Vanishing Acts and Other Tricks of Time

Time to brush the dust off this blog.

Speaking of time, where does it all go? All those fleeting seconds, brisk minutes and racing hours. Poof. Vanished. Sucked away quicker than paint on new wallboard.

There's a reason for the painting metaphor. I spent most of last Monday painting the ceiling in the family room/kitchen. I was disguising the telltale signs of a leak we had last summer from the bathroom above. Right in the middle of it, I was flattened by the virus that attacked Mark last week. Somehow, I carried on. You can't quit in the middle of something like this.

One sore-throat day led to another, and I was suddenly sitting face to face with the tax assessor, an unenviable position ranked right up there with root canal and colonoscopy. A recent revaluation of all properties in town claims my home's value is $100,000 more than what my realtor predicts a buyer would pay for it. I won't go into detail about the meeting, but I want to note that tax assessors are a depressing lot. The one I met with was borderline pathetic: cheesy dandruff-dusted blazer, stubbly chin, greasy hair, and a shaving nick that kept jumping into my line of sight. I felt sorry for the guy, and was kinder than I'd normally be in that situation. This is a profession I would avoid at all costs. No one agrees with you, ever. No one is happy to talk to you. Everyone argues that you are surely wrong (or worse).

In the end, the tax man gets the last laugh I guess. We'll see if my arguments were convincing enough to lower my assessment and thereby my real estate taxes, which by the way are pushing against the 10,000 mark, far out-performing the Dow.

Now I'm suffering from laryngitis. It started at a retirement party I attended Friday night, where I was uncharacteristically mute. I woke up Saturday morning with an important event on my agenda, at which speaking was a key requirement. Somehow, I croaked and whispered my way through it. There appears to be some truth to the adage "if you want people to listen, whisper. "

Let the next whirlwind week begin.