This is the season that we usually take stock of what we're thankful for. I know we all have the usual things: our families, our homes, our spouses, our jobs. I never thought I'd be thanking God for my very life.
It all started innocently enough with a trip planned from eastern Oregon to Portland to spend time with my daughter for her birthday, which just happened to fall on Thanksgiving this year. The weather being what it was, it became a last minute decision to go with frequent log-ins to tripcheck to check on the latest road conditions. But it wasn't the white knuckle drive through the icy Columbia Gorge that had me thanking God for my life. It was something as mundane as attending the Christmas tree lighting at Pioneer Courthouse Square in downtown Portland.
Now, I'm not usually one for hordes of people, and this gathering was definitely a horde. It was estimated that there was somewhere in the neighborhood of 12,000 people there - families with their children in tow out to celebrate the beginning of the Christmas season. I've never attended the tree lighting festivities, even when I lived in Portland. I was always content to watch it on the evening news. Traffic jams and being jostled about by strangers is not my idea of a good time. But when I mentioned to a good friend I was going to be in town, she suggested that I join her and her husband for the event. I thought, why not? I'm not driving and it might actually put me in the holiday spirit.
The crowd was actually very well behaved, no pushing, no shoving. They lined the amphitheater like stadium of the square, bundled up in their coats and hats with green buttons, courtesy of Cricket, flickering throughout the crowd. The 75 foot tree loomed above the square waiting to be illuminated at the push of a button. Across from the tree was a stage for the symphony and a choir headlined by Pink Martini leading the crowd in carols. Children were gleeful, amazingly so, in spite of the cold winter's chill in the air. Many had multi-colored glow sticks in their hands in the shapes of batons and butterflies on sticks. Starbucks was doing a booming business with patrons lining the street in wait for a latte or hot chocolate. Another amazing point: it wasn't raining - in Portland - that is something worth remembering.
Everyone was anxious for 6:00 when the tree was supposed to burst into light. The program had begun; the master of ceremonies had spoken, the mayor was introduced, and then the newscasters spoke bearing the grim news that the lights wouldn't go on until 6:10. A groan went through the crowd. But that was the only negative I saw the entire evening.
Then,of course there's me, with my own negative thoughts, struggling not to think about the recent events in Cambodia where 300 people were trampled to death when a crowd began to stampede. I couldn't help but wonder what might set off a crowd like this one.
But the evening concluded with cheers of delight when the button was pushed and the tree was at last aglow. It was amazingly beautiful and here I was with 12,000 people, sharing this magical moment with me. One minute, we were as one, the next, we peeled off in singles, pairs and groups towards our own commitments with just this memory in common, this beautiful shared instant when we were one together in spirit.
It wasn't until the next day that I discovered that I'd been standing one short block away from "six 55-gallon drums containing inert material, inert detonation cord, inert blasting caps and approximately 1 gallon of diesel fuel...". The purpose had it been "real" was, according to the 19 year old responsible because, in his own words, "I want whoever is attending that event to leave, to leave either dead or injured." The blast was intended to level several city blocks. Had the FBI not been watching this young man, by all accounts, he would have succeeded in his plan to kill thousands of people. I suppose I could lapse into all sorts of political comments at this point. Certainly, the Sunday Oregonian was awash with controversy as to whether or not this Mohamud Osman Mohamud was "set up" by the FBI, but I'm not even going to go there.
My point is a simple one: I'm thankful. I'm thankful to God, to the FBI for keeping me and my fellow 12,000 new "friends" safe for that one glorious evening where we could come together and share in such a special time. Where we could put also our religious and political differences and celebrate the joy of the season. Thankful that a van load of explosives that was meant to destroy was thwarted and that love prevailed.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Friday, October 29, 2010
Sugar Makes The World Go 'Round
Ever feel like you're moving at warp speed? I work with a woman who moves like that......constantly! I don't even need to look up from my desk to see who's coming. If I hesitate looking up, she's gone! Ever wonder what makes them tick? Caffeine? It could be. I used to think that enough caffeine could keep me going. When I was younger, a coffee drink in the evening would pretty much guarantee a restless night. Over the years, however, I've become an espresso affection-ado and 6-8 shots of the thick, rich stuff does nothing to effect my sleep. On the other hand, give me a piece of chocolate or something laden with sugar and I'll toss and turn all night!
Ah, sugar! That sweet wonderful stuff! This time of the year I'm wallowing in it, up to my neck in it, rolling in it......get the picture? I'm already sick of it and the holidays are barely getting started. But allow me to digress a bit. My pantry boasts two 25 pound sacks of the white granulated stuff and I'm hoping that'll be enough. It's fudge season! When I was a child, my mother stumbled upon a recipe that was touted to be the recipe for See's fudge. We made a five pound batch for Thanksgiving and that had to last a family of five for the holiday season. Let's see, a pound a piece for 2 months, maybe more if you had to wait until Easter when you were assured that the Easter bunny would bring a fudge egg from See's Candies. Needless to say, it was a scramble to get your share.
For me, I take that recipe, which is over 50 years old now, and put it to good use. I spend my "free" time standing over a pot of bubbling milk and sugar, almost like a witch at her cauldron, stirring it up at the stove until it's just the right temperature to blend with the chocolate, butter and marshmallow cream to transform into the most delightfully delicious fudge ever! It used to be when my daughters were home, this was a popular time to be around the kitchen. The privilege of licking the bowl and the beaters had to be divied up. Now, it's just me and if I had to sample every batch it'd put me into a diabetic coma! I had to laugh recently when I posted on my facebook page that I was making my first batch of fudge. I lamented that my daughters weren't around to help "clean up" the bowl. Now, mind you, I post things all the time and rarely get a response, but all three of them responded to this one!
So, the production is well under way. By the end of the 'season', I'll probably have made somewhere between 75-100 pounds. Some gets sold at the Highland Hills Elementary school bazaar in November, some is sold by special order, and some is given (as demanded) by my friends who will not let a year go by without their annual "fudge fix".
A year or so ago I must have decided that making fudge wasn't enough work. I just couldn't bear to throw the marshmallow cream jars away. They were re-recyclable, but where I live, recycling is no easy task! I stumbled across a way to use them for something totally unrelated to fudge, but - you guessed it - more sugar. I started producing a Lavender-Rosemary Sugar Scrub for the bath and shower. It was another instant success. Again, more friends I had gifted it to are clamoring for refills. On a positive note: I definitely have my Christmas shopping done ~ fudge for the men, sugar scrub for the ladies (oh and fudge for the ladies, too!)
So if you see me later this season, blurry eyed, incoherent from lack of sleep but wired and moving at the speed of light, it'll only be because I've not only ingested a load of sugar from doing the "quality control" sampling of every batch of fudge, I've also been using the sugar scrub and have it oozing both into and out of my pores!
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Never Underestimate
When I moved to my small town nearly 8 years ago, I must confess, I felt like I was moving to outer Mongolia. Having grown up in Southern California, lived in San Francisco, then Portland, Oregon, the idea of living in a town of 18,000 didn't sound very exciting. But, the traffic in Portland was getting crazy as was the cost of living. At the core of the issue was the public schooling which left much to be desired. So, we packed up the last daughter, who was entering high school, and moved to eastern Oregon.
My friends pitied me. I mean, who wouldn't? There was nothing in this town! The nicest restaurant was a Shari's. The closest mall was a 40 minute drive and Costco, well, let's say you definitely had to plan your trips. But that wasn't even the worst of it. Little by little I began to recognize the tiny snips of snobbery that would pop up over the 'big city' and all it had to offer versus the 'small town' and all its limitations. I actually caught myself apologizing for the place I lived, making excuses for its, well, smallness!
I felt a little guilty about my attitude. I mean, shouldn't I have a sense of pride about where I live? Probably. I actually wrote a blog about "You know You Live in a Small Town When...." which brought a touch of humor to the topic, siting all sorts of things like drive through animal feed stations and traffic jams brought on by goats in the road. It helped......a little. What didn't help was the fact that I'd moved from the lush, green side of the state to the dry, barren side of the state where everything has to be irrigated in order to grow. Brown was just not my color. I missed all those gorgeous trees! But somewhere during all those times driving back and forth to Portland through the gorge to visit friends I came to appreciate the beauty in the browns. I caught myself commenting to a friend the other day how I choose my interior home colors from the pallet of muted browns and greens that line the highways where I live. Imagine that? When I go to Portland, I actually look forward to returning home. Wow. When did that happen? I guess the green got to be overwhelming. Obviously I've adjusted to the landscape.
But I've learned a few other things about small places and the people who live there: Never, never assume they are ignorant, backwards or behind the times. I can actually puff myself up now and crow about my town. We are in the forefront of some important advances. I thought it was rather impressive a few years ago when my daughter, an IT person (from Portland, no less) told me about an article she'd read about the largest WiFi cloud in the world. Guess where it is? Yep....right here in my town. So farmer John, who some people may think is beneath them, can sit in his field, open his laptop, control his irrigation system, or even take a picture of his crops and send it to one of his customers. My police department is ahead of the game as well with laptops in their cars where they can file reports.
You can imagine my surprise also when a week ago I learned of another area where we are ahead of the game. I had to have fingerprints for a background check. The list of approved agencies from the capital city was extensive, but there was nothing listed that was close to where I live. I called Salem and asked if it was alright for me to go to my local police department to be printed and was reluctantly told, yes. I was a bit apprehensive about the whole thing since my new job depended on getting these prints done and processed in a timely manner. I couldn't afford anything to go wrong and I was concerned that I wasn't going to one of their "approved" agencies that had the LiveScan machines. I showed up for my appointment at the police department and was ushered into the room with the "machine". Oh my goodness! it was none other than a LiveScan! I told my story to the officer about them 'not making the cut' on the list of approved agencies and he just laughed. Apparently, my police department was the first one in the country to have this machine! In fact, when Salem was determining whether or not to purchase one, they called here to ask their opinion. Go figure! But they didn't want to include them on the list of approved agencies. A touch of snobbery there? Possibly.
Do I still live in a small town? Well, yes I do. But it's a great little place live. It still does take close to 40 minutes to drive to the mall, but I've learned to plan my trips to include Costco, the pet store and anything else in the general vicinity, even the possibility of dinner. Is Shari's the best restaurant in town? Not any more! We have a great local place and more places opening up all the time. We have awesome community events where I actually know the people in them and people take pride in them. The high school football games are very well attended. Church parking lots are full on Sundays, and other times during the week as well. Community involvement is appreciated and encouraged. The grocery store can be a social gathering place. And we all seem to share the same sense of pride in this great little town we are building. Are there still goats blocking traffic? I wouldn't know. I moved to a different neighborhood.
My friends pitied me. I mean, who wouldn't? There was nothing in this town! The nicest restaurant was a Shari's. The closest mall was a 40 minute drive and Costco, well, let's say you definitely had to plan your trips. But that wasn't even the worst of it. Little by little I began to recognize the tiny snips of snobbery that would pop up over the 'big city' and all it had to offer versus the 'small town' and all its limitations. I actually caught myself apologizing for the place I lived, making excuses for its, well, smallness!
I felt a little guilty about my attitude. I mean, shouldn't I have a sense of pride about where I live? Probably. I actually wrote a blog about "You know You Live in a Small Town When...." which brought a touch of humor to the topic, siting all sorts of things like drive through animal feed stations and traffic jams brought on by goats in the road. It helped......a little. What didn't help was the fact that I'd moved from the lush, green side of the state to the dry, barren side of the state where everything has to be irrigated in order to grow. Brown was just not my color. I missed all those gorgeous trees! But somewhere during all those times driving back and forth to Portland through the gorge to visit friends I came to appreciate the beauty in the browns. I caught myself commenting to a friend the other day how I choose my interior home colors from the pallet of muted browns and greens that line the highways where I live. Imagine that? When I go to Portland, I actually look forward to returning home. Wow. When did that happen? I guess the green got to be overwhelming. Obviously I've adjusted to the landscape.
But I've learned a few other things about small places and the people who live there: Never, never assume they are ignorant, backwards or behind the times. I can actually puff myself up now and crow about my town. We are in the forefront of some important advances. I thought it was rather impressive a few years ago when my daughter, an IT person (from Portland, no less) told me about an article she'd read about the largest WiFi cloud in the world. Guess where it is? Yep....right here in my town. So farmer John, who some people may think is beneath them, can sit in his field, open his laptop, control his irrigation system, or even take a picture of his crops and send it to one of his customers. My police department is ahead of the game as well with laptops in their cars where they can file reports.
You can imagine my surprise also when a week ago I learned of another area where we are ahead of the game. I had to have fingerprints for a background check. The list of approved agencies from the capital city was extensive, but there was nothing listed that was close to where I live. I called Salem and asked if it was alright for me to go to my local police department to be printed and was reluctantly told, yes. I was a bit apprehensive about the whole thing since my new job depended on getting these prints done and processed in a timely manner. I couldn't afford anything to go wrong and I was concerned that I wasn't going to one of their "approved" agencies that had the LiveScan machines. I showed up for my appointment at the police department and was ushered into the room with the "machine". Oh my goodness! it was none other than a LiveScan! I told my story to the officer about them 'not making the cut' on the list of approved agencies and he just laughed. Apparently, my police department was the first one in the country to have this machine! In fact, when Salem was determining whether or not to purchase one, they called here to ask their opinion. Go figure! But they didn't want to include them on the list of approved agencies. A touch of snobbery there? Possibly.
Do I still live in a small town? Well, yes I do. But it's a great little place live. It still does take close to 40 minutes to drive to the mall, but I've learned to plan my trips to include Costco, the pet store and anything else in the general vicinity, even the possibility of dinner. Is Shari's the best restaurant in town? Not any more! We have a great local place and more places opening up all the time. We have awesome community events where I actually know the people in them and people take pride in them. The high school football games are very well attended. Church parking lots are full on Sundays, and other times during the week as well. Community involvement is appreciated and encouraged. The grocery store can be a social gathering place. And we all seem to share the same sense of pride in this great little town we are building. Are there still goats blocking traffic? I wouldn't know. I moved to a different neighborhood.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Ready For The Change
I awoke this morning to the first real signs of Fall. Oh, sure, there have been all too brief glimpses of it here and there ~ a cool evening, an even cooler brisk morning. But this morning was different. My view out over the river was of overcast skies, of gray waters blending into the gray of the cloudy skies. Ah! Fall!
It has become my morning ritual to brew my double shot Americano, scoot the dogs out the back door and greet the day. The deck overlooks an expanse of green lawn that slopes down, connecting with sage, river rock, and eventually the mighty Columbia River. On mornings of late, the quiet has been interrupted by the slap of a fish on the water's surface as they feed on the insects that are swarming just above the surface. Or perhaps, it's the call of a gull as they circle over head. On my most fortunate mornings, these calming sounds are not broken by the dogs barking at some random noise and I have the luxury of easing into the day. Quite the life!
But this morning was especially wonderful with the obvious approach of Fall. Those who live here will say that summer was forever in arriving! Spring rains and cooler temperatures lingered for months, it seemed. It felt like it was mid-July before we had decent weather. But summer heat arrived finally with a vengeance with the blistering temperatures, perfect for outdoor meals and water adventures. I'm the first to admit that I love the summer meals and dining alfresco. But, you know, all good things become dull after a while. Those summer days drone on and on until - for me anyway - I'm ready for a change. I look forward to the briskness of the mornings. The sounds of the geese as they dot the skies heading for the corn fields to glean the pickings before they begin their trek for the winter months. Sweaters! Bundling up in the warmth, feeling soft and snug
(and actually being able to hide those extra pounds rather than have them out there for public notice in a tank top!)
The savory smells of soups and stews coming from the kitchen and permeating throughout the house is another favorite one of my favorite signs of fall. And who can resist a crackling fire, or watching a movie while the wind and rain carries on outside the window?
I'm hoping this morning was not just another one of those "false alarms" for fall. I mean, I don't want to break out the winter clothes and then end up in shorts and flip flops again. I want to really go for it and commit to the warmer clothes. For now. Yes, absolutely for now. But come January I'll be complaining about the cold and praying for warmer weather. You know, just that break in the clouds and the temperatures in the 70's, right? Perhaps I need to write myself a note and put it in my calendar somewhere in January, or maybe February to remind myself of how anxious I was this day for the cold. Right about the time I'm facing my third head cold and replacing my windshield wipers - again!
It has become my morning ritual to brew my double shot Americano, scoot the dogs out the back door and greet the day. The deck overlooks an expanse of green lawn that slopes down, connecting with sage, river rock, and eventually the mighty Columbia River. On mornings of late, the quiet has been interrupted by the slap of a fish on the water's surface as they feed on the insects that are swarming just above the surface. Or perhaps, it's the call of a gull as they circle over head. On my most fortunate mornings, these calming sounds are not broken by the dogs barking at some random noise and I have the luxury of easing into the day. Quite the life!
But this morning was especially wonderful with the obvious approach of Fall. Those who live here will say that summer was forever in arriving! Spring rains and cooler temperatures lingered for months, it seemed. It felt like it was mid-July before we had decent weather. But summer heat arrived finally with a vengeance with the blistering temperatures, perfect for outdoor meals and water adventures. I'm the first to admit that I love the summer meals and dining alfresco. But, you know, all good things become dull after a while. Those summer days drone on and on until - for me anyway - I'm ready for a change. I look forward to the briskness of the mornings. The sounds of the geese as they dot the skies heading for the corn fields to glean the pickings before they begin their trek for the winter months. Sweaters! Bundling up in the warmth, feeling soft and snug
(and actually being able to hide those extra pounds rather than have them out there for public notice in a tank top!)
The savory smells of soups and stews coming from the kitchen and permeating throughout the house is another favorite one of my favorite signs of fall. And who can resist a crackling fire, or watching a movie while the wind and rain carries on outside the window?
Thursday, September 30, 2010
And, Ah, Justice For All!
I recently had occasion to file a small claim against someone - my renter to be specific. Now, mind you, I've passed through nearly 5 decades in my life and never had the 'joy' of this experience. It couldn't be all that difficult, right? I mean, the good guy always wins! I had all my paperwork in order and my case against her was strong. But dare I digress to give my reader a little background information?
I never imagined I'd find myself in the position of a landlord. Never in a million years to be exact! But, I was laid off from my job last December and found that I couldn't afford to live in my house and pay for my health insurance. Hmmmm. Not much of a choice. To make a very long story short, I put the word out and a friend of mine had a friend at work who was looking for a house to rent. . . .nice family, a couple of kids, loved to work in the yard, husband was a handyman around the house . . . you get it..... the perfect family. So the rental agreement was signed and I left the state to lick my wounds from the job situation, feeling very fortunate to have such great renters who would provide an income for me while I looked for work.
All was well for the first 3 months or so, and then the rent was a late so I called to make sure everything was alright. Turns out my "Leave it to Beaver" family was nothing as I'd imagined. In the first place, they were never married. In the second place, he left her for someone else a week after they moved in. Yipes! My mind started to race with all the possibilities of things that could go wrong, but I was sweetly assured that she 'could handle it and loved the house. Three more months passed and then there was no rent deposit made to the bank. I waited 6 days before calling her and was accosted by denials that she hadn't missed paying the rent. She'd made a cash deposit to the bank. The bank must have lost her deposit! I politely inquired if she had a receipt. Oh, she'd lost it. That turned into a week or so of the bank grilling each of its tellers about all of their deposits for the date she claimed to have made the deposit. No deposit in that amount surfaced. Then my renter determined she must have made it on a different day, so the tellers got to do it all over again. Needless to say, hers was not a popular name at the bank. Again, nothing.
So, she switched to another tactic and claimed the bank stole her money from her, but meanwhile, remember I still have no rent for the month. We're halfway into the month by now. I learn from my renter that I have to "work with her" and not charge her rent since she "made the deposit to the bank". Interesting idea, but I wasn't buying it. We did manage to work out a payment system over 2 1/2 months time, which I felt was extremely generous.....no interest or anything. She made the first $75 'installment' and then gave me a 9 day notice that she was moving out. Wow! So much for being an understanding landlord!
Did I feel I got screwed? You betcha! Did she show up to do a walk through after she moved out? No way. Can you guess why? Nearly every room in my house had damage done to it, whether it was holes in the sheet rock, torn screens from her dogs, broken blinds, broken doors, you name it. And filth....unbelievable filth! As an added bonus, she left me more that 3 gallons of used oil in the garage, used auto parts to dispose of, missing drain stoppers and even took off with the mail box keys!
Was I angry? You betcha! Did I want the back rent and cost for repairs out of her? Absolutely! It was only fair, I mean, she lived in the house and should pay what it cost to live there and if she caused damages over and above the cost of her security deposit she should have to cough that up too, right? So I found myself at the courthouse filling out the paperwork to file a small claim against her. I'm telling you, I don't know how it is where you are, but just getting the clerk to be of assistance was difficult. I mean, what are my tax dollars going for? She could barely give me the time of day much less the information I needed to complete the process. I can play the dumb blond as well as the next lady and I really don't mind playing that card. I explained up front I had no idea how to file a claim, but it was like pulling teeth to get any information out of her.
I got the forms completed in spite of the clerk, got the papers served and had all my documentation ready in the event that my renter wanted to take this to court. I mean, I had photos of the damages, receipts, invoices, copies of emails between her and I, you name it. I was ready to roll. I should have wondered when she didn't respond within her 14 days. Well, actually, I did wonder. What little tricks does she have up her sleeve? Or does she just know she's in the wrong here and has nothing to fight this with? It all seemed pretty cut and dried to me. I was at the courthouse the 15th day, as the paperwork stated I should be to turn it all over for signature by the judge so I could file a lien against my renter (finally!) and begin to recoup my losses.
It didn't bother me quite so much to deal with the snippy clerk because this was a done deal and would be over soon. So I turned it all in and waited for the mail and the sweet release of the monies due me. But wait!
The letter from the Circuit Court came and I was told: "Note: In small claims cases, a judgment with a money award under $3000 does not create a judgment lien unless the judgment creditor (that's me) files for one under ORS 46.488 (3)." Huh? Now you tell me!
So I Google ORS 46.488 (3) and here's what I find: When a judgment is entered in the small claims department in an amount of $10 or more and less than $3,000, exclusive of costs or disbursements, a judgment creditor may at any time before expiration of judgment remedies for the judgment under ORS 18.180 (Expiration of judgment remedies in circuit court) create a judgment lien for the judgment by paying to the clerk of the court that entered the judgment the fees established by ORS 21.325 (Miscellaneous circuit court fees) (1) and (2) and requesting that the clerk of the court note in the register and in the judgment lien record that the judgment creates a judgment lien. Upon receipt of the fees and request for creating a judgment lien, the clerk shall note in the register that the judgment creates a judgment lien. Upon entry of the notation in the register, the judgment creates a lien as described in ORS 18.150 (Judgment liens in circuit courts), and a judgment creditor may create a lien for the judgment in other counties in the manner provided by ORS 18.152 (Establishing judgment liens in other counties). . . ..blah...blah....blah....
So where am I now? I'm still out about $1,200 plus my time and frustration over a renter who gets off scott free. Sure, I suppose I could continue on, but who has the time, energy and actually understands all this legalese? Ah, certainly not me. I tried to be a good landlord and understand the situation, given the current economy and difficulties it imposes. But all parties involved have to be the 'good guys'. I do realize that hard times make people do things that they might not ordinarily do, but taking advantage of one another should never be excused. And the justice system? Well, I have to confess I'm a little soured on that right now. The next time someone tells me I should go for "justice" and file a small claim against someone, I will definitely think twice about that.
I never imagined I'd find myself in the position of a landlord. Never in a million years to be exact! But, I was laid off from my job last December and found that I couldn't afford to live in my house and pay for my health insurance. Hmmmm. Not much of a choice. To make a very long story short, I put the word out and a friend of mine had a friend at work who was looking for a house to rent. . . .nice family, a couple of kids, loved to work in the yard, husband was a handyman around the house . . . you get it..... the perfect family. So the rental agreement was signed and I left the state to lick my wounds from the job situation, feeling very fortunate to have such great renters who would provide an income for me while I looked for work.
All was well for the first 3 months or so, and then the rent was a late so I called to make sure everything was alright. Turns out my "Leave it to Beaver" family was nothing as I'd imagined. In the first place, they were never married. In the second place, he left her for someone else a week after they moved in. Yipes! My mind started to race with all the possibilities of things that could go wrong, but I was sweetly assured that she 'could handle it and loved the house. Three more months passed and then there was no rent deposit made to the bank. I waited 6 days before calling her and was accosted by denials that she hadn't missed paying the rent. She'd made a cash deposit to the bank. The bank must have lost her deposit! I politely inquired if she had a receipt. Oh, she'd lost it. That turned into a week or so of the bank grilling each of its tellers about all of their deposits for the date she claimed to have made the deposit. No deposit in that amount surfaced. Then my renter determined she must have made it on a different day, so the tellers got to do it all over again. Needless to say, hers was not a popular name at the bank. Again, nothing.
So, she switched to another tactic and claimed the bank stole her money from her, but meanwhile, remember I still have no rent for the month. We're halfway into the month by now. I learn from my renter that I have to "work with her" and not charge her rent since she "made the deposit to the bank". Interesting idea, but I wasn't buying it. We did manage to work out a payment system over 2 1/2 months time, which I felt was extremely generous.....no interest or anything. She made the first $75 'installment' and then gave me a 9 day notice that she was moving out. Wow! So much for being an understanding landlord!
Did I feel I got screwed? You betcha! Did she show up to do a walk through after she moved out? No way. Can you guess why? Nearly every room in my house had damage done to it, whether it was holes in the sheet rock, torn screens from her dogs, broken blinds, broken doors, you name it. And filth....unbelievable filth! As an added bonus, she left me more that 3 gallons of used oil in the garage, used auto parts to dispose of, missing drain stoppers and even took off with the mail box keys!
Was I angry? You betcha! Did I want the back rent and cost for repairs out of her? Absolutely! It was only fair, I mean, she lived in the house and should pay what it cost to live there and if she caused damages over and above the cost of her security deposit she should have to cough that up too, right? So I found myself at the courthouse filling out the paperwork to file a small claim against her. I'm telling you, I don't know how it is where you are, but just getting the clerk to be of assistance was difficult. I mean, what are my tax dollars going for? She could barely give me the time of day much less the information I needed to complete the process. I can play the dumb blond as well as the next lady and I really don't mind playing that card. I explained up front I had no idea how to file a claim, but it was like pulling teeth to get any information out of her.
I got the forms completed in spite of the clerk, got the papers served and had all my documentation ready in the event that my renter wanted to take this to court. I mean, I had photos of the damages, receipts, invoices, copies of emails between her and I, you name it. I was ready to roll. I should have wondered when she didn't respond within her 14 days. Well, actually, I did wonder. What little tricks does she have up her sleeve? Or does she just know she's in the wrong here and has nothing to fight this with? It all seemed pretty cut and dried to me. I was at the courthouse the 15th day, as the paperwork stated I should be to turn it all over for signature by the judge so I could file a lien against my renter (finally!) and begin to recoup my losses.
It didn't bother me quite so much to deal with the snippy clerk because this was a done deal and would be over soon. So I turned it all in and waited for the mail and the sweet release of the monies due me. But wait!
The letter from the Circuit Court came and I was told: "Note: In small claims cases, a judgment with a money award under $3000 does not create a judgment lien unless the judgment creditor (that's me) files for one under ORS 46.488 (3)." Huh? Now you tell me!
So I Google ORS 46.488 (3) and here's what I find: When a judgment is entered in the small claims department in an amount of $10 or more and less than $3,000, exclusive of costs or disbursements, a judgment creditor may at any time before expiration of judgment remedies for the judgment under ORS 18.180 (Expiration of judgment remedies in circuit court) create a judgment lien for the judgment by paying to the clerk of the court that entered the judgment the fees established by ORS 21.325 (Miscellaneous circuit court fees) (1) and (2) and requesting that the clerk of the court note in the register and in the judgment lien record that the judgment creates a judgment lien. Upon receipt of the fees and request for creating a judgment lien, the clerk shall note in the register that the judgment creates a judgment lien. Upon entry of the notation in the register, the judgment creates a lien as described in ORS 18.150 (Judgment liens in circuit courts), and a judgment creditor may create a lien for the judgment in other counties in the manner provided by ORS 18.152 (Establishing judgment liens in other counties). . . ..blah...blah....blah....
So where am I now? I'm still out about $1,200 plus my time and frustration over a renter who gets off scott free. Sure, I suppose I could continue on, but who has the time, energy and actually understands all this legalese? Ah, certainly not me. I tried to be a good landlord and understand the situation, given the current economy and difficulties it imposes. But all parties involved have to be the 'good guys'. I do realize that hard times make people do things that they might not ordinarily do, but taking advantage of one another should never be excused. And the justice system? Well, I have to confess I'm a little soured on that right now. The next time someone tells me I should go for "justice" and file a small claim against someone, I will definitely think twice about that.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
When It's Time To Say Goodbye . . .
It’s never easy to lose someone we love. Saying goodbye has to be one of the most difficult things we do. I said goodbye to my best friend earlier this year and am still struggling with the effects of it. I knew him from the time he was just a pup. When we brought him home the first day, my husband swore that he would never sleep in our bed. That first night, however, with the first whimper, my husband was out of the bed in a flash and scooping that warm, soft pup out of his crate to bring him back into our bed. Quite the soft-hearted man, my husband. And so my little ‘man’ snuggled in next to my face, then along a curve in my body, his warmth blazing against me, making me feel like my children were just babes again cuddling in my bed.
I watched him grow, wobbling through the yard on his puppy legs, chasing anything that moved. He loved to walk the neighborhood and take on the “big dogs”. (He was only 10 pounds) He’d grab onto their tails and give them a shake. He thought he was ferocious! He adjusted to the comings and goings of other animals in the house, a myriad of cats, rats, birds and hamsters. But he always knew he was special. He had a place in my heart the others did not. He had an uncanny knack of seeming to understand my needs, to know when I needed that extra measure of attention, whether it was a little love bite on the toe or an extra kiss. He was always there to dole it out. People may offer a kind word when you are hurting or down, but there’s something special about a dog’s kiss or affection. He has nothing to gain, except possibly an extra treat. It’s just the unconditional love they lavish on you.
He weathered many storms with me. He watched each child graduate school and move on, sensing my loss and gathering close to me to fill the void. He saw me through a move across the state to a new town of strangers and introduced me to many of my neighbors by his friendly nature of greeting each of them at the mailbox. He helped me through my divorce when no reassuring words from friends could. There’s just something about being able to cry into the soft fur of your dog and know he’ll never share what you say, never judge what you do and never, never think you’re being foolish. He bore the burden of the loss of a job, an interstate move, the death of a loved one and the move back home. He never once complained.
Shortly after I returned home, he had an accident that required stitches. After the vet examined him, he said he found a tumor on his belly that would require surgery. Would I consent? Of course I would! Anything to make him healthy. I got to see him briefly, his sweet face looking at me with love and he seemed to tell me that he understood and trusted that I was doing what was best for him. I hated to leave him, but reassured myself that I’d see him in a day or so. Later that night I got the disconcerting phone call about 10:30. He had taken a ‘turn for the worse’ and his heart had given out. I’d lost him. I still can’t remember it without the tears flowing. He was such a part of my life. Silly, some would say to be so grief-stricken over a dog! But a pet is so much more than just an animal, if you allow them to be. They are your best friend, your counselor, your best critic, your support system.
I never saw him after he died; I couldn’t bear to see his lifeless body. My friend buried him for me on my property on the sandy area by the river where he liked to play. I like the idea that he’s close. I have a new dog from the rescue shelter to fill the void, but it’s not the same. Nothing, no one can ever take the place of my little man. He was one of a kind.
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