It Ain’t Over til It’s Over

And I have NO IDEA when that will be! Land sakes alive! Yes, Crosbys are still stuck in address change purgatory. Yes, it’s been going on for over eight blinkin’ months. This week’s participants who contacted us about our “move” to Oklahoma were Costco, Charles Schwab and Arizona Elections.

While picking up a few pictures that I had printed at Costco, the cashier instructed me to head on over to the membership counter to verify my address. I sighed and rolled my eyes and said, “Not again!” She reassured me that it was a common practice to occasionally verify addresses. I knew differently.

At the counter the lady scanned my membership card and then read my new address in Oklahoma out loud for me. “No, that is not my address. I have not moved in over ten years.” She asked if I have ever lived in Oklahoma. “No.” I mean, really, why explain the whole my-daughter-was-married-and-moved-to-Oklahoma-last-June-and-put-in-an-address-change-and-accidentally-checked-the-whole-family-box? Customer service reps don’t care. At all. I know from experience. She ended with “That’s weird!” I responded with “Yeah! Totally weird!”

Next, an email came that stated our account with Charles Schwab was frozen because mail had been returned. With my husband, Rick, out of town, I tried to take care of it without him having to spend time on this, but alas, my name is not on that account. Whew. I forwarded the 800 number to Rick. BAM! Outta my hands.

Yesterday, three orange “second notice” cards came from Arizona Elections informing Linda Ann, Rickey Allen and Austin Rick that we need to re-register to vote because of our address change. Thankfully that was just one phone call and it is fixed. I hope. I let the nice lady know that we received orange cards but we have lived and are still living in the same house that we have been voting from for ten years. She believed me and didn’t ask questions. Thank you, nice elections lady! I vote for her!

If I can give you any advice today, dear reader, it is BE VERY CAREFUL TO SELECT THE APPROPRIATE BOX ON THE ADDRESS CHANGE CARD AT THE POST OFFICE. Instruct your children about this. Write it on your gates and the doorposts of your house. Tell your neighbors. Include this information in your Christmas letter. Make bumper stickers. Get the word out. Seriously, it’s THAT important!

(On the flip side, if you are trying to think of a devious plot for your most evil enemy for April Fool’s Day…. submit an address change for them… and check the “whole family” box. Hopefully they write a blog and you can read about your sinister activity for months! heh heh heh)

Address, please? (Vol. 1)

Along with debit card purgatory, to add to my daily blood pressure levels, I am simultaneously stuck in Address Change Hell. We are now entering our fifth month in ACH, with no end in sight without a postal psychic to determine where the disturbance is in the force. I would be going postal if I didn’t have a sense of humor. I laugh in the ear of government employees regularly.

Our lovely daughter married in June, moved to Oklahoma and unbeknownst to any of us inadvertently submitted an address change for our whole family in August. I noticed our mail in the box was slim, but that happens sometimes, like not at election time.

My husband, Mr. Wallet, was awaiting several checks to arrive… which were not arriving. He called his clients and indeed checks HAD been mailed to us, not with tongue-in-cheek “check is in the mail” status. Real checks. Real stamps. Real mail. MIA.

The mystery was solved in September when AFHE (Arizona Families for Home Education, where Rick and I serve on the board) called to say that our quarterly magazine had been returned to them with an Oklahoma forwarding address. Ironically, it was the issue where our darling Colombia Princess was smiling on the cover. Of course it was.

I called USPS and discovered that corrections like this can only be made in a brick and mortar Post Office. Field trip! At the government establishment, I filled out the correct slips and thought that I had outsmarted the system. Au contraire, as I am still realizing… five months later.

Everybody and their mother and second cousin whom you have ever done business with somehow has access to the change of address data base and the domino effect began… In October we started receiving notices that our payments were late on several mailed bills… that we never received.

About that time our son was booking airline tickets and the system wouldn’t let him because his address on his debit card was incorrect…. which means the bank changed our address too. A quick call to the bank got the address changed back to Phoenix. Whew.

The hospital even called to verify our address. Think we visit there too regularly???

My sister called to inquire of my enjoyment level from the HGTV magazine subscription she sent me…. uh…. what subscription? She called the magazine and finagled another free six months for me… but I have yet to see the magazine. Thanks for trying, Christy. I can stand in Walmart and read it until mine actually comes.

Stay tuned… there’s more to this story… of course there is.

Time Flies when You’re having FUN!

I just figured out that I’m getting old.  Last week, I figured it out.  All by myself.  Yep.  Old.

The KID that wore the pharmacist badge in the drug store couldn’t have been more than 13 years old.  He didn’t even shave yet.  Isn’t pharmacy school the long version of college?  I’m not getting old.  He was probably homeschooled.  Graduated highschool at 9 years old.  Yep.

The nine-inch zipper on the front of my jeans… is quite lovely.  I can’t imagine a two-inch zipper!?!  What’s the point?  And the back!  Gaaawww.  Say “NO!” to crack!  “Moms will love the nine-inch zipper” is TRUE even if it was on SNL.  We love it for everyone.

Where did these four boxes of Christmas ornaments come from?  We just got married… just a while ago…  seems like last year…. could it really be 23 Christmases ago?  We’ve celebrated baby Jesus’ birthday 23 times as married folk?  That means I was 13 when we got married, if I remember right.  I must still be in my 30’s.  Right?…. Anyone?….

Forty-something-year-olds are almost 50.  That’s half a century.  Old.  That’s the middle ages.  Ouch.

And when did they start letting pre-teens work at the post office?  I thought for government jobs you had to be 18?  I think the postal worker was wearing root beer glossy lip gloss and a training bra.  Goodness.

The phone rang last week.  Caller ID read “Telemarketer.”  Total no-brainer.  Don’t answer.  Well, I knew I needed to clean the whole kitchen and I thought the mental distraction would be proactive on my part.  Plus, with caller ID, who do these poor telemarketers talk to anymore?  The decision was made in a nanosecond. I would take a survey.  I would be the nice person.  I would make Mr. Telemarketer’s entire evening by being cheerful and peppy with my answers.  Come to find out, it was about jams, jellies and preserves!  I love jams, jellies, and preserves!  This would be more fun than I originally thought!  Well, question #3 was “What age group do you fit into?”  I’m always in the third group, I thought patiently, waiting for the age groups.  His monotone voice began, “Group 1: ages 18 – 21, Group 2: ages 22 – 25, Group 3: ages 26 – 29, Group 4: ages 30 – 34, Group 5: ages 35 – 39, Group 6: ages 40 – 44, Group 7: ages 45 – 49, Group 8…..”  I hung up.

The stupid jam guy said I was old.  Group SIX!  Nearing Group SEVEN!  That’s how I figured it out.

Post Office Rules…

are not to be taken lightly.  I think it was because of the holiday yesterday, but the line at the post office was out of control this afternoon.  I’m a regular at this little out-of-the-way USPS in Anthem.  The line, at most, has never been more than five people long.  There are usually two if not three tellers.  So it’s never more than a 15 minute visit.  Today’s load of eBay parcels was seven strong, with one being very heavy!  So Larisa came with me and we left the swine twins at home to cough on each other.  (Their fevers did break and they are well enough to fight over who is going first on the wii …. so I felt alright leaving them for a bit.)

Enter the crazy line at the post office.  Seriously, there were at least 15 people in line.  I love watching people and today was no exception.  There was a darling little brown-eyed girl who just couldn’t keep herself from spinning and dancing in her cute little pink shoes.  She showed us her pink underwear too, much to her mother’s horror.  So cute!

There were two different ladies, one a 65 year old woman and the other an 18 year old tall, thin hoop player, who were behind me a few folks back.  Both were visiting the post office to pick up a parcel.  I knew this because they came in carrying the flimsy pale orange cards.  I let them know that they didn’t have to wait in line (being an expert on postal procedures and all.) They could knock on the blue half door and IF someone was back there, they could pick up their parcels quickly.  They knocked and knocked.  No one answered, so they took their respective places back in line. 

About 15 minutes later (I was now #8 in line) a postal working lady did indeed open the blue half door and ask, starting at the front of the line, if anyone was just picking up… NOT sending something out.  So the two ladies and two other gentlemen went and lined up in front of the blue half door…. in the same order they were in line.

The postal working lady was obviously of the rule-following sort because she instructed the three people behind #1 to get back in the big line where they had just come from.  So, with perplexed and “she’s crazy” looks on their faces, they obeyed.  The postal lady closed the blue half door to retrieve the first parcel and the folks in line burst out laughing, including Larisa and I.  The tall girl said something to the effect of “What difference does it make if we line up at the door?”  A guy in the back sarcastically said, “There are rules to follow! And the line is a BIG deal!”  And we all laughed again. 

One by one the postal lady called the people from the line and helped them.  And we all laughed every single time she shut the blue half door to get the packages.  I’m sure she could hear us.  We never did figure out the whole deal.  But rules are made to be followed!  And postal workers are paid to enforce the rules!  So don’t try any funny stuff next time you’re at the post office.  It won’t work.

42 and Counting…

Tuesdays are always busy and FULL at our house.  I teach a high school history class in the morning while the boys have piano lessons.  Then I take Larisa to piano and have 30 minutes to get my TO-DO list completed.  Today’s list included the library and the post office.  First stop was the US Mail house… and when I pulled in the parking lot I noticed a huge handmade sign of cardboard taped to ropes that were marking off a landscaped area near the front door.  Come to find out, there is a large saguaro cactus about 25 feet tall holding a nest in its arms.  There was a Great Horned owl mama and her fluffy babies.  The sign read:  “Ladders on Post Office grounds prohibited.”  Now, you know me, … wondering if they made that up for the owls or if someone really did think that one day small town citizens would bring their ladders to the post office and cause a disturbance?  Anyway, I enjoyed viewing some of God’s creatures on government land.

Next stop the library.  Now, don’t get me going about the library.  I’ve written here before about the height of my frustration with the county library being in the public high school.  Grrrrrrr.  Anyway, it wasn’t that bad today…. it wasn’t early dismissal, there was no fire alarm, etc.  I was in and out rather quickly.  Wait!  I forgot the good news of the day!  Back track with me for a moment, at the writer’s conference in 2006 I met a budding new author named Allison Pittman who had just signed a contract for a three-book deal with Multnomah publishing house.  Impressive, to say the least.  I bought Ten Thousand Charms, her first book, at the convention and almost finished it on the flight home.  It was truly written with my three loves in mind:  1850s, romance and endless unpredictable peril.  I waited impatiently for #2 to come out in 2007… and today, as I browsed the New Books section of the library I came upon #3!!!  I didn’t realize it was out yet.  It’s titled With Endless Sight.  Can’t wait to dive into it and forget the here and now.

Upon returning to gather my children from piano lessons (the BOYS stayed to have a tea party?????) I decided that they too needed to see the owls, so back to the post office I drove.  Then I discovered that the ONE book that was due today was still in the car…. so back to the library I drove.  Just your typical Tuesday.  Will the thrills never end???

?#11 from My Sister’s Jar – Laughing at Myself

Tell about a recent time when you have laughed at yourself.

That’s easy.  I have new material daily.  The most recent being yesterday.  Our dear relatives/house guests, who spent their Canadian Spring Break in sunny AZ, left a few items at our home so that we would remember them after their departure.  (Come to find out, they TOOK a few things too, to remember us as well.)  There was a game card for some game system, which I don’t know anything about, but my children tell me it’s crucial for me to send it to their cousin, ASAP.  Whatever. 

Item #2 was a treasured black velvet woman’s blazer that was a critical mix-n-match article for my sister-in-law’s working winter wardrobe.  I agreed to mail it right away, so as not to dampen her apparel choices for too long.  I boxed up the coat, the game card and I threw in our left-over Easter jelly beans.  Aren’t I thoughtful?

Keeve, my youngest son, went with me on my magnanimous mission to mail the misplaced items.  We arrived at the Post Office to find a loooooooong line.  After locating the customs forms on a back table, I laboriously filled out all the blinkin’ little boxes while balancing the triplicate form on my purse.  Eventually, after having enough time to read all of the tattoos on the gentleman’s arms and legs in front of me, we arrived at the counter.  Low and behold I filled out the over-five-pound-box form and my box required the under-five-pound-form.  Another triplicate form to complete with boxes poorly designed for the amount of information required to fit in them.

With that task done, I handed the Post Officer an open 6×9″ manila, bubble-wrap envelope with a book inside…. but no address on the outside.  She flipped it over and then looked at me like my jr. high math teacher used to look at me…. like I was stupid.  I kindly asked, “Could you please tell me how much it would cost to mail this to the furthest destination in the USA?”  I thought it was a reasonable question.  She asked, “Why?”  Can they do that?  I explained that I’m going to be mailing many packages just like this one and need to set a shipping cost applicable to the entire US (for when I sell my books on my website – but I didn’t tell her that.)  She grunted, “I need a zip code.”  She probably knew all the zip codes for the major cities on the East Coast like the back of her hand…. but I don’t.  The only one I could come up with was the zip code for ZOOM.  Remember the song?  ZOOM Zee-Double-Oh-Em, Box three five oh, Boston, Mass, OOOOOH-Two-OOOOOONe-Three-Foooooouuuurrrr.  SendittoZoom.  And I simply could not get the numbers out without the tune.  Keeve looked at me like my jr. high math teacher used to look at me….. like I was stupid.  Maybe I was, but I got the shipping rate I was after.  :o) 

Climbing back into the van, I said under my breath, “Did I really just sing the ZOOM zip code in the Post Office in front of 17 strangers?”  With a grin on his freckled face, Keeve chimed in, “Yep, you did, Mom!”  We both giggled.