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MGC Mortgage: Saga cont’d (Real/Real)

As the 15 July 2015 sale date approaches, MGC Mortgage is still attempting to get me to assume the loan. They refuse to acknowledge the many years of payments made for which I was given no credit. All that has occurred, until probate was filed, under my mother’s name and credit. They refuse to stop the sale unless I assume the mortgage. They refuse to state why no claim was filed against the Estate.

Filed a complaint with BBB Illinois, who has contacted MGC Mortgage, but they have 14 days to answer. I do not expect them to respond. Unless I get an Order for Injunctive Relief, it will be difficult to stop them.

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Tired of talking amongst yourselves?

Testament to my lack of multitasking ability. I got a job! You know it! I’m a librarian in an elementary school. I am serious about making certain our youngsters learn how to use a library. Gotta insure the next generation of keepers of the culture are in the making.

A job, and still with the probate. The government, through the Probate Court, is trying to take my property from me. I never would have filed probate had I not discovered it was mandatory. I didn’t get the memo on how one deals with a parent’s property after they’ve gone. I thought it was a simple matter of filing some paperwork and the transfer would be complete. It was once so. But no more.

Had it not been for the kindness of a worker in the tax man’s office, I never would have known what I was supposed to do and would have been stuck paying taxes way out of my range of ability to pay. One way or another, the tax man, the government wants my property and will bollox me up in court, without an attorney, to have their way.

My mom was my best friend. It is from her that I inherited my independent spirit. I cared for her the last four years of her life, preventing the State from having the spend money to house her in a rehabilitation hospital or some such. My service to my mother saved the State $28K. Guess they want to recoup that money they waived when I claimed hardship. If your parent received state-supported medical care, in the state of California, the cost will be billed to the estate of the deceased. I never thought of my mother’s home as an “estate” and here is where I made a big mistake.

As I understand this process, I was supposed to sell my mother’s house to pay the State and the tax man. There is no consideration of not wanting to sell. It is assumed this will be done to pay the deceased’s debt to the State. What a corporate concept, no death pun intended.

The dead cannot pay, and the living should not be forced to pay the debts of the deceased without an upfront statement of terms and a set of circumstances that is fair to all parties involved. Shoulda, woulda, couldnota.

Anyway, the job, probate, looming foreclosure, are all balanced by the fact that some progress has been made in the diagnosis of my AS. Perhap that is why I can see all the flaws in the court system that is really not accessible to the average Jane. My lack of counsel throughout this process has been a terrific burden. Without money, the average Jane has to do the best she can with research and moving ahead as best she can alone. Free Legal Aid will not help with Probate. Bet Tzedek will not help with Probate.

Where do poor people, who want to keep their family homes, find assistance with Probate? Nowhere. Because the State wants to take property from the poor and sell it over to some corporation. Filed the Final Accounting, but the Court is not satisfied with it and I will have to ruin my perfect attendance record at my job to go downtown and be flogged by the judge.

At least, I’m reasonably healthy, now have a job, and I’m still clothed in my right mind.

See you in the twitterverse @MavisMaven!

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Demand Letter Effects (Real/Real)

Seems one way to get people to leave me alone is to make a demand. After receiving my Demand Letter, the recipient passed it on to the people who live on her property and harass me on the regular. Well, they swole up, yammered on about how I was trying to sue their momma, and vowed to pay my demand. Needless to say, no such payment has been received. As long as they say nothing more to me, I’ll let the demand simmer on the back burner .

Happily, I love my new job! Always a bibliophile, I couldn’t be happier in my elementary school library. I await training so that I can do a proper good job promoting literacy amongst the young ones. Looking for ways to promote wellness, so if you have any ideas, pass them on, please.

I am very pleased with my change of fortune. Hope your fortunes are ever bright.

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Day 678: Consistent

Personal Growth

The Year(s) of Living Non-Judgmentally

Last week, at one of my therapy groups, somebody said to me,

You’re nothing if not consistent, Ann.

I guess I am consistent. That is, there are things I seem to do consistently, including:

  • I check definitions of words, to make sure we’re all on the same page (or screen):

consistent
[kuh n-sis-tuh nt]
adjective
1. agreeing or accordant; compatible; not self-contradictory:
His views and actions are consistent.
2. constantly adhering to the same principles, course, form, etc.:
a consistent opponent.
3. holding firmly together; cohering.
4. Archaic. fixed; firm.

  • I take a few tries to find a definition that seems good enough and translates easily into a post here.
  • I play around with formatting these posts, in order to make them easier to read and understand (despite my naturally meandering and consistently varied thoughts).
  • I hear what people say, and some things seem to stick more than others.

When something sticks, I wonder…

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“Before our whi…

Wisdom

Radiating Blossom ~ Flowers & Words

“Before our white brothers came to civilize us we had no jails. Therefore we had no criminals. You can’t have criminals without a jail. We had no locks or keys, and so we had no thieves. If a man was so poor that he had no horse, tipi or blanket, someone gave him these things. We were too uncivilized to set much value on personal belongings. We wanted to have things only in order to give them away. We had no money, and therefore a man’s worth couldn’t be measured by it. We valued the exchange of love, so we did not deal in fear. We had no written law, no attorney or politicians, therefore we couldn’t cheat. We were in a really bad way before the white man came, and I don’t know how we managed to get along for millenniums without the basic things which, we are told…

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Mortal Enemy, Immortal Ally: How Writers Measure Time

Tick, tick, tick.

Longreads

Time carried back to the future, once again seen and understood as it was in antiquity, not only as mortal enemy but also as immortal ally. The counterrevolution against the autocratic regime of uniform, global time (commercially and politically imperialist) was pressed forward by many of the artists and writers of Einstein’s generation unwilling to bide time emptied of its being in order to accommodate the running of railroads and the rounding up of armies. In 1889 the French philosopher Henri Bergson discredits the measurable magnitude of time; Marcel Proust encapsulates the whole of a lifetime within a moment’s swallowing of a pastry; the cubist paintings of Picasso, Duchamp, and Braque play with the rearrangement of time in space, and the advent of Thomas Edison’s motion pictures in 1891 provide a means of printing time as a currency more durable than money. The Russian director Andrei Tarkovsky suggests that “what…

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Collection of Veteran Day poems

From una veterana.

poetreecreations.wordpress.com

brit

Special Note for High Flight:
During the Battle of Britain, many Americans crossed the border into Canada to enlist with the Royal Canadian Air Force … they knowingly broke the law in order to fight Hitler’s Germany.  

John Gillespie Magee, Jr., born in Shanghai, China, in 1922. When Magee was just 18 years old, he entered flight training and was sent to England, on 30 June 1941. He flew the Spitfire being promoted to the rank of Pilot Officer. German bombers were crossing the English Channel regularly to attack Britain’s cities and factories.

On September 3, 1941, Magee flew a Spitfire V test flight which inspired him to write his poem. That same day he wrote a letter to his parents which included this now famous poem. Three months later, on December 11, 1941 (three days after the US entered the war and four days after Pearl Harbor)…

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Class · Community · Fiction · Health and wellness · metaphysics · observations · Uncategorized

The Morale Officers

Ever met a Morale Officer? It is this officer’s duty to see that the troops are happy or, at the least, not dismally unhappy. To help maintain healthy mental and emotional behaviors while in the midst of struggle, the Morale Officer plans diversions and activities for the troops to help lift the oppression of battle and add a bit of light and levity to an otherwise brutal situation.

Once I quit my man, I discovered I had need of such an officer. It takes time to recover from a romance, no matter how long or short the affair. My man was raising his voice at me, calling me names. He couldn’t kiss me right. One night, he didn’t come home. I had to leave him.

I petted and cossetted that man as if he was a spring lamb, but he was never satisfied with me. He didn’t like the way I dressed (too modest), the way I spoke (to low and like a white girl), the way I ate (too international). He yelled at me to talk like a Black person, otherwise he wouldn’t hear or understand what I was saying. He actually seemed to want me to behave like a street woman. I had to leave him.

Having nearly lost myself, collapsed myself into his world, I needed to get me back. Whenever I feel like I’m losing my sense of self, I head to the library. Reading prevents the loss of self and can often help when regaining self is imperative.

I have to walk 20 minutes to get to a library in the local strip mall. The library doesn’t even have a bathroom for patrons. You have to go to Mickey D’s or Food 4 Less if you need the toilet. But there are books, videos, and free wi-fi, so off I go.

Along the main highway there is plenty of traffic, liquor stores and churches on every other corner, some homes, and many apartment complexes. I wonder how people live with their front doors so close to the sidewalk and pedestrian traffic, how they sleep with the constant traffic noises, how they breathe so near the pollutants of the road.

About midway in my journey, I pass in front of a large apartment complex, in front of which are usually a number of men. They stand around, smoking blunts and cigarettes, pants hanging way below their waists, profanities flying. Often, there is someone who is very high on some substance. They are said to be “on one.” Once, I encountered a brother draped over the trash receptacle that stands in the corner in front of the complex. His pants had fallen to his knees as he leaned his upper body along the side and top of the container. I was returning from the library when I saw him and stopped to ask if he as alright or needed me to call 9-1-1. I stood with him for about 5 minutes before a oouple of men who knew him came from the liquor store across the street and informed me that he was on one and proceeded to help him get himself together. After their arrival, I continued home.

When I pass, I always speak to any man I see. I don’t want a scene and it costs nothing to speak. It’s always, “Good morning/Good afternoon, Brothers.” The first time I did this, there was a visible change in attitude and I was greeted in a like fashion. Then, I began to get compliments. “God sure did bless you. You’re summery and stylish, and you’re pretty, too.” My favorite is,”You’re a real woman!” If the corner men could see my virtues, why couldn’t my man? “If yo man ain’t treatin’ you right, I will!”

They were so good for my morale with their ego-boosting comments. I started going to the library twice a day for a while, just so I could hear something sweet said to me while I worked to get that man out of my system and regain my sense of me.

The Corner Brothers, often high as Coota Brown, eyes red as crimsonite, sagging and looking crazy, became my Morale Officers. In passing, they treat me like a queen, pulling their pants up, saying excuse me, always with the compliments and sweet words like brothers used to use in the ’60s. With their help, and immersing myself in my books, I got that man out of my system, regained my composure, and took back my life.

In the most unlikely locations, among the most unlikey people, it is good to find Morale Officers on duty.