The Dixie Flyers

A good friend of mine was starting a new dog club. As a dog lover and friend to all who would join, I signed on. As is common in dog clubs, conflict occurred at its inception. Having learned years ago to play a low visibility role in dog clubs, I found myself in the unusual position of being the source of the debate. So I had to ask myself if my concerns were warranted. Were my objections well founded in principle or was I making too much of nothing? Allow me to explain.

I live in Alabama. It is a state that is often marred by a bad rep. But in this instance I felt as if the situation was the kind of thing that propagates those internalized concepts about the South in the minds of the rest of the country. We were voting on a name. The name Dixie Flyers was chosen and I left the club before it began on principle.

Arguments presented to me included, “I don’t really think people will think Rebel Flag when they hear the word Dixie.” Well if that was the case, why on earth did the other member feel a need to mention it? If that was in fact true, then there should have been no need for the member to deny relationship to the Rebel Flag.

The other argument really gave me pause. “Well our license tags say, ‘Heart of Dixie.’” I told that member that I had actually complained about use of the word Dixie in the tags. But I felt a need to do a little research and soul searching to appraise whether or not I was over reacting.

First, the argument implied that if the state used the word Dixie, it must be okay. I am supposed to rely on the state of Alabama to define for me what is socially acceptable? Really? That seemed so wrong to me on so many levels. The social history of the state government in Alabama has left much to be desired. The Confederate Flag flew over the capitol of Montgomery as late as 1988. It took much debate and discourse to have the flag removed. What? The state flew the Confederate Flag above the US Flag until 1988? Does this sound like the kind of state government I can site as an appropriate value system? Not to me. Admit it. Do I even have to go into the Civil Rights battle fought in this state? Rosa Parks 1955. Governor Wallace on the steps of The University of Alabama 1966. And it wasn’t just oppression of the African-American population by the state that comes into question. What about the Wyatt Stickney case of 1972 when abuse of patients in the State Mental Health Care System shocked the entire country? I am supposed to rely on the government in the state of Alabama to define what is socially appropriate and what is not? I don’t think so.

Back to the car tag. When I got my new tag I was offered the choice between a “Heart of Dixie Tag” and “Sweet Home Alabama.” I quickly ran through the lyrics with southern context translations flagging the song.

Oh, I wish I was in the land of cotton,
Old times there are not forgotten, (translation: Pre-Antebellum with slavery)
Look away, look away, look away Dixie Land.

In Dixie Land, where I was born in,
early on one frosty mornin’,
Look away, look away, look away Dixie Land.

I wish I was in Dixie, Hooray! Hooray! (translation: Rebel Yell)
In Dixie Land I’ll take my stand
to live and die in Dixie. (translation: fight as a Confederate Soldier)
Away, away, away down south in Dixie.
Away, away, away down south in Dixie

Needless to say, my choice was clear. I went with “Sweet Home Alabama” and have complained about the tags ever since. Then today I noticed the strangest thing as I was out running errands. I didn’t see the first “Heart of Dixie” license tag. Nadda! They were all “Sweet Home Alabama” and “God Bless America.” Now I am going to ignore the whole “God” debate; but, I did find it interesting that the state had turned in its “Heart of Dixie” tag for “God Bless America.” Could it be that I was not the only one to object to the “Heart of Dixie” tags? I have found little about it; however, I cannot deny that the “Dixie” tags are obviously absent. Hummmm. I did manage to find some information about the word which apparently developed in the New Orleans area as a term for a legal tender used in the region. Dix meaning 10. I have no issue with that. Unfortunately, the word took a bad turn when the song “Dixie” became popularized in the 19th century in the Confederate states and has since been the complaint of many as a term that identifies itself with southern slavery. And that is where I draw the line. An example occurred in 1999 when Rehnquist did a “sing along” of Dixie and the African-American lawyers present would not take part. I cannot think of the word Dixie without connecting it to the song. And if it is connected to the song, I cannot be connected to the word. Actually, there is claim that it was written by a slave who was longing for his plantation home while displaced in the North. Sorry, I just can’t imagine one would prefer slavery to freedom but hey, that could just be me.

Suffice to say, I feel much better about my choice. My objection to the word is not some hyper vigilance on my part as the internet abounds with objections to the word and debate as to its social appropriateness. I was correct in saying the word may and is offensive to some people. The grounds to those objections did not just occur to me but to others. So as much as I hated to abandon my friend’s endeavors on a new dog club, I had made a choice that was right for me. I wouldn’t have been a very active member so I am sure they will all be just fine. As to their ability to see what the word means not only to them but to others, well, that will take some time. Everything in Alabama takes time.

I Must Have Missed Something!

Now I do realize that as we age our parents do as well.  I also expect that as a child I am to assist with care.  What I don’t seem to get my siblings to fathom is that I have no assistance at home.  As they call on their spouses for assistance, I am just standing here looking like some aberation or annomally.

My brother pointed out to me today (with admonishment) that his wife can work a 70 hour work week  and they get other things done.  However, last time I checked she did not come home and pay the bills and take care of the yard and…and….  They are lucky enough to share these duties.  So when I tell him I don’t do extra things on a 70 hour work week, one would think he would grasp that there is nobody at all pitching in around my house.  But who’s complaining?

The Good, The Bad And The IRS

YEA!!!!  Tax season.  I am certain we are all a flush with excitement.  This post is about the good part and the bad part of being single when you’re doing your taxes.  I use a tax attorney.  Yes, I know.  Perhaps a tax attorney is over kill.  But the last thing I want is questions.  I want my tax return complete with every i dotted and every t crossed in the legal sense.  In fact, I would rather over pay them than face an inquisition without the benefit of a Tax “Yoda” at my side.  I even envision the IRS as a committee of pencil pushing fangs who studied the Salem Witch Hunt for orientation their first 3 months on the job.  My fear of the IRS includes dreams of being burned at the stake by a sadistic hoard of nerds with calculators and coke bottle eye glasses.  I can see the angry mob of misfit suits drooling and ranting taunts like, “Burn the witch!”  Or perhaps they would brand me and force me to wear the proverbial scarlet letters, “IRS,” so that all heads turn away without utterance or acknowledgement as I make my way down the aisles at Wal Mart.

So what is the good part you ask?  As a single, your taxes can be much simpler to do.  I run every tax-deductible dime through one checking account.  I only have one W-2.  I only have my medical expenses to track.  I only have my taxable return on investments to follow.  Since I don’t have one of those pesky significant others, the kind all of my friends complain about, my records are not muddied by donations through a separate checking account or doctor and drug bills paid through various credit cards.  I don’t have a spouse who has no clue about how the money is handled or could care less.  What else you ask?  As a single with no miniature money eaters, I have less dependents to follow.  With their braces, school tuition and unending ear infections, I have less endless hours of frustration while in search of write-offs for the little buggers.  A couple of hours at the computer and a drop off at the Tax “Yoda’s.”  I’m done.  Yippy!

So what is the down side?  You, my friend, are a taxable money making machine for the government.  With no dependents or even a spouse, you are the government’s dream of a money tree realized.  You pay taxes at a higher rate with fewer write-offs.  You pay taxes on services you will never utilize or benefit from.  School taxes?  I can’t remember dropping off a miniature money eater at the bus stop with a sign that said, “This is an Historic Landmark in Honor of Julia, who graciously donated her hard earned dollar to educate your miniature money worm hole.”  Don’t misunderstand.  It isn’t until some yahoo complains about paying a school tax in addition to paying tuition for their young up and coming President that I get bothered.  They have the option of utilizing the public school system.  They made a choice to have the child.  And more important, they made a choice to send them to Dob Snob Preparatory School for the Gifted.  Of course the term “Gifted” isn’t necessarily reflected by the IQ of the little heathen that just flattened my mail box with his BMW.  “Gifted” refers to the balance in their parent’s checking account.  That is when my hackles rise.  The wealthy parent is whining about helping educate the middle class and indigent segment of our youth.  But I assure you they see no reason why the single with no kids shouldn’t pay.  After all, in their minds, we don’t have the little beggars asking for a a cool $20.  So why shouldn’t the singles have to pick up the tab?  Does anybody see a double standard here or is it just me?   I know it sounds like I don’t like the little guys.  Not true.  I adore them when I can drop them off at home after stuffing them with a pound of Milk Duds and 32 ounces of caffeine.  I mean how else was I going to explain going to, “The Little Mermaid?” Ahhh but I digress.

Yes, you pay taxes at a higher rate and have fewer write-offs.   Yes, you pay for services you cannot possibly utilize.  Such is the burden of independent single.  The only write-off available to you is a mortgage.  In conclusion of this long rambling post, you need to look at the bright side.  While one of your friends has their dinning room table and bedroom covered with papers they are having to wade through for weeks, you get to finish the task in hours and mail it off with a monster size check before your friend has gotten through their records from January.  Now, don’t you feel better?

Julia

Mistake or Misfortune

The first thing I would like to establish is, there is a difference between mistakes and misfurtunes.  We cannot blame or attribute a mistake to anybody but ourselves.  It is easy at the end of the day to catagorize our mistakes as misfurtunes rather than looking in the mirror and admitting we made a poor choice.  Our non existent husband didn’t spend too much money shopping, or pay the bills late. We did.  We can’t just wait for somebody to come along and see to what needs attention.  We cannot point fingers at a spouse, family member or friend for buying into a sales pitch for a $40,000 lemon of a car.  We, and we alone made the choice.  And we have to “wear it” so to speak.  So I want to make it clear that when living on your own, you are going to have to be strong enough to admit your mistakes are yours alone.

That being said, I want to differentiate between mistakes and misfortunes.  The fact is, single, married, widowed or divorced; we all suffer misfurtunes.  Illness.  Lost love. Family desth.  Lay offs.  The list is long.  What matters is what we do with it.  Ability to avoid misfortune can sometimes be as mysterious as controlling the weather.  It’s not always possible to control either.  What makes misfortune different for the single is that if we let it stop us in our tracks, we have no significant other to take the reins while we recover.  So you just plain have to dig in and keep moving.

In summary, accpet responsibility for your mistakes and don’t be immobilized by misfortunes.

Julia

The Buck Stops Here!

Welcome,

Who handles your house, your yard, the jobs, the bills, the taxes, the cars and basically all major decisions that happen in your home?  You do….and you alone!  This blog is for the independent thinker and the independent liver.  It is for those of us who live as one in the true sense of the word, “one.”  It is about the secrets and trials of surviving single.  We fall back on our friends and lovers when we can.  But for the most part, at the end of the day, we look to ourselves to say “yes”or “no.”  We look to ourselves to decide where and how we live.  We know in the final analysis, it is our brain and our hands alone on which we depend.

Join me in the journey through life as a single.  I will talk about money, jobs, relationships, even car rentals when we can’t get a ride from that nonexistent spouse from the mechanic’s after dropping off our car and driving away  in that rental asking, “Am I paying too much,”  “Did it really need a new “gadget” in the “watchamadoogle?”

For whatever happens in our life, we deal with more on our own than the majority of the population who are tied to another or between their next “us.”  We are the eternally single.  The buyers of homes built for families of four simply with one reason in mind.  Resale value.  We are the scavengers of the grocery in search of single servings in the mircowavable section.

Life is like a ride in a Mini Cooper with no passenger’s seat.  Always remeber, “The Buck Stops Here!”

Julia