I have been awake since 1:30am ET, so I will not attempt to be lucid. Rather, here's a link to some of the photos I've taken over the weekend: http://www.flickr.com/photos/7680874@N04/
I will provide a narrative and more pics after I get back to Ellensburg and take some cold medicine and get some sleep.
Oh, and for those who are wondering...no, I did not Boo #43. I simply chose to do nothing: no applause and no pronounced contempt (though I did hum along to the second round of Hey Hey Hey, Goodbye).
Anyway, I'm tired, sore and sick. But energized, spry and healthy in spirit!
President Obama! YAY! And yes, I'm ready to do more than just cheer (or, at least I will be once I recover).
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Sunday, January 18, 2009
DC Concert Mayhem-Free Fun
Today was a good day. An exhausting day. But a good day.
I slept in, which was sorely needed. Though it did mean we didn’t leave the house until 1pm, and didn’t get to downtown DC until close to 2:30. But the ride was pleasant; everyone was happy and almost festive; and Ona and I chatted up a saxophone-playing, jazz-marketing cutie from Atlanta.
The metro became backed by the time we reached Arlington, but still, people were warm, generous and just in one heck of a good mood!
Out in the street, it was like a giant street fair, with vendors hawking everything from Obama chocolates to $1 bookmarks to hand-warmers.
On The Mall, it was a whole other thing altogether. Apparently, access to the inner sanctum of the concert was closed, but that didn’t stop thousands of people from filling up the space between the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument. Many more milled around as far back as the Smithsonian Castle, in spite of the 36 degree temperature!
Ona and I hung out at the concert for a bit, jockeying for position near one of the jumbotrons. We only heard Mary J Blige, James Taylor and Josh Groban. We caught a glimpse of Stevie Wonder on stage with Usher and Shakira and I shamelessly shook my tail-feather to Garth Brook’s rendition of “Shout.”
Then, as we started to head back to the Metro, we saw U2!! They had the longest set of anyone we saw or heard, and then were followed by a weird and vaguely disturbing parade of two bald eagles who, let’s just say, didn’t like the crowds. But after the eagles, Barack Obama took the stage! Optimism, met pragmatism, met realism and I was simply riveted.
We also felt fatigue creeping in, so Ona and I hoofed it up to the Metro as soon as President Elect Obama finished speaking, and in doing so, we TOTALLY missed the crowds: we caught the first train, had seats and chatted up a few folks who had also been to the concert and bailed while the getting was good.
Anyway, I’m pooped and shall let the photos do the rest of the talking (http://www.flickr.com/photos/7680874@N04/). Tomorrow, there will be no sleeping in, as I have to go to Senator Murray’s office to pick up the Inauguration tickets. That will also be the one day that we actually spend in town. Should be interesting.
I slept in, which was sorely needed. Though it did mean we didn’t leave the house until 1pm, and didn’t get to downtown DC until close to 2:30. But the ride was pleasant; everyone was happy and almost festive; and Ona and I chatted up a saxophone-playing, jazz-marketing cutie from Atlanta.
The metro became backed by the time we reached Arlington, but still, people were warm, generous and just in one heck of a good mood!
Out in the street, it was like a giant street fair, with vendors hawking everything from Obama chocolates to $1 bookmarks to hand-warmers.
On The Mall, it was a whole other thing altogether. Apparently, access to the inner sanctum of the concert was closed, but that didn’t stop thousands of people from filling up the space between the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument. Many more milled around as far back as the Smithsonian Castle, in spite of the 36 degree temperature!
Ona and I hung out at the concert for a bit, jockeying for position near one of the jumbotrons. We only heard Mary J Blige, James Taylor and Josh Groban. We caught a glimpse of Stevie Wonder on stage with Usher and Shakira and I shamelessly shook my tail-feather to Garth Brook’s rendition of “Shout.”
Then, as we started to head back to the Metro, we saw U2!! They had the longest set of anyone we saw or heard, and then were followed by a weird and vaguely disturbing parade of two bald eagles who, let’s just say, didn’t like the crowds. But after the eagles, Barack Obama took the stage! Optimism, met pragmatism, met realism and I was simply riveted.
We also felt fatigue creeping in, so Ona and I hoofed it up to the Metro as soon as President Elect Obama finished speaking, and in doing so, we TOTALLY missed the crowds: we caught the first train, had seats and chatted up a few folks who had also been to the concert and bailed while the getting was good.
Anyway, I’m pooped and shall let the photos do the rest of the talking (http://www.flickr.com/photos/7680874@N04/). Tomorrow, there will be no sleeping in, as I have to go to Senator Murray’s office to pick up the Inauguration tickets. That will also be the one day that we actually spend in town. Should be interesting.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
A New American Family
My Inauguration Journey began simply and beautifully enough on Thursday, with a gorgeous drive through Central Washington to Seattle, where I spent a night at the Seatac Hilton (thanks Priceline!).
It was such a beautiful sight and it reminded me of that moment on Election Night when the Obamas and their extended family came onto the stage in Grant Park. They were…are…an all-American family, with its many hues and origins. They are, like that happy family I witnessed in Dulles, a beautiful testament to the power of love and yes, the audacity of hope!
(Scenes from I-90 en route to Seattle...gotta love the Cascades!)
Unfortunately, Friday began with the belated realization that in the two months since I ticketed my trip, United had bumped up the departure time by twenty minutes. Needless to say, I missed that flight and stood at the counter, utterly apoplectic and weepy. I was re-routed on another flight through San Francisco with a tight connection, for a non-stop flight to DC.
I was so relieved to be on the flight that it didn’t even phase me that we sat at the gate for quite awhile, since apparently (and ironically) the flight on which I was originally booked was belatedly cancelled due to some sort of mechanical problems, requiring the re-routing of everyone on that flight.
Finally, some 30 minutes after we were scheduled to depart, we finally left off, and I promptly dozed off. Anxiety about the prospect of missing the most awesome historical event in my life had REALLY worn me down.
Once we landed at SFO, we were then greeted by another dilemma: there was a plane at our gate, and due to the sudden departure of a sick passenger, it wasn’t going to leave until all of his/her stuff was off the plane…including the checked baggage.
Ten minutes later, a whopping five minutes before my connection, I sprinted down the jetway (Mary Jane Fleuvogs are VERY cute…but sneakers, they are not), down the terminal (okay, only like ten gates) and discovered that they had closed the door five minutes earlier. So, I was rescheduled again.
I was not happy.
But a little aromatherapy at the Body Shop and a bottle of Sam Adams restored my bliss. After all, I was on my way to D.C. to welcome the 44th President of the United States, and kick number forty-three to the curb!
My flight out was fine for the first couple of hours, then the guy in the seat next to me became very chatty, in that monologuing-allegedly-well-connected-name-dropping-know-it-all kind of way. Thanks to him, I learned that San Francisco’s mayor, Gavin Newsome, and his wife were sitting just four rows up from us, in coach, but in the exit row. I learned that Hillary’s fundraisers were initially not interested in accepting donations from long-time donors (like him, apparently) who were only willing to give her money, and not their votes. As he grated more, and more on my tired nerves, I learned that sharing the same politics with someone, does not mean one shares the same values. Finally, I cranked up my iPod, never more grateful for Toumani Diabate than I was then.
Anyway, once we were on the ground and I made my way towards baggage claim, it was interesting noting the number of people coyly (and not-so-coyly) trying to get Mayor Newsome’s picture.
As I entered the baggage claim, I saw a camera crew and thought they must be there for Mayor Newsome, or perhaps… someone bigger! Instead, they were there to capture the first moments in a new American family’s life: a baby Korean girl who had been on the flight, just across the aisle from me, was introduced to her adoptive American parents, her new grandparents and a little boy who I think is either her brother or cousin.
It was such a beautiful sight and it reminded me of that moment on Election Night when the Obamas and their extended family came onto the stage in Grant Park. They were…are…an all-American family, with its many hues and origins. They are, like that happy family I witnessed in Dulles, a beautiful testament to the power of love and yes, the audacity of hope!
Thursday, January 1, 2009
On Resolutions
Last New Year's Eve, my roommate and I went to Tacoma's First Night and then came home, lit some candles, poured some wine, fired up the woodstove and burned stuff as part of a Full Moon/New Year release. It was actually a beautiful experience and inspired me to prepare a manifestation collage during the New Moon on January 8th. And say what one will, but I think both experiences "worked."
In my purge, I wanted to do away with the health and financial dramas of 2007. I watched slips of paper scrawled with the names of different self-destructive tendencies writhe and wither in the flames. I felt a visceral need to be better than I had been, and a surge in confidence in my ability to do so. And it wasn't because of the wine.
In my collage, it was strangely prophetic (if one doesn't believe in manifestations), or refreshingly effective (if one does). The collage speaks of changes in scenery, learning new skills, pulling out of despair and awakening to new possibilities, discovering and rekindling love, showing gratitude, and seeing my godson. ALL of which became manifest within a few months. Granted, it also highlights finishing school, which I have yet to do. But, returning to the university context in February inspired me to make more progress on the dissertation in a matter of months than I had done in the span of the three previous years. So, that's a good thing.
This New Year's Eve was very different from last. For starters, there was no burning: I don't have a fireplace or woodstove and there is a burn ban in the valley (oh, and last night it was snowing with gusty winds). I didn't go out. I did, at least, bathe, and then promptly get back into my pj's. I curled up with The Intimate Critique: Autobiographical Literary Criticism
and allowed myself to be blockaded in bed by Scratch and Jude (Chester was hiding under the bed, as he really dislikes illegal fireworks). I was asleep by 11:30.
And I think that was a very appropriate way to spend that New Year's Eve after a long year of often breathless recovery. 2008 was the year I found my footing again. There were still some occasional missteps, but no major falls. What a blessed and satisfying improvement over 2007.
And so I look now at 2009, which I hope will be a year of resolution - breaking down some residual problems and challenges into smaller components, and solving them once and for all.
The three biggies for this year: my dissertation; the Tacoma House; and stabilizing my health and fitness.
The Dissertation. To finally resolve this "little" problem, I need to:
Health and Fitness. I am 35 years old, and my body aches. Since starting my new job, I've stopped going to the gym everyday and now have the back-flab and snarky observations of my 95-year old step-great-aunt to prove it.
Last month, I joined the gym at work and started going intermittently. But for the sake of my mental and physical health, I need to go at least 5 days/week. My goal isn't a dress from Bebe or a shopping spree at Victoria's Secret. Rather, on September 6th, I plan to arrive at the Longmire Camp in Mount Rainier National Park and begin a 10-14 day hike around the mountain along the Wonderland Trail (sample photo journals here and here). I haven't lined up hiking partners yet, but have faith that I will. A fundamental part to the life I aspire to live is activity: hiking around the world; scuba diving in a variety of waters; skiing down and around mountains; sailing; and building a natural, green home. And all of this requires that I have a body that doesn't balk at breaking a sweat or breaking down some good old fashioned lactic acid.
There are, of course, other goals I have for this year: move into the country (if I buy another car) or into the heart of town (if I don't); submit something for publication; actually do NANOWRIMO... but none of these are things that need to be resolved. And my focus for 2009 will be on resolution. Everything else, is gravy.
In my purge, I wanted to do away with the health and financial dramas of 2007. I watched slips of paper scrawled with the names of different self-destructive tendencies writhe and wither in the flames. I felt a visceral need to be better than I had been, and a surge in confidence in my ability to do so. And it wasn't because of the wine.
In my collage, it was strangely prophetic (if one doesn't believe in manifestations), or refreshingly effective (if one does). The collage speaks of changes in scenery, learning new skills, pulling out of despair and awakening to new possibilities, discovering and rekindling love, showing gratitude, and seeing my godson. ALL of which became manifest within a few months. Granted, it also highlights finishing school, which I have yet to do. But, returning to the university context in February inspired me to make more progress on the dissertation in a matter of months than I had done in the span of the three previous years. So, that's a good thing.
This New Year's Eve was very different from last. For starters, there was no burning: I don't have a fireplace or woodstove and there is a burn ban in the valley (oh, and last night it was snowing with gusty winds). I didn't go out. I did, at least, bathe, and then promptly get back into my pj's. I curled up with The Intimate Critique: Autobiographical Literary Criticism
and allowed myself to be blockaded in bed by Scratch and Jude (Chester was hiding under the bed, as he really dislikes illegal fireworks). I was asleep by 11:30.And I think that was a very appropriate way to spend that New Year's Eve after a long year of often breathless recovery. 2008 was the year I found my footing again. There were still some occasional missteps, but no major falls. What a blessed and satisfying improvement over 2007.
And so I look now at 2009, which I hope will be a year of resolution - breaking down some residual problems and challenges into smaller components, and solving them once and for all.
The three biggies for this year: my dissertation; the Tacoma House; and stabilizing my health and fitness.
The Dissertation. To finally resolve this "little" problem, I need to:
- consistently use my library carrel, because at home I have a chatty new roommate and sly cats who think nothing of smothering me and my keyboard;
- waste less time - I've deleted Klondike and Blackjack from my Blackberry and am committed to eating dinner at the dining room table, rather than in front of the TV. I also will ration my Facebook time to twice a day and will stop with the chronic status updates (no more than once per day) - if people want to know what I'm up to, they can call or email, or read my blogs when I bother to update them.
Health and Fitness. I am 35 years old, and my body aches. Since starting my new job, I've stopped going to the gym everyday and now have the back-flab and snarky observations of my 95-year old step-great-aunt to prove it.
Last month, I joined the gym at work and started going intermittently. But for the sake of my mental and physical health, I need to go at least 5 days/week. My goal isn't a dress from Bebe or a shopping spree at Victoria's Secret. Rather, on September 6th, I plan to arrive at the Longmire Camp in Mount Rainier National Park and begin a 10-14 day hike around the mountain along the Wonderland Trail (sample photo journals here and here). I haven't lined up hiking partners yet, but have faith that I will. A fundamental part to the life I aspire to live is activity: hiking around the world; scuba diving in a variety of waters; skiing down and around mountains; sailing; and building a natural, green home. And all of this requires that I have a body that doesn't balk at breaking a sweat or breaking down some good old fashioned lactic acid.
There are, of course, other goals I have for this year: move into the country (if I buy another car) or into the heart of town (if I don't); submit something for publication; actually do NANOWRIMO... but none of these are things that need to be resolved. And my focus for 2009 will be on resolution. Everything else, is gravy.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Walking My Talk
I love my job.
Even if there is a crazy learning curve.
Even if I rarely get to check off all items on my To-Do list due to interruptions.
I love it. I love my students and my team, with whom I run the program. And now that the school year is beginning, I'm looking forward to getting to know my other colleagues as well.
But, I admit, the job also shames me.
I am charged with encouraging students to pursue research doctorates once they graduate. And not just PURSUE them, but COMPLETE them. And yet, I persist as an A.B.D. A gainfully employed A.B.D., but an A.B.D. nonetheless.
Yes, I had the wind kicked out of me in the last two years. Yes, it's been a marathon getting the program at my work up and running. Yes, I've tasted the bitter irony of crazy housing situations, even as I work on a dissertation on "home." But really... so what? Life happens and will continue to happen when/if I am on the tenure-track and need a few more publications before my tenure review. So, I just have to get used to it.
And I am. Slowly. And I am writing. A little less slowly.
But the thing is, I had an epiphany today, thanks to an impromptu meeting with a frustrated student. Part of why I have been floundering, even as I have been inspired by the opportunities and support my new professional home has given me, has been my sense of shame, coupled with a hefty dose of native stubbornness.
I am ashamed to actually contact my committee with my work-in-progress, and let them be the advisers I really need them to be. I know I don't know all the answers. But, I guess I feel like I've been A.B.D. so long, that I'm ashamed at some of the very basic questions I still have (like, "When is enough, enough?").
My advisers are good people. But I have not been particularly advisable. I've spent the better part of the last few years convinced that I would actually be wasting their time, showing them anything other than a complete and coherent manuscript.
How very silly.
How very naive and maybe a bit arrogant. After all, who better than my committee to actually tell me what constitutes a complete and coherent manuscript? They've served on numerous committees and editorial boards. I've ... taught undergraduate writing.
So, this week, I am sending my committee what I have, instead of doing the compositional equivalent of running on the hamster wheel. And this month, I will finish the complete draft. It may not be pretty. It may still need a lot of work. It may be gold (or maybe bronze). But, that is for my advisers to advise.
Even if there is a crazy learning curve.
Even if I rarely get to check off all items on my To-Do list due to interruptions.
I love it. I love my students and my team, with whom I run the program. And now that the school year is beginning, I'm looking forward to getting to know my other colleagues as well.
But, I admit, the job also shames me.
I am charged with encouraging students to pursue research doctorates once they graduate. And not just PURSUE them, but COMPLETE them. And yet, I persist as an A.B.D. A gainfully employed A.B.D., but an A.B.D. nonetheless.
Yes, I had the wind kicked out of me in the last two years. Yes, it's been a marathon getting the program at my work up and running. Yes, I've tasted the bitter irony of crazy housing situations, even as I work on a dissertation on "home." But really... so what? Life happens and will continue to happen when/if I am on the tenure-track and need a few more publications before my tenure review. So, I just have to get used to it.
And I am. Slowly. And I am writing. A little less slowly.
But the thing is, I had an epiphany today, thanks to an impromptu meeting with a frustrated student. Part of why I have been floundering, even as I have been inspired by the opportunities and support my new professional home has given me, has been my sense of shame, coupled with a hefty dose of native stubbornness.
I am ashamed to actually contact my committee with my work-in-progress, and let them be the advisers I really need them to be. I know I don't know all the answers. But, I guess I feel like I've been A.B.D. so long, that I'm ashamed at some of the very basic questions I still have (like, "When is enough, enough?").
My advisers are good people. But I have not been particularly advisable. I've spent the better part of the last few years convinced that I would actually be wasting their time, showing them anything other than a complete and coherent manuscript.
How very silly.
How very naive and maybe a bit arrogant. After all, who better than my committee to actually tell me what constitutes a complete and coherent manuscript? They've served on numerous committees and editorial boards. I've ... taught undergraduate writing.
So, this week, I am sending my committee what I have, instead of doing the compositional equivalent of running on the hamster wheel. And this month, I will finish the complete draft. It may not be pretty. It may still need a lot of work. It may be gold (or maybe bronze). But, that is for my advisers to advise.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
All's well in the land of Denmark
So... it looks like HSBC has finally gotten its facts straight. This week, I received a letter confirming the Robert Osborne agreement. Which is a good thing, since I found some folks to rent the house to, who seem like the type to actually take care of it (unlike the last tenant disaster). Also a good thing.
I also finally finished building the main database for my work. FileMaker Pro is fairly user-friendly, if a bit tedious. I am, by no means, an expert; but I do feel like I'm becoming marginally competent. I tried reading the manual first, but talk about mind-numbing. Instead, I just dove in and used the manual as I hit road-blocks. Clearly, I'm a learn-by-doing kind of girl. I just hope that it turns out better than my first memory of learning-by-doing:
The dissertation is still a work in progress, but at least, this week, I felt like I was making some really good progress. I changed my sleep/work pattern, to relatively good success:
Well, gotta go: chapters to tweak, cold showers to take, and all that. But before I go, I must share the one thing that tore me up this week:
I also finally finished building the main database for my work. FileMaker Pro is fairly user-friendly, if a bit tedious. I am, by no means, an expert; but I do feel like I'm becoming marginally competent. I tried reading the manual first, but talk about mind-numbing. Instead, I just dove in and used the manual as I hit road-blocks. Clearly, I'm a learn-by-doing kind of girl. I just hope that it turns out better than my first memory of learning-by-doing:
When I was a little girl and it was just my mom and I living in a trailer in rural southeast Arizona, mom was doing some weeding and ended up disrupting a fire ant nest. She had to go inside rather quickly, but told me in no uncertain terms to stay away from the ants, or I'd get hurt.Hopefully my FileMaker Pro interlude will end on a better, less painful note.
I smiled. I nodded. And as soon as the door closed behind my mom, I squared my shoulders, hunkered down and pedaled my Big Wheel as hard as I could, determined to destroy the invaders.
Helas, I woefully underestimated the enemy and before long my mom had ran outside, swooped me up and all but hurled me into the tub, where she ran the shower on me - fully-clothed - until not a single ant remained.
The dissertation is still a work in progress, but at least, this week, I felt like I was making some really good progress. I changed my sleep/work pattern, to relatively good success:
- I go to work from 8:30-5:30/6;
- stop by the garden to harvest greens, cukes, eggplant and/or squash (and let me say, I don't know WHAT I was thinking when I planted two zucchini plants, spaghetti squash, butternut squash, acorn squash, summer squash and TWO pumpkin plants);
- go home for dinner and phone calls;
- then to bed by 7:30 or 8 for a two-hour nap;
- followed by two or three hours of late night dissertating, before heading to bed for 6 hours of sleep.
Well, gotta go: chapters to tweak, cold showers to take, and all that. But before I go, I must share the one thing that tore me up this week:
Hamlet on Facebook (courtesy of the folks at McSweeney's)
This is just...too...funny!! It is, IMHO, funnier than Long, Singer and Winfield's "The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (Abridged)" (1, 2, 3, 4)
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Beyond Fear and Longing: On Burning Barns and New Moons
I bought a card yesterday, with a haiku by Masahide:
Barn's burned down,
now I can see the moon.
now I can see the moon.
That pretty much sums up my life right now.
This Friday, will mark the third year of my life in Washington. I came here for work: the opportunity to teach in an innovative program and develop my teaching portfolio around themes of social justice, multicultural American literature and research writing. That it didn't really turn out to be as glorious as suggested has already been discussed in my other, password-protected blog and can certainly be gleaned from my angst-laden post below.
I stayed in Tacoma, trying to make my first house into my first home, and stumbling through that minefield called, "Love," hoping to find someone with whom to settle down and share a life and family. Family was threatened by my two-year saga with the cantaloupe-sized fibroid tumor, which made my uterus look like that turkey Monica had stuck to her head in that episode of Friends (even though, my ute was actually about the size of a roasting chicken). Love ... was not particularly loving. And, I almost lost my house.
Which brings me to the last five months.
My post on February 9th really did tempt The Fates, or reminded God that there were still more fun and fabulous ways of making a "testimony" out of me (to use my mom's word). I've generally kept the resulting grief either to myself, or saved it for occasional venting with my mom, friends, select colleagues, or my (now ex?) boyfriend.
But I googled myself recently and found that proof of my latest and greatest shame has been posted online, and so, I decided, what the hell, let's come clean.
But to do that, I must recap the "lowlights" beginning in May 2007.
That was supposed to be my happy ending. And I think, in some ways it is and will continue to be, but unfortunately, that barn blaze has been ... like ... a ten-alarm fire ... and it just ... won't ... die.
The day I moved to my new town, in fact, while I was unpacking the moving truck (my new employers paid to relocate me!), I was ambushed by an irate realtor who accused me of squatting. I showed her the lease agreement I signed with a guy who went by the name "Mark Stephens" and she scoffed, saying she knew the guy, but that he was a shyster who bilked the true owner of the house out of thousands and that, as a result, the house was in foreclosure and I would have to leave. That explained the good deal I got on the house, though since I was going to help the shyster develop that property and the one next door as retreat centers, I hadn't felt that it was that big of a bargain. No matter. It was a fraud. And his real name isn't even Mark Stephens.
Meanwhile, as I only had two weeks to relocate for work, I tried to find someone to whom to rent my house, who would also help me finish a few projects around the house. I interviewed a few folks, and settled on a guy, R.E.L. who had good references, a solid grasp on the mechanics necessary to complete the jobs, and he was old friends with a neighbor, whom I hold in very high regard.
It turns out, he completely misrepresented his financial situation and not only did he fail to pay his rent on time (i.e. paying in the middle of the month, rather than at the beginning, as he agreed to), but near the end of our five month entanglement, he didn't pay rent or utilities AT ALL. Dealing with R.E.L., was a nightmare, made trickier by the two-hour drive between us! Especially since, at the same time, I had to deal with my mortgage company and needed R.E.L.'s money in a timely manner, in order to save my house.
Three days after I moved to the Shyster House, I met a counselor to set up a debt management plan. This time, I made enough money to insure that I wouldn't have to file bankruptcy and we started the process of contacting my creditors to set up the plan. Unfortunately, the next week, I received paperwork from HSBC, my mortgage holder, saying it was beginning foreclosure actions against my home. Needless to say, I freaked out.
I knew I was behind, and had kept HSBC in the loop all along about what was going on. But, with my new position, I was clearly in a position now to do something about it. So I called HSBC and instead of finding a customer service agent who actually wanted to help, I found a jerk, Daniel Surls, who balked at restructuring my loan, said that if I put the house on the market I would still be liable for the prepayment penalty, and claimed that the only way I would be able to save my house would be to pay about $8000 in attorney fees and back payments by the end of March. I told him that I wouldn't receive a full paycheck from my new employers until March 25th, and that I'd received only $900 from my previous employer in January and about $1700 in February, but would net over $4000 a month starting in April.
Could we please set up a payment plan? No. If you can't pay the $8000, then we could possibly make something work for $4000. If I had $4000 lying around, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Can I resume paying the mortgage, until we resolve the situation with the back payments? No, we'll return the payments. Can I pay the attorney fees, since they're about $1900 and have the back payments tacked onto the loan? No. Well, then could I do a Deed-In-Lieu of Foreclosure, since it was one of the options listed on the letter you sent me? No, those are illegal in the state of Washington. So then I got pissed. Why was it listed as one of the options available to me if it is ILLEGAL? I don't know. So what can I do if you don't help me?! First, we don't have to help you. You knew you had to pay when you took out the mortgage and the only way we can make something work is when you pay the attorney fees and back payments. Then I got REALLY pissed. I didn't choose not to pay. My life fell apart and I couldn't pay. I've explained this repeatedly over the last months, I've even offered to provide the police reports and medical records. How DARE you suggest that I CHOSE this!
Probably not the most productive response, but definitely merited. At this point, I decided not to bother with them anymore. My debt management planner is a HUD-authorized representative, so, I decided to let her deal with HSBC. And she tried. But the customer service dude she contacted, Robert Osborne, gave her the run-around and insisted that she have me call back and ask for him. So I did... or at least I tried to. As one customer (dis)service agent informed me, HSBC is a multinational corporation and I can't expect to simply ask for someone by name; I need his extension number. Apparently, HSBC is too big to have a functioning company directory. Or maybe not, because when I called back, I spoke to a database-savvy woman named Anita who was able to find Robert's extension and .... TRANSFER me! Wow.
By the time I got to Robert, I was in a justifiably foul mood. I've never been impressed by HSBC's shoddy customer service and was absolutely appalled by their behavior when they first bought my mortgage, so I admit I had very low expectations of the man ... like Australopithecus low. But he was actually ... humane and treated me with decency and respect and actually offered solutions.
By the time I found him, a month and a half had passed (my uncle passed away suddenly, which has continued to effect me in a host of. ways) and the attorney fees had almost doubled. But, he assured me that if I paid the attorney fees by the end of the month, then my loan would be restructured to $1460/month and the back payments would be tacked onto the loan. At first, I scoffed, since this was exactly what I had asked Surly Surls for, back when the attorney fees were a fraction of what they were 6 weeks later, but Mr. Osborne assured me that it was real. And so, the only bill I paid for the month of May was a power bill and my debt management payment. I paid nothing else, and still had to borrow money in order to pay the over $3000 in attorney fees by May 31st. But then, near the end of the month, a different guy from HSBC, John Martinez began calling, claiming that Mr. Osborne's offer was not in the system. John returned to Surly Surls script and insisted I pay a lump sum of 3 months payments plus attorney fees, and then my loan would be restructured. I ... PITCHED ... A ... FIT!
No profanity, exactly, but I may have said something about HSBC being a den of liars and cloven-hoofed jerks ... or I might have just been thinking it REALLY loudly.
Finally, I said, "Fine. I will file bankruptcy and you can keep the house. Good luck selling it in this market." John changed his tune then. Suddenly, Robert Osborne's numbers would work. In fact, he's even over-calculated since the attorney fees were only $3163 and not the $3175.50 as Robert Osborne had claimed. Oh and that bit about Deed-in-Lieu's being illegal in Washington? Well, Daniel was just mistaken. It's not that they are illegal in Washington, rather, since Washington is a non-judicial state, HSBC won't accept them. But, if I make the attorney fee payment via Western Union Quick Collect by May 31st, then the Notice on Deferment will be prepared June 1st and the Ancillary Adjustment Notice will be sent out the next Wednesday, reflecting the $1460 a month. Oh, and there will be no payment for the month of June. So then I made a silly request. I asked for the terms of the restructure to be put in writing and faxed, emailed or mailed to me.
Oh, we don't do that. What? You expect me to pay a huge sum without something in writing that confirms our agreement? It's not how we do business. Well then how can I know that you will honor our agreement? You have to trust me. I don't. Well you have to. This is unacceptable!! Hold on.
At this point, he gets his alleged boss, John Golden, on the phone, who was a throwback to Surly Surls' rude, dismissive and denigrating manner. When he also went down the path of suggesting that I chose not to pay them and should accept whatever they give, I just about threw the phone against the wall, but it's expensive. Instead, I told him that I would have to file bankruptcy and he back-pedaled, just enough to give John M's spiel about trusting them about the restructured payment as outlined by Robert Osborne. I acknowledged that my back was against the wall, and that I would trust them, but if they shafted me, they would not hear the end of it.
Well, the day before the Ancillary Adjustment Notice was supposed to be mailed out, I found out that the house on which I had signed a year-lease had been sold and I would need to find yet another place to live ... in less than two weeks. So, needless to say, impending homelessness, combined with the never-ending saga with my flaky Tacoma Tenant, R.E.L., and the rapidly increasing pace at work, meant I had NO time to follow up with HSBC. But, I made sure that they received my July payment of $1460 within the grace period and assumed that the paperwork had simply been lost in the mail. Back in the day, my fifth-grade Social Studies teacher tried to teach me the error of assumptions ("Assume makes an ass out of u and me"), but here it is, some 20+ years later, and I still have not learned.
I didn't receive the Ancillary Adjustment Notice, because, apparently, no such adjustment has been made. Rather, I received a letter saying that I was behind a payment of $1787.28 and that another payment of $1687.28 "will soon be due." I have tried calling the 800 number listed on this latest missive, but even though I call during the hours they have listed (but after I get home from work), the customer (dis)service division is always closed and of course, there is never an option for keying in an extension number and reaching someone directly, as I would very much like to revisit my conversations with Robert, John and John. Oh and the funny thing: the recording claims that HSBC received my recent payment (so much for missing a payment) and the amount due is $1680.28, not $1687.28... a piddly difference, I know. But seriously, can this company keep any of its facts straight?
One would think that I'd.be pissed. Or even blinded by rage at this point. But I'm not. Between dealing with these Highly Suspect Business Cads and dealing with R.E.L. who abandoned my house sometime earlier this month, owing me a good chunk of change and leaving a host of work unfinished, I'm just tired, and determined to choose my battles.
If the Tacoma house is destined to be my burning barn, then I'm about ready to pull up and toast some marshmallows.
I would like to have HSBC honor Robert Osborne's offer, so that I can make things right with my debts and my credit, and so that my neighborhood, which is in the midst of a wonderful renaissance doesn't suffer any blight because of me. Barring that, it would be great to have the pre-pay penalty waived so that I can put the house on the market. But these assume that HSBC knows the meaning of "honor" and knows how to act honorably, which it's pathologically unreliable behavior thus far, suggests otherwise.
I find it stunning that a company whose representatives cozied up to Senator Christopher Dodd, last year, to reassure him that they were in fact helping homeowners in distress (in accordance with the Homeownership Preservation Summit Statement of Principles), would so clearly NOT be helpful. I find it especially amazing that HSBC's shareholders LET the company behave in this manner. After all, I suspect that many of the people who finally let the foreclosure process happen only due so after their own lengthy sagas with the Surly Surls and Golden Boys of their respective mortgage holders.
So what, pray tell, is the moon to my burning barn of fiscal shame and misery?
A yurt!
I've longed for one as the first step towards building my own strawbale home for many, many, many years. Now that my credit is shot and the cows will come home to the fat lady's bellow before I ever apply for or receive a mortgage again, I am curiously free to reconsider my progressive-green-libertarian-Smith-Family-Robinson-wannabe core. It also helps that where I am living, there is reasonably affordable land, a culture of owner-financed land contracts, a variety of natural and green-built homes and ample sun and wind for alternative energy. In short, I think I've found my Mecca.
I've had my experience with conventional home-ownership and am unimpressed. Why sidle oneself with a huge expense for 30 years when one can spend 5 - 7 years creating an intentional home-space, in a manner that costs less and means so much more? Why misdirect ambition to focus on scoring the job that will pay the big bucks that allow you to buy a bigger house and have a greater vulnerability to the vicissitudes of health, employment, natural disasters and corporate pathologies?
For some people, the answer is clear:
For years I've yammered on about wanting to live a life of intention and creation. And so I've taken up crochet projects, crafted pretty cool collages, entered writing competitions, and have become a bit of a Fascist in the garden. But, I've really been living a life driven by fear: fear of being alone, fear of being unemployed; fear of being homeless, fear of illness... But having experienced each of these in some degree in the last two years, I've learned... that there is life beyond fear. And it can be a rich and fulfilling life, even if it looks a little different than the one for which I was taught to strive.
This Friday, will mark the third year of my life in Washington. I came here for work: the opportunity to teach in an innovative program and develop my teaching portfolio around themes of social justice, multicultural American literature and research writing. That it didn't really turn out to be as glorious as suggested has already been discussed in my other, password-protected blog and can certainly be gleaned from my angst-laden post below.
I stayed in Tacoma, trying to make my first house into my first home, and stumbling through that minefield called, "Love," hoping to find someone with whom to settle down and share a life and family. Family was threatened by my two-year saga with the cantaloupe-sized fibroid tumor, which made my uterus look like that turkey Monica had stuck to her head in that episode of Friends (even though, my ute was actually about the size of a roasting chicken). Love ... was not particularly loving. And, I almost lost my house.
Which brings me to the last five months.
My post on February 9th really did tempt The Fates, or reminded God that there were still more fun and fabulous ways of making a "testimony" out of me (to use my mom's word). I've generally kept the resulting grief either to myself, or saved it for occasional venting with my mom, friends, select colleagues, or my (now ex?) boyfriend.
But I googled myself recently and found that proof of my latest and greatest shame has been posted online, and so, I decided, what the hell, let's come clean.
But to do that, I must recap the "lowlights" beginning in May 2007.
- First myomectomy in May - unsuccessful, with a $200 copay
- Contract ends with my previous employer in June 2007, and despite applying to over 50 positions, I received no interviews
- Spent the summer on unemployment, while enduring medically-induced menopause, 3 medical trips to Spokane (the third for my second surgery), and receiving assistance from my mom to cover my COBRA insurance because my roommate/tenant moved out when he found a cheaper place to live closer to work
- The night I returned from my second surgery, some pricks crashed a stolen car into my property, destroying a large section of the cedar privacy fence and ripping open my cat's chest
- I drained my retirement account in early Fall to get caught up on mortgage payments and help pay fees for what I'd hoped would be my last year as an A.B.D.
- My cat was shot in the leg in October, as she sat in our front yard, during a spate of cat shootings in Tacoma
- I tried to set up a Debt Management Plan in November, but was told that I made so little that the best option was to file bankruptcy. I didn't. I just began applying to jobs out of state.
- My previous employers failed to communicate changes in my paydates, due to changes in my contract status, and paid me late, resulting in some additional late fees for me. I ended up making just over $900 in the month of January.
That was supposed to be my happy ending. And I think, in some ways it is and will continue to be, but unfortunately, that barn blaze has been ... like ... a ten-alarm fire ... and it just ... won't ... die.
The day I moved to my new town, in fact, while I was unpacking the moving truck (my new employers paid to relocate me!), I was ambushed by an irate realtor who accused me of squatting. I showed her the lease agreement I signed with a guy who went by the name "Mark Stephens" and she scoffed, saying she knew the guy, but that he was a shyster who bilked the true owner of the house out of thousands and that, as a result, the house was in foreclosure and I would have to leave. That explained the good deal I got on the house, though since I was going to help the shyster develop that property and the one next door as retreat centers, I hadn't felt that it was that big of a bargain. No matter. It was a fraud. And his real name isn't even Mark Stephens.
Meanwhile, as I only had two weeks to relocate for work, I tried to find someone to whom to rent my house, who would also help me finish a few projects around the house. I interviewed a few folks, and settled on a guy, R.E.L. who had good references, a solid grasp on the mechanics necessary to complete the jobs, and he was old friends with a neighbor, whom I hold in very high regard.
It turns out, he completely misrepresented his financial situation and not only did he fail to pay his rent on time (i.e. paying in the middle of the month, rather than at the beginning, as he agreed to), but near the end of our five month entanglement, he didn't pay rent or utilities AT ALL. Dealing with R.E.L., was a nightmare, made trickier by the two-hour drive between us! Especially since, at the same time, I had to deal with my mortgage company and needed R.E.L.'s money in a timely manner, in order to save my house.
Three days after I moved to the Shyster House, I met a counselor to set up a debt management plan. This time, I made enough money to insure that I wouldn't have to file bankruptcy and we started the process of contacting my creditors to set up the plan. Unfortunately, the next week, I received paperwork from HSBC, my mortgage holder, saying it was beginning foreclosure actions against my home. Needless to say, I freaked out.
I knew I was behind, and had kept HSBC in the loop all along about what was going on. But, with my new position, I was clearly in a position now to do something about it. So I called HSBC and instead of finding a customer service agent who actually wanted to help, I found a jerk, Daniel Surls, who balked at restructuring my loan, said that if I put the house on the market I would still be liable for the prepayment penalty, and claimed that the only way I would be able to save my house would be to pay about $8000 in attorney fees and back payments by the end of March. I told him that I wouldn't receive a full paycheck from my new employers until March 25th, and that I'd received only $900 from my previous employer in January and about $1700 in February, but would net over $4000 a month starting in April.
Could we please set up a payment plan? No. If you can't pay the $8000, then we could possibly make something work for $4000. If I had $4000 lying around, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Can I resume paying the mortgage, until we resolve the situation with the back payments? No, we'll return the payments. Can I pay the attorney fees, since they're about $1900 and have the back payments tacked onto the loan? No. Well, then could I do a Deed-In-Lieu of Foreclosure, since it was one of the options listed on the letter you sent me? No, those are illegal in the state of Washington. So then I got pissed. Why was it listed as one of the options available to me if it is ILLEGAL? I don't know. So what can I do if you don't help me?! First, we don't have to help you. You knew you had to pay when you took out the mortgage and the only way we can make something work is when you pay the attorney fees and back payments. Then I got REALLY pissed. I didn't choose not to pay. My life fell apart and I couldn't pay. I've explained this repeatedly over the last months, I've even offered to provide the police reports and medical records. How DARE you suggest that I CHOSE this!
Probably not the most productive response, but definitely merited. At this point, I decided not to bother with them anymore. My debt management planner is a HUD-authorized representative, so, I decided to let her deal with HSBC. And she tried. But the customer service dude she contacted, Robert Osborne, gave her the run-around and insisted that she have me call back and ask for him. So I did... or at least I tried to. As one customer (dis)service agent informed me, HSBC is a multinational corporation and I can't expect to simply ask for someone by name; I need his extension number. Apparently, HSBC is too big to have a functioning company directory. Or maybe not, because when I called back, I spoke to a database-savvy woman named Anita who was able to find Robert's extension and .... TRANSFER me! Wow.
By the time I got to Robert, I was in a justifiably foul mood. I've never been impressed by HSBC's shoddy customer service and was absolutely appalled by their behavior when they first bought my mortgage, so I admit I had very low expectations of the man ... like Australopithecus low. But he was actually ... humane and treated me with decency and respect and actually offered solutions.
By the time I found him, a month and a half had passed (my uncle passed away suddenly, which has continued to effect me in a host of. ways) and the attorney fees had almost doubled. But, he assured me that if I paid the attorney fees by the end of the month, then my loan would be restructured to $1460/month and the back payments would be tacked onto the loan. At first, I scoffed, since this was exactly what I had asked Surly Surls for, back when the attorney fees were a fraction of what they were 6 weeks later, but Mr. Osborne assured me that it was real. And so, the only bill I paid for the month of May was a power bill and my debt management payment. I paid nothing else, and still had to borrow money in order to pay the over $3000 in attorney fees by May 31st. But then, near the end of the month, a different guy from HSBC, John Martinez began calling, claiming that Mr. Osborne's offer was not in the system. John returned to Surly Surls script and insisted I pay a lump sum of 3 months payments plus attorney fees, and then my loan would be restructured. I ... PITCHED ... A ... FIT!
No profanity, exactly, but I may have said something about HSBC being a den of liars and cloven-hoofed jerks ... or I might have just been thinking it REALLY loudly.
Finally, I said, "Fine. I will file bankruptcy and you can keep the house. Good luck selling it in this market." John changed his tune then. Suddenly, Robert Osborne's numbers would work. In fact, he's even over-calculated since the attorney fees were only $3163 and not the $3175.50 as Robert Osborne had claimed. Oh and that bit about Deed-in-Lieu's being illegal in Washington? Well, Daniel was just mistaken. It's not that they are illegal in Washington, rather, since Washington is a non-judicial state, HSBC won't accept them. But, if I make the attorney fee payment via Western Union Quick Collect by May 31st, then the Notice on Deferment will be prepared June 1st and the Ancillary Adjustment Notice will be sent out the next Wednesday, reflecting the $1460 a month. Oh, and there will be no payment for the month of June. So then I made a silly request. I asked for the terms of the restructure to be put in writing and faxed, emailed or mailed to me.
Oh, we don't do that. What? You expect me to pay a huge sum without something in writing that confirms our agreement? It's not how we do business. Well then how can I know that you will honor our agreement? You have to trust me. I don't. Well you have to. This is unacceptable!! Hold on.
At this point, he gets his alleged boss, John Golden, on the phone, who was a throwback to Surly Surls' rude, dismissive and denigrating manner. When he also went down the path of suggesting that I chose not to pay them and should accept whatever they give, I just about threw the phone against the wall, but it's expensive. Instead, I told him that I would have to file bankruptcy and he back-pedaled, just enough to give John M's spiel about trusting them about the restructured payment as outlined by Robert Osborne. I acknowledged that my back was against the wall, and that I would trust them, but if they shafted me, they would not hear the end of it.
Well, the day before the Ancillary Adjustment Notice was supposed to be mailed out, I found out that the house on which I had signed a year-lease had been sold and I would need to find yet another place to live ... in less than two weeks. So, needless to say, impending homelessness, combined with the never-ending saga with my flaky Tacoma Tenant, R.E.L., and the rapidly increasing pace at work, meant I had NO time to follow up with HSBC. But, I made sure that they received my July payment of $1460 within the grace period and assumed that the paperwork had simply been lost in the mail. Back in the day, my fifth-grade Social Studies teacher tried to teach me the error of assumptions ("Assume makes an ass out of u and me"), but here it is, some 20+ years later, and I still have not learned.
I didn't receive the Ancillary Adjustment Notice, because, apparently, no such adjustment has been made. Rather, I received a letter saying that I was behind a payment of $1787.28 and that another payment of $1687.28 "will soon be due." I have tried calling the 800 number listed on this latest missive, but even though I call during the hours they have listed (but after I get home from work), the customer (dis)service division is always closed and of course, there is never an option for keying in an extension number and reaching someone directly, as I would very much like to revisit my conversations with Robert, John and John. Oh and the funny thing: the recording claims that HSBC received my recent payment (so much for missing a payment) and the amount due is $1680.28, not $1687.28... a piddly difference, I know. But seriously, can this company keep any of its facts straight?
One would think that I'd.be pissed. Or even blinded by rage at this point. But I'm not. Between dealing with these Highly Suspect Business Cads and dealing with R.E.L. who abandoned my house sometime earlier this month, owing me a good chunk of change and leaving a host of work unfinished, I'm just tired, and determined to choose my battles.
If the Tacoma house is destined to be my burning barn, then I'm about ready to pull up and toast some marshmallows.
I would like to have HSBC honor Robert Osborne's offer, so that I can make things right with my debts and my credit, and so that my neighborhood, which is in the midst of a wonderful renaissance doesn't suffer any blight because of me. Barring that, it would be great to have the pre-pay penalty waived so that I can put the house on the market. But these assume that HSBC knows the meaning of "honor" and knows how to act honorably, which it's pathologically unreliable behavior thus far, suggests otherwise.
I find it stunning that a company whose representatives cozied up to Senator Christopher Dodd, last year, to reassure him that they were in fact helping homeowners in distress (in accordance with the Homeownership Preservation Summit Statement of Principles), would so clearly NOT be helpful. I find it especially amazing that HSBC's shareholders LET the company behave in this manner. After all, I suspect that many of the people who finally let the foreclosure process happen only due so after their own lengthy sagas with the Surly Surls and Golden Boys of their respective mortgage holders.
So what, pray tell, is the moon to my burning barn of fiscal shame and misery?
A yurt!
I've longed for one as the first step towards building my own strawbale home for many, many, many years. Now that my credit is shot and the cows will come home to the fat lady's bellow before I ever apply for or receive a mortgage again, I am curiously free to reconsider my progressive-green-libertarian-Smith-Family-Robinson-wannabe core. It also helps that where I am living, there is reasonably affordable land, a culture of owner-financed land contracts, a variety of natural and green-built homes and ample sun and wind for alternative energy. In short, I think I've found my Mecca.
I've had my experience with conventional home-ownership and am unimpressed. Why sidle oneself with a huge expense for 30 years when one can spend 5 - 7 years creating an intentional home-space, in a manner that costs less and means so much more? Why misdirect ambition to focus on scoring the job that will pay the big bucks that allow you to buy a bigger house and have a greater vulnerability to the vicissitudes of health, employment, natural disasters and corporate pathologies?
For some people, the answer is clear:
"Shut up you pinko commie!"
But for me, it's not so clear, and never has been.For years I've yammered on about wanting to live a life of intention and creation. And so I've taken up crochet projects, crafted pretty cool collages, entered writing competitions, and have become a bit of a Fascist in the garden. But, I've really been living a life driven by fear: fear of being alone, fear of being unemployed; fear of being homeless, fear of illness... But having experienced each of these in some degree in the last two years, I've learned... that there is life beyond fear. And it can be a rich and fulfilling life, even if it looks a little different than the one for which I was taught to strive.
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