It Was the Best of Times...
20/04/19 07:30
Yesterday was Nancy's first bike ride of the 2019 season. I debated noting the calendar as I do on my own rides just to keep track of things as I am prone to do but decided against it. I have a good mind to do just that if for no other reason than to be able to tell her come next Spring that she needn't bring her bike in for her free tune-up since she only rode 6 times in 2019. That's an exaggeration but I'll know better when the time comes if I do my duty now and keep track of her every ride.
It was a very blustery ride indeed. Cycling southbound on Ocean Boulevard we ran into severe headwinds which made making any kind of meaningful progress very difficult. In like a lamb, out like a lion? We had modest goals for the ride. We agreed that making it as far as the Beach Club was probably a good start for her since it was her first ride of the season. For me, since I've been on the comeback trail ever since that damn case of bronchitis I had a month or more ago, I thought the Beach Club was an acceptable reach. The good news was that the return ride was likely to be a breeze with a near gale at our backs and it gave us both something to look forward to.
She stopped short of the Beach Club and as I was passing her I yelled out that I planned to stop at the harbor on my way back and that I would meet her there. Knowing what I know about how she loves stopping at the harbor, and I am less likely to do that when I am riding on my own if only because stopping anywhere seems to defeat the purpose of the ride altogether, I made my way to the Beach Club without further delay.
By the time I got to the harbor Nancy was off her bike and getting a bit of a stretch. She said something about her mother's tax returns and something about them getting post marked past the due date. What the hey? How did you come by this information? Your mom is apoplectic? Yes, she entrusted you with the mailing materials and she expected that you would place the materials in the mailbox such that they would be post marked with the appropriate date. In fact, you were involved in every facet of the process this year as you have been in past years so what changed?
I was with Nancy when we put the envelopes in the mailbox at the local post office on the morning of the day they were due. I couldn't help but wonder how and what gave her mother the impression that the materials were received or post marked late. Her mother's e-mail revealed little but one thing was clear. The word "late" was bolded which caused Nancy considerable consternation knowing full well that she had done everything possible to fulfill her mothers wishes. Her competency was now in question and no amount of finger pointing would change that fact.
But the timing was suspicious. Here we were just a handful of days beyond the mailing date and her mother was already in receipt of said payment? "Let's think about this", I said. The only way your mother would be in receipt of anything is if the mailing was on time, promptly processed once it had been received, and now with acknowledgment after the fact in hand the timing makes perfect sense.
It came to light later in the day when her mother called that she was mistaking some coding on the receipt she received as evidence of a late confirmation date when it was not that at all. Persuading her of that fact was not an easy task. Even after she said that she agreed with her daughter, you could still hear hints of a wavering disbelief in her voice. It was not as though she wished to assign blame to her otherwise dutiful daughter yet she was not accepting of the fact that despite their best efforts the mailing was made on time. Somebody had to take responsibility for that abject failure.
Jumping to conclusions has its own perils. If it turns out that the mailing was not late at all then an apology may be in order. How much time has to pass before the threat dissipates and collapses under its own weight? What else has she entrusted her daughter with that she may now have to rethink? Is there a minimum amount of responsibility that she is willing to assign to her daughter without running the risk of telling her outright that she no longer trusts her judgement on larger and more momentous items of personal interest? Can her other children now assume those very same tasks? Weighty decisions all.
We reviewed the materials in question firsthand when we visited her mother last night for our weekly visitation and that only reinforced our original conclusions about said matters. That said, we were looking for clarity in reviewing the codes on the back of a cashed check and that was seemingly a fools errand. There were dates and codes but no decoder ring that would help make sense of it all. All we could do was work backwards from the "cashed" dates. The only conclusion left was that those very same dates would have been unattainable had the mailings arrived late. The defense rests its case.
When all is said and done Nancy might well relish having fewer responsibilities. Taking a few things off her plate might be just what the doctor ordered. It might give her more time to attend to the things she enjoys most. She has already moved on from this event having satisfied herself that her mother's concerns were largely unwarranted. The matter, as far as Nancy is concerned, deserves its rightful place as it were in the rear view mirror. Keep your eyes on the road ahead, little darlin'.
We reviewed the materials in question firsthand when we visited her mother last night for our weekly visitation and that only reinforced our original conclusions about said matters. That said, we were looking for clarity in reviewing the codes on the back of a cashed check and that was seemingly a fools errand. There were dates and codes but no decoder ring that would help make sense of it all. All we could do was work backwards from the "cashed" dates. The only conclusion left was that those very same dates would have been unattainable had the mailings arrived late.
Evan stopped by yesterday. It was good to see him again. He brought his laundry by so his mom could take care of it and we chit chatted about this and that for the better part of an hour or two. He was pleasantly surprised, or so he said, at just how quiet his new place is and we were delighted to hear that. Not that we had a worry in the world about it being a "noisy" place but clearly Evan had some preconceived notions that turned out to be just that. Notions.
One of the reasons we thought he was stopping by was so that he could clean his room up a bit since he left it a bit of a mess when he moved out. He seemed more interested in talking than he did cleaning so that was that. His room isn't going anywhere so there will be plenty of time for him to attend to matters at his leisure. I told him to stay the night if he was so inclined since he was planning to come over on Easter for dinner anyway. He was noncommittal at best and quickly moved on to other subjects.
Nancy prepared one of Evan's favorite dishes for Evan to celebrate Easter at home. Evan brought over the appropriate pots, pans, and utensils, and Nancy labored throughout the day so we could all sit down to a meal that would take less than ten minutes to consume. Making a pot roast, a honey ham, or even a turkey might have been easier than all the work required to make Evan's favorite enchilada dish. Feeding your children is a labor of love so no amount of work could deter Nancy from getting on with the task at hand knowing that her son was looking forward to enjoying one of his favorite dishes.
But some things never change. Evan spent the better part of his time at home in his room with the door closed. The boy loves his quiet time. So much so, in fact, that we were reluctant to make any announcements one way or another about dinner being ready when the time came. We finally decided that all we could do was to finish up with the preparations, put the food on the table, and let him know that it was ready. Just because he's been living on his own for the better part of a month doesn't mean that we can't do as we've always done when it comes to his whimsical behavior.
He was predictably late to the meal that his momma labored long and hard to prepare but had little to say for himself when he finally sat down. "Pass the corn, please", he asked. We sent him home with leftovers that would probably provide him with a good couple of square meals. We're not convinced he's got the chops just yet to make it up as he goes along in his own kitchen so we'll have to think about or plan to supplement whatever he has in mind. Did I mention that planning was not one of his strengths?
We're talking to him now about preparing a Shepards Pie recipe this coming weekend during our visit. There are car transfers to attend to in the coming weeks; meetings with Katie and the crew in the near term that Evan could care less about and is likely to pass on; A trip to Lake George to spend a little time with the sisters and brothers; swaths of dead lawn that need to be reseeded; bike rides along the ocean to suck in more than my share of positive ions; a garage that needs to be partially transformed to free up a space where we can store bikes and the lot during the summer months; and I need to have a conversation with someone about vapor barriers and crawl spaces.
It was a very blustery ride indeed. Cycling southbound on Ocean Boulevard we ran into severe headwinds which made making any kind of meaningful progress very difficult. In like a lamb, out like a lion? We had modest goals for the ride. We agreed that making it as far as the Beach Club was probably a good start for her since it was her first ride of the season. For me, since I've been on the comeback trail ever since that damn case of bronchitis I had a month or more ago, I thought the Beach Club was an acceptable reach. The good news was that the return ride was likely to be a breeze with a near gale at our backs and it gave us both something to look forward to.
She stopped short of the Beach Club and as I was passing her I yelled out that I planned to stop at the harbor on my way back and that I would meet her there. Knowing what I know about how she loves stopping at the harbor, and I am less likely to do that when I am riding on my own if only because stopping anywhere seems to defeat the purpose of the ride altogether, I made my way to the Beach Club without further delay.
By the time I got to the harbor Nancy was off her bike and getting a bit of a stretch. She said something about her mother's tax returns and something about them getting post marked past the due date. What the hey? How did you come by this information? Your mom is apoplectic? Yes, she entrusted you with the mailing materials and she expected that you would place the materials in the mailbox such that they would be post marked with the appropriate date. In fact, you were involved in every facet of the process this year as you have been in past years so what changed?
I was with Nancy when we put the envelopes in the mailbox at the local post office on the morning of the day they were due. I couldn't help but wonder how and what gave her mother the impression that the materials were received or post marked late. Her mother's e-mail revealed little but one thing was clear. The word "late" was bolded which caused Nancy considerable consternation knowing full well that she had done everything possible to fulfill her mothers wishes. Her competency was now in question and no amount of finger pointing would change that fact.
But the timing was suspicious. Here we were just a handful of days beyond the mailing date and her mother was already in receipt of said payment? "Let's think about this", I said. The only way your mother would be in receipt of anything is if the mailing was on time, promptly processed once it had been received, and now with acknowledgment after the fact in hand the timing makes perfect sense.
It came to light later in the day when her mother called that she was mistaking some coding on the receipt she received as evidence of a late confirmation date when it was not that at all. Persuading her of that fact was not an easy task. Even after she said that she agreed with her daughter, you could still hear hints of a wavering disbelief in her voice. It was not as though she wished to assign blame to her otherwise dutiful daughter yet she was not accepting of the fact that despite their best efforts the mailing was made on time. Somebody had to take responsibility for that abject failure.
Jumping to conclusions has its own perils. If it turns out that the mailing was not late at all then an apology may be in order. How much time has to pass before the threat dissipates and collapses under its own weight? What else has she entrusted her daughter with that she may now have to rethink? Is there a minimum amount of responsibility that she is willing to assign to her daughter without running the risk of telling her outright that she no longer trusts her judgement on larger and more momentous items of personal interest? Can her other children now assume those very same tasks? Weighty decisions all.
We reviewed the materials in question firsthand when we visited her mother last night for our weekly visitation and that only reinforced our original conclusions about said matters. That said, we were looking for clarity in reviewing the codes on the back of a cashed check and that was seemingly a fools errand. There were dates and codes but no decoder ring that would help make sense of it all. All we could do was work backwards from the "cashed" dates. The only conclusion left was that those very same dates would have been unattainable had the mailings arrived late. The defense rests its case.
When all is said and done Nancy might well relish having fewer responsibilities. Taking a few things off her plate might be just what the doctor ordered. It might give her more time to attend to the things she enjoys most. She has already moved on from this event having satisfied herself that her mother's concerns were largely unwarranted. The matter, as far as Nancy is concerned, deserves its rightful place as it were in the rear view mirror. Keep your eyes on the road ahead, little darlin'.
We reviewed the materials in question firsthand when we visited her mother last night for our weekly visitation and that only reinforced our original conclusions about said matters. That said, we were looking for clarity in reviewing the codes on the back of a cashed check and that was seemingly a fools errand. There were dates and codes but no decoder ring that would help make sense of it all. All we could do was work backwards from the "cashed" dates. The only conclusion left was that those very same dates would have been unattainable had the mailings arrived late.
Evan stopped by yesterday. It was good to see him again. He brought his laundry by so his mom could take care of it and we chit chatted about this and that for the better part of an hour or two. He was pleasantly surprised, or so he said, at just how quiet his new place is and we were delighted to hear that. Not that we had a worry in the world about it being a "noisy" place but clearly Evan had some preconceived notions that turned out to be just that. Notions.
One of the reasons we thought he was stopping by was so that he could clean his room up a bit since he left it a bit of a mess when he moved out. He seemed more interested in talking than he did cleaning so that was that. His room isn't going anywhere so there will be plenty of time for him to attend to matters at his leisure. I told him to stay the night if he was so inclined since he was planning to come over on Easter for dinner anyway. He was noncommittal at best and quickly moved on to other subjects.
Nancy prepared one of Evan's favorite dishes for Evan to celebrate Easter at home. Evan brought over the appropriate pots, pans, and utensils, and Nancy labored throughout the day so we could all sit down to a meal that would take less than ten minutes to consume. Making a pot roast, a honey ham, or even a turkey might have been easier than all the work required to make Evan's favorite enchilada dish. Feeding your children is a labor of love so no amount of work could deter Nancy from getting on with the task at hand knowing that her son was looking forward to enjoying one of his favorite dishes.
But some things never change. Evan spent the better part of his time at home in his room with the door closed. The boy loves his quiet time. So much so, in fact, that we were reluctant to make any announcements one way or another about dinner being ready when the time came. We finally decided that all we could do was to finish up with the preparations, put the food on the table, and let him know that it was ready. Just because he's been living on his own for the better part of a month doesn't mean that we can't do as we've always done when it comes to his whimsical behavior.
He was predictably late to the meal that his momma labored long and hard to prepare but had little to say for himself when he finally sat down. "Pass the corn, please", he asked. We sent him home with leftovers that would probably provide him with a good couple of square meals. We're not convinced he's got the chops just yet to make it up as he goes along in his own kitchen so we'll have to think about or plan to supplement whatever he has in mind. Did I mention that planning was not one of his strengths?
We're talking to him now about preparing a Shepards Pie recipe this coming weekend during our visit. There are car transfers to attend to in the coming weeks; meetings with Katie and the crew in the near term that Evan could care less about and is likely to pass on; A trip to Lake George to spend a little time with the sisters and brothers; swaths of dead lawn that need to be reseeded; bike rides along the ocean to suck in more than my share of positive ions; a garage that needs to be partially transformed to free up a space where we can store bikes and the lot during the summer months; and I need to have a conversation with someone about vapor barriers and crawl spaces.