jackiedoherty.org

I’ve been spending an inordinate amount of time on my taxes this year which has been rather unpleasant; however,  I did come across some information that might be of use to others:  if you or someone you know doesn’t typically file taxes, you should do so this year because you are probably eligible for a rebate, which you can’t get if you don’t file.  Maybe everyone knows this already, but I thought I should pass it along just in case. According to the IRS, about 20 million people aren’t required to file a return because they earn too little; however, they could still be entitled to a rebate.

The other tax tidbit I have to share is that if your taxes are confusing or you run into a situation that you can’t solve by searching the internet for hours and days to read about other people’s experiences and opinions (which is what I’ve been doing for the last several weeks), you can pick up the phone and call the IRS (1-800-829-1040).  I know what you’re thinking, that it would be a hassle, that you’d never get through, etc; however, I have now been on the phone with them three times, and each time, my call was answered right away and I was put through with a minimum of waiting time to a person who was skilled in my area of concern.  

Finally, I am a person who believes in taxes (I want good schools and services), but….does it have to be this complicated?? Once you start delving into the tax code, you feel as if you are in the mines of Moria and have awakened a balrog! I’m just saying, it starts to feel as if the tail is wagging the dog. 

Today is the one year anniversary of our blog! Jackie wrote the first post on March 23, 2007, and we’ve been writing ever since. Looking back, it’s been a lot of work to keep this going, more than we anticipated, but we’re proud of the fact that, while we haven’t always been able to post something every day, we have written 376 posts in the last year.  

One of my favorite cartoons from The New Yorker magazine has one dog saying to another, “I used to keep a blog, but now I’ve gone back to pointless, incessant barking.” There are times when we bloggers, and possibly our readers (certainly our husbands!) wonder why we bother? On the other hand, we like to write and blogging is one way to fulfill that passion, as well as draw attention to worthy causes, correct media inaccuracies, and take our activism to the next level by sharing our perspectives on current and local events. Writing is therapeutic, and some of our posts are purely for venting and never get published, but it also is a wonderful way to clear the mind. As the British novelist, E. M. Forster wrote, “How can I know what I think until I see what I say.” So, we’ll keep writing, and we hope you’ll keep reading.  Thanks for visiting us here in the blog-o-sphere!

Perhaps it’s a silly holiday, more an Irish-American invention than a true tradition from our Celtic cousins, but St. Patrick’s Day in my family is about getting together, eating corned beef and cabbage, and sharing memories of our father, who died 15 years ago today. Throughout our childhood, our father joyfully celebrated the day: he wore all green—from his socks to his boxers, shirt, necktie, and even the cap on his head—and with it, he instilled in us a sense of pride in our identity, our shared roots, and our loyality to each other. Dad was often heard to say: “There are two kinds of people, the Irish and those who wish they were.” (Mind you, he was born in Boston.) When we discovered he had passed at home early in the morning of March 17, 1993, his green clothes laid out for him to wear that day, we decided to bury him in his greenery, which I know he would have thought cool. Today the Boston Herald published a tribute to my dad, but since I can’t link to it right now, I’m reprinting it here:

“In Loving Memory of Daniel J. Doherty: January 19, 1915-March 17, 1993
It’s been 15 years since our dad died, and every St. Patrick’s Day we are reminded of the man who taught us to fight for our beliefs, take care of our family, and be loyal to our friends. Dad was proud of his Irish ancestry, being a townie, and watching out for his “guys,” a lifelong career that took him from longshoreman to business agent to ILA pension and welfare coordinator. Today, as we celebrate one of his favorite holidays, we remember him with love.”

On a final note, as my 15-year-old son (who never met his grandfather) left for school this morning dressed in green sweatpants, green shirt, and green sweatshirt, I couldn’t help but smile to see that this part of my dad lives on in him. Éirinn go Brágh!

It’s a brilliantly sunny day in Boothbay Harbor as I sit overlooking blue water and snow-crusted rooftops from the inn at the top of the hill where we spent the night. Yesterday, we attended a memorial service in celebration of a life, and the grieving husband’s heartfelt emotion and words still echo in my mind—a nougat of sentiment to express a marriage of 55 years and a lifetime together: “She was not only good to me, she was good for me.” His words remind me of my tenth-grade English teacher, who first impressed me with the notion of relationships that encourage us to be our best. This particular moment of enlightenment came during a phase in my life when I, an honor student and three-season athlete, was most interested in the leather-clad boys who hung on the corners rather than the jocks, who seemed immature, or the college-bound intellectuals, who seemed so lacking in adventure. Decades later, I don’t pretend to have an answer for how we go on when loved ones pass, or what it is that enables a relationship to thrive for more than 50 years, but I agree with my teacher: It is not so much what you give to each other or even how you weather the joys and disappointments of life, but rather who you become through the relationship that will define what it has meant to your life and those who love you. 

The other day, I spent 3½ hours on the telephone with Sprint trying to trace an order to replace my son’s cell phone. Despite being transferred and disconnected numerous times, speaking with incomprehensible folks with heavy accents, and being told by various people: a. they had no record of the order; b. they had an order but it was for a different phone; c. the confirmation number I had been given three weeks ago was NOT Sprint’s; and d. the order was stuck: I refused to give up. Each time I was disconnected, I called back, and finally—after they tried to recycle me to departments I had already spoken to—I insisted on speaking with a supervisor, and yes, I would wait. (At that point, I had been on the phone three hours with no resolution.) I admit I was nearly hysterical by the end of the ordeal, although I never swore, screamed, cried, or was overly belligerent to anyone. I was persistent, however, and I confess to laughing shrilly when I was told they found the order and it would probably be shipped any day now. Finally, I got the supervisor, who spoke perfect English although her voice was so soft and far away she sounded as if she were in India, and I impressed her with my need for satisfaction. She offered to overnight deliver the phone and did. I’d love to say I was triumphant, but since I recently extended my contract with Sprint, I feel trapped and shaken by how much of my life was lost on hold: God forbid I have a problem with my bill and have to call them again…

Sorry, I’ve been so out of touch. It’s vacation week, as many of you with school-age children know, and I have been distracted by my kids. I offer this not as an apology or excuse, but merely my reality. We have been doing day trips and much-needed house cleaning, taking care of errands and to-do items that have been ignored because of the hectic pace of our regular days, and having as much fun as we can. With today’s storm silently blanketing the world outside as I write, I realize I am grateful for my home, the distractions of my children—who as my mother-in-law used to say “are living pieces of our hearts running around”—and the opportunity to be part of all this white wonder, safe and warm, and connected to others by a few clicks on a keyboard.

My brother emailed me this link to take a trivia test regarding basic information all U.S. citizens should know. The test is in a jeopardy-like format, fun and fast to take, and easy (I got all questions correct). It covers four basic areas: U.S. flag, history, government, and rights. Take a few minutes to answer the questions and see how you do; maybe make your kids take it too and members of your family and friends. Keep in mind, however, the actual test people applying for citizenship must pass is much harder. For a sample of some of those questions, check here.

Today we celebrate my eldest child’s 15^th birthday. I can tell you, those years went by quickly and they continue to pick up speed the older I get. My son is now taller than me and apparently smarter since he has an answer for everything. Anyway, it got me thinking about aging and an intriguing radio show I heard on the topic the other day. They were interviewing co-authors, Dr. Harry Lodge and Chris Crowley, about their book Younger Next Year. I haven’t read the book, but what interested me was the notion of a difference between body age and actual age that we control. It reminded me of when I was 25 and went to a podiatrist about foot pain. He told me I had the feet of a middle-aged woman (horrific to hear at the time, now not so much) and sold me a pair of $500 orthotics, which I wore diligently until one broke. I’m not sure my feet got younger because they looked the same in flip flops… But my point is, we know the biological clock ticks for all, and that the impact of those years varies for each of us. For some, like my friend Jayne who has active aunts in their late 90s, there is a genetic predisposition to live long and be healthy. Yet, according to these guys, each of us has the potential to make our bodies younger through a combination of cardio exercise, weight training, diet, and attitude—easy to say, difficult to do. Still, the concept is empowering. As I see the sands of my own life running down, it’s helpful to think I can make my body younger. Okay, so I’m not going to get my 25-year-old body back, but check with me next year (maybe I’ll be 39 indefinitely). For now, I’m off to the gym!

Up here in New Hampshire, they’re predicting 6-10 inches.  Everyone who tried to leave earlier in the day turned back because of hazardous driving conditions, so here we all are, still on vacation.

Happy New Year! Stay inside if you can. 

Being a compulsive list-maker, I’ve always looked forward to writing out my New Year’s resolutions.  I love the idea (or illusion) of a fresh start that the changing calendar grants and after the indulgences of the holiday season, January seems appropriate for a new regime of healthy living and eating and planning to be more productive or creative or self-disciplined, or whatever.  I know not everyone feels this way and have a friend who never makes a resolution (this annoys his wife:  What? He’s so perfect he can’t think of a single resolution?).  Recently, I was browsing for an anniversary card for my sister and her husband and came across a beautiful card that expresses my current sentiment about New Year’s Resolutions:

Now and then it’s good to pause in our pursuit of happiness and just be happy.

–Guillaume Apollinaire

For some reason, I feel like there is a resolution in there somewhere – a resolution not to resolve, not to always be striving for more or different things.  Certainly, dissatisfaction is a great motivator, striving and reinventing ourselves is the American way.  But, the opposite approach, of just being, of feeling gratitude for what we have, of contentment, should be okay too.