May 08 2006
Death & Taxes
My mail is delivered to a post office box. Partly because the building was out of mailboxes when I moved in (remember, no-one is supposed to live here), and partly because I can go and get the mail when I feel like it, instead of having it just appear, like an uninvited guest.
The truth is that the mail is seldom fun, but it really outdid itself this time, containing the following (all in one box!):
- A charming missive from my bank, returning a check I had foolishly attempted to deposit by mail, and informing me that they can no longer accept deposits by mail (even though they list an address for mail-in deposits on their website). I am beginning to think Kafka has been reincarnated as my bank.
- A letter from my friends at the State of California Franchise Tax Board, trying to get me to pay $1,000 in import tax for “importing” the grandfather clock I inherited from my late father. Faithful readers may recall that I went down this road already about three years ago, and that the road ended in my not having to pay the tax and my stepmother giving me a sedative.
Why they are trying it on again after all this time, I don’t know. The Governator must really need some cigars. Anyway, the paperwork from Round One is with the rest of my stuff in storage, so I asked my sister Beth to send me a copy of Dad’s Will, which specifies the clock is mine, and I can prove that I don’t owe them a thing, except my abiding contempt.
- The Third Edition of one of my father’s books, Principles of Ecotoxicology, dedicated to his memory and with a forward praising his personal and professional achievements. I collapsed into tears. It’s amazing that almost 5 years after you lose someone, you can feel as bad as you did when it first happened. I hope I can face the copy of his Will with more courage than I could the copy of his book.