Sometimes a little math goes a long way to soothe the soul. For example, one could get very upset (and maybe even cry a little) after spending $1100 on car repairs one month, only to drive less than 700 miles and 4 weeks later be required to spend another $1100 on car repairs for a completely unrelated problem. However, if one does the following math, one may be able to stop hyperventilating and crying long enough to hand over the credit card and authorize the repairs:
2002 Used vehicle purchase cost in 2007 (Craigslist):
$11,000, paid for in cash,
$6000, total service and repairs over 4 years
=$17,000 total cost
Let's say I'd instead decided to finance a new sienna mini-van in 2007 with a good warranty so I would not have had to pay for any repairs (had there been any on a newer vehicle), nor would I have yet encountered the dread 90K mile service and timing belt replacement. By my estimate, I would still have paid in four years:
$26,000 new vehicle purchase cost (total ballpark, and probably low--new ones are now 30-35K)
$3300 interest over 4 years
$1100 maintenance (oil changes, regular service & new tires)
=$30,400 or $13,400 more than I've spent on my van in the past 4 years
Now, for arguments sake, let's say I instead purchased a used vehicle (because let's be honest, I'd never in my right mind buy a new vehicle--not while I can still do math anyway), but a few years newer, put $10K down and financed the rest. Now this is a total guess, but let's say I paid only $3000 in service and repairs since it was a newer vehicle:
$20,000 used vehicle purchase cost (again, total guess)
$1300 interest over 4 years
$3000 maintenance
=$24,300 or $7,300 more over 4 years than I've spent to date on my van.
Yes, so it hurts right now to authorize and pay for those repairs, but (sigh and deep breath) by my calculations, hindsight says I'd not have done it differently. Sniffle. It still hurts. You know, the difference between boiling a frog slowly and dropping the sucker in at a full rolling boil? I feel a little like a boiled frog.
Still, it's all a crapshoot anyway, isn't it?
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Sympathy Pain and the Sympathectomy
Ethan was sick last weekend. If you don't know just how much it sucks to go to 3rd grade all week, only to get sick at exactly 5pm on Friday evening so you can be sick all weekend and get better in time to go back to school, just ask Ethan. He'll tell you all about it.
Elliot apparently thought staying home sick from church sounded like a fine idea.
I don't feel good.
Where?
All over.
Tell me one place.
My thigh.
Point to where on your thigh it hurts.
Right here (points to ankle)
That's your ankle.
Oh, where's my thigh?
Right there.
Oh, it hurts right here (points to thigh).
mmhmmm . . .
Speaking of pain, Matt is going in for his annual fall surgery tomorrow. Six surgeries in six years. This is the first on his ankle though--it's a new limb for him. To have surgery on, that is. He actually will get an epidural, so you know, we'll have that in common for future dinner conversation . . .
Remember when my epidural worked everywhere except the important place?
Oh yeah, at least you didn't have to shave your back before your epidural--or did you?
Of course, he gets to have a "walking epidural" which will last for 2 weeks post surgery. That sounds like fun. And he gets to use a knee walker/scooter thingy to get around. With the epidural in place, he's been told, he'll likely be in significantly less pain than he has been in the past 7 months, for the duration of the epidural (and hopefully longer, if the surgery is successful). I keep seeing images of him careening recklessly down the block on his knee scooter shouting "WEEEEEEEE" as he holds his epidural pump in the air, tubes trailing out of his hairless back. I'm not sure how I feel about that, but I'm not about to say anything to the doctor. Or the scooter rental people.
His epidural is intended to be a sympathectomy--a block of the sympathetic nervous system. I'm thinking though that I probably could use a sympathy transplant as I can't seem to find my sympathy anywheres these days. In fact, now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure I once had a sympathectomy, and more than likely an empathectomy too--as preventative measures of course, no sense leaving me open to a future calling as a Relief Society President.
ps. We've been officially married for 11 years now. We celebrated by hiring a baby sitter for a couple of hours on the gamble that Matt might be feeling well enough to leave the house. We did, we actually went out to dinner alone and came home and went to bed in separate bedrooms (so I can't bump Matt's foot inadvertently and he won't keep me awake all night tossing and turning with pain and medication-induced insomnia). Living the dream . . .
Elliot apparently thought staying home sick from church sounded like a fine idea.
I don't feel good.
Where?
All over.
Tell me one place.
My thigh.
Point to where on your thigh it hurts.
Right here (points to ankle)
That's your ankle.
Oh, where's my thigh?
Right there.
Oh, it hurts right here (points to thigh).
mmhmmm . . .
Speaking of pain, Matt is going in for his annual fall surgery tomorrow. Six surgeries in six years. This is the first on his ankle though--it's a new limb for him. To have surgery on, that is. He actually will get an epidural, so you know, we'll have that in common for future dinner conversation . . .
Remember when my epidural worked everywhere except the important place?
Oh yeah, at least you didn't have to shave your back before your epidural--or did you?
Of course, he gets to have a "walking epidural" which will last for 2 weeks post surgery. That sounds like fun. And he gets to use a knee walker/scooter thingy to get around. With the epidural in place, he's been told, he'll likely be in significantly less pain than he has been in the past 7 months, for the duration of the epidural (and hopefully longer, if the surgery is successful). I keep seeing images of him careening recklessly down the block on his knee scooter shouting "WEEEEEEEE" as he holds his epidural pump in the air, tubes trailing out of his hairless back. I'm not sure how I feel about that, but I'm not about to say anything to the doctor. Or the scooter rental people.
His epidural is intended to be a sympathectomy--a block of the sympathetic nervous system. I'm thinking though that I probably could use a sympathy transplant as I can't seem to find my sympathy anywheres these days. In fact, now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure I once had a sympathectomy, and more than likely an empathectomy too--as preventative measures of course, no sense leaving me open to a future calling as a Relief Society President.
ps. We've been officially married for 11 years now. We celebrated by hiring a baby sitter for a couple of hours on the gamble that Matt might be feeling well enough to leave the house. We did, we actually went out to dinner alone and came home and went to bed in separate bedrooms (so I can't bump Matt's foot inadvertently and he won't keep me awake all night tossing and turning with pain and medication-induced insomnia). Living the dream . . .
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Phonetiphilia
Pet peeve of the day: mispronunciation of the word "bruschetta". I'm not going to ask that everyone roll their "r"s, nor clean up their stray dipthongs (we have a lot of those in Texas), but please, please, please people, there is no "sh" sound in bruschetta. I realize there is an "s" and an "h" in close proximity, but proximity does not a digraph make (or maybe it does--but only proximal proximity and only then in a particular order). I could dive into Italian pronunciation rules here and explain why it is a hard c rather than a soft, but I've already spent too much time exposing the obsessive inner-workings of my mind, so I'll quit embarrassing myself and get to the point (let me know if you want details--there have got to be other freaky phonetiphiles out there). Think of a man named Bruce and a woman named Ketta, you're introducing them: Bruce-Ketta. Now think of it a little more phonetically and repeat again: broosketa. Now, look at the word again and see if you can say it without a "sh": bruschetta. Good . . .There, don't we all feel better? I know I do. Now go and tell your friends.
Maybe next time I'll tell you about the time I witnessed a disagreement over the pronunciation of fettucine nearly escalate into a fistfight . . . exciting stuff
Maybe next time I'll tell you about the time I witnessed a disagreement over the pronunciation of fettucine nearly escalate into a fistfight . . . exciting stuff
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Sunday, August 21, 2011
I'm Dreaming of Da Da
Let us establish a couple of things first:
"Da-Da Music" is specifically a Christmas album put out by my dear friend Doris Rosenblatt, an elderly (don't tell her I said that) Jewish woman from Brooklyn. Her memory is going, so whenever she forgets the lyrics, she replaces them with "da-da" (as in "I'm dreaming of a white da-da!"). Doris calls me every year on my birthday and sings to me the "da-da" version of Happy Birthday (how she remembers my birthday but rarely my name is just a wonder). This is truly the highlight of my birthday. One year she called on Christmas--I was verklempt. I have many stories--of my newlywed husband's first phone conversation with Doris, confused baby sitters, the missionaries (we put her on speakerphone that year, so they all could listen in to the fun) and the friends I've repeatedly made listen to the recorded phone messages and more. The Christmas album was a delightful Christmas surprise last year. It showed up as a gift from Dame Rosenblatt herself and I have to admit, we listened to it in the car with the children--a lot. My children may come to believe that "da-da" is truly a part of every Christmas carol written.
Now that we have the context for this Elliotism of the day, let us begin . . .
Elliot: Mom, do we still have the da-da music in the car?
Mom: No.
Elliot: Darn! because I LOVE that music!
(this is August in Texas mind you)
Elliot: Can I listen to it in bed?
Then there was the continued conversation in the car regarding the GPS (or as Elliot calls it "Joo Pee Ess" or as I hear it "Jew-P-S") and so I started asking myself just what would the JewPS say to me when I made that wrong turn? And would she sound like Doris?
"See, see what happens when you don't listen to me!? You just turn right back around . . . No! not now! WE'RE GONNA DIE! . . . alright then, I'm not sure how you pulled that off, but since we're alive, let's get moving already . . . schmutz."
I did find the Da-Da music and Elliot went to sleep listening to it last night . . . sweet dreams baby Jesus . . .
"Da-Da Music" is specifically a Christmas album put out by my dear friend Doris Rosenblatt, an elderly (don't tell her I said that) Jewish woman from Brooklyn. Her memory is going, so whenever she forgets the lyrics, she replaces them with "da-da" (as in "I'm dreaming of a white da-da!"). Doris calls me every year on my birthday and sings to me the "da-da" version of Happy Birthday (how she remembers my birthday but rarely my name is just a wonder). This is truly the highlight of my birthday. One year she called on Christmas--I was verklempt. I have many stories--of my newlywed husband's first phone conversation with Doris, confused baby sitters, the missionaries (we put her on speakerphone that year, so they all could listen in to the fun) and the friends I've repeatedly made listen to the recorded phone messages and more. The Christmas album was a delightful Christmas surprise last year. It showed up as a gift from Dame Rosenblatt herself and I have to admit, we listened to it in the car with the children--a lot. My children may come to believe that "da-da" is truly a part of every Christmas carol written.
Now that we have the context for this Elliotism of the day, let us begin . . .
Elliot: Mom, do we still have the da-da music in the car?
Mom: No.
Elliot: Darn! because I LOVE that music!
(this is August in Texas mind you)
Elliot: Can I listen to it in bed?
Then there was the continued conversation in the car regarding the GPS (or as Elliot calls it "Joo Pee Ess" or as I hear it "Jew-P-S") and so I started asking myself just what would the JewPS say to me when I made that wrong turn? And would she sound like Doris?
"See, see what happens when you don't listen to me!? You just turn right back around . . . No! not now! WE'RE GONNA DIE! . . . alright then, I'm not sure how you pulled that off, but since we're alive, let's get moving already . . . schmutz."
I did find the Da-Da music and Elliot went to sleep listening to it last night . . . sweet dreams baby Jesus . . .
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Flamingos
I saw a flock of Flamingos overhead while I was floating in the pool. I don't believe I've ever seen flamingos fly before.
Day 19 of 100+ degree heat here. And this was the last day of the daily pool hours. School starts Monday (can you even imagine going to school when it's 100 degrees out?). Pool is only open weekends through September, then nothing. It better be 65 degrees by October . . . Except really, how refreshing can pool water be when it's baked in the sun all day? I've been contemplating floating blocks of ice in the pool, but somehow I think it'd be futile. I know, at least we have a pool to go to . . . no whining on the yacht!
On the health front, no real progress. Several months and a few thousand dollars later, I think we've determined that there may be more wrong with his foot than just the nerve pain (which is what we told them from the beginning). However, no one is quite sure yet what the other problem is (Medicine = 10% science, 90% hunch). But he's going to have a minor, yet due to the nerve condition, complicated surgery to further a strong guess. Let us hope the guess is correct because after that, we got nothin'.
Day 19 of 100+ degree heat here. And this was the last day of the daily pool hours. School starts Monday (can you even imagine going to school when it's 100 degrees out?). Pool is only open weekends through September, then nothing. It better be 65 degrees by October . . . Except really, how refreshing can pool water be when it's baked in the sun all day? I've been contemplating floating blocks of ice in the pool, but somehow I think it'd be futile. I know, at least we have a pool to go to . . . no whining on the yacht!
On the health front, no real progress. Several months and a few thousand dollars later, I think we've determined that there may be more wrong with his foot than just the nerve pain (which is what we told them from the beginning). However, no one is quite sure yet what the other problem is (Medicine = 10% science, 90% hunch). But he's going to have a minor, yet due to the nerve condition, complicated surgery to further a strong guess. Let us hope the guess is correct because after that, we got nothin'.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
The Old Man Is Snoring
I've always loved the rain. But one has no idea just how much she loves the rain until being deprived of it for months and being subjected to 100 degree weather for weeks on end. This place has apparently had 1/2 inch of rain recorded in the past 6 months. Crazy.
It's raining. This is the second time it's rained since we moved here in March. And it's really raining--lightning, thunder, downpour and all. I know, I shouldn't get used to it, but boy do I love that sound! Makes me want to go wander around in it. I hope it lasts all day. All week even. I think I'd be happy for a month of it! I know what you're thinking--but I'm serious. Rain makes me happy. It's one of the reasons I loved living in Seattle. I didn't get tired of that rain, I don't think a month of it here could depress me. But that is all wishful thinking anyway. I think we're back to 100 and no rain later in the week. But I'll take it right now.
It's raining. This is the second time it's rained since we moved here in March. And it's really raining--lightning, thunder, downpour and all. I know, I shouldn't get used to it, but boy do I love that sound! Makes me want to go wander around in it. I hope it lasts all day. All week even. I think I'd be happy for a month of it! I know what you're thinking--but I'm serious. Rain makes me happy. It's one of the reasons I loved living in Seattle. I didn't get tired of that rain, I don't think a month of it here could depress me. But that is all wishful thinking anyway. I think we're back to 100 and no rain later in the week. But I'll take it right now.
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