Women and Embezzelment

Another woman, Rita Crundwell, has been accused,  and  if proven guilty,  may join  the ranks  of other women embezzlers.  This time the numbers were big and Harriet Walker's 48M dollar  filching title may have some serious competition.

Rita, the Dixon Illinois  city comptroller-a job she has held since the 80's, took it over the top with her 30M dollar swipe.   The scam  recently  hit the wall when  another person filled in for her while she took vacation time, four months to be exact.  What the hell?   Four months vacation time is pretty extravagant for a town of 16,000.  And the poor town,  possibly scammed  by this villain,  has an annual operating budget of 8-9 million.   One article stated employees went without raises for three years and the town's side walks were falling apart.  Not so at the Meri J Ranch.

Ms. Crundwell has an extremely  successful horse breeding business, the Meri J.  Over the years there were questions asked: why would she keep her measly (not by my standards) eighty thousand a year job when her horse business was so lucrative?  The little voice in her head must have said: "don't quit your day job, don't quit your day job!"

I tried to get on her website for her business, possibly funded by Dixon, but they said to check back later, site unavailable. Hmm....

Rita in her glory days

Leaving the courthouse yesterday, looking less glamourous I would say.

I don't understand, which is frequent,  why do women seem to be the favored gender with  sticky fingers and then get caught?

I have some unproven theories:

• Tempted by never having enough  money.
• They are forever trying to balance some budget: personal or employment. 
• Women are good at doing what needs to be done, "somehow the money will show up."
• They become careless at covering their tracks.
• Men manage to stay out of the courts and/or newspapers. Their problems are fixed with the help of the good old boy network. 
• Gambling.

In North Dakota alone, over recent years,  we have had a fair number of women with their mitts in the cookie jar: insurance agents, treasurers of local organization  and churches (how could they??), bookkeepers, school secretaries, city auditors.  And then, with our nice North Dakota  polite ways, these Matoff wannabes  never seem to go big with zeros.  No, they  screw up their lives up forever over  a few thousand dollars.  Large dollar amounts  of female embezzlement in ND are few.

Now Rita, she went big.  Living Large.

But I suppose, like everything in this state where it takes us a few years to catch up, that too will change.

Wild

I have finished another book. I want to share:  WILD, by Cheryl Strayed.  Preface: this tome was chosen  by an online  discussion group "Beyond Busy Global Monthly Book Club with Christina Katz."  I am a rookie member and with hope, won't be sliced out of the loop for extreme tardiness.  Anyone can join by requesting to be a friend on Facebook.  I didn't think it would be too difficult to participate: read the book and join in the  discussion to which  a daily question is asked. Seven questions to be exact, one week's worth.    You are given a few weeks to read the book.  I jumped on board towards the end of the read, but was sure I could master the time frame. I'm  much more productive in my mind's eye than in  reality.  The discussion started on April 1st.   I missed the deadline by fifteen days.

Anyway, a captivating non-fiction book telling  of one woman's 1,100  mile hike of  the Pacific Crested Trail (PCT).  ALONE.   This monumental undertaking was done in 1995, when she was twenty-six.   Cheryl  was not a tree hugging, back packing amazon  yearning for an outdoor experience.  Not at all.  She was a mentally injured human being  dealing with her mother's cancer death at 45; abandonment by her abusive father when she was a young child; estrangement from her siblings;  a failed marriage and a fondness for heroin.  No fun in her dysFUNctional.

The hike  took on a"what-the-hell, this-trail-can't-batter-me-anymore-than-my-own-life-has"  affect or a personal "come to Jesus" moment  with herself and the world.  The moment took four months.  Her writing skills do a beautiful job of recreating this horrendous hike - on a trail I didn't even  know about (me, hiking??? What about my hair?  And why would I know of the PCT??) until I read the book. She encountered snow, unbearable heat and humidity (there goes the hair), lack of water, trail food at its worst, bears, snakes, a potential rape, getting lost, even losing her shoes.  How she mastered the trail, and didn't let it master her, is amazing.

But she also discovered there is lots more good in this world than bad.  And yes,  life will beat you up if you let it.  She prevailed.  Good read, now go get the book!!

Cheryl with Monster - the friendly and way too heavy backpack

Next month's  (May 1st) discussion is for the book "Some Assembly Required."  I wonder if I will make the deadline?

Love and the Measles

I am a member of an online writing group.  We have fifteen minutes writing challenges.  This one was to be about love and the measles.  I rather liked it when it was finished (fifteen minutes to get it down, and a wee bit more time to polish ), so I thought I would post it:

Love and the Measles

My brother Tom, eighteen months to my junior, and I lovingly shared many things in our youth, back in the wonderful years of the fifties and sixties.  But one event I was not going to accept from  him no matter how much we loved each other.

The year was 1961, June to be exact, the last day  of the  first grade with Mrs. McLaren.  My life would soon became a series of warm summer nights, bike rides, swimming,  mosquito bites, running barefoot and wearing shorts.

I  happily cleaned out my desk, bringing home used workbooks and old papers signifying: school's out for summer. My first full year of school was completed.  

But a cloud of the doom was hanging over the day.

The night before my brother was  struck with the red measles, or as my mother would say, "hard measles."   It landed at our house with the horrid stench of vomit (down the side of the couch-a side I never sat on until it was recovered) and a high fever.  My mother diagnosed his virulent strain of spots and symptoms in a matter of minutes.   This was not to be taken lightly.  I, his loving older sister,  would have to be protected from the  ensuing dangers measles could bring.

Protection meant one thing: a shot!  A hypodermic needle of unknown length  to a six year old little girl like me was the behemoth of terrors.  After an emergency stomach pumping at age two, I had developed a fear of anything medical or dressed in white,  and a shot was the H-bomb.

Remember since this was the last day of school and we were cut lose at noon, I had some time to set up my strategy and attempt  to sell the idea to my mother regarding the pending injection, and how it was so unnecessary.  A waste of her time and mine.

"I'll simply come into the house by the front door and go directly to my room and shut the door.   I'll stay there as long as need be, weeks-doesn't matter.  I've got all summer.  I'll eat in my room. I won't be anywhere near  Tom.   Therefore, no need for a shot."   Simple, clean cut and best of all, shot free.

It was a no-sale, an adamant no-sale.  Fell in its entirety on deaf ears.

Before the sun set, on the last day of school, I was hauled  to the clinic, the old  St.Luke's Pediatric Department with its yellow painted walls so firmly housed in my memory, and given a  penicillin (I presume) shot on my cute little back side.  A shot that was intended to lessen the severity  of the measles, so lovingly shared by brother.

Funny, in thinking back, I do not remember every getting those dreaded measles.

Medicrazy

Medicare deserves a new name: Medicrazy.  Granted I am not of Medicare age, but Ron joined the ever growing dynasty last August.  He was deemed disabled by his employer due to an unrepairable injury.      He went on  Medicare last August, fourteen months early.

My nightmare began about one month before.

Why my nightmare?  I am the bookkeeper, bill payer, life sorter for the disabled one.  Usually I do well with my paperwork. I am not afraid to get on the phone or website to crack a case. It is possible I may hold an unofficial record for dumb questions.  I live firmly behind the axiom: there are no dumb questions, just ones not asked.

This essential health coverage for the "elderly" is a serious, complex web of paperwork, algorithms and PLANS. Can't forget plans-plans are big; so are key words like supplemental, enrollment, Medigap, drug plans (haven't had one since high school).  My personal favorite is the word formularies.

To make it all very tolerable, each year you get a U.S Official Government handbook called Medicare and You, in large print.  This year's full size handout had 148 pages.   Thank you Department of Health and Human Services, you are doing your part with our national debt.

As I wade through dates and deadlines I keep thinking of real elderly people who  don't know which way to turn in their medicare golden years.  You have to pay for supplemental insurance and drug plans, which then,  you wonder if you have picked the one best for you.  Lots of these folks live on limited income, that is if they don't qualify for Medicaid.  Pity to the poor oldsters who don't do or use  the "web."  I happen to know of one.

I asked a friend  if they switched during open enrollment season (that brings a wash of mail in the fall) she said "We just kept the same drug plan because we didn't want to go through the confusion of a switch."   Ron has one drug (of the two he takes)  that doesn't fit under the right tier, of the five tier system in his abridged formulary.  So the next step is to get the doc to rewrite the script.  Your local pharmacist is a big help, but...  they have to be a participating pharmacist with your specific drug plan, if not, you will need to switch to another pharmacy.

Yikes, it makes my gut hurt as I write about this chapter of the golden years.    I am Medicrazy before my time.

Am I Alone?

~ Lainey's Space Noodle ~

Yesterday we (we, code for I, no help from the Ronson) booked our trip to Seattle to see Deanna, Nicole and family.  We made an attempt at Thanksgiving but we were thwarted by a freight train derailment.  This trip we will be flying the friendly skies.

Am I alone in the mental contortions I go through to book a flight or plan any trip?  I have to check for the best possible price and time.  And what about people scheduling?  This time around I almost booked half of the trip during Lacy's confirmation camp.  After I wised up, then I started to worry  about what else have I overlooked?

So I'm almost finished and my daughter-in-law, Nicki, calls and said she had better deals out of Bismarck.  Oh S*#t... I forgot about Bismarck!  Back to the search on my carefully created path with all the trip bookers, you know: Kayak, Priceline, Orbitz and on and on.

Biz did give fifty dollars cheaper flights, with another airlines,  but the only way back was landing  at 12:20 in the morning.  Who wants to drive 100 miles in the middle of the night or stay in a motel - there goes the $50.00 times three.  I have driven home from Bismarck, in the middle the night, with Ron at the wheel, and a ground blizzard came up.  Of the three: middle of the night driving; RON; ground blizzard.  Can you guess which one is the deciding factor of why I won't do that again?

Anyway, it took me over an hour to put everything together and be comfortable with it.   I am excited as we will be going to Beau's preschool graduation, and the following day, Lainey's last preschool graduation;  next year she will be in kindergarten.   We are long distant grandparents and will miss lots of programs over the coming years, so this has me feeling I have accomplished a successful booking.

The Devil in the White City

The Happy Bookers book club (you're right,  it is a corny name)  met last Thursday for the big review and discussion of our  latest book: The Devil in the White City by Erik Larson.   We six eclectic girlfriends  gather for the wine, food and oh yes, the book.  We all loved it.

A non-fiction work published in 2004 tells of the 1893 World's Fair Columbian Exposition held in Chicago.   The city, up until that time, seemed  only to be  noted for its big stock yards: the hog butcher of the world.  This exposition put the Windy City on the map once and for all.  And by the way the "windy city" moniker was supposedly  slapped on because of all the big talkers in Chi-town rather than the gales of mother nature.

Reading of how the White City, as the fair was dubbed, came into existence is a  good read in and of itself.  The numbers, the huge numbers, revealed during  the construction is phenomenal.  I highlighted  figures over and over (on the Kindle ) in disbelief of how exorbitant they were.   Remember this was the Gilded Age, an era  defined  as sparkling  on the surface and corrupt underneath.

It is amazing how diligently Daniel Burnham, the chief architect,  fought to have the fair in Chicago and  worked (in two short years) even harder  to make sure the exposition out shined the Paris World Fair in 1889.  They had the Eiffel Tower, we had  the Ferris Wheel, which incidentally  was born at the Columbian Exposition.

And then we have the devil...

While the Second City was in a flurry with the construction and all the problems that went with it-and there were a boat load, a  serial killer, Dr. H.H. Holmes, was hard at work with his own dark, haunting exposition: the murder castle.   His story is a jaw dropper and I'll say no more.

April Fool's Day

A minor holiday. Maybe April Fool's qualifies for a hated holiday. I have some other holidays that I can't muster any favor, but that is for another time.


When I first heard of April Fool's day I was probably about six, that would put me in the first grade, a time when so many unknowns where shot at me. Immediate pressure started to to build.


Do I have to come up with a unique trick, that has never been done before to qualify?


Do I have to do foolery all day long?


Did each prank have to be different or could I just do the same one all day long?


What about the tricks that were played on me?
Could I get hurt?


Should I just opt out of the day and stay home ( a massive undertaking for a first grader)?


The only shenanigan- not even plural- I ever pulled, that I can remember: putting a toothpick in the toothpaste on the end where the gunk comes out. 


Who got slammed with the trick I don't remember. I did an April's Fool joke, and as far as I was concerned, it was over and done with; finished!