Less than a week to go now in this house. Legally, I believe we have until some time in September before we have to leave, but the movers will be here next Monday to take our possessions away. Hopefully, they won't keep them for themselves.
When Spouse and I got married we had the ceremony in eastern Wisconsin. At the time we would be living in eastern Minnesota. But Spouse's family was where we had the ceremony. One of my close friends at the time actually drove the 300 miles one way to attend the wedding. He, my mother, and a two sisters rented a van and he did the driving. After the wedding they brought back all of the wedding gifts while Spouse and I went off to spend some time together.
Two years later my friend got married. As I walked the receiving line to shake his hand (and his bride's) he introduced me to her.
DAN: This is my friend, Bevie. We're good friends.
ME: Yes. So good, in fact, that I let him take charge of our wedding gifts. How are they, by the way?
They're really nice. The toaster's broken. It was just cheap garbage.
Wasn't that your gift to us?
Yes. I believe it was.
That's one of the things I liked about Dan. He just flowed with a joke as though he were in on it from the first. But it's been nearly 30 years since I've seen him. Life goes on and often we head in separate directions from those we care about today.
Which brings me back to the point of this post. Less than a week to go in this house. When we move we will have at least interrupted telephone service. I receive my internet service via telephone. Don't know what kind of telephone service we will have. We'll have to have something, but whether that service includes an internet connection is not known at this time. So, what I'm trying to say is that I may be on a countdown to signing off for a very long time. Possibly permanently.
In the meantime Spouse and Son are all excited and moving things early. They're in the process of loading up for their third trip in as many days. Saving the movers work next week. Just as well. They charge by the hour. How can we afford to hire movers? We can't afford not to. We are moving to a third floor apartment/flat. I get wore out just walking the stairs carrying my own weight. No one we know is able and willing to help. The cost of renting a moving truck I could drive is almost as much as hiring someone else to do the work. Besides, we're keeping someone employed. Doing our part, you know.
Myself? I have not returned to the place since we signed the lease. I'm in no hurry. Once I get there I'm not going to want to come down. It just means having to climb back up. (No elevators. This place is not exactly the Ritz.)
Fortunately, we're nearly out of furniture. Unfortunately, the furniture which remains is heavy. I have a beautiful cedar desk which weighs more than I do. We have the pool table, which nobody would buy. That's going to cost an extra $150 to move. And they won't set it up. Just as well. Son as a really nice dresser which is almost as heavy as me, and we have a nice one about half my weight. Other than those things our furniture consists of folding tables and chairs, a glider rocker we purchased when we learned Son was coming, three mattresses, two swivel office chairs, and a round bumper pool table. Everything else has long since been sold.
What we have are several dozen boxes filled with things from VHS movies to old record albums, my writing Archives, books (lots of these), knick knack things (I love these things), plush animals (I love these, too) and music cds. Basically, junk. But it's our junk. And so we keep it. As much because we couldn't sell it at the garage sale as any other reason. Which reminds me: we also have several boxes containing items from our gift business. Boy, didn't we get rich doing that?
So, I'll try to post daily through the week. After all, I may be signing off for good come Sunday or Monday.
Showing posts with label Future Plans. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Future Plans. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Making and Recalling History
Today's topic is writing assignments. I came up with it because I used to write for the Evil Editor blog a lot more than I do now. There are weekly writing assignments, generally in the 200-300 word length category. These are good exercises for learning to say something in few words. I don't submit so often anymore because there's so much going on right now I don't have time to catch the inspiration and write . How I miss the days of youth when I seemingly had time for everything I enjoyed. They days were longer or something.
I remember we would occasionally get writing assignments in school. When the assignment was like a research paper I tended to wait until the last moment and toss together something to get a grade. When the assignments were creative in scope I would get all excited and rush to begin writing at every moment.
Mrs. SJ would announce to the class after story time: Okay. Now I want each of you to write a story about a little dog who gets separated from his family. Print. Use a whole sheet of paper. Turn it in tomorrow morning.
Most of the class would react with, "Oh, cr*p!" I would be excited.
The following morning papers would be handed forward to the front of the room. Some students wrote in extra large letters. Some didn't even try. They only used a half sheet. A few would continue to a second page. Mine were always five to ten pages.
I love to tell stories. I love make-believe. I love relating historical events. J.R.R.Tolkien wrote that he "much prefers history, true or feigned" over allegory. At my age I find I much agree with him. Allegory is a hammer beating upon a nail. It forces an idea into the thoughts of its readers. History is a park. There are paths leading to ponds, shrubs, wildlife, and a host of other things. Visitors are free to walk these paths and spend as much time admiring the beauty as they will. Nothing is forced. It is just there.
It's why, I suppose, I spend so much time relating my past on this blog. That is real history. Those things really did happen. And the people who were with me really existed. It seems a shame and even a waste to let those memories fade away without being shared. Those people who shared those experiences with me were important people. Many are no longer here. They shouldn't be forgotten. And often, I am the only one remaining who remembers what happened. And so I tell the stories. I try to keep them alive. Stephen. Daddy. Grandmother. These were people worth knowing.
The problem, of course, with my method of relating these stories is I follow no pattern. The timeline is not set. One day I may relate something from my early twenties, and the next I'm five years old again. Then it's back to junior high. The result - over time - of this wild and undisciplined approach is that I'm not always sure what I have, or have not, written about. And the history of this blog is now large enough that I don't always have the energy to search back to see. Between that and just being older I find myself repeating things. I expect in time I'll be some blabbering old fool who continues to relate stories despite not even having an audience. Saw a few of them at the place where Daddy's mother wound up. Old people sitting in wheelchairs mumbling to themselves.
Still recall the time I left work in the middle of the day and drove to see Grandma. It was on a whim. I had never been close to Daddy's mother. She was so prim and proper about her house. She wasn't a children's grandmother. She was an adult's grandmother, so I was only really getting to know her when she died.
I entered the place not even sure where I would find her. By chance she was sitting in a wheelchair in the main hall. Her head was down and her arms were folded across her lap. When I got her attention she perked her 6'0" frame up and was all animated. She made sure to tell every person who came by that her grandson had come to visit. This was after Daddy had died. Daddy had been her only child.
I didn't stay long. The place was so awful I felt uncomfortable. So we talked and then I left. Mother visited Grandma the next day. Grandma complained that no one had been to visit her in more than a week. She didn't remember that I had been there.
For a long time that bothered me. Then I realized something. When one is in a prison the days tend to meld together into one. Monday might just as well be Thursday. Spring is summer and fall is winter. Morning or evening. What does it matter? The food sucks. The atmosphere sucks. No place to go. Nothing to do. This wasn't a place to live. It was a place to die. No wonder she remembered it wrong. She probably remembered I had been there, but had since taken so many naps it felt like days had passed. Time had no meaning for that poor old lady in a nursing home prison. Except that it went on forever.
Was that my future I saw? Or, as I dearly hope, will I just go to sleep on my birthday one year - and wake up to see Daddy and Stephen waiting to usher me home?
What a tale that will be! Except I won't be able to tell it to you. You'll have to wait to get to heaven to hear it. Kind of worth living for. Don't you think? [smiles]
I remember we would occasionally get writing assignments in school. When the assignment was like a research paper I tended to wait until the last moment and toss together something to get a grade. When the assignments were creative in scope I would get all excited and rush to begin writing at every moment.
Mrs. SJ would announce to the class after story time: Okay. Now I want each of you to write a story about a little dog who gets separated from his family. Print. Use a whole sheet of paper. Turn it in tomorrow morning.
Most of the class would react with, "Oh, cr*p!" I would be excited.
The following morning papers would be handed forward to the front of the room. Some students wrote in extra large letters. Some didn't even try. They only used a half sheet. A few would continue to a second page. Mine were always five to ten pages.
I love to tell stories. I love make-believe. I love relating historical events. J.R.R.Tolkien wrote that he "much prefers history, true or feigned" over allegory. At my age I find I much agree with him. Allegory is a hammer beating upon a nail. It forces an idea into the thoughts of its readers. History is a park. There are paths leading to ponds, shrubs, wildlife, and a host of other things. Visitors are free to walk these paths and spend as much time admiring the beauty as they will. Nothing is forced. It is just there.
It's why, I suppose, I spend so much time relating my past on this blog. That is real history. Those things really did happen. And the people who were with me really existed. It seems a shame and even a waste to let those memories fade away without being shared. Those people who shared those experiences with me were important people. Many are no longer here. They shouldn't be forgotten. And often, I am the only one remaining who remembers what happened. And so I tell the stories. I try to keep them alive. Stephen. Daddy. Grandmother. These were people worth knowing.
The problem, of course, with my method of relating these stories is I follow no pattern. The timeline is not set. One day I may relate something from my early twenties, and the next I'm five years old again. Then it's back to junior high. The result - over time - of this wild and undisciplined approach is that I'm not always sure what I have, or have not, written about. And the history of this blog is now large enough that I don't always have the energy to search back to see. Between that and just being older I find myself repeating things. I expect in time I'll be some blabbering old fool who continues to relate stories despite not even having an audience. Saw a few of them at the place where Daddy's mother wound up. Old people sitting in wheelchairs mumbling to themselves.
Still recall the time I left work in the middle of the day and drove to see Grandma. It was on a whim. I had never been close to Daddy's mother. She was so prim and proper about her house. She wasn't a children's grandmother. She was an adult's grandmother, so I was only really getting to know her when she died.
I entered the place not even sure where I would find her. By chance she was sitting in a wheelchair in the main hall. Her head was down and her arms were folded across her lap. When I got her attention she perked her 6'0" frame up and was all animated. She made sure to tell every person who came by that her grandson had come to visit. This was after Daddy had died. Daddy had been her only child.
I didn't stay long. The place was so awful I felt uncomfortable. So we talked and then I left. Mother visited Grandma the next day. Grandma complained that no one had been to visit her in more than a week. She didn't remember that I had been there.
For a long time that bothered me. Then I realized something. When one is in a prison the days tend to meld together into one. Monday might just as well be Thursday. Spring is summer and fall is winter. Morning or evening. What does it matter? The food sucks. The atmosphere sucks. No place to go. Nothing to do. This wasn't a place to live. It was a place to die. No wonder she remembered it wrong. She probably remembered I had been there, but had since taken so many naps it felt like days had passed. Time had no meaning for that poor old lady in a nursing home prison. Except that it went on forever.
Was that my future I saw? Or, as I dearly hope, will I just go to sleep on my birthday one year - and wake up to see Daddy and Stephen waiting to usher me home?
What a tale that will be! Except I won't be able to tell it to you. You'll have to wait to get to heaven to hear it. Kind of worth living for. Don't you think? [smiles]
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Is My Road a Cul-de-sac, Or is the Bridge Just Out
Been to the sleep apnea doctor. That was an ordeal. They sent us directions, but to the wrong place. We got sent to Edina. The appointment was set up for Plymouth. Fortunately, we had arrived early - but at the wrong place - so we were only fifteen minutes late getting to the place we were supposed to be.
No CPAP machine at this time. In order to get one I will have to go through the night of torture. It's been too long since I was last tested for him to grant the machine without testing. Not sure why. It's the same machine for everyone.
Not that it matters. My insurance runs out in a very short while, and the insurance won't agree to purchase a machine for sixty days. By the time the insurance will buy the machine, my insurance will have run out. We certainly won't be buying it on our own. Last fall I lost the argument about whether to keep COBRA or let it go. Lost each of the succeeding arguments which followed. Could certainly use that money now. Not sure that the benefits of having COBRA have outweighed the loss of money. That's always been my argument and why I wouldn't have it now were the choice solely mine.
As things are now, I will not be taking the test and I will not be going on the CPAP machine. I see no advantage in doing either anymore.
Looking for a place to live right now. In fact, Spouse is on the telephone with a place recommended by the city building inspector. Doesn't sound like it's going well. We checked out some townhouses for rent in our sister city, but the places within our budget are already gone. In fact, the "many places for rent" has been reduced to one. One too expensive for us.
No need to panic at this time. We've still got eight weeks before we're on the street.
What I find most amazing about all of what is going on in our lives right now is that, miserable as it seems sometimes, we needn't look hard to find people who would love to change places with us. It kind of puts things in perspective, doesn't it?
The world is filled with unhappy people, unhealthy people, lonely people, destitute people, fearful people, and so and and so on. I have met people online who are suffering. Wish I could help them, but I don't know how.
I have made more than a few friends online. Lost a couple, too. Found out it hurts as much to lose a friend I've never seen as it does those I've known face-to-face. This is definitely a crossroad year. Whatever I've been expecting to happen is probably going to happen within the next six weeks. Only time will tell what it is.
Life goes on. It waits for no one. Not even me.
No CPAP machine at this time. In order to get one I will have to go through the night of torture. It's been too long since I was last tested for him to grant the machine without testing. Not sure why. It's the same machine for everyone.
Not that it matters. My insurance runs out in a very short while, and the insurance won't agree to purchase a machine for sixty days. By the time the insurance will buy the machine, my insurance will have run out. We certainly won't be buying it on our own. Last fall I lost the argument about whether to keep COBRA or let it go. Lost each of the succeeding arguments which followed. Could certainly use that money now. Not sure that the benefits of having COBRA have outweighed the loss of money. That's always been my argument and why I wouldn't have it now were the choice solely mine.
As things are now, I will not be taking the test and I will not be going on the CPAP machine. I see no advantage in doing either anymore.
Looking for a place to live right now. In fact, Spouse is on the telephone with a place recommended by the city building inspector. Doesn't sound like it's going well. We checked out some townhouses for rent in our sister city, but the places within our budget are already gone. In fact, the "many places for rent" has been reduced to one. One too expensive for us.
No need to panic at this time. We've still got eight weeks before we're on the street.
What I find most amazing about all of what is going on in our lives right now is that, miserable as it seems sometimes, we needn't look hard to find people who would love to change places with us. It kind of puts things in perspective, doesn't it?
The world is filled with unhappy people, unhealthy people, lonely people, destitute people, fearful people, and so and and so on. I have met people online who are suffering. Wish I could help them, but I don't know how.
I have made more than a few friends online. Lost a couple, too. Found out it hurts as much to lose a friend I've never seen as it does those I've known face-to-face. This is definitely a crossroad year. Whatever I've been expecting to happen is probably going to happen within the next six weeks. Only time will tell what it is.
Life goes on. It waits for no one. Not even me.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
A Losing Streak
So, it's going to be one of "those days" today. Started a post and deleted it. Been here and done this before. Several times.
Today we return to our garage sale, and if I wasn't enthused about it last week, today makes last week seem like Mardi Gras. (An interesting analogy as I have never been to Mardi Gras.) But I'm not enthused. Probably because this week marks another ending. Starting on Monday we have to shift gears. Got some doctor things to get done. Hate those.
The first visit, on Monday, is really going to s*ck. It's with the sleep apnea doctor. I'm going at the insistence of my heart doctor, who is convinced I have sleep apnea (because my heart has begun to swell) and insists I get the effing machine to help me breath through the night so I'll "sleep better". Right. Wore that effing machine a few years back. Hate it. Never slept so poorly in my life. But doctors don't give a sh*t about that. All they care about is what they know. They know what keeps a person alive, but they haven't a clue about what makes a person happy. Just being alive doesn't do it. I'm sorry. It doesn't.
Next week we need to begin looking in earnest for a place to live. Hate that, too. After all, it's not like we've got any money to live anyplace nice. When the choices are between two kinds of cr*p, does it really matter anymore? But it has to be done.
Health and home. They both kind of s*ck right now. And there are indications I might be losing my online home, too. My computer refused to reboot over the night and this morning. I finally got it to run (obviously), but I'm concerned it's dying, too. My possessions, my body, life in general, seems to be in a constant state of decay.
Oh, good! I just looked out the window and see that it's raining. There's nothing like having a garage sale in the rain. We'll be packing 'em in for sure.
Oh, well. It could be worse, you know. I know this is true because things keep getting worse. Every year since our personal financial collapse I have believed things would get better. And every year things have gotten a little worse. This year is no different. I am convinced that something good is going to happen. I have felt it coming for years, and this year I feel it stronger than ever. Whatever it is I not only hope it is truly wonderful but that it also gets here soon. I've pretty much run out of sustaining energy. Today, I'll be going through the motions. In the rain.
Today we return to our garage sale, and if I wasn't enthused about it last week, today makes last week seem like Mardi Gras. (An interesting analogy as I have never been to Mardi Gras.) But I'm not enthused. Probably because this week marks another ending. Starting on Monday we have to shift gears. Got some doctor things to get done. Hate those.
The first visit, on Monday, is really going to s*ck. It's with the sleep apnea doctor. I'm going at the insistence of my heart doctor, who is convinced I have sleep apnea (because my heart has begun to swell) and insists I get the effing machine to help me breath through the night so I'll "sleep better". Right. Wore that effing machine a few years back. Hate it. Never slept so poorly in my life. But doctors don't give a sh*t about that. All they care about is what they know. They know what keeps a person alive, but they haven't a clue about what makes a person happy. Just being alive doesn't do it. I'm sorry. It doesn't.
Next week we need to begin looking in earnest for a place to live. Hate that, too. After all, it's not like we've got any money to live anyplace nice. When the choices are between two kinds of cr*p, does it really matter anymore? But it has to be done.
Health and home. They both kind of s*ck right now. And there are indications I might be losing my online home, too. My computer refused to reboot over the night and this morning. I finally got it to run (obviously), but I'm concerned it's dying, too. My possessions, my body, life in general, seems to be in a constant state of decay.
Oh, good! I just looked out the window and see that it's raining. There's nothing like having a garage sale in the rain. We'll be packing 'em in for sure.
Oh, well. It could be worse, you know. I know this is true because things keep getting worse. Every year since our personal financial collapse I have believed things would get better. And every year things have gotten a little worse. This year is no different. I am convinced that something good is going to happen. I have felt it coming for years, and this year I feel it stronger than ever. Whatever it is I not only hope it is truly wonderful but that it also gets here soon. I've pretty much run out of sustaining energy. Today, I'll be going through the motions. In the rain.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Of Mice and Men - Bevie Style
Spouse and I just made a big decision. It wasn't the kind of decision one gets all happy and excited about, because our decision was NOT to go forward with a dream. Yet it wasn't really a difficult decision. It came down to money. We don't have any. That made choosing easy.
Another couple may have chose other than how we did. They may have felt reckless, bold, confident, lucky, whatever. But Spouse and I are Midwesterners through-and-through. We both come from Scandanavian descent. Her roots are mostly from Germany. I have heavy German ancestry through my maternal grandfather, but I can also lay claim to Scottish, Dutch, and Jewish (just a smidgeon) blood. Mostly, I think I have Danish ancestry. (Based on my Daddy's appearance I've sometimes wondered if I don't have Native American roots. But as I have yet to find any documenation on his daddy - my daddy was illigitimate - I'm not sure.)
What was our decision?
Well, I had come up with the clever idea of operating a bookstore. I had found a distributor of overstock books, taken from stores which simply wished to get rid of an inventory, or which had gone out of business. Books could be purchased by the pound or, in some cases, for a dollar apiece. Children's hard-cover books would be a dollar each. But that's a good price! Think of it. One thousand hard-cover books for one thousand dollars. Each of those books would cost around ten dollars in the big time book stores such as Barnes and Noble and Borders. Even Amazon.com would charge near that. But we could sell them for two dollars each and do just fine. We could probably stock a store for less than $10,000 in inventory.
We also sell gift items, which includes toys. Having a children's book section which also had toys for sale would be wonderful, I think. We sell wooden trains, made in Vermont (which means no lead in the paint and such), musical dolls made in Iowa, and a variety of other toys. Since Spouse has spent the last five years working retail almost exclusively, we figured we would do well with such an enterprise. The problem would be money.
Since we already have the gift business we are registered with the State of Minnesota and have a Tax ID and everything. We're so small that we only have to submit sales tax in January of each year, but we're still considered a business. So, every week we get at least one phone call about advertising on-line, being listed in a phone directory, or offered a new deal on someone's new product. Lately, we have also been getting included on the stimulus package calls. Until this week I've ignored the automated calls and informed the real people who call that we are just a home business which is not very active any more. (We sell a few toy items through one of the retail stores Spouse works for. They get a 10% commission on everything we sell. We made $380 in December, $80 in January, $150 in February, and $150 in March. Before this we went two years without selling more than $400 total. Like I said, we're kind of inactive.)
But this past Monday I pushed the "magic button" on the telephone to get us hooked into the stimulus package money. Perhaps we could get a loan and start up a nice little business and hire a couple of people to work. Life would be great.
I soon found myself in telephone conversations with a fast-talking salesman from a company which helps businesses connect to Foundations which are giving away money. Not loans. Grants! I confess that I wasn't hopeful, because NOTHING we have tried since my job was eliminated (with half the department) back in 2002 has worked. Nothing. Everything has failed, even when it seemed there was no way it could fail. Pity.
Well yesterday the guy calls me all excited. He's been in contact with a couple of Foundations which like our idea. The total package: $76,000.
A lot of money, although realistically not so much as we would need as a startup company. Still, $76,000. Talk about a shot in the arm!
But there's always a catch, isn't there? And the catch this time was that in order for this company to help us "close the deal" with these Foundations we would have to "retain" them, much like one does a lawyer. The cost: $2,400. The catch? We're broke.
We got $3,000 back in taxes this year and shoved it into a new savings account to use when we find a new place to live. (Our house has been sold at sheriff's auction, and the only way we can continue living here past August is if we win the lottery or something.) But that is ALL of the money we have. If we retained this company, we would only have $600 left. Not enough to find any place anywhere. Should the Foundations choose against us, we would have virtually nothing with no way to get more.
We didn't even bother considering who might loan us the money. We're not that cruel anymore. We let my sister TWICE give us money - totalling more than $10,000 - to catch up on house payments, only to see the effort lost. The jobs I got to replace the one which was eliminated were also eliminated in massive reductions in staff. (Being the new boy on the block isn't always a good thing.) Now she doesn't have the money and in five months we won't have the house. She could lose her house because she was so generous to us. God I hope that does not happen. We won't let someone else make the same mistake. We shouldn't have let Judayl. I feel creepy every time I think about it. I can just imagine my thoughts toward someone else had I heard of this instead of lived it. Hypocrite, I am.
So saying no was easy. We need the money to find a place to live. That a Foundation is interested in us is no guarantee. For those of you who write, think of it like this: Telling the Foundations about us was like sending a query letter. Them being interested in us is like an agent/editor requesting the full manuscript. The book can still be rejected. There are no guarantees. Life doesn't give many good ones.
The sad thing, too, is that I really don't even know if this guy I talked with is on the up-and-up, or is part of a scam. There are news reports all the time now of scammers contacting people facing forclosure and telling them they can help if the homeowners will just give them so much money. The homeowners give the money and the scammers leave town. Many family have found themselves on the street because of these scammers. That's what's happened in our world. It's a predator feeding frenzy right now.
That also factored in our decsion. Contacting the Better Business Bureau proved to be of no help. They knew nothing of this company, which claims to have been in business since 1997. Well, anyone can claim anything. Maybe they're legit. Maybe not. It doesn't matter. We're not giving them our money.
So, we still have our $3,000, and that's good. But nothing's improved. And that's a pity.
Another couple may have chose other than how we did. They may have felt reckless, bold, confident, lucky, whatever. But Spouse and I are Midwesterners through-and-through. We both come from Scandanavian descent. Her roots are mostly from Germany. I have heavy German ancestry through my maternal grandfather, but I can also lay claim to Scottish, Dutch, and Jewish (just a smidgeon) blood. Mostly, I think I have Danish ancestry. (Based on my Daddy's appearance I've sometimes wondered if I don't have Native American roots. But as I have yet to find any documenation on his daddy - my daddy was illigitimate - I'm not sure.)
What was our decision?
Well, I had come up with the clever idea of operating a bookstore. I had found a distributor of overstock books, taken from stores which simply wished to get rid of an inventory, or which had gone out of business. Books could be purchased by the pound or, in some cases, for a dollar apiece. Children's hard-cover books would be a dollar each. But that's a good price! Think of it. One thousand hard-cover books for one thousand dollars. Each of those books would cost around ten dollars in the big time book stores such as Barnes and Noble and Borders. Even Amazon.com would charge near that. But we could sell them for two dollars each and do just fine. We could probably stock a store for less than $10,000 in inventory.
We also sell gift items, which includes toys. Having a children's book section which also had toys for sale would be wonderful, I think. We sell wooden trains, made in Vermont (which means no lead in the paint and such), musical dolls made in Iowa, and a variety of other toys. Since Spouse has spent the last five years working retail almost exclusively, we figured we would do well with such an enterprise. The problem would be money.
Since we already have the gift business we are registered with the State of Minnesota and have a Tax ID and everything. We're so small that we only have to submit sales tax in January of each year, but we're still considered a business. So, every week we get at least one phone call about advertising on-line, being listed in a phone directory, or offered a new deal on someone's new product. Lately, we have also been getting included on the stimulus package calls. Until this week I've ignored the automated calls and informed the real people who call that we are just a home business which is not very active any more. (We sell a few toy items through one of the retail stores Spouse works for. They get a 10% commission on everything we sell. We made $380 in December, $80 in January, $150 in February, and $150 in March. Before this we went two years without selling more than $400 total. Like I said, we're kind of inactive.)
But this past Monday I pushed the "magic button" on the telephone to get us hooked into the stimulus package money. Perhaps we could get a loan and start up a nice little business and hire a couple of people to work. Life would be great.
I soon found myself in telephone conversations with a fast-talking salesman from a company which helps businesses connect to Foundations which are giving away money. Not loans. Grants! I confess that I wasn't hopeful, because NOTHING we have tried since my job was eliminated (with half the department) back in 2002 has worked. Nothing. Everything has failed, even when it seemed there was no way it could fail. Pity.
Well yesterday the guy calls me all excited. He's been in contact with a couple of Foundations which like our idea. The total package: $76,000.
A lot of money, although realistically not so much as we would need as a startup company. Still, $76,000. Talk about a shot in the arm!
But there's always a catch, isn't there? And the catch this time was that in order for this company to help us "close the deal" with these Foundations we would have to "retain" them, much like one does a lawyer. The cost: $2,400. The catch? We're broke.
We got $3,000 back in taxes this year and shoved it into a new savings account to use when we find a new place to live. (Our house has been sold at sheriff's auction, and the only way we can continue living here past August is if we win the lottery or something.) But that is ALL of the money we have. If we retained this company, we would only have $600 left. Not enough to find any place anywhere. Should the Foundations choose against us, we would have virtually nothing with no way to get more.
We didn't even bother considering who might loan us the money. We're not that cruel anymore. We let my sister TWICE give us money - totalling more than $10,000 - to catch up on house payments, only to see the effort lost. The jobs I got to replace the one which was eliminated were also eliminated in massive reductions in staff. (Being the new boy on the block isn't always a good thing.) Now she doesn't have the money and in five months we won't have the house. She could lose her house because she was so generous to us. God I hope that does not happen. We won't let someone else make the same mistake. We shouldn't have let Judayl. I feel creepy every time I think about it. I can just imagine my thoughts toward someone else had I heard of this instead of lived it. Hypocrite, I am.
So saying no was easy. We need the money to find a place to live. That a Foundation is interested in us is no guarantee. For those of you who write, think of it like this: Telling the Foundations about us was like sending a query letter. Them being interested in us is like an agent/editor requesting the full manuscript. The book can still be rejected. There are no guarantees. Life doesn't give many good ones.
The sad thing, too, is that I really don't even know if this guy I talked with is on the up-and-up, or is part of a scam. There are news reports all the time now of scammers contacting people facing forclosure and telling them they can help if the homeowners will just give them so much money. The homeowners give the money and the scammers leave town. Many family have found themselves on the street because of these scammers. That's what's happened in our world. It's a predator feeding frenzy right now.
That also factored in our decsion. Contacting the Better Business Bureau proved to be of no help. They knew nothing of this company, which claims to have been in business since 1997. Well, anyone can claim anything. Maybe they're legit. Maybe not. It doesn't matter. We're not giving them our money.
So, we still have our $3,000, and that's good. But nothing's improved. And that's a pity.
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