady on the phone said it was recommended since it was Saturday night and the hotel was almost booked out. I wanted the steakhouse restaurant. She transferred me and I waited on the line. And waited. And waited. I'm in the car as a passenger, I'm not doing anything else so I waited some more. Fifteen minutes I waited. I decided that they must have connected me to the wrong number, so I called back to try again. After another 15 minutes, I gave up. We would just go check with the restaurant when we arrived.

We arrived in our Ford F250 towing a U-Haul trailer. I went to check us in while Mark went to park. He was able to park - I think he got the last available space that was big enough to accommodate our vehicle. The check-in didn't go quite as smoothly.

"I'm sorry. We don't have any non-smoking rooms available right now. Would you like a smoking room or would you rather wait?"

What did she just say? I booked a non-smoking room. Check-out time was 11 am. Check-in time was 4 pm. I'd booked at 3 pm. How did they not have a room available?

" I don't want a smoking room. I guess we'll wait. How long a wait are we talking about?"

"It shouldn't be very long."

"Are we talking about minutes or hours?"

"Minutes."

"Okay that's fine."

"I'll text you when it's ready."

I went off to find Mark and get our bags inside to wait. Fortunately, the room became available just about the same time we sat down in the lobby to wait. Once we got our bags upstairs, we went across the parking lot to the restaurant. There were three young ladies at the front of the restaurant. I assume they were the hostesses. I asked if we needed a reservation.

"We don't take reservations."

"You should let the people who answer the phones know that. I spent 30 minutes waiting for someone to answer the phone so I could make a reservation because the person who took the hotel reservation said I needed one."

" Our phone is disconnected."

" Well, that certainly explains why no one answered. But seriously, you need to have a talk with those people who make the hotel reservations, because it seems they don't know."

They stood there looking at us like our hair was on fire when Mark pointed out that the disconnect between reservations for the hotel and reservations for the restaurant made everyone look stupid. I really don't think they cared. They told us it would be a 30 minute wait and we said we'd wait in the bar.

Here's where it got bizarre. We walked in to the bar area and the seats at the bar were marked with "reserved" signs. So in this place you could reserve a seat at the bar but not a table. First time I'd ever encountered that. I'm still stunned by it.

We did get a table in about 30 minutes, as promised. My food was okay, Mark's food was delicious (he says). The service was absolutely fine. And we found the other patrons both in the restaurant and the bar area to be extremely friendly and sociable.

So, it's not Vegas, but sometimes you get a bargain. Even though the prices are higher on weekends, it's still cheaper than a Holiday Inn.

A Place for Everything

My kitchen in Texas wasn't as big as the one I have now, but the cabinets were designed to maximize the space. Every corner cabinet had a lazy susan. All of the lower cabinets had pull out drawers on the top and bottom. We'd installed racks for the pots and pans and dividers so cutting boards and cookie sheets could stand on end. In this house, all the lower pull out drawers are on the top shelf. Seems to me that it's more practical to have the pull outs on the lower shelf - that's the one that's harder to reach. Instead of a nice, neat and organized drawer, those lower shelves consisted of what one friend described as 'search and rescue' storage. When we first moved in we put things away just to get them out of the way. It was just inefficient. I had glasses in several different places. Same with coffee mugs. We have since reorganized to make it more efficient and I actually think that we'll be able to skip adding the pull out drawers to the lower shelves. The cabinets in our new space aren't as deep as they were in the old space, but there are more of them. Plus there is a separate pantry - something I didn't have at the house in Texas. I thought it would be fabulous because it had so many shelves. But I need a ladder to get to the stuff on the tip top. I'd hoped to store seldom used appliances up there, but turns out it is actually stuffed with food from the bottom to the top.

Back in Texas I had a diva closet. It was the size of a small room and everything was in easy reach. The ceiling was only 7' high so there was only one shelf on top of each clothes rack and I didn't need a ladder to get anything off the shelves. I had two cube units to store handbags - no crowding and easy to see and reach. Now I have a closet that I guesstimate to be about 7' x 7' but it has 12 foot ceilings. The wire racks and shelves go up three tiers. I have it stuffed but I can't actually reach any of it. Because the movers forgot to bring my shoe rack, all my shoes are on the floor of the closet. I can barely open the door. I keep thinking I'll have to get California Closets to come in and sort it out. It may be beyond my capabilities. I'm also thinking that it's possible I don't need six pairs of black pants. Mark's closet is much the same, but to a somewhat lesser degree. (He doesn't have as many shoes as I do.)

Downstairs in Texas I had two guest rooms. One with a closet 4' deep and 14' long. The other with a built in wardrobe about two feet deep and six feet long plus another closet that was about two feet deep and six feet wide. Now I only have one guest room and the closet is approximately two feet deep and six feet long. Even with the extra four feet of ceiling height it's just not as much space.

Even if I assume that the storage space in the utility room and linen closets is equivalent, I've still got to find a place for all that displaced stuff from the guest room closets. Plus the Texas house had three built-in display/book shelves. All of that stuff is currently crammed into a curio cabinet and a bookcase that is too small for the space it's in.

It appears that we traded closet and storage space for extra living space. It's okay. I really like this house, but I am challenged trying to find a place for everything. I still have 23 boxes to unpack. Six of them are labeled books. I might as well wait until I find a suitably large bookcase.

I just read this to Mark and he is laughing. I don't know why...

We Are Doomed

Millenials. I don't know where to begin. Let's start with the young lady who put her cell phone number on her business card but didn't bother to set up her voicemail box. When you call her, you get a recording that lets you know the voicemail box isn't set up and goodbye. Perhaps she thought people would only text her when they wanted to place an order. We are doomed.

Or how about the young man who took nearly 15 minutes to enter an order and print it off for me. He stuffed my receipt in a little folder along with my credit card receipt. Everything he told me about the delivery process is proving to be wrong. And I've discovered that I have a receipt for a fireplace insert, not a casual dining set and it will be delivered to someone named Maria at a completely different address. I wonder if Maria has the copy of my invoice. We are doomed.

Here's my favorite - I was overcharged at Walgreen's. I bought two items, both under ten dollars and my total came out to $25. How could that be? I didn't leave the register, I just stepped to the side to review my receipt and told the cashier that one of the items rang up as $13.99 but it was actually $8.99. She called for someone to go check it and it was confirmed that it should have been $8.99. My goodness, they were going to have to process a refund! The technology of the cash register wasn't helping them. Both the original cashier and the price check guy were working on it. It was trying to tell them that the items were purchased in a different store. He asked me when I purchased it. "A few minutes ago." The female cashier confirmed that. They both kept asking me if I just wanted to return the stuff. "No. I bought it. I want it. I just want $5 back.

Keep in mind that Mark was waiting in the car. He finally came in to see if I was being held hostage and how much it would take to release me. At that, the young man decided the easiest thing would be to give me the difference in cash and call it done. I agreed. But he said "I think it's four dollars instead of five." And I said, "No, 13 minus 8 is 5." And he said, "Okay, I'll take your word for it." We are sooo doomed.

What Was That?

We went to Kissimmee to pick up our mail and run some errands. I'm still confused about where we are most of the time, but we were sitting at a light when the F250 lurched forward a bit. My immediate response was "what was that?" Mark's initial thought was that something had gone wrong with the truck's gears. The truck seemed to be fine. My next thought was "Did someone rear end us?" Yes, I think they did.

Someone rear-ending an F250 enough to move it a few feet probably hit it pretty hard. But because it's a bit like riding in a tank, the  "what was that?" had no exclamation points or anything like that. It was the same tone of voice you'd use if you were trying to figure out if you were being annoyed by a gnat or a mosquito. We looked behind us and it did appear that there was a white Toyota that most likely hit us. I was going to jump out and investigate but Mark said not to get out where we were - too many lanes of traffic and the light wouldn't be red much longer. We would drive to a service station where we could pull over safely. We weren't especially worried about any damage because we have a tow bar on the back of the truck. Anything that hits us, actually hits the tow bar. Toyota vrs. F250? Pretty easy to figure out who wins that one.

We were on our way to the next intersection where we could pull in to a service station. The Toyota seemed to be following us and we indicated to move to the right so we could turn in to the service station. We thought the woman in the Toyota who'd hit us would be following us over but instead, she accelerated into the car that had been in front of us. We were shocked. Stunned. We stopped. People all around were stopping to help. She'd rear ended us, and now she'd rear ended someone else. Most of the people who stopped had seen her hit us and plow into the back of the other car. I'm not sure whether she had a stroke or some other event that caused her to be disoriented, but clearly she was. Mark and the men in the other car she hit helped her turn the engine off, got someone to call the police and an ambulance. Her head was bleeding and she was completely disoriented. They found a towel to hold on her head to try to slow the bleeding down while we waited for emergency response. Because we were involved (we were the first vehicle she hit) as well as witnesses to the second and far more serious crash, we ended up waiting for the sheriff and then the highway patrol. Poor dear - she was probably close to 90. She probably shouldn't be driving at all and she was probably lucky she didn't kill herself or someone else this time. I do know that if we'd been in the PT Cruiser instead of the F250, we'd probably have been hurt and the car would have been totaled.

As for the people in the other car she hit, the driver told us that he was driving his friend home from the ER when the accident happened and his friend had to be taken back to the ER. He thought he was okay but thought maybe he should go to the hospital to get checked out because as a single dad, he couldn't afford to miss work. And I'm not sure what happened to the lady in the Toyota. By the time the police got there she was able to talk coherently. She said she couldn't find the brake when she ran into the second car. That really doesn't explain how she managed to run into us. But it's not mine to worry about since we weren't harmed in any way.

It made for a relatively exciting day but not really the type of excitement we like. We're just thankful that the people involved are most likely going to be fine. And we walked away with a little white paint on our tow ball.

We're Still Waiting

Applying for a mortgage is not for the faint of heart. I wish our house in Texas had sold first, but it didn't and we're doing our best to get on with it. A week ago today we were given "conditional" approval to close. Initially, I was told that once I met the conditions, the approval would be firm, etched in stone - we'd be good to go. So I provided the additional documentation they wanted this past Tuesday, but we're still waiting. I really don't know what we're waiting for. I was told that we were waiting on the title work. Why the title work would make my mortgage "conditional" is not clear to me. I understand that having clear title is essential to closing. I get that, but it's nothing to do with me.

This is so different to my first home buying experience back in the 80s. Then I was treated like someone who was trying to buy a house but needed a loan to do so. (Which is pretty much everyone who's trying to buy a home.) I turned in my documentation and was given a close date and all I had to do was wait for them to get all the paperwork done. If there was a "conditional" close approval, I sure don't remember it. This time around, we've been treated like potential criminals. ("We have to do all of this because there is so much wire fraud and so much money laundering.)

Problems with wire fraud? Stop wiring. Back in the old days, you showed up at closing with a certified check. I'm guessing banks still do that. Not a lot of room for fraud in that that I can see. But then I've never been on the lookout for fraud opportunities.

And as for money laundering - let me just say that we've managed to get into our late 60s/early 70s without any criminal record of money laundering, or anything else other than minor traffic violations. Why would I take up money laundering now? Our credit scores are over 800. Do they think we got that because we don't pay our bills??

And here's the other, somewhat disturbing thing - we've met the loan originator and his assistant. They have names and faces. I've also spoken with the loan processor - she, too has a name. But "the underwriter" remains shrouded in mystery. No name. No face. A fierce god who makes demands that must be complied with for reasons that don't have to be explained to anyone.

As a HUD consultant, Mark has some experience with underwriters. In his role as a HUD consultant, he was allowed to know their names. And he will tell you that all of them operated under their own set of rules. Even within the same mortgage company, different underwriters would demand different things. One went so far as to refuse to get on with it until a comma was removed from the paperwork. (The offending comma was programmed into the HUD paperwork, and it was no easy task to get it edited out.) But it had to be done or the loan wouldn't go through.

Even though they all seem to operate on their own set of rules, they cite "federal regulations" as being the reason they are asking for all of that documentation. Maybe so. But I can tell you this - the financial/mortgage crisis was NOT caused by consumers. It was caused by BANKERS. So now, the bankers who should have gone to jail for that fiasco have license to treat consumers like potential criminals. It boggles the mind.

But in the meantime, we are still waiting.

Words with Friends and Creeps

I played Scrabble as a kid. Loved it. Once I got married it fell by the wayside. To his credit, my first husband tried but he really wasn't a good speller and almost every play he made had to be challenged. Second husband didn't like games and he couldn't spell either. And Mark would be lost without spell check. So I'm happy to play Words with Friends.

It's like a Scrabble game, but it's not actually in real time. You don't have to challenge anyone's word because the game won't let anyone play an "unacceptable" word. (Although I know there's a glitch in there that sometimes allows non-words to sneak through.) I've been playing online for eight or more years. When I first started playing, it actually was Words with Friends. You had to be Facebook friends with your opponent. That gradually changed to allow you (indeed, strongly encourage you) to play with people you didn't know.

I'm okay with that. I don't mind playing with people I don't know. Can't say I've met any life long friends playing, but there are several people I play with regularly whom I don't actually know.

But within the last six months I've noticed a really disturbing trend. Creeps. And it's all men being creeps. I've yet to encounter a creepy woman. They challenge you to a game and after the first move, they engage the chat feature.

"Hi"

I typically respond with "hi" because it would be rude not to return a greeting.

"Where are you playing from?"

My response "Dallas (or now Orlando) - and you?" - again because I don't want to be rude. Truth is, I don't care where they're playing from.

"Are you married or single?"

"I'm very happily married." This is where I start to lose some of the politeness. I don't reciprocate the inquiry into their marital status. Because I don't care. I just want to play the game.

"What do you like to do?"

"I like to play Words with Friends. I don't like to chat. I'm not a very chatty person."

Then they suggest that if they had my email address, we wouldn't need to use chat. What kind of creepy idiot am I dealing with? Do they realize how much junk email I get in a day? What makes them think I want an email from them? Some have asked for my phone number so they could text me or phone me. Seriously, I'm not making this up. Some of them believe that if we are playing Words with Friends, that makes us friends. Sorry, that's not how I see it.

Some of them have claimed to be soldiers in Afghanistan. (Dude, I see your picture - you are too old to be a private in the army! And you seem to be playing in the same time zone I'm in.) I'm sure one of them was some type of foreign national - his average word score was 4. You get more than four points playing the word "the".

And call me old-fashioned, but I don't like to be addressed as "Beautiful" by someone I don't know. I suppose there are women who don't mind and others who thrive on it. I am not those women.

One told me his name was Harry and asked me my name. You can see people's names on their profile all through the game. I didn't bother to answer that one at all.

One asked if I liked walking in the park. (How was I supposed to answer that? I lived in Dallas and now I live in Orlando. We don't walk in the park this time of year. And what difference does it make to this guy?

One asked what turned me on. I felt like I'd been thrown back in time to a 70s singles bar. I didn't answer. In addition to it being none of his business, it's an inappropriate topic of conversation for mixed gender strangers. So when I didn't respond he came back to ask if the question had "hurt" me. No, it didn't hurt me. It annoyed me. So again, I didn't answer.

A few of them have become incredibly insistent that I give them a telephone number or an email address. And when I refuse, they quit the game. And some of these are people I've gone "silent" on, not answering their nosy and irrelevant questions. Seriously, dude, I'm not responding to you on chat. Do you seriously think I'm going to open the door for you to call me, send text messages, or email?

I suspect they're all up to some kind of scam - I just don't know what kind of mischief you can get up to with someone's first name, last initial, and email address. But I assure you I do not intend to find out.

Nowdays, I'm saving myself the trouble. If I get a game request from a man I don't know, he has to meet certain criteria for me to accept the game. His picture has to include a female partner and he has to have an average word score over 15. Or, he has to play regularly with someone I know. If not, I decline the game. I've declined three so far this week. It's easier that way.

'

Becoming...Special

I recently read Michelle Obama's book, Becoming. I also read Becoming Mrs. Lewis, a novel about Joy Davidman who married C.S. Lewis. One of the themes running throughout both of these books was the feeling of not being enough - not good enough, not smart enough, not pretty enough. I certainly experienced all of those when I was a teen. My parents were of a mind that you didn't want to overtly praise a child for fear of them getting a "big head". 

Then I got married. That bolstered my self-esteem!. I was chosen. I was loved. Then one day at the tender age of 23, I found that I'd been deselected. No longer loved. The effect was devastating. What was wrong with me? Not good enough. Not pretty enough. Not attentive enough. Not a good cook. Not a good mother. I wanted to see the woman he preferred to me. I wanted to compare my hair, my eyes, my body to hers so I could see where I was deficient and fix the problem. Maybe she had a better sense of humor, maybe she was an auto mechanic. I had to know so I could remake myself in her image and save the relationship. When I realized that there was no other woman I was even more upset. That meant that it was just me. When it came down to being with me or being alone, he preferred to be alone. Total devastation. Not good enough. Not enough.

To top it off, he told me that I just wasn't fun. And that was what I needed to hear because that made me angry. He had the nerve to say I wasn't fun? He was no barrel of laughs. We had a three year old, I worked full time and took two classes per semester trying to finish my degree. And like so many woman in that era, the housekeeping chores were primarily mine. When did I have time to be fun? And what fun was he looking for? He sat around and watched TV all evening and if I had anything to say, I had to wait for a commercial to say it. That certainly wasn't fun. Did he think I was obliged to amuse him? But it did motivate me to stop crying and get some semblance of a life back.

It took a lot of support from friends and a few professionals to help me recover my self worth and realize that I was good enough, pretty enough, and smart enough. I could cook. I could sew. I could hold down a decent job. I made As in my classes. I was never beautiful, but I was attractive and I never lacked female friends or male attention. He couldn't take that away from me. Those friends and professionals helped me see that I'd stopped being me in order to be the person he wanted and in the end, he didn't want that person.
I vowed to myself never to compromise myself in that way again, and I haven't.

Every now and then I have a day when I have feelings of inadequacy. Not good enough - not pretty enough. (I almost always think I'm smart enough.) Fortunately, I got past most of that insecurity all those years ago in my 20s. I am smart enough. I am pretty enough. And I am special.

In fact, there was one hapless young man when I was in my 20s who managed to show up at my house intending to take me out. He arrived about a half hour later than the agreed upon time after spending the afternoon out drinking with his buddies and if that wasn't bad enough, he had no real plan for the evening.

I was not happy. He'd turned up at my door in jeans and a grubby tee shirt half drunk with no plan! What was he thinking?? I remember telling him at the time that I was special and he needed to treat me like I was special. Showing up half drunk with no plan was no way to treat someone special. I didn't stand for it then, and I wouldn't stand for it now.

And thank goodness I don't have to. Mark always treats me like I'm special - except when he walks ahead of me! (He says I need to speed up.) I wake up in the morning and I see him. If he's awake, he's smiling. What could possibly be better than waking up to someone who loves you smiling at you? I can't imagine anything better. I never experienced it before. And while I don't necessarily wake up smiling, once I see him smiling, I automatically smile back, because I know that not only am I enough - I'm special. And I'm grateful to have someone in my life who recognizes that.

Hello Dali!

Salvador Dali - the surrealist guy who painted melting clocks. And he liked to do different things with his mustache. That was pretty much all I knew about him until we went to the Dali Museum in St. Petersburg this past week.

The museum houses a painting he did when he was only 10 years old, a self-portrait he did at 17 and numerous works from when he was a young man in addition to much later works. Since he was born in 1904, he lived through both world wars but the second war greatly affected him, which shows in his paintings.

I'm sure the story of his wife Gala was just touched on and glossed over. It appears she left her husband and child immediately upon meeting Dali and never left his side again. She was older than he and became his business manager. He signed many of his paintings with both his and her name. There are probably some fascinating tales in there if one chose to dig into them.

But enough scandal, back to the art. There were two master work paintings that I found particularly impressive. The first, Gala Contemplating the Mediterranean Sea - which when viewed from a distance becomes a portrait of Abraham Lincoln. It just makes you wonder "how'd he do that?" 

The second, The Hallucinogenic Toreador, is one that is extremely rich in details that I would have missed if the docent hadn't pointed them out. Hard to miss Venus de Milo, but I could easily have missed the matador, the bull and the dog and I wouldn't have known why the flies were there. It made me go back through some of the other works and look for those types of details.

Here are some photos of some other works that struck my fancy, including some bronzes, one of which was made into a full size sculpture for the garden.

His eyes are Dutch Masters, his nose is a Coca-cola bottle...

The Average Bureaucrat

A sketch of the Marx Brothers (Dali especially liked Harpo)

Full-Time RVers

I was 19 the first time I ever met someone who intended to live in their RV full time. It was cool because they sold me their washer, dryer, stove and refrigerator. I'd worked with the guy. He was retiring and he and his wife were selling their house and all their stuff and taking to the open road.

Were they happy? Did they regret their decision? I don't know. I never saw them again after we picked up the appliances. Were they nuts?! I suppose so. My experience with RVs, campers, whatever you want to call them is somewhat limited.

When I was in my early teens, my mom and dad bought a pop-up camper. What this means in practical terms is that my mom and dad had a bed while me and my siblings slept on the ground in sleeping bags. After I got married and left home, they got a better camper. They never lived in it. I'm not sure they did much traveling with it. They liked to go for weekends. My son and I stayed with them a few times after I separated from my husband. We stayed in the upper bunk. I bashed my head on the ceiling every time I wanted to turn over.

So I wasn't a fan of campers. Not a problem. My second husband and I bought an Airstream. I absolutely LOVE those things. I went shopping and got it all kitted out. New TV, new beach towels, new dishes ...new everything. We never spent a night in and and one day I came home from work to find that he'd sold it for $5K less than we'd paid for it - with all of the stuff I'd bought still in it. I wasn't especially happy.

So when Mark decided that we needed a camper, it was a bit of a hard sell. But he finally convinced me with things like knowing who's been sleeping in that bed and knowing what's in your food. And truthfully, I've quite enjoyed it. I like going places and seeing things. Touring. I like touring.

But then we have Mark's CAD to deal with. We thought we could take the RV and go south to San Antonio or New Braunfels to get away from the colder temperatures in Dallas last winter.

It didn't work. We spent two months in New Braunfels, just living there and working. It was only 5 degrees warmer than Dallas, which still wasn't warm enough. So mostly we stayed in. And I didn't like it. Not much to do but work. You couldn't really go outside much because most days it was just too cold. And that's when we realized that we just needed to move to Florida where it's warmer.

The plan was to take the RV to Florida and look for a house and live in the RV until we can move in to the house.

We've been living in our RV for the past month. It seems like six months. All things considered, our RV is decent sized. We have a kitchen (with an island). We have a queen size bed and a bathroom with a shower that you can actually turn around in. The refrigerator may not be full size according to American standards, but it's bigger than most UK refrigerators.

The real problems - we have no dishwasher and the cats won't do the dishes. We are constantly doing dishes. It seems we wash them several times a day. It's boring. It's tedious.

It's hard to make the bed because even though it's a queen size bed, you can't actually walk around it easily. I have a hard time doing it but I hate when it's not tidy.

I don't have my own washer and dryer - which is okay when you're touring but not when you're living there. I'm not going to wash a bra I paid in excess of $100 for in a laundromat, thank you. I'd rather go to Kohl's and buy a couple of cheap ones that I can throw in the washer than ruin my good ones.

We are trying to work but things are just piling up - even though I brought filing boxes to try to eliminate that problem. It just makes me crazy - probably because I'm too old for this.

Our cats have minimal space to run around in. We tried putting harnesses and leashes on them to take them outside but they fall over like they're dead. But we just can't let them go outside in a campground - and I'm told that there are predators living in the surrounding fields. 

And I am constantly battling ants. I don't like to use the harsh chemicals because I don't believe they're good for us or our cats. So mostly I'm spraying with bleach. It kills them, but they keep coming back. And from what I can see outside, there is an endless supply of them.

I will be so happy and relieved to get out of here and into our house. I am happy to go someplace in our RV to visit. I am not happy to live in it. We probably won't even be planning any trips until next summer.

To my friends and family who choose to live in their RVs. If you're already doing this, I assume you enjoy it and good for you! For those who are planning on moving into their RV, I hope you've given it plenty of thought and a trial run.

At least Mark and I are in agreement on this. We like touring - defined as a trip to a specific destination, an exploration of that area and then a return home. We don't enjoy it as a way of life and can't wait to get in our new home. Hopefully, we're only a few weeks away now.

A Full Time Job

Oh my! Being self-employed isn't the easiest thing, but it's way easier than applying for a mortgage! When we made the decision to go ahead and buy another house before we'd sold our existing home, I had no idea what I was getting into.

The last time I bought a house was 36 years ago. They didn't want nearly so much stuff. I have been working for days just trying to keep up. First of all, true to form, they need to make sure that you actually have enough money to pay cash for it in the bank before they agree to make a loan. (I remember when I was in my 20s telling a loan officer that if I had the money, I wouldn't need a loan. - Goodness! It's still the same. They only want to loan it to you if you already have it! Which at this point in my life is fine, because I'd rather take out a loan than pay the taxes on taking it out of an IRA.

But I hadn't counted on all of this. Affidavits for divorces. Constantly updating bank statements and investment account statements. Getting an "award" letter from Social Security stating how much you're getting for the coming year - even though the same amount has been coming into your bank account monthly without fail for the past 6 years. Proving that you've paid your 2018 taxes, even though you don't have a "payment plan". I can go on and on. I've been asked to provide all kinds of documentation that is virtually impossible to provide. - Some because it's virtually impossible and some because it's in Texas because who would think you needed to bring that with you??

I have spent hours and days on the phone with the IRS, the SSA, different investment companies and banks. What do they want from me???

All I can say is that if we had this to do over again, we would have done it when we were in our 50s. We are just too old for this kind of BS. Both of our credit scores are in excess of 800. What on earth do they want? Is the credit score not some kind of indication that we're going to pay our bills? (I'm NOT Donald Trump, after all.)

The grand plan was that our house would sell first and we'd buy the new house with the proceeds.That didn't exactly work out. And the reality is that we're too old to put our lives on hold waiting for a sale. We'll just get on with it! And so we have - but it's really hard work! Much harder than I expected.

And today my task was to contact the insurance agents to get a quote for home insurance. And they want to know almost as much as the mortgage company. Date of birth, employer, previous employer, etc. and so on. When he asked me if I was employed, I wanted to tell him that my full time job was providing information to the mortgage company.

In the meantime, I've looked up the average numbers. The average credit score is 580 - ours are both over 800. The average down payment is 3.5%. Ours is 20%. The average debt to income ratio is 43% - ours is less than 30%. Why do these people want to torture us?? They should be lucky to have us. I'm just about to lose it. I am tempted to pull the money out of our investment accounts, pay for the house outright and tell the mortgage company to get lost. We will see.

Norwegian Air

Since I don't like political controversy, we'll ignore the fact that Trump would prefer more Norwegian immigrants and just leave it at "please not the ones who run Norwegian Air".

This flight was even worse than the one we experienced several years ago that had seven screaming children. Hard to imagine? I know!

In the UK, you get a little more time between the time someone dies and the funeral than what you get in the US. But it's still not like you're booking your flight over a month out. And we were flying from Orlando rather than Dallas, so there were totally different airlines to choose from - most of which we'd never heard of and certainly had no experience with. The old familiars like British Airways, American Airlines and Delta wanted nearly $2K per person to get us to the funeral on time.

But we saw Norwegian Air. And the price was closer to $900 each. Without further ado, (ado being research) we booked our tickets. Then comes the day of our flight.

We were on our way to the airport when we got the text message that our flight was delayed - instead of leaving at 5 pm, we'd be leaving the following day at 2:30 pm. Then the next day it was delayed again until 6:30. We were concerned that if there was another delay, we wouldn't actually get to the funeral on time. Now, the next day it didn't go at 6:30 - but it did go - closer to 7:30 or 8 pm.

But because of the initial one day delay we had to change our parking reservation. That was done online and with very little difficulty. Then came the rental car. We'd reserved a car with Hertz for pickup on Monday morning, which would obviously have to be changed to Tuesday morning.

Mark phoned Hertz and got it all changed for Tuesday morning 4 am pickup. Or so we thought. He got a message on Monday morning indicating that he had picked up his car as originally scheduled. We called Hertz. We told them we'd had to change our reservation due to a flight cancellation and that we'd be picking it up on Tuesday instead of Monday.

Whoever had indicated that they'd handled it, and had given us a new price for the car, had apparently not put it into their system. I don't know who they thought picked up our car, but we certainly didn't want to be responsible for a car we didn't have.

We tried to explain the problem - which is pretty much a wasted effort when you're dealing with a Filipino call center. I'm sure they're fine when they can follow a script. But when you're telling them something like "I didn't pick up my car. I changed it from Monday to Tuesday", they don't have any idea what you're saying. They tell you that you need to speak to someone in the International Department, even though that was what you selected when you phoned in the first place. After three "customer service agents" (and I use the term loosely) put us back into the queue, we started to lose patience.

"I've been transferred to the "International Department" three times and all that happens is I get back in the queue. Do not do that to me again."

Always before when we'd phoned Hertz, we got people in either the US or the UK. I am very disappointed that they've moved their call center to the Philippines where they may be able to read the script but still don't have a clue what you want or need. After over an hour on the phone, we were able to establish that no one had "our" car and that our car would be available to pick up on Tuesday morning.

It made you want to pull your hair out but the truth of it is that if Norwegian hadn't mucked it up, we wouldn't have had a problem with Hertz.

Back to the airlines. After all the delays on Monday, we were finally airborne and would arrive at London Gatwick somewhere closer to 8 am than 4 am. But we were going to make it in plenty of time for the funeral the following day.

Never in my life have I been on a transatlantic flight that served no food. No food! Unless you count the miniscule bag of pretzels and small glass of water. Some people got food. But we didn't. Because food had to be pre-ordered. Where was that memo? I only saw the memo about reserving my seats for an extra fee. So there we were on a transatlantic flight with no food. And unlike domestic flights where they're happy to sell you a $5 cookie - we couldn't even buy anything. Because everything had to be pre-ordered. Our original flight had been cancelled - when were we supposed to pre-order? When we complained the young lady offered to get us a complaint form. &*^%$*! I don't need a form to complain. I can complain perfectly well without one of their forms. At least when Mark started getting sick because he's diabetic and hadn't eaten in hours, they did get him a piece of cake. If it's not illegal to deny people food and beverages on a transatlantic flight, it certainly should be. But the lack of food and water made the lack of blankets, earphones, and pillows seem unimportant. And who cares about duty free shopping at this point?

Then we come to the return flight. We were expecting delays - because in the meantime, we'd read up on Norwegian Air. Delay and cancel is what they do. It's a specialty of theirs. Apparently they have more complaints and lawsuits than any other airline in the world. The world! Fortunately we were only delayed a couple of hours. But this time, we went to one of the airport restaurants and bought food. (Okay, we should have bought more than we did, but at least we had some.) Oddly, this time around I was offered food, even though Mark was not. I'm not sure why, because when they asked me if I wanted chicken or beef, I said that I wasn't expecting any food because I hadn't pre-ordered. (We still hadn't figured out where or how to do that.) But also this time out, they had snacks available for sale (sandwiches and fruit) - not that we wanted to order any because, quite frankly it didn't look all that good.

The flight attendants on both flights were quick to tell anyone who complained about anything that they didn't work for Norwegian - they worked for HiFly - so apparently the crew are contractors not employees - and as soon as they were finished serving food to the chosen few who knew how to pre-order, they disappeared behind their curtain not to be seen again until time to land.

Mark posted a complaint on their website and they offered to let us a file a claim for expenses. Fools. We have no monetary loss. How do you calculate what you lose when you are denied food and water? I felt like I was in some kind of medieval prison.

So this week we took two trips on Norwegian Air. First and Last. My recommendation to you is don't bother to take any.

You Could Have Had it by Now

My master plan was to sell the house in Texas and then use the proceeds to buy the house in Florida. But it hasn't quite worked out that way. The house hasn't sold yet but once the stager had us move most of our stuff out of the house, neither of us really wanted to live there anymore. So in the interest of getting on with our lives, we decided we'd just take out a mortgage and pay it off when the Texas house sells. 

Remember, the last time I bought a house was 1982. Was there an internet then? I don't remember. I think I had a cell phone, but if I did, it wasn't a smart phone. I don't remember having to supply the mortgage lender with tax returns and W-2s. It was probably one or the other, but I don't recall it being both.

But this time we've been asked to provide W-2s and 1099s in addition to the tax returns. Back in the old days, you had to attach a copy of your W-2 and 1099 to your tax return. It appears that is no longer done. It's all digital now. And while I have copies of the 1099s and W-2s, I don't have them with me. They are safe in a file drawer in Texas. The tax returns were easy - quick phone call to the CPA. And one year of the 1099s and W-2s was easy. Just go to the the efiling company's website and have them email you a duplicate. The problem was that in 2017, I prepared the W-2s for one of our companies myself. Because there were only two of them. Because it would be easy. And because I never dreamed I'd need them and not have them.

Bottom line, I couldn't get them. The loan officer told me I could sign in to IRS.gov and order them. He could also do it, but it would take him longer to get them whereas I could get them immediately. No problem! I created an account and they sent me an official transcript of my W-2s and 1099s for 2017. But it was only mine. Mark's weren't there. No problem. I'd just create an account for Mark and I'd have his as well.

You put in your name and email and then they send you a code to continue. Then you put in some numbers from your credit card or installment loan and they let you continue. Then you put in your address from your latest tax return and you can continue. Then you put in your cell phone number so they can text you another code so you can continue. This is where the wheels started to come off. I got a message saying that Mark's phone number could not be verified with his telecom provider.
I went back and tried to enter my phone number since it had worked once before. It seems that you can't share a phone. I got the message that the phone number I'd entered was associated with a different account and could not be used.

I would have to call Verizon and find out what was going on. This is where it started to get ugly. We have a business account with Verizon. They're better at dealing with regular consumers. Anything that has to do with a business account always requires a connection to a different department. So when I got through to the business department they told me that I was the administrator and Mark was an analyst. Whatever that might mean. In order for his name to show up on the account, I needed to add him as an administrator. And that would solve my problem, they said. The young lady told me she'd send me a link to a form I could fill out.

I got the email and opened it and I saw nothing about administrators or analysts. I had no idea what that whole email was about. But thankfully, there was a number to call. And this time, the young lady told me that the first person had indeed sent me the wrong email. She was going to send me the correct one, and stay on the line so we could complete it together, but then she determined that my problem would not be solved by that. She told me that all of the phones were registered with my name and what she'd need to do is associate Mark's name with his phone number. Something to do with caller ID. Well that sounded right to me. But for whatever reason, I wasn't getting her emails. As it turns out, it was no wonder. In between me talking to the first person and this person, someone had managed to incorporate the word "fine" into my email address. So she had to change that as well. And apparently it's a big deal when you change an email. All sorts of approvals required - which makes me wonder how it got changed to the wrong address in the first place. She made the changes to the account and sent me an email to which my response would be "approved". Apparently, unlike the changes that were initiated by the first call, (which would take an overnight cycle) these changes would be immediate. Not that it mattered because I'd already been booted out of the IRS site with instructions not to come back for at least 24 hours.

Believing that the problem was being taken care of, we set off to figure out why  we hadn't been getting our mail. It was then that I realized that we'd scheduled the home inspection for the same time as my dental appointment. While we were trying to figure out how to work though that, both of our phones started ringing off the hook. Between spoof calls, doctor calls, client calls, and finally another Verizon call I thought my head was going to explode.

Because I was on the phone, I wasn't able to help Mark navigate. After several missed turns, we decided to pull in somewhere, reset the GPS and try again. The only really testy call was with Verizon. I had no idea why that woman had called me. She told me that my phone was a consumer phone and not associated with the business. (I know that's not true.) I only pay one bill for all phones. And if I call them, I do get the notice that the number is associated with a business account. When I pointed that out she told me that was a billing issue and if I had questions I'd need to call billing. When I asked about the name changes she told me that was a customer service issue and if I had questions I'd need to call customer service. I was still trying to figure out why she'd called me. It was because of the email change. I said I'd responded to the email with "approved" and she said yes, that was why she was calling so even though I'd said it was okay, my okay didn't count unless she said it did.  But if she wasn't in billing or customer service, what department was calling me? Surprise! She was in Finance. Why does someone in Finance need to approve an email change that was only correcting something that someone had screwed up in the first place?

We just decided that we'd go to Verizon in person the following day to see what was going on. We went in, Mark's name showed up on his phone and he also showed up as an administrator for the account. It should be good to go. I just needed to wait another hour or so because if the IRS says to wait for 24 hours, you probably don't want to try again in 23.

We got through the first few screens and then Google started mucking around auto-filling fields with incorrect information and I wasn't able to edit it. I had to disable that auto fill feature in Google. (Apparently the default is to have it on because I'd never knowingly set something like that up.) So after three aborted attempts and restarts, I finally made it through to the phone verification page.

But there it was. Same as before. You can't be identified by your phone number. Nothing I can do. No number to call. If you can't be confirmed by phone the IRS is happy to send a code by snail mail to the address on your last tax return. You'll get in a couple of weeks. Maybe. If you still live at that address.

So this had consumed my time for two days. (Felt like a week.) But I admitted defeat to the loan officer who replied to my email with "Don't worry. I can get it. It will just take a couple of days."

So, if he'd asked the IRS for it when he asked me to get it, he'd have it by now...

Can I get a refund on my two days?

Three Things I've Learned About Florida

We've only been in Florida for two weeks now. (It seems like two months.) But I've learned a few things:

1. Florida streets and roads are not really compatible with Texas trucks. We do fine on the Interstate Highways but when we get off of those and on to regular roads - not so much. The residential streets are killing me. I've been bounced over every curb within a 30 mile radius because we can't make the turn without hitting a car or the curb and he always chooses the curb.

2. The GPS indicates that a place is 14 miles away but that it will take 40 minutes to get there. In fact, it will take well over an hour to get there. Maybe two. Apparently distances on the GPS are measured as the crow flies while time is measured in real time with ideal circumstances. I still haven't figured out why everything seems so close but it takes so long to get there.

3. When it doesn't rain, it is very hot. It's likely that next year about this time we will be taking the RV to a slightly cooler climate but with this year's house hunting mission, we'll be here until we find a place and get settled in - no matter how hot it gets.

What Went Wrong?

I've got to say that I don't have a great deal of experience buying houses. I bought my last home in 1982. This will be the fourth time in my life that I've purchased a place to live. Is it any wonder things didn't go quite right?

We were so enamored of the floor plan on the house we wanted to buy. It had a courtyard and a casita, or guest house that included a large bedroom, a walk-in closet and a full bathroom. The main part of the house had a master suite with his and hers closets plus an additional bedroom and bathroom.

We looked at three homes with the identical floor plan. One had what was once a water feature in the courtyard. This would require a bit of work to either restore it to its previous grandeur or more likely rip it out and replace it with a normal flower bed. Otherwise the courtyard, which was screened in was wonderful. They had upgraded the bedrooms to hardwood floors and they had upgraded the kitchen counters and back-splash even though I didn't like the back-splash. They also had a built-in work area in the room we would have used as our office. The drawback is that we share an office and this one only had one work area, not two. The Florida room was small and the whole house needed painting.

On house number two - same floor plan- although this one was reversed. The courtyard wasn't screened in but the double-size Florida room made up for that. This one had an "office" built in to the family room. Very nice, but I don't really need two offices. And the surface of the "desk" didn't match the Corian on the kitchen counters. The countertops had been upgraded from laminate to Corian but there was no backsplash at all. I would have wanted all new lighting fixtures, and I didn't like any of the wallpaper at all. (I know there are people who are going through my house as I write this saying "That wallpaper is hideous! It has to go!) But at least I'm offering a cash redecorating allowance - these folks were offering nothing. It backed up to the golf course - not close enough for me to tell whether it was a tee box or a green. Tee boxes are good - greens not so much. Anyway, it was very close to one of the gate houses and we found the location noisy.

Then came the house we made the offer on. Compared to the other two, this one needed nothing but paint. Or so we thought. I absolutely loved the tile. I could see that the color wouldn't necessarily appeal to everyone, but I loved it. The bedrooms had already been upgraded to wood floors and at first look, we thought all it needed was paint and to upgrade the laminate counter tops and tile the floor in the Florida room. And that is what the offer was based on.

But then comes our second look. Now we realize that "OMG, I couldn't ask a guest to use that bathroom. The tub needs to come out and be replaced." If the tub is coming out, the tile surrounding it has to come out. If the tile is coming out, you might as well replace the vanity. And if you're taking the vanity out, you might as well replace the toilet. Voila - a gutted bathroom. So now that I'd given that a closer look, we took a closer look at the other two bathrooms. Turns out the master bathroom needed more than a paint job, as well. But we were still in.

Then comes the inspection report. The water heater was several years past it's prime. The roof had bits that were incorrectly installed and was losing granularity. Gutters were messed up. There were patches to the screens in the courtyard. The laminated kitchen counter was de-laminating. We knew the oven didn't heat up to temperature but we didn't know that the microwave had been improperly installed. We knew that we'd have to install pull out drawers in the cabinets, but for a house that no one was living in, every cabinet seemed stuffed to the gills. I was concerned that all of that stuff would be mine to move.

And we were told that in Florida, if something is functional on the day of the inspection that you can't ask for a repair. In Texas you can ask for whatever you want. Nobody has to give it to you, but nobody stops you from asking. So we couldn't ask for a new roof, or a new water heater, or any number of things. We asked for the sellers to repair the things that were not considered "cosmetic".  It probably amounted to less than $2K of work. But in the end, we had to consider that we'd be paying for all of that stuff, cosmetic or not. And we concluded that we were not going to pay top dollar for a house that needed over $50K in work and upgrades.

And none of this was helped by the fact that we didn't feel the sellers and their agent were acting in good faith. In addition to the ring doorbell, there were cameras set up throughout the house. They tracked you and I can only assume that they recorded our every movement and word spoken while in that house. (At one point, Mark unplugged it.- That summoned the neighbors.) Plus, they always waited until the eleventh hour to respond. I can tell you that if my agent called me to tell me I had an offer on my house, I would not be waiting til the end of my allowable response time. Seriously, you have three options. Accept, Reject, or Counter. Decide what you want to do and move on. These people waited until the last minute. Which in retrospect was a good thing. If they'd been faster, I might have ended up buying the money pit.