Shit I Have Done Since My Dad Died

 

    I don't care how well you or your parent(s) have The Will and Trust Arrangement tied up- something will go wrong. Be prepared. Just...breathe. And drink about it. I recommend drinking.

   Because the Federal Government is on fire, and nobody knows what's going on, or what their job is and they are trying to train new people because those who knew their shit were bullied out. 

    FIRST Close the bank accounts. Don't be nice about it, and think you only need to block anyone from removing rent (because they will). If you leave it open, the Flaming Federal Government will continue to deposit Social Security, and pensions. Even after they've been notified of his death. And then...they'll want it back. Which is fine, nobody committed fraud, it's just a mess for the bank. Close them all. Immediately. Move the money somewhere else and wait for whoever or whatever to ask. Put it under your pillow. In your underwear drawer. Up your nose, the fridge, the Ficus. But Close The Accounts Immediately.

    Do not put your children on the account, make them beneficiaries. They become liable for your loose ends and debts if they're on the account. This made sense when you were alive  which is why you put them on the account in the first place, so they could help you manage should you be unable to. Nope. Don't Do It. 

    Today is the end of April. I still do not have the title for dad's trailer moved to my name, let alone his car. 30 April 2025. Dad died 28 February.

    He left a signed title to the trailer.

    Which he owned, but the trailer is on a rental plot. Nobody can have the trailer unless they are first approved to rent the plot. I cannot begin to tell you what a pain in the ass that is.

    So that took a month to determine that nobody in his trailer park wanted to follow through and buy the trailer. Then we have to figure it out. A realtor is not a person you would think of for a trailer on a rental plot, but one has signs in his trailer park. So we call her.

    Side note, we've called and emailed the rental management company at least a dozen times. As of today we still have not heard back from them, but they put his March rent through his checking account. Awesome. He died 28 Feb. We know Matt the Handyman, he's the only one that was around while we were digging out the trailer. He was also the one checking messages and forwarding them to management. He asked every time he saw me if they'd called  me yet. I said "Nope". Looking confused, he told me they had told him they had spoken with me. Huh. Liars? Nooooooo...not possible.

    Then the Merry Go Round of DMV began_______________________

     A realtor is willing to buy dad's trailer even though it's on a rental lot, but I have to pay his taxes and get the title changed to my name. Because even though he signed the title before he died, she can't sell it unless it's in my name, or whoever is still alive's name. I'm alive. Whooo Go Me.

    Five visits to three different DMV's in two counties later, I still haven't crossed the finish line.

    The realtor said to go to the Aurora DMV for Arapahoe County because Littleton is unprepared for Mobile homes. Nobody takes walk ins, and the link to make an appointment is  hidden. So trip one--taking a morning off---to drive to Aurora for recon. No appointments that day, no walk ins, sucks to suck. But, located the appointment app.

    Trip Two was to Littleton, to avoid driving to Aurora. They said I needed paperwork they could not provide me, nor direct me to. 

    It went like this: Clerk #8 at the Littleton DMV got through part of the paperwork and said "You need an XK(73 Banana Form from upstairs. Go get it and then come right back here." She fully expected me to return with said form, which means she believed it existed.

    I went upstairs. Gum chewing Brittney In A Box stopped talking to her friend long enough to look at me. I told her I needed the XK(73 Banana Form to take back downstairs.

    "We don't have that. It has to be notarized."

    Please rise above the stereotype, Brittney, and help an old lady out.

    " Why would #8 send me up here for paperwork, and tell me to go back downstairs with said paperwork if you don't have the paperwork to give to me?"

    Shrug. "I think a lawyer has that form."

    "I don't have a lawyer."

    "Like probate."

    "This isn't in probate.

    Shrug. Pops gum. Twirls hair.

   I try again. "Can I get it online?"

    "I dunno."

    I exit the building. I do not return to #8 at the DMV due to blinding rage.

     I had to get my afternoon classes covered and waste my time. Again. And I think "Well, the realtor was correct. Littleton has no idea what they're doing. Shame, since they are infinitely more convenient than Aurora." I go home to drink about it.

    Trip Three was another morning off to drive to Aurora who -according to the realtor- know what they are doing. Clerk #7- who is the same guy who had to check me in because the QR code on my phone didn't work- has me sign the title.  Great! Good step, no additional paperwork, I'm feeling positive. Maybe Aurora is better at this. 

    Taking my ID he then says I have to go to Jeffco because I live in Jeffco. 

    The trailer is in Arapahoe County.  I'm not moving it.

    No matter. Go to Jeffco. We can't do this here.

    Waste of more time off, which I am now OUT of, and subbing to make up the lost income which limits my flexibility even more since all government offices are open 7am to 4pm.

    Trip Four To Jeffco clerk #10 who said "Aurora is wrong. Why would they send you here? It's the county the trailer is in, not your physical address." 

    I'm in the wrong place. 

    More specifically, I've been deliberately sent to the wrong place.

    She gives me a form where she has highlighted the words (paraphrasing) "You're an idiot for sending her here, you were supposed to do this where the trailer is located, Dumb Ass." I have no intention of ever returning to Aurora, but sure, I'll take the form.

    I demanded at least a duplicate title in case I choose to nail it to the management company's door---not unlike Martin Luther on the church door. I'm now thinking of surrendering the trailer, and I don't want my name on anything. A duplicate title with dad's name and his death certificate should be enough to stake to the Management Company's door with "SURRENDER #7" written in red. Or black smoke. You get me.

    Jeffco also gave me the notarized paperwork that Littleton said I needed but did not provide. 

   BUT please note the Jeffco clerk NOTORIZED THE PAPERWORK while I was there. Unlike Brittney, who apparently was not aware that the DMV has a Notary Republic in house ( I've always called them that, its sounds better than "notary public". No idea why.)Or of necessary paperwork for these transfers. Or of her job description. Do Better Brittney.

    Trip Five Back to Littleton. Now I have the paperwork they said I needed but Brittney could not provide. I can't get there until 3.15. Clerk #12 has "Associate in Training" on his window. I take a deep breath, but he moves everything along. I have to go upstairs to two offices. At least there's progress. An older version of Brittney who is aware of her job whips through the paperwork. Done-largely because form XK(73 was filled out and notarized in Jeffco. Taxes stamped "No taxes". I paid $10 for them to stamp "No taxes". Told to go back down to DMV and see the exact same guy you started with-station #12.  It's 3.40pm .They close at 4pm. #12 is deeply entrenched in refinancing somebody's loan --so it seems. At 3.50pm I release my inner Karen (I like to believe I have her in me) and I demand to talk to someone, I'm so close to the finish line please just somebody record and print this. #10, under duress, agrees to help me at 3.55 pm. In my distress, I hand her the stack of papers---including both titles.

     She has no idea why this wasn't done the first time since dad signed the title before he died. She's also confused about why I have two titles, which means filling out a different form. It's not a problem if it's 3pm, but at five to four the whole thing has to be resigned and re-registered and why is everyone incompetent, and "Why do you have any of this paperwork, his signed title was enough"...all of this is my fault for doing as I was told at each DMV...#10 wants to go home and I'm keeping her and apparently I'm the incompetent one in this scenario, not the previous four clerks....and.... 4 pm. 

    Ding.

    They're closed. Like closed. The County Is Closed. They can't even take five minutes to finish this and log it, because the computers are all on Super Secret Auto Lock that is beyond their control. Super Secret Auto Lock arms at 4pm. All county computers will explode if you try to log on after 4pm.

    At my wit's end, I just start to cry. How very Un Karen of me. I cannot believe any of this, and nobody has apologized for wasting my time and essentially costing me money*. Why am I surprised this government agency is so broken? #10 stares at me the way my Intro students stare when I'm teaching iambic pentameter, and she gruffly makes an appointment for me at 7.10 am on Thursday. She does this because I've started to cry and she needs me to leave---did I mention it's four o'clock and they close at four o'clock. 

  She makes an appointment which I really shouldn't be able to make due to my schedule, but I can as it's an early release Thursday. Her begrudging attempt to help makes it worse, and I cry more, creating a spectacle after 4pm at the Littleton DMV for the few remaining tellers and the security guard. You're welcome.

  So that's still not finished.

  30 April, 2025, Respectfully submitted, Douglas C Neidermeyer.

     Update 1 May 8.15 am. At 7 am I marched into the Littleton DMV armed with everything signed. Today's clerk is #12, but a different guy, I guess they're not married to their station. How nice for them, they are free to move around like nomads with no possessions of their own identifying their station. He was a nice, chatty guy whose dad died three years ago. He gets me. He had me sign more forms, pay $7 for the title, walk over to records to pay $13 to record the trailer and handed me a title with my name on it. Unbelievable.

   Even with his chatting, I was out in 20 minutes.

  I texted the realtor to let her know I need the next step and I have every reason to believe something will go wrong and I'm gonna end up owning this trailer. Burning it down is not an option, I like dad's neighbors. But today I finished the Trailer DMV Marathon 2025. I can't drink about it 'cause it's 8 am and I am at work.

    My next DMV adventure is being pushed into June when I don't have to work. Which is a lie, I'm going to have to work. But it's a different teaching gig and should be more flexible. My dad weirdly put my mom's name on his car title. They've been divorced for 43 years. We can't find the title, we can only find the registration. His car is parked in front of my house because I don't have the time or energy to again embark on anything at the DMV. I think all I need is the registration and his death certificate to get a new title printed, then we'll just tell mom what we're doing and she can sign off on the title. But you know it will not be that easy, even if it is really just that easy.

                                                     ___________

Social Security was sent his death certificate but still deposited $7k in his account 6 March. His Social Security was not ever $7k monthly. Nobody's is.  It makes no sense. It was deposited in his savings, not his checking. Now they want it back. Which is fine but...why is it there? Fraud? What? Incompetence under fire. My sister thinks disgruntled exiting employees are doing things like this. I support them, I just wish it was done and SS didn't find out. I wouldn't use the money, I just think it's funny to let it sit there and rot for years. I assume even with the MuskFire still burning, eventually they'd find it and want it back. Whatever. So that's sitting there waiting to get sucked back out, with nobody explaining why would you deposit that much money in my dad's account? Also, it was not deposited in his checking but his savings. WTF. Cue circus music.

                                                            _____

    I called the OPM, who are in charge of his post office pension, every day for two weeks. The outgoing message said "We're busy, good luck getting someone- Do It Online". Turns out they were doing the MuskFire Reshuffle. But you can't do anything online without an account number...or Double Secret Code which I do not have. When I called again at the end of March, there was magically a menu to choose from. None of the choices were 'Report Your Dad's Death, Please Stop Paying His Pension". They are for "Reporting Fraud", "Tell Us How Great We're Doing" and "Apply For A Job". When you make a choice, there is more AI and buttons requiring account numbers you do not possess, or a person who cannot help you unless you wish to report fraud or apply for their job, because they just started and they're over it. I finally just mailed them his death certificate. They'll want their money back as well. It's there. I'll wait. I refer you to step one: Close All The Bank Accounts Immediately.

    Again, sending the retired mail man's death certificate through the mail to tell the post office he's dead is a clear circle of life thing. I also received his cremated remains through the US Mail. I see you, dad. Love you. And you're right, USPS is shit since you left.

    I'd like to take this moment to say His Death Certificate Was Sent To Social Security And The County The Second Week Of March. None of these agencies TALK to each other, or even check websites. The VA knew immediately, they are connected. 

                                                        _________

    The VA---who I had been playing tag with since December, trying to get them to approve a day nurse or in home assistance for dad-responded when I called a smaller phone number. When visiting their website to report my dad's death, I foolishly called the large print phone number that said "Call here to report a death", which took me to the I'VE FALLEN AND I CAN'T GET UP  People who want to give me a free devise that will cost $200 a month to monitor. After hanging up on them, and finding the correct phone number, the actual VA were great, had everything ready and already knew he had passed because they talk to social security. That was Monday, 2 March. They don't much care about the living vets, but they're on it when they can stop paying benefits after their death.

                                                    ________________

    He donated his body to science, and was cremated. Which involved the coroner and Science Care and the Sheridan police not understanding how that worked, resulting in my sister and I sitting in his trailer in a panic trying to find the paperwork. In the end, my father, the retired postal worker, arrived at my house via USPS in a box with an orange banner screaming  "CREMATED REMAINS".  The retired mail man was delivered through the mail.

    I hope it's him, as after he was picked up by Science Care, I was made aware of another similar organization committing fraud. They were using the donated bodies for public science fairs and sending cremated remains of...someone else, or raccoons or whatever...to the family. So the image of my dad pinned to a piece of carboard like a biology frog and being leered at by Las Vegas visitors lingers in my mind. Thanks for that. Also, now you get to see it. You're welcome.

                                         ________________________

   In conclusion all in all to sum up...even if you've been "downsizing", giving away things to your kids/grandkids before you die you've not done enough. Unless you sell your house and car and everything in it, turn off the power and internet and close your bank accounts before you die, you've not done enough.

    Whether you know it or not, you've made an unspoken agreement with your children to get sick and go to hospice and then die, or get sick and go to the hospital and die there. Car accidents and dying at home were not part of the agreement, and nobody's prepared. Particularly to walk into your home and find you there. Do better.

                                        SCENE

   * I switched districts in December. I do not have bereavement time off. I have only four sick days. They dock my pay if I take time without the sick day, so I'm subbing to make up the difference. Which means I can't leave early or come in late because of a DMV appointment because I'm subbing. So I'm trying to wrangle around when the DMV hours are the same as my teaching hours.

    

Who Do You Think You Are? A Breakfast Club Essay Staring Down The Barrel Of 60

 

            You will write an essay telling me who you think you are. And I mean an essay,  not one word written a thousand times.

            Ok. So I assume I am writing a thousand words.

            First, I wish I had done this at 18. For all I know I did, and the motorcycle accident concussions, teaching trauma and current Country On Fire Circus have wiped it from memory. Who I think I am is a difficult question, as I feel I'm still trying to figure that out myself. But I can authoritatively write about the roles I have played and how they inform identity: wife, mother, teacher.

            I am not someone who ever wanted to get married. I did not wear toilet paper veils or design bedsheet wedding dresses as a child. I liked horses, I wanted a horse, I learned about horses and never got a horse. I attempted to perform at a talent show in third grade only to bail at curtain because I had not prepared anything. With no understanding of performance outside of choir class, where the songs are given to you and rehearsed in class, I foolishly believed I could show up and just do something. Natalie Last Name Forgotten took ballet, and she performed before me at the talent show. 

        And I did not.

        First lesson in rehearsing, planning and commitment. And also realized I was on my own, nobody was going to help me or enroll me in ballet or piano. I have vague memories of asking but those additional classes cost money. The closest I came was a "Tumbling and Trampoline" class at the rec center, where I epically failed at executing a simple cartwheel. In third grade, however, my great good friend Debbie Rice and I did short skits for Mr. Weisheit's class. He was a great Oak tree hippie of a man who fostered our creative needs.

        I got married because Jim asked, and I didn't know what else to do. I loved him, and he seemed like he had a plan for his life. I loved theatre in high school, but the idea of New York scared the crap out of me. I'm not a great wife---I don't cook, I'm not particularly sexy or can even stand to be touched and I hate sports. Because of his influence, I went to college, kept myself employed and learned what support actually is.  Like Forrest, that's all I have to say about that.

        I never wanted children. I was quite vocal about this fact. I had not had a nurturing childhood so to me, kids were something you had because you were supposed to, and the baseline was to raise them by guilt and keep them alive. I had no interest in repeating a family cyclecurse. But Jim pushed the issue a bit, and I relented. I am not a great mom. Many of my poor decisions were based on listening to voice of my own mother in my head because I have no idea how to parent. I have a lot of regrets, and no feeling of success. My children are amazing despite how I raised them.

       I started teaching because I failed at theatre. Since "Those who can't do, teach" is a common quote I have heard, it seemed a logical progression to follow. I gave up time with my family, missed warning signs with my children's mental health and flirted with alcoholism in the name of running a strong department. Whether I was successful is highly subjective, and depends on who you ask. I failed first at Littleton, run out because I could not keep my mouth shut about the inequitable and racist choices the principal was making, only to fail again at Hinkley after four years through Covid. I am now at Kennedy, building a baseline for the next person to succeed. 

      Proofreading these 557 words, I realize I could have written one word a thousand times and had the same impact: failure.

      I bet if I had done this at 18 it would have been infinitely more positive, had more passion or fire. Anger. Frustration. Something. Anything. I identified with Bender in Breakfast Club,even though I was likely more Allison in hiding myself in fear. I did such an impressive job, I cannot even answer the question "Who do you think you are?"

      Sigh.

    

Redirecting Distraction Distraction Discombobulated

 

    24 April

        Disco should be short for discombobulated. Discotheque is stupid. 

        Yesterday I attempted tap with my five regularly attending sixth period kiddos.

        They are: A Cheerleader, A Football player, an ROTC kid, Band Kid and Landon. So pretty much The Breakfast Club. They are goofy, using any reason to get off task but not rude, or refusing to participate. Just loosey goosey and while they're not much interested in theatre, they like learning most of The Things. ROTC and Band love tech. Cheerleader is afraid of heights.  Football and Landon are always partners, and usually one will be the girl in the scene.

         Landon was only willing to learn tap after he and Football created every letter of the alphabet with their bodies, assisted by a bit of coaching from the Cheerleader and Band Kid laughing and making suggestions. That's pretty much how that class runs. ROTC had to leave early for testing.

        So tap was a stretch. Landon is well over six feet tall and has boat sized feet, so no tap shoes could be found to fit him. I made him tap in his socks as his thick rubber soled shoes would be useless. But he did it -ish, and broke into noodle dancing only twice. He literally looks like the inflatable tube dancer outside the new European Market and Deli on Alameda and Kipling.

        So while searching for tap shoes, Cheerleader found a pair, but one was missing laces. I told her she had to cannibalize a different shoe. She did not know how to unlace the ties. So I did it. Then she stared at the shoelace in her one hand and the empty eyed shoe in the other, paused and said "I don't know how to do this".  While I quizzed her on other weird things she cannot do, Football started reading the quotes stenciled on the fitting room wall, out loud. As one does. He asked me who the quotes were from. I pointed out each one was cited: Shakespeare, play titles, student quotes and David Bowie. 

        "Who is David Bowie?" he asked loudly.

        I did not answer. We are used to each other now, and communicate telepathically.

        "Wait, Miss, I know I know hold on hold on...he's the guy who paints himself, right?"

        I shrug "Sure, sometimes."

        "I know WAIT I got it, hold on...he's the guy with the ...the -" he starts waving one hand across his face " the lightning bolt on his face! YES! Yes, that's it  right?" His excitement is not unlike spiking a football after a touch down.

        Once they very -ish learned a time step and shuffle off to Buffalo, Band Kid chose Metallica as their choreography music. Specifically, bass boosted "Orion".

        So I have that to look forward to on Friday.

        Discombobulated. Distracted. Dismount

        It's almost over. 

        I have worked in three schools in two districts this year, and managed to miss conferences in every building.

        I also did not direct a musical this year, for the first time in 21 years.

        Discombobulated and ready to dismount. It's almost over.

        Brain fog frog dog slog log smog schlog CITYONFIRE I hear the singing of the Beggar Woman who's actually Sweeney's wife screaming and nobody hears, every time I click on Facebook. How Is This Happening?! What Can I Do?

        Too much. Discombobulated one thing at a time. Do one thing.

        Teach tap to the Breakfast Club. Check.

        I also led 17 Special Ed students through their performance of a short play. First time on stage for all of them. Six are completely non verbal. Two in wheelchairs, one in a walker. No special ed teacher, just me and five paras and the nurse for the kid with CP. Which is not a concern of RFK's, many of them will never write poetry, or pay taxes, either, due to a tragically short life span but it's the autistic kids he's mad about. But Elon is self diagnosed as autistic, aren't they all on the same team? WAIT-WAIT Elon does NOT PAY TAXES!!! I SEE THE CONNECTION I GET IT I GET. I feel like Football finally connecting David Bowie to a lighting bolt, jolt of lighting AH HA!!!

            Discotheque  should be discoteck. Why is it spelled with a British "que"? Because they dance in lines? Do The Hustle!

            It's all good. I'm fine.

            Almost time to dismount.

            Disembark.

            Titanic.

                                            Scene

        

And That's How That's Going

          This is a moment in: BUILDNG A THEATRE PROGRAM IN A SMALL TITLE ONE SCHOOL.

          Four weeks ago, I wrestled 10 kids into agreeing to perform in a small "Showcase"- simply an evening demonstrating what they've learned since January. They don't even need to memorize anything new,  just revisit a piece or skill they did in class and perform for friends and parents. Low Risk.

         Ten. I had to cajole and beg half of them. The other half were gung ho and ready to go.

         The Showcase is this Friday, 25 April

         Yesterday, 21 April, the following happened.

         2nd period, the two girls doing their Odd Couple scene for the showcase,  who have been rehearsing and want to perform (they did Cabaret in February) can no longer do their scene. Kid 1 has family issues that are encroaching on her time, and she will have to attend therapy Friday evening. Kid 2 had her knee surgery in February--we're "cadaver buddies" as we had the same surgery---was in a car accident with her mom this weekend and reinjured her knee, causing new appointments to be scheduled --she cannot rehearse. They were both very upset to have to drop, which I appreciate. It is not their fault. 

        4th period, the SPED kids have their show on Weds during class time, and two of their representatives were slated to "perform" a brief moment from their play on Friday night. One of them, Kid 3, got suspended last week for gang tagging and upon his return has chosen to ignore class attendance. A second student, one of the two gen ed kids enrolled to help out, has said she will not be coming to class, or the show. She just doesn't want to. I have four narrators---two gen ed, two sped---and one on each side just bailed. MONDAY.  The show is WEDNESDAY.  This also impacts Friday night as Kid 3 was supposed to do a short version of this play with his buddy for the Showcase. 

        5th period, the small group is split up, mixing and sharing a devised piece, The Great Dictator monologue by Charlie Chaplain, and  a scene from Mean Girls. I rallied them at the beginning of class to tell them I'd lost three performers and made them all promise to see this through on Friday. They all agreed.

    One of the actors, Kid 4, who we have supported and talked into doing the Mean Girls scene on Friday has done nothing to learn lines or create a character. He clearly has the movie memorized, but does not come to class enough to have improved as a performer. He doesn't understand why we rehearse and speaks in a whisper. 

    So I said as much, and his answer was simply "Why? I'll do it Friday." I patiently explained for the Gozillionth time that this is what rehearsal is, we repeat. I don't know he'll project on Friday because he's never projected in class. I did not say anything about his weak attendance because truly he takes the bus from Arvada and misses class half the time. Nonetheless, this is a performance for an audience and you have to learn your lines and project, at bare minimum. I gave him suggestions and had them do it again. Then he went silent and went to the bathroom, from which he texted his group that he was dropping out of the scene. Not only is it Monday and the scene is Friday night, but it's a performance grade for class on Friday. Sadly, nobody was surprised.

    6th period, Kid 5 is supposed to perform the prologue Friday night with a partner from 6th period. She did not show up for school or class, unexcused. No idea if she intends to show up Friday.

     So of my 10 kids, five have bailed.

    Gratefully, I have two who can step in and the remaining five can shuffle. 

    Seriously? It should not be this hard.

    The kids who are dedicated are left holding this together, which is not fair to them at all. However, that's pretty typical for high school theatre, I just never noticed in a department of 50 kids.

    Man it is noticeable now.

    And I never noticed at Hink because kids wanted to do theatre, they just needed to be trained appropriately. I had No Boys though, and we did have to use a kid who was not ideal when our Roger got pulled out of RENT (due to a sweep for kids who did not have enough credit hours to graduate I have so many opinions about that decision). That sucked, but I had a kid who was willing to step in. Of course by then, I'd been at it for three years. 

    To be fair, I walked in in January of 2020 and there were kids in classes and a musical in rehearsal.  They just didn't have a permanent teacher. It all ended on 12 March 2020, and the next two years were a scramble to rebuild in person with kids who had no interest in being anywhere in person. That was hard, but I did it. I put up seven productions last year, only to be cut back this year. 

    I digress.

    I don't remember having so many bailers, ever. Certainly not at Littleton, we were turning kids away from Cabarets and cutting them from auditions. At Hinkley, they failed A Lot but they showed up. Nobody bailed. Never once did a kid who was given a role in class to perform for an audience say "I'm not doing this".  OK, sure, they wouldn't show up on performance day, but that was for class. You're a gen ed kid assigned to helping sped kids with their show and you're bailing. That's a new level.

    This is not on me, this is not because I'm not engaging or don't have bell ringers or blah blah blah. This is what has happened to kids who have no hope. The gen ed bailer is a drag, but her friend who is also in class involuntarily and has been sketchy with attendance, has had the opposite response. He stepped up. He's taking lines that aren't his, stepping in to help kids keep on track, working on his projection. He knows his blocking and cues.  When these two started in January, he had moved to theatre because he was ditching band. He's a ditcher, don't get me wrong, and when they started he leaned heavily on his friend. He had to be put into her group for scenes. Now, she's bailing and he's finding his own way. The paras commented on it yesterday, they wanted to make sure I had noticed.

    I noticed. And I'm ending on that positive note. All is not lost.

    And this is harder than it needs to be.

    Two things can be true.

                                    Scene

        

Easter 4/20/25

   Easter 4.20.25

 The Brady Bunch is on. I decided Brooklyn Nine-Nine has run its course for my anxiety. I did the same thing with Schitt’s Creek, and I’d probably still be watching 30 Rock if it was on any platform anywhere that I can access with no effort.

I can’t let the fact that it is Easter, 4/ 20, Hitler’s birthday, Columbine, legalizing pot pass without some sort of silly blog. Which at the moment is just me watching The Brady Bunch and remembering how every TV show really wanted all families to be singing families. I think that’s why my mom insisted that we sang. We would sing at church, we sang at nursing homes and she made our costumes. She played the guitar for us. We were never Partridge family level. How could we? We were three girls without David Cassidy.

This is also an experiment in voice to text for a blog. I feel like this will be different than me typing because I am babbling directly into my phone instead of typing and letting it synthesize through my brain first.

I keep asking God how I’m supposed to help what I’m supposed to do. I’m just …being a teacher isn’t enough, but then when I try to think of other things I could do I get overwhelmed. I can’t really drive for meals and wheels because I work during the day. I don’t wanna give money to people on the street corners because it’s very difficult for me to not just tell them to get in my car and bring them home. Make them live with me in my spare room which Jim would absolutely lose his mind if I did something like that. I feel like if everybody did the bare minimum, we wouldn’t be here, but nobody will even do the bare minimum. And I guess that’s where I am. I don’t know where the bare minimum is. So I teach and hope that counts, because otherwise I freeze up.

I’ve cleaned up both costume shops and both buildings given clothes and coats to our immigrant populations and our kids in need. We give money to charitable organizations. We don’t have a lot. It’s not like I’m rich and I can be a philanthropist you know, but is that really rare minimum I feel like if that’s the bare minimum then that’s really sad, but on the other hand if that’s your minimum and everybody did the bare minimum we’d be in a lot better place. Also a kind leadership would be helpful.

The only way this revolution is gonna happen is if we talk to each other and we bond together as a community we just are not having any. We aren’t having any. I don’t know when we became such hobbit hiding, cave dwelling people, but I am the same way I have social anxiety, and I have a hard time talking to people. I have to force myself to communicate with my neighbors just out of safety. You’re fine.

I’m gonna leave that “you’re fine” there  because that was me telling the dogs and they were fine before I let them out. A Thing I do appreciate about this voice to text to Google doc on my phone, instead of voice to text through text, is it’s not picking up the television. I do appreciate that.

OK, so this Brady Bunch episode is reminiscent of a conversation I just had yesterday with Harper. Greg is at a record manager meeting, and these record executives are very hippie ass and hippie tastic because money can be made off of it. But originally the hippies were not about money, they were about walking away from the establishment. And the same thing happened to the punks. Harper and I were talking about punk rock yesterday. Punk rock was anti-establishment anti-Authority, all of these wonderful ideas and then some capitalist got a hold of the fashion ideas and the music ideas and turned it all into a money making machine And now we have Hot Topic.

All right well this is what happens when I do voice to text for a blog. I intended to talk about Easter and how stupid it is that it’s on 4/20. I guess they really couldn’t control that. Harper said there was quite a ruckus down around her apartment building last night, 4/20 does bring out all the crazies and of course for 4/19 last night there was another protest down by the capital so that brings more people down there. But those people are suburban people who have to find parking, those aren’t the 420 bananas that lose their heads in Capitol Hill.

SCENE

Week 3 Post Dad's Death

 

                  And here we are, three weeks past his passing, to the day.

                Still no death certificate in our hands.

                Cremated remains were delivered to my house yesterday. So instead of going to the rally to fight against defunding my vocation, I stayed home and binged The Residence and slept and caught up on emails from work and waited.

                OPM still has not had a human answer the phone so we can tell them to stop depositing dad's postal retirement.  They're so overwhelmed, there is a simple message (I am taking liberties with subtext here)  that clicks when you call: "We're overwhelmed, nobody works here any more, God Help Us, you're on your own". They handle postal retirements and all civil servant jobs. Meaning as feds, they've been eviscerated and it's possible there's one guy left working there. I imagine an 80 year old Jimmy Stewart, stuttering through his poem about his dog as the one 1940's western electric rotary phone rings relentlessly.

                I was able to contact the VA, surprisingly, the first Monday after dad died. As the woman with the thick New Jersey accent walked me through the standard questions, saying she'd send a link for the death certificate I heard her keyboard clicking and she stopped "Oh, I see we've already received notification of his death. You need not upload the death certificate". Which is great news, as that was 3 March and it is now 21 March and we still don't have the death certificate. But weirdly the VA does.

              We assume the OPM will receive notification of his death at some point. 

              Circling back, without a death certificate we are at a full stop with the following:

                        * selling his trailer

                        * transferring the title of his car.

                        *finishing his life insurance claim to release funds

                        *finishing his investment claim to release funds

                        * change his mailing address

             We are assuming the one guy still working at social security--who may or not be Jimmy Stewart who is also at the OPM, maybe it's Katherine Hepburn----will find out about dad's death the same way the VA did. I've tried to call for days, and at SS I'm put on hold with music forever, instead of a recorded "Good Luck" message like OPM. 

              Digging out his trailer has been taken on by my sister, god love her. I can't spent too much time inside, it triggers my asthma, which has been exacerbated by three serious bouts of Covid. So.I have spent little time, I just dug out big stuff and called a Junk Guy. I'm usually the kid doing the heavy lifting, I hate making phone calls, but the tasks had to be split. So I did phone calls. 

              Also, I'm chronicling this because nobody tells you about this stuff. They tell you to have your documents sorted and filed and easy to find for your family. Cool. But What If your loved one was tied up with the government agencies that are now being shut down? What if they had a DNR but didn't know to put it on their fridge? What if they didn't have car insurance because they were a hooligan?

            We assumed once the coroner signed the death certificate and filed it, it'd be sent to us immediately, and EVERYBODY would know: the bank, the VA, Social Security, Insurance, the Post Office. There is so much spying and so many algorithms working overtime to determine our likes and political ideals and shopping habits and weakest spots undermining our autonomy, I assumed the government would have known dad died before we did. If you want to control pensions and social security, shouldn't you have a quickie system that picks up coroner reports daily so you can cut off funding?

            OH, RIGHT, Fusk is a private unelected citizen, wreaking havoc on our systems. Right. Yet, if he's so worried about 150 year olds receiving social security, shouldn't he have someone answering the phone to report a death so he can cease paying that individual social security? Wouldn't that be more effective than unilaterally stopping payments to every person receiving social security?

            But I digress.

            But do I?

            We are relying on the underfunded post office to deliver death certificates so we can change his address at the post office.

            Reminding everyone that my father was a retired mail carrier. So this is double the fun.

            All of this is business stuff. My other sister in Wyoming set up a celebration of life at his VFW post in Sheridan, Co. Those people are on top of it. They knew him, they liked him, they will provide food and space and drinks.  THAT has been easy. THEY answer the phone. THEY are a well functioning entity.

            The real estate agent who sells trailers in a trailer part that rents the lots was another rabbit hole I went down. It's a motor vehicle. You go to the DMV to change the title or sell the trailer. The new owner is responsible for renting the lot from the property management company---who, I forgot to mention, also does not answer their phone or staff their office on site. None of this requires a realtor unless you want to hire them to sell the trailer. Which we do not, as his neighbor wishes to buy it. But she wanted $3,000 to manage "the transaction". When I asked what that meant--specifically, if I'm going to the DMV and I'm talking to the neighbor, what is she doing for $3k?---she referred me to her Facebook page where she has successfully sold several hundred trailers.    

            Which did not answer my direct question, but answered my question. You get me. As much as I'd love to not have to deal with any of this and as much stress and number of conversations have had to happen to untangle how to sell the trailer to his neighbor, she was not going to do any of that for us for $3k.  I'm still not sure what it was she was going to do for $4k. She never answered beyond "the transaction".

            In addition, if she listed the trailer, she was going to ask the " market value" without walking through it. When she said "I sold a trailer with a hole in the floor for $35k" I stopped listening. This is not a person with a moral compass, as kind as her long winded "Take care of yourself, self care matters" voice message was. As much as her "Hopefully this will work out better than you imagine" text was intended to make me feel at ease, as much as her experience speaks for someone who has found a niche, as much as I wanted to like her...because she's the one who told me we had to go to the DMV. She gave me the maps to the hoops. That was nice. I liked her when I hung up the phone.

           Then I started thinking...and that's never a good day.

            So I called a friend who is a realtor to solidify that we do not need a realtor to sell dad's trailer. Because it is not real estate. He owns the trailer but rents the lot.

            Next week, after I return from a short vacay, I have to take the car registration to the DMV...IF I have a death certificate. Sigh. 

            I have no idea what happens if the loved one who you are digging out has property, a complicated will, a trust, or none of these. What we thought was simply digging out, sorting and making phone calls for a week has become three weeks of untangling the above because the traumatized children who are being asked "How much do you want for the trailer?" are unable to rationally math the math. 

            My sister just texted. The death certificates will be mailed out to us on Monday 24 March.

                                                SCENE

USPS

 

            My father was a retired USPS worker. He worked 30 years.  His route was Englewood, both residential and business.  He was bitten twice that I know of by dogs, not people. He was friendly, everyone liked him--even most dogs. A men's suit shop gave him a suit one holiday. He mentored new postal employees, showing them the ropes as well as how to get around the bureaucracy. When he retired, he was disgusted by how new mail carriers seemed lackadaisical, and how the system was clearly failing. Nobody was getting mail on time. I had to tell him to stop sending cash because nobody was honest any more, dad, you can't put cash in a card in the mail.   

            My father passed on 28 Feb, 2025. Since 1 March (it is now 19 March) I have called the OPM daily trying to tell them to stop his retirement payments. They are so overwhelmed they neither answer the phone or allow voicemail. There is a recording that essentially states "We're overwhelmed. Good Luck". I thought maybe, as a government agency, they would have been notified of his death. But they deposited his retirement on 5 March. Guess I was wrong. I understand they don't just work post office retirement, but also VA. God Speed, friends, I'll stop calling.

            His death certificate has been mailed "To the state and to you", meaning they mailed copies to my mom's address. That's the "You". I have no idea who "The State" is. Still waiting. USPS.

            His cremated remains are being mailed USPS Special delivery tonight, with a tracker stating they will arrive at my house either tomorrow or Friday. I'm going out of town Saturday, I hope they arrive before then.

            That's all. My dad worked for the USPS, retired from USPS and his final deliveries will be made by USPS.

                                                    SCENE

Demonstration 20 March

 

        Gathering, protest, assembly, rally...whatever.

        Polis has proposed a $14 billion cut for public schools.

        So teachers are going down to the capital on Thursday to speak up.

        They're going to have to fight for a spot, there has been an ongoing protest down there since 21 January, 2025.

        The kids were asking me about it. I told them why, and they said another teacher told them he isn't going to the rally because he's Jamaican, and he doesn't want to be deported.

        I know this teacher by sight only, and he's young, from Chicago and in his first few years of teaching. He's been very kind to me since my dad died. I did hear him asking about taking a personal day for the rally in the copy room, but that's it.

        I do now know his sense of humor. He has to be joking, right?

        What if he isn't? What if this young twenty something teacher, who is clearly in this country legally, honestly believes he'll be scooped up and deported if he attends a rally?

        And this explains why we must all be allies for our immigrant, trans, gay, black and female friends. With the bombastic bastard and buddies in the white house, ignoring the judiciary and all checks and balances, we are actually scared. It's a different kind of fear. We have never felt it.

        We were not run down by the HUAC as commies.

        We were not hanged because of our skin color.

        We were not forced to wear a pink triangle or yellow star and pulled from our homes, split from our family and left to be murdered.

        Yet.

        Which is why we're so scared. This hazardous dimwit is hell bent on punishing every single American, relentlessly going after those who investigated them first, making sure to destroy any evidence, then recklessly wrecking balling the forest service. Seriously? That was the Red Herring? Then the feds, the Kennedy Center debacle, the DOE---all seeming distractions from his real agenda. Defunding USAID---which had a case against Fusk's Starlink---which has already killed people in need of medical care. Defunding USAID killed people, not Starlink. Yet.

        The behavior isn't that shocking, I've worked with narcissists. What's shocking is that A) Nobody is doing anything to stop him and B) his followers truly are brainwashed. I am hated because I am female, a teacher, an advocate of LGBTQ and I am not compliant by people I have never even met. At least buy me dinner first.

        They cannot justify his behavior, seem shocked that it is effecting them and still worship him like a fat golden calf. They weren't invited to any of his fancy victory parties in January, I saw interviews with Frumpers who actually said they weren't good enough to go to the parties...yet they still support him. Tone Deaf doesn't begin to explain it. 

        When I asked my students if they understood why teachers are marching, or that there have been daily protests every day for two months, they were clueless.

        So I asked "Why do you think you're not seeing any of these assemblies on the news?"

        Vacant shrugs.

        "And do you think Mr. J was serious about being deported?"

        "I'd be deported back to Jamaica..."

        I silently shake my head at them as they laugh.

        They have no idea. They aren't scared.

         Yet.