March 28, 2018

I made myself sit down last weekend and focus on the job of getting my taxes ready to give to the accountant. This, like Christmas, is something that comes around every year at the same time. And, just like Christmas, it sneaks up on me. Every year.

I’m not particularly proud that I tend toward procrastination. That’s a flaw that I keep meaning to work on, but then I get busy doing other things and I forget all about it. Until life sits up and smacks me upside the head to remind me, of course.

Before becoming a published author, before the myocardial infarction that ended my working outside the home days, I was an accounting clerk. Not an accountant—while I did take a couple of college level courses, I never got a degree in accounting. I worked primarily in accounts payable, payroll, and group benefits. When I worked for the candy company, I also worked on the order desk, and did some accounts receivable.

For the most part, I was a dedicated employee and pretty good with numbers. I made some mistakes, of course, but not many. I was fast and accurate, and for the most part, I enjoyed my work. I really did enjoy working with numbers. I have noticed recently, however, that the further away I get from those days of month ends, year ends, and balance sheets, the less fond I have become of the tasks involved in the processes. I was once told that it’s unusual for a person to be competent with numbers and to also be a wordsmith. I’m beginning to believe that, because these days, I don’t look forward to the “office work” like I used to.

I could just hand my files full of receipts to my accountant, but I don’t. I prepare an excel spreadsheet that has five pages to it. In my anal fashion, I list each receipt and then give it a “control number”. That allows the accountant to sort the data however she chooses, and still easily find the actual receipt to verify it. The prep work I do makes the accountant’s job easier for her and, in the long run, less expensive for me.

Yes, I can do that, and do a pretty good job of it, but I don’t enjoy it the way I used to. When it’s all ready, I email the spreadsheet and hand deliver the supporting documentation. As I came home from dropping the receipts off to the service I use, I once more told myself that if I was smart, I would begin working on my 2018 spreadsheet next week. At this moment, I intend to do that. But in all honesty, I don’t hold out much hope that it will actually happen.

As spring starts to make its appearance, my thoughts move ahead to the new season, and gardening. I love pansies. They have cute little faces, and they come in such a variety of colors. In the past, when I’ve waited until the traditional Victoria Day weekend to purchase my plants, I’ve been disappointed at the garden center. They’ve been “sold out” of pansies, because they are, apparently, not flowers for summer, but spring. Now, the Victoria Day holiday here is the Monday closest to the 24th of May and this year, it falls on May 21—a full 30 days before summer.

To avoid disappointment, I plan to go to the garden center within the next two weeks. We may not yet be able to put the pansies in their boxes that hang from the porch railing, but I can at least get them. And if they’re outside when I buy them, then they can be planted. My porch railing is about six feet off the ground, and therefore somewhat immune to early spring frost.

The shoots of my narcissi and crocuses and hyacinth have begun poking above the ground. The ice and snow are gone from my yard, but we’re still in danger of frost, and temperatures so cold that a glass of water left outside would likely freeze overnight. My perennials never seem to care that they might yet get some snow blanketing them. They’re only poking up, not completely vulnerable.

My husband has an accumulation of egg cartons that he plans to use to start some veggies. He keeps trying to come up with a method of having a garden without actually having a garden. I understand his dilemma; we’re both past the point where we can get down on our knees and work the soil. As well, for him, the act of raking is a challenge that his shoulders and hips don’t appear to like. This year he’s going to try and build a table-top garden. He told me so just last night. He’s certainly got the carpenter’s skills to do so, and he really enjoys gardening. But a new consideration has arisen this year that was never a factor before, and it’s hardly one I can argue against.

You see, I know he will get that project going. Provided, of course that he can leave his manuscript-in-progress long enough to do so.

Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury