January 28, 2021--Privileged White Woman Day or The Tax Man Cometh
by Karen Schwabenland Astute readers may recall that in my last blog post, I wrote about how ridiculous I felt clothed in a hot pink fluffy sweater, some eighties retro leggings, and black and pink track shoes which I can assure you have never even seen the steps to the visitor's seating area of a track. Based on the feedback from that post, I need to clear a few things up. Yes, it's true that you are only as confident as you feel. I feel confident in that statement. So much so that I often have greater confidence in my own abilities than I have a hole in my head. Therefore, it is in the belief in clarity and transparency that I share this next bit of my tale. In my meeting with my lawyer this week, which I wrote about in my last post, not only was I dressed rather garishly, I failed at every opportunity to appear wise and worldly. I had arrived early. I arrived so early in fact, I had time to set myself up a small office at the conference table that I had been ushered to. I had wisely packed for the day. I set my binder of important documents to the right of me, as one would want to sit at the right hand of God. Next, I opened my notebook to a clean page and placed it in front of me. I was so proud of myself for remembering to bring a spiral notebook. I have been known to fish things from my purse on which to write. But not for this meeting. No-siree-bob. There would be no scribing on paper napkins, the backs of coupons or old gum wrappers today. I turned my phone volume to silence, then laid it next to my notebook. Finally, I opened my water bottle, took a sip, and set it at the top of the place setting. Feeling accomplished, I reclined a bit to the back in the leather chair I was in and surveyed my work. The effect was that of a woman who definitely knew where she was going and what she wanted. Then my lawyer walked in, sat down, and bit by bit, it all went to hell. As she began talking, I tilted my notebook towards me to write things down. That is when I noticed that I had no pencil. No pen. Not even a rock to scratch notes into the mahogany table where we were seated. As she continued talking, I frantically searched through my handbag. But as I did this, I already knew. There would be nothing there. Nothing in my hand bag or on my person with which to write. Not wanting to stop her as I knew I was helping her create billable hours, but still hoping to appear put together, I took a lipstick out of the make-up pouch I keep in my purse. "Gosh, an eyebrow pencil would have worked so much better," I thought. "Too bad I don't have one of those." I began to write with the lip stick. My lawyer stopped mid-sentence, and stared at me. "Would you like a pen?" she asked. I nodded yes like a guilty child. She briefly left the room and came back with a cup full of pens and pencils. Later, during our meeting, she brought up the topic of financial records. I proudly said I had my own separate bank account. I am an independent woman, after all. When she queried me further, I admitted that my husband balanced the account for me. I explained that as partners, we divided the chores of our life into the things that we are good at. Mister, who majored in accounting and could have been a tax auditor, is talented with the pocketbook. What more can I say? I tend to get my calculations a bit muddled, so I have allowed him, over the years, to tend to anything that has to do with finance--which, in a sense, is everything. The next thing that happened was my lawyer inquired as to the name of my bank. "The name of my bank?" I asked. She nodded. "Gee, I don't know. I mean it's been so long since I actually went there. We do everything online nowadays. I seldom even write checks. I just use my credit card for all my purchases." I shrugged, feeling inept. She gave me an all knowing look. I thought that the look said, "Uh-huh. Another kept woman." Only her lawyerly decorum kept her from rolling her eyes and shaking her head back and forth. Who doesn't know the name of the institution that houses all of their money? I was going to have listen to another Suze Orman Ted Talk on this. I frantically searched my mind. Nothing. I flat out didn't know. If my life depended on it at that moment, I could not recall it. She started naming banks. "Chase? Bank of America?" "Umm, it starts with a 'W'? I think?" I was Pinocchio. Soon, my lawyer would produce a dunce cap. I looked around at the corners of the room. There were no stools on which to sit there, so I would just have to stand. Hmmm. Good think I wore my track shoes, I guess. January 26, 2021-Last Week of January
by Karen Schwabenland To get out of the winter doldrums, I pulled out a hot pink sweater and matching retro eighties pants from my closet this morning. I was already dressed when I remembered it was my day to lawyer up, or that is--go meet with my lawyer in order to settle my own estate. By settle my own estate, I mean to, you know, take into account all of those things that come into play following the words, "upon my death..." Since I was already dressed in my hot pink sweater and retro eighties pants, I briefly considered changing clothes. I was going to a law firm, afterall, and I should look the part. The woman I would be chatting with was always well put together. I thought I should, "bring it," or you know, "come to play"--to use sports' terminology. Then I remembered that the woman I would be chatting with was my own lawyer and should be on my side. I changed my mind about changing clothes when I looked at my feet. I had already laced up my black and pink running shoes, and who wants to go through that again? And besides, if I changed outfits, I would have to make another decision about shoes. So I justified my casual attire by the following affirmations:
Since I spent a year of my life without any, I am kind of an expert on buying good hair. Back then, it was about the wigs, but now my hair is all my own. So to have good hair that is your own, you can buy products that create the illusion of great hair. The thing is though, you should actually use the expensive conditioner that you purchased. Or at the least, not go to bed with your hair wet. After all of these contemplations and affirmations, I was quickly running out of time. I pulled my hair back with my best and most expensive black headband, but it was still all pointy-outie with some rather sharp looking hair horns in the back and on the sides. By then it was too late to do anything else but leave the house. The meeting went better than expected, but upon leaving and glancing at myself in the ladies' bathroom mirror, I realized the error of my ways. Don't you just hate it when that happens? You just spent a few hours over drinks, or in your lawyer's office, thinking that you looked kind of put together and feeling confident, then boom! You catch yourself in a mirror, and one thing comes to mind, "Oh, Lordy. What was I thinking?" I'll tell you what I was thinking. I was thinking that hot pink is a color I look good in, even though I am somewhere between a blond and a light brunette with pale, ivory toned skinned. Also, that I am only twenty years old. Because only a twenty year old should wear retro eighties leggings with black running shoes and a hot pink sweater. That retreat to the ladies room after my meeting this morning was the winter doldrums landing with a thud upon my soul. January 19, 2021--Happy New Year! Time for a Review
by Karen Schwabenland Dear Ms. Fran Lebowitz, Is it alright if I call you Fran? I just finished your book, The Fran Lebowitz Reader (New York: Vintage Books, 1994). I feel like I know you now. I watched your series on Netflix and found it amusing. Then, much to my surprise, I stumbled upon your book one day in the library when I was doing my usual perusal through the newest books. One of the items that I took the most delight in was the chapter titled, "An Alphabet of New Year's Resolutions for Others," (pages 326-329). I am so taken with that chapter, that I will reproduce my own version, here on this blog (without your permission), but as I said, I feel like we are friends now. My List of New Year's Resolutions for Others
So Fran, or Ms. Lebowitz, thank you for the inspiration from your fine writing. I will catch you on Netflix or the next time I am in my local library. Your adoring fan, Karen Schwabenland (or just Karen) January 14, 2021--Feast of the Ass
by Karen Schwabenland What if Mary was not enamored with the donkey that Joseph provided her to ride on? Today is Feast of the Ass, a day in the fifteenth century that celebrated all of the donkeys in the Bible, but more specifically, the one that Mary and Baby Jesus rode on during the flight to Egypt. And what's more, a perfectly good reason for using the words 'feast, ass, and Baby Jesus,' in one piece of writing. During the Feast of the Ass, a girl holding a baby would ride through town on the back of a donkey while folks on the street sang songs. That doesn't sound so bad. Where those pesky Catholic Church honchos had concerns though may have something to do with the fact that the donkey was allowed to stand near the alter during services and was sometimes given food and drink. And where it gets even messier is that the congregation was allowed to bray or "heehaw" responses back to the priest, a behavior that cannot be seen as respectful even in this day and age. If we reach back to the actual Bible story of this event, we might see things in a different light. Getting transported around the countryside on the back of a donkey probably came with its own set of problems. Aren't donkeys known for their stubbornness? What if the only donkey Joseph could get was an old jack, a failing bag of bones who had long ago seen better days? What if Mary, young and immature, had imagined once that her spouse would be young and handsome, and not the older, mature Joseph? What if in her immaturity she considered him a "scrub?" What if when they were both still back at home, she found him unattractive? In the Broadway musical of this story, it would be a chance for Mary and her girlfriends to sing one of my favorite songs, "No Scrubs," by the girl group, TLC. Mary would start, and the girlfriends would back her up on the chorus, "I don't want no scrub. A scrub is guy who can't get no love from me, hanging on the passenger side of his best friend's ride, trying to holler at me." I mean, ladies, haven't we all been there? Walking to our own bucket of bolts in the high school parking lot, some young turk tries to garner our attention by yelling something out of the passenger side window. We are left in a daze of dust trying to decipher what just happened and who those clowns were. If we are walking with our girlfriends, it would be a perfect time to break into a round of "No Scrubs." Too bad that song was not written while I was in high school. The closest we could get to something appropriate to sing back then at a moment like that would be, "I Will Survive," by Gloria Gaynor, a song that doesn't capture the same idea as "No Scrubs." Eventually, what we gals all live to learn is that the ride is not as important as the intention. One donkey is as good as the next, I suppose. The donkey that Joseph provided got his burgeoning family where they needed to be. And that same logic is why I drive a mini-van. It gets my family where we need to be, and in comfort. The same cannot be said about the donkey. Donkeys in Biblical times were as ubiquitous as mini-vans are now, though. A mini-van is a thousand steps up from what I drove in high school. Truth be told though, every now and again I picture myself walking through my high school parking lot, wistful for some scrub to holler at me once more. Then, I bray like a donkey back at him. January 6, 2021-Feast of Epiphany
by Karen Schwabenland--so, so NOT a Biblical scholar Growing up, during this time of Epiphany, we always learned about the visit of the Three Wise Men. Consequently, our mothers had been told to not take down the Christmas decorations until today. I used to sit in the pew during services and memorize the seasons of the Church, or the liturgical calendar and its colors. Where I worshipped, Epiphany was an entire season, or a whole big thing that took some time. It started today and lasted all the way until Lent. You know those times and places when you were driving or flying for a long time? Maybe you had to change modes of transportation several times. You had to stand in line. Your feet hurt. Before you turned in your rental car, you and your party had to consume all of the beverages that had been opened because they could not be taken on the plane, and everyone knows we are not about wasting money. Said beverages may have consisted of a half quart of milk, eleven half finished water bottles, a Star Bucks chi latte, and three opened but aborted bottles of pop. Later, the toilet on the plane you were flying on had never seen so much business. But, before boarding that plane, your luggage got checked. If you were bringing gifts to someone, they probably got jostled about. Perhaps the wrapping got torn. If you were flying with an entire set of china to give your mother for Christmas, it would be an added stress for you and your companions to protect that package, even it you had wrapped each piece perfectly and separately. I like to call that scenario an added value-stress factor. I once watched a lady at the airport pack and unpack her suitcase over and over again to try to support three bottles of wine she was bringing home from her trip. Maybe that lady is me. Maybe not. I won't say, but traveling is never easy. We often arrive at our destination weary and worn. Even grumpy. What if one of the Wise Men was a bit grumpy upon arrival to the stable? When my family took a vacation to New York, I found myself singing that old Frank Sinatra song everywhere we went. "Start spreading the news...We're gonna make a brand new start of it. New York. New York." I sang it so much that my throat hurt. So I stopped. Just to rest the chords a bit, ya know? Much to my surprise, my kids requested the song. Of course I complied. That might be the only time they asked me for a song which is, in itself, nothing short of miraculous. That moment was a small epiphany for me. It is when I thought, "Aha! So they do like my sensationalistic, over enthusiastic singing, after all." Way back in Biblical times, the wise men knew what to do. But how? Why? How did they know? Did they have an epiphany when they initially observed the new star in the sky? How did they know to just trust and follow it? I find these three men so intriguing. Were they handsome, as well as smart? All I really know of them is that I once had a college professor who said she belonged to the same religion as them. So, wow. Wow, wow, wow. I guess that religion has been hanging around for all of these years. After their visit to the Babe in the manger, did the Three Wise Men turn from it? The only thing the Bible tells us is that they came. They saw. They left expensive bottles of perfume. After their visit, what else? Did they return to their homes to tell their tales? It seems like a hellava road to travel to just return home empty handed. I imagine that in those days, empty handed would be without a story to rehash. To spin for others. The latest and greatest story ever told. Were the Wise Men the world's first cheerleaders? Are we to emulate them? Did Old Blue Eyes have it right, after all? Should we all maybe, "Start spreading the news..?" Today would be the day to do it. |
AuthorKaren Schwabenland--Keeper of a daily blog of written matter, reporter of events large and small, and charlatan extraordinaire Archives
September 2022
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