English: still sucks

    After all these years of reading Dick Francis and even more years of reading John Le Carre and for that matter a year of living in England, I finally got around to looking up "peaked cap." From context, I knew generally what one would have to be, since they tend to be atop policemen and military officers and, you know, I've seen those. But what I wasn't getting, as who would, was what the "peak" referred to: it's the bill, or visor. I was trying to visualize an actual peak on the darned things and ever failing. I still just don't get it. I think hood makes more sense than bonnet, trunk more than boot and doors more than wings, but at least I can make sense of the British English versions. Peaked cap defeats me; I'm sorry, Britain.
    Closer to home, for the second time I've been asked for a cancelled check to prove that I really have a bank account. It occurs to me that possibly they mean a voided check, which would be a lot simpler, but means something totally different, at least in my non-peaked-cap-understanding lexicon. Not too many years ago, banks sent back all your cancelled checks (the ones you wrote and the bank had paid out on), but not anymore. I'm not sure why they need a cancelled (or voided) check really; it's possible that this is left over from when providing one would be really easy. Still, these are financial institutions. They ought to know better than me that nobody sends out cancelled checks these days. Shouldn't they? Or am I talking out of my butt again? (I know which way I'm betting!)

REALLY safe place

    Dad had held on to my social security card for many, many years, but some years ago when he was not dying but nor was he not so well, he gave it to me to be on the safe side, and I put it in a safe place. A very very safe place. A really incredibly safe place. I suppose you've guessed by now that I have no idea where it is.
    To receive Dad's death benefits from the State Retirement System (not a huge amount, but equivalent to some months' rent), I have to send them a copy of my social security card. It seems silly, but there you are. I called them and they said no, it has to be the social security card. (It also ought to be capitalized, but there you go.)
    So I set off to the Social Security office (See?) in the Strom Thurmond Federal Building downtown. Speaking of really safe places, the security was tight. I don't remember ever having to take my belt off before. They also wanted my passport. (Metal in the paper?)
    When I got upstairs, I was gobsmacked by the number of people waiting. But the staff was very efficient and they made their way through our numbers quickly. I may have gotten vaulted over some of them due to only needing a replacement card. I had paid for more than an hour and a half on a street parking meeter and got out of there in a little under an hour. And I'll have my new card within two weeks. So not bad at all.
    My can-do spirit has returned a bit (apparently) as has the sun (periodically). The two may be related to some degree, I don't know.

Record still broke

    I'm still mildly ill, the weather's still mildly terrible but not as bad as the rest of the country, and I'm still procrastinating to beat the band when I get around to it. I truly believe that I'm going to get going soon, probably tomorrow. I think I'm blaming continued doldrums on continuing "Angela's Ashes" weather (and lungs). "An' my tharteenth brudder died from the tb before he reached two. An' my FOURteenth brudder..."
    I also need to see to my own health (apart from the stupid cat scratch disease) and that of the rotten stinky cats. Amelia is actually older than me now on the comparative aging chart. I am thrilled however to say that her grumpy dowager empress tendencies have been in abeyance in favor of reborn kitten behavior. So maybe this can be put off for a while. She's years overdue for a trip to the vet, as I myself am, too.

Bread and milk

    I don't know if it's just in the South or if it's everywhere that whenever there is the least threat of snow, the entire human race descends on every supermarket known to buy bread and milk. Since I don't eat bread or milk, I'm usually immune, but sometimes I run out of other things in the time of panic. To be honest, I completely forgot to check whether Publix still had either bread or milk today, so maybe it was just crowded for some other reason. But parking was impossible at what I thought was a safe non-lunch hour. I did eventually get my non-milk non-bread items, but felt a little silly and thought about wandering about to find a half-dozen other items to make the trip worthwhile. Eventually just said "heck with it," though.
    Not to go all Captain Vague two days in a row, but there are some things that other people need to do before I can proceed with my grownup trustee-type activities which they aren't doing. So I guess I'm not the only person around who isn't feeling supremely motivated just now. Hot damn: license to procrastinate!

Conflagration of procrastination

    This will be another visit from Captain Vague, so I'm not sure how informative it will be, if at all. I did however figure out what the source of all this damnable procrastination is. Not surprisingly, there's something I really don't want to do, or rather a commitment that I really don't want to make. Unfortunately, that's about the most informative I can be, except in negatives (no, I'm not worried about getting married). Well, and I guess it's fair to say that I resent having had the commitment made on my behalf rather than volunteering myself. (No, it isn't an arranged marriage either.)
    I like to think that realizing the whys and wherefores will help me with getting my posterior in gear. Things that have to be done still have to be done, whether we want to or not. Or as the main mover would have said, If 'twere well 'twere done, 'twere well 'twere done quickly. Also, my cough has almost evaporated and the winter weather has been a good deal less threatening than expected. It's still supposed to snow tomorrow, but mostly north of here. I'll try to do a better job of pretending to be a grown-up henceforward.

Oh THOSE earthworks!

    A couple of weeks ago at my favorite walking place, variously called Timmerman Trail, Cayce Riverwalk/ Timmerman Trail or the 12,000 Year Historical Park trail, sprang up a(n) historical marker. This tells the story of the Congaree Creek earthworks, thrown up as a last ditch (no, really!) defense at the end of the Civil War. And I thought, what earthworks?
    Now since this trail (I'm not sure a cement path is really a trail, but that's what they call it) opened, I had noticed that there was a big ridge of dirt between the path and the creek and wondered why it was there, why they didn't knock it down since it blocks the view of the creek and why they didn't just run the path on top of it. OHHHHHHHHHH! Your pal John may not be the brightest fellow in this area code when it comes right down to it. Although it only took me a couple of weeks to figure it out!
    Weather is continuing in its "can't complain; everybody else's weather's worse!" mode. Rainy yesterday and most of today, and about to get cold again, but not cold compared to cold places. It's supposed to snow tomorrow, but I think I've heard that one before. Speaking possibly only for myself, I'd be just as happy if the forecast is all wrong. I dig snow, but I like pictures of it even better. I amuse myself by thinking of the fact that I'll probably need the ceiling fans a week from now and the air conditioning in two weeks. Kookoo, ain't it?

Not nostalgic

    The other night, I got takeout from a Jamaican place I had tried once. On the previous visit, I had asked if the jerk chicken was gluten free and was assured that it was, that everything was except for breaded items and the macaroni and cheese. And I had no problem-- then.
    Friday night, I didn't bother to ask about gluten, since the same fellow (the owner) was serving me. I probably should have, though. I had a hurty digestive system for the next twelve hours or so. And it reminded me of how I used to feel all the time. It did not, however, make me particularly nostalgic for the good old days.
    Stinks, though, because I really wanted to take my celiac friends there. There are many Jamaican places in Columbia and you would think that there would be one where one could confidently order jerk chicken. We just haven't found it yet.

Complete change

    I'm sure no one but me will find it interesting, but I find it at least odd that I completely stopped playing computer games after my dad died. Of course, the months leading up to his death were very stressful and I have to think that I was playing a lot less during that period than I had been before. Still, the complete cold turkey has been a surprise to me.
    Still, it doesn't have to mean anything in particular. Just before Dad died, thinking he was getting better, I went out and got a papa san chair, which has proved to be very, very comfortable. So it's not so much that I quit playing games, but rather that I finally have a comfortable place to read all the time. So I do. Also the kitties like sitting on my lap there, or rather, each kitty likes sitting on my lap. Today, they both jumped up on my lap at the same time and both stayed there for a few minutes, which hadn't happened before. Perhaps peaceful coexistence is finally evolving.
    Anyway, I'm finally thinking of playing games again, or starting to think about it. Considering how productive I've been (or haven't been) lately, it probably isn't the best idea. But I did show that I can quit any time I want, for a month there at least.

GNC procedure #5006

    You may have seen the news story some weeks ago that many major companies selling dietary supplements are, according to lab testing, not in fact selling what's on the label of these supplements. It seems like all the companies are getting their supplements from the same dishonest sources, since the ingredients tended to be the same, that is, mostly common house plants. One of these companies was GNC. I take their (alleged) kelp tablets for iodine. Whether or not there is any in there, I'm pretty sure there's iodine at least, or anyway my thyroid keeps ticking along. (They may have gotten the iodine from a much cheaper source, of course.)
    What tickles me about it though is that on the labeling, it says, "Potency of Iodine verified by GNC procedure #5006." Oh, I thought, that clears it right up! Presumably, procedures 1-5005 were insufficient. Thank goodness they skipped preparations A-G.
    Weather continues beautiful but cold, but since the rest of the country is colder it would still be churlish to complain. Cat scratch fever or whatever it is still doesn't quite go away, much to my annoyance, but I'm using it as an excuse to be unproductive, so I suppose I'm grateful in a perverse sort of way. I'm hoping to get my posterior more nearly in gear Monday if not sooner. I'm not really covering myself in glory here. But it's true that a little infection affects your brain a lot; my thinking has not been too clear this week. I'll be happy when the cough goes away just as I will when the cold weather does. I like to think that they both will tomorrow.

SECOND NOTICE

    The funeral home sent a bill some weeks ago. It featured a $32 charge for writing a longer obituary than expected (which I expected) and $200 in sales taxes because the local sales tax had gone up in the years since Dad pre-paid for his funeral. I'm pretty sure that this isn't legal, but since the estate didn't have any money anyway, I just set the bill aside as something I would get around to later, or in other words, ignored it. I would have eventually argued with them about it or referred it to our lawyer, no doubt.
    This week, I received another bill, stamped in red all-caps SECOND NOTICE. The sales tax surcharge, if you will, had magically disappeared, and this one was just for $32. As such, that would make it a FIRST NOTICE instead. And my first inclination was to write a particularly snotty note to that effect, suggesting that such incompetence made one severely reluctant to use or recommend their services again. Then, I dunno, I grew up a little bit. I eventually just wrote, "First bill was incorrect. Thanks for fixing it." I think this met the case.
    In other news of the odd, a representative for one of the investment companies Dad had money with keeps apologizing for his death. The first time, I let it slide. The second time, I corrected her, nicely I hope. True it's the thought that counts, but she probably shouldn't go through life in the business world saying "I apologize" when she means "I sympathize." Should she?

This rebirth

    Maybe it's just my imagination, but I feel a lot more cheery, silly and fun than I have in years. Not flirty or anything, but I tend to cut up with all these people I'm dealing with via long distance phone over estate matters. It isn't like I ever stopped being a wiseass, but it seems like I've kicked it into higher gear considerably. Fortunately, everybody seems entertained and no one seems offended or otherwise annoyed.
    Of course, I'd be even more delighted and delightful if I could ever get over this stupid cat scratch fever. Between that and the mad cow disease, I've got a zoo in my bloodstream! I must assume that the cats have it, too. I found it a good sign that Amelia was full of beans and playful as a kitten today for the first time in ages. I like to think that this means she's getting better and that I will, too. Either that or silliness is a side effect of cat scratch fever and we both have it.
    The Winter of Our Very Limited Discontent continues. It'll be cold tonight and tomorrow, but compared to places where they're getting buried under wave after wave of snow, it's impossible to complain. I mean as long as the heat works. It's another gorgeous day, although I'm sure the chamber of commerce would prefer it a little less windy. Except the kite stores of course.

Razzafrazzin'...

    I will continue my policy of not divulging any important specifics on estate matters for security reasons, so this is likely to be vague and uninteresting in the extreme. I'll do my best not to be, of course. A company that I like a lot required me to jump through a lot of hoops before they would recognize that I really am who I say I am and the son of the father I claim is my father and not just a son of a son of a. Two weeks of hoops, in fact, or a little more than that.
    And all that before they would answer one simple question: did my Dad have his money in the Trust's name or in his own name? Today, they finally accepted my secret handshake and let me in on the secret. And the answer is... bad news. So Dad's largest chunk of change is headed to probate rather than straight to distribution, which is a total bummer drag. On the other hand, we'll be getting another nice little pile of money some months in the future. And that's certainly better than... never. And of course I bet the bank is thrilled!
    Note: the individual representative of the firm in question had a great sense of humor about the whole thing and helped out with my bit about filling out the forms at midnight under the full moon standing on one foot ("On Tuesday," he suggested), so at least that was fun.

Four more years!

    OK, maybe not. But this is the fourth anniversary of this blog. I wish I could say that it has been fun, but due to circumstances beyond the control of any but Father Time, it hasn't been particularly. However, it's been a lot less grim than it could have been (I hope!) and my life has been more fun than it would have been without it. So there's that and that. It's been a useful safety valve (I hope!) and has also proven helpful in conveying Dad news to people I would have had difficulty reaching otherwise. So although it turned out to be nothing like what I had planned, wanted or expected, I think it has turned out well.
    I still haven't made any long term decision on whether to continue or not. The probability is that one day this year it will just end and another one will start with no identifying markers. Persons needing to know where that is and what it's called (who I freely admit will be darned few in number) will hear about it. Otherwise, people can surf in if I hit topics that interest them. (Or, apparently, if I use the word "memaw." Someday maybe somebody will explain what that's all about.)
    In the meantime, yaaaaaaaaaay! Four big years, missing only one day! Temptation to double-post today to set that right is only fleeting, I'm happy to say.

Thanks George!

    Being the actual successor trustee to my dad's trust, I'm glad that it isn't easy for someone to claim to be me and just ask for a check to be sent to him or her. That said, though, I think some of these outfits are going a little bit overboard in their requirements that I prove that I'm really me. I mean, I have all kinds of ID and the will says that I'm the successor trustee; that ought to be sufficient, right?
    Federated finally came through with the why and wherefore. The USA Patriot Act requires all this rigmarole. Isn't that great? As far as I can tell, none of the stand on one foot under the full moon at midnight stuff proves in any way that I'm not a terrorist. (Note to Homeland Security: I'm not.) Well, I return to my first point: if it's hard for me to prove I'm me, at least it's even harder for somebody not me to prove they're me. So there's that.
    Chills are past and I'm pretty much all better. But there can be no doubt: Ted Nugent really is wrong about everything.

Chills

    Boy will this be brief! I'm having my second attack of chills this year. It isn't my idea of fun. The first bout was just before my dad died, so even less fun. It seems improbable that I would get the exact same strain of cold or flu twice in slightly more than one month. I know it sounds like a Nuge joke, but I think there's a good chance that I have cat scratch fever. The cats pretty clearly had fleas for much of the last couple-three months, but due to perpetual crisis mode, I didn't get around to getting Feline Advantage (flea poison) until relatively recently. It can be transmitted to people by fleas, if that isn't obvious.
    Anyway, the treatment for cat scratch disease is: do nothing. Also it's almost impossible to diagnose unless you have access to a PCR lab, and I don't think they have that at the doc in a box. In January, I had one rotten night and one not too good night and that was about it. So whether it's my gift from the rotten stinky cats, a mild cold or a mild flu or some other dang thing, I imagine I'll be getting over it momentarily, except for the lingering cough. Pretty sure I'll live.
    I felt so bad that I almost didn't cook today, but eventually I got on the stick. One nice thing about chills: you can stand over a hot stove pretty comfortably!
    Two days from now, this dang blog reaches its four-year anniversary. Because I missed a couple of days at some point, it won't actually be 1,461 entries (four years plus one leap day). I'll get over that somehow, too. At this time, I'll keep writing it until estate matters recede enough for me to think about starting a new, anonymous blog, or just keep banging out this stuff. Or just changing the name to Writing When The CatS Let Me.

Big Lots expanding file

    OK, I bought it as a joke. I was looking for an expanding file with pockets that close at the bottoms like file folders, since I have a tendency to write important information on fugitive bits of paper. The other expanding files I saw didn't close at the bottom, so those bits of paper would have had a little convention down below the separators.
    I also moved my files there (from a file box with hanging separators) as a bit of a joke. And at first I hated it. The separators are clear, so you can see the files for the next company when you're looking for the ones for a particular company. And I was planning to put everything back in the big file box this weekend.
    But then... I went to the bank to get bank medallions (if you don't know what this is, you really really don't want to) and the banker asked if I had my documentation. And I did. It was all in there somewhere or another. So I'll be squarely gosh-darned and this is a totally unexpected and so far unrenumerated endorsement for the $9 26-pocket Expanding Folder from Big Lots. My new hero. Thanks to it, I did get my medallions and got my letters out in time against the three-day Presidents' Day deadline. Now, of course all the companies concerned will write back to say that since I didn't execute the letters at midnight under a full moon while standing on one leg with a finger in my ear, I'll have to start all over again. But I'll cross that bridge when I come to it, presumably on one leg.

A good time to develop patience

    At the moment, I'm having an exciting time waiting for various documents to arrive at their destinations and to be entered into the systems of the companies I'm sending them to. Or for people at the bank to get answers to my questions and write me back. Or for one outfit even to talk to me; I have to wait more than a week for a telephone appointment. This is another time when I'm happy that the weather's beautiful, because if it weren't, I'd probably be getting a trifle irascible by now. As it is, we just have to get ready for another silly little cold snap. Fun if I can keep the newer, younger, rambunctious kitty from staying out all night again.
    I wish I had exciting stuff to talk about, but at least the whining is drying up a little bit, isn't it? That counts for a little, I hope. This blog is approaching its four-year mark in a week or so. Maybe it'll be time to put it to bed then. Maybe.

Prepared

    Bankers and investment counselors (that can't possibly be how that is spelled, and yet it is) and accountants keep telling me that I am one of the best-prepared clients they have seen, which always strikes me as totally unbelievable. I don't feel prepared at all. It's somewhat dispiriting to think what the unprepared ones must be like. Although I should make the correction: I didn't feel prepared; however, lately I'm starting to.
    Unfortunately, I'm finding that during the state of shock period, my blankness was fairly comprehensive. Not only did I feel blank, but my ability to form memories was not too great either. I look at noted from phone conversations and have little or no idea what they mean. So, yaknow, I call 'em again. Everybody's very nice about it.
    The dealio about tasks ramifying, as I mention now and then that they do, is that they tend to ramify backwards. That is to say that I find that to get to what I thought would be step 1, there turns out to be a step 0a and 0b that have to be taken care of first. The top of the class for this so far is the outfit that requires a telephone consultation first, and that that would be a week and a half from now. I'm certainly wishing now that the blankness had dissipated a lot faster!
    It's still all pretty fun in a weird way. I get to talk to a lot of very nice people, sometimes without having to sit on hold first. I don't exactly know why everybody's phone systems garble the hold music, but I'm just glad that they don't do the same to voices. Not complaining or anything; it's just odd. Anyway, progress is being made, if slowly. It probably doesn't show, but I'm working hard. I think we'll make it through sooner or later.

Dream adjustment

    Yesterday, I didn't do a terrific job of following up on estate matters. I wasn't terrible, but I tended to feel like as I had done my one big thing, I could have the rest of the day off. Today I needed to do better and was a little stressed out about it. I kept having stress-type dreams which woke me up. I can't remember any of them, but I do remember lying there and basically giving my subconscious a firm talking to, reassuring myself that it would be all right and going back to sleep.
    And you know what? It was all right. Now did it work? Maybe. Somewhat. I still kept having the stress dreams in spite of the firm talking to. But at least I got my rest. And I got a lot, lot, lot more done today. So in the end it worked.
    The only problem though with following up estate matters is that the first result is invariably that you have even more estate matters to follow up. Or as I said before, they ramify. But heck, I'll be at the end someday. Something to look forward to!

Al, Al, Al

    My friend Terry suggested that "Word Crimes" by Al Yankovic needs to be on my blog. Al's Word Crimes It's brilliant, too-- right up to the point at the end where he splits an infinitive. But I believe in Al! I think he did it on purpose just to give people like me stuff to cavil and or kibitz about. ("Kibitz" isn't right. See, Al? I can do it, too!
    I'm so old that I no longer know what song Al is parodying. Moreover, this has been the case for decades. I didn't know that "All About the Pentiums" was a takeoff of "All About the Benjamins." Moreover, I didn't know that the latter was a catchphrase, and when it was used as the title of a movie, I thought it was a documentary about Richard Benjamin and Paula Prentiss.
    I think this is a parody of Alan Thicke's son's distasteful song. And the reference to the once-famous Canadian also pretty tells you all you need to know about how old I am. I haven't actually heard the song, though date rape isn't my favorite topic for poesy. I'm pretty sure I like Al's better and would like it better still if I just thought of it as an original.
    Today was spent setting up a trust bank account with a young woman who had never done it before. It was way more fun than you would think (but don't blur any lines) but not something I'm terribly eager to do again, although I'll have to tomorrow or so.
    Persons jealous of our Chamber of Commerce weather can take satisfaction in the fact that it's raining, and turning cold. The fact that our idea of cold is not anyone else's is probably something to keep in mind.

Well wasn't that nice?

    The landlord just happened to be out in the yard looking at fallen limbs (he comes around to pick up the water bills, paid by them but delivered here for some odd reason) so I was able to talk to him about the annoying front door in person. Amusingly, it turns out that the mechanism, instead of being screwed in was nailed in. This was done by the people who turned the house into two apartments and sold it to him and his wife, so it was safe to make fun of them.
    Otherwise, a big week is coming up with many things to do regarding the estate, and I can write about just about none of them. Maybe later, though. If anybody has advice on where the best bank locally to open a trust account might be, though, I'm open to suggestions. Beyond that, just wish me luck.

Relieved

    I was a little peeved when I talked with USAA, where Dad had a largish block of funds (i.e., large to us, a lunch-time tip to Bill Gates). I needed to know if the funds were in his name (and thus would go to probate) or the trust's name (wouldn't), and they wouldn't talk to me until they had a copy of the death certificate and of my appointment as personal representative by the probate court. Fine, but they wouldn't let me just send them; I had to wait until they sent me a letter with a postage-paid return envelope. And when I sent it back, I was supposed to wait a week plus before calling back.
    This is actually Dad's largest block of investments. It makes a huge difference (about six months as I understand it) whether or not it's subject to probate. So the question is fairly pressing. I did get the letter today (after a week) and called to see if I really had to wait a week to call back after sending my reply. The guy I talked to said I could try Tuesday. (I had pointed out that I was sending it from the regional mail processing facility; it ought to get there faster than theirs got here.)
    I don't know why I feel so relieved. It wasn't that big a deal that the letter took a week. But I felt ridiculously like dancing. In general, my life now is so low-stress compared to before that it's pretty neat. Yesterday, I noticed that I'm now taking long walks not to destress but just because I like taking long walks. And that's also pretty neat.

No worries

    I don't know how much play our shooting incident got in the national or international news, but in case anybody heard about it and was worried, I was not touched in any way except for being in the same town and having a friend who works at the School of Public Health. (In case the news didn't reach you, there was a murder-suicide at the School of Public Health at the University of South Carolina today. Pretty tense for a while there since all anyone knew was that shots had been fired.)
    About the closest thing to anything intelligent that I can say about that is that it's ironic how many people are worried about Sharia law coming to this country and how little they notice the damage that's been done by the NRAia law we're already under. I guess until every single person in this country knows someone who has been involved in a workplace shooting, there's little hope for change. And little even then; they'll just blame mental illness.

Banking hijinks

    So the second part of yesterday's story was when I got to the bank with my form for the Veterans Administration. I want to stress that my bank, NBSC, bent over backwards to try to help. It's just that maybe they tried a little too hard.
    What I had was a two-page form, printed from the .pdf at the site the VA gentleman I talked to on the phone emailed me a link for. (And all English teachers reading that sentence faint dead away.) The first page of the form said that the US gubmint no longer issues paper checks and if I wanted a deposit to a checking account (and I do) that I had to send them a copy of a voided check. The second page, which was the actual form I was to send them, just asked for a lot of information on my bank (name, routing number, phone number, etc.) and had a spot where I could just check "Checking" as if no voided check was needed.
    I haven't seen a copy of a voided check in years, although they used to send them with my statement. (Well, they used to send the checks, but more recently miniaturized copies and more recently still, none.) I'm sure they have them somewhere, although given the reaction, maybe not. All I wanted was either a voided check or a copy of one, or the info about the bank for the actual form. Instead, they marshaled most of the staff and came up with a third form which turned out to be the direct deposit request form for Social Security.
    I pointed out that the VA is not the most flexible agency in the world, and asked if maybe we could just fill out the form that I had already instead. They did this with good grace and in significantly less time than generating the Social Security form had taken. The branch manager also faxed the form in for me (having no doubt NOTHING to do with the fact that the benefits payment would more than double my account balance). So all's well that ends well and everything, and I was entirely grateful. It was just all a little weird.

Printer hijinks

    I bought a $40 printer from Kmart. The dude who sold it to me said, in reference to the low price, "I haven't had any complaints!" I think maybe he was fibbing. Although it's an excellent printer, the package did not include a USB cable. Now I get that in 2015, most people would be replacing a printer, and thus would already have the cable. But the instructions implied that there was some other way to use the printer (as in, "if you want to use a USB cable, you will have to procure one," paraphrasing). And there just isn't. It doesn't have WiFi or Bluetooth or even any other connection for a cable other than the power supply. And since the manual is all but useless, the only way to learn this was by checking the comments on the printer at New Egg's website.
    So I went out to get a USB cable. I went to Office Depot, where a friendly fellow showed me a 3' $10 cable no problem. However, I also needed to get some copies of Dad's death certificate. Humiliatingly, I couldn't figure out how to figure out the self-service copy machine; nor could they shake loose anybody to help me. Still apparently in the Anger stage of mourning, I threw down the cable and blew out of there.
    I drove to Staples and found that they only had 6' cables for $20. I was not best pleased and told the nice fellow who had shown me them this. He found that Staples.com had them much cheaper (makes no sense, but I'm not complaining at this point) and sold it to me for less than $6. And it turns out that my now $46 printer works really, really well. So maybe the Kmart guy wasn't fibbing.
    Using it, I was able to print the form for Dad's life insurance for the Veterans Administration. Then there was major rigmarole at my bank, which might be tomorrow's blog entry. But I did get my claim and the death certificate copy in, meaning that my siblings can put their claims in, too. Feeling again like a good boy, I decided to go to the State Museum instead of taking my usual daily hike, and wound up spending more time there than I did in the Prado or the Rijksmuseet. (Shhh! Don't tell anybody!)

Thanks, brain!

    My good ol' brain is starting to respond properly when I ask it questions, with answers that are actually helpful (as against The Brain, who only ever answered, "The same thing we do every night, Pinky: try to take over the world!") I'm also starting to get a little bit better organized, and I made the common-sense (I hope) move of getting a cheap printer. Because large investment funds would probably get a kick out of getting letters from executors scrawled in crayon, but that doesn't mean that they would be favorably impressed exactly.
    This executor/ personal representative gig is likely to get way less fun before it improves, and for the life of me I can't remember ever actually agreeing to do it, but I probably did way back 15 years ago. I do get to talk to a lot of friendly and helpful people, all of whom so far seem to be in the United States, which is a pleasant improvement. Heck, by the time I'm done, I might even remember how to compose a business letter again. I think I'll use burnt sienna.
    Crazy beautiful weather is taking an especially crazy turn today, with gusts over 50 mph. Neither I nor the car blew away, though (even if I had my doubts on the beltway) so that's nice, and the beautiful part is carrying on nicely. Fun thing about 60 degree weather when the wind is 30 mph is that when the wind blows, you're cold and when it doesn't, you're hot. Did a lot of zipping and unzipping of the ol' parka, that's for sure!

Didn't have the heart

    As I have probably mentioned, my dad wrote out a multi-page set of instructions for me and what I was supposed to do after he died. This, however, was a couple-three years ago and there were a lot of housekeeping changes in that time. Margaret has been busily looking for the pages since Dad died, which is sweet of her. I had looked in the tomato box where Dad was keeping his 2014 financial records and found a spiral notebook with Dad's tax records since the '80s.
    Last night, she called and said that she had looked in the tomato box and found what Dad had been writing for her. I was pretty sure it was the same notebook I had found already, but I thanked her and told her that I would come get it. Today, I did. It was the same one. It'll definitely be very useful, but it wasn't what we were looking for. But I didn't have the heart to tell her. I thanked her again and took it away with me. It wasn't a wasted trip, because she also gave me some papers he had filled out for the funeral home, which sketched out his financial position somewhat, which is better than nothing. So that was all right.
    Weather continues balmy for the season. More to the point, the apartment has finally gotten dry enough such that it is no longer dank. I'm no longer cold all the time that I'm indoors. So yay!