Although the Chain O' Lakes Festival has been canceled in the wake of the coronavirus pandemic this year, don't forget that the Albion Fire Department's annual fund raiser is still on--although as take-out only, and with fish and chicken in place of the normal fish and tenderloin.
It starts at 4:30 p.m. at the Albion fire station, and will go on until 7:30, unless we sell out first. Prices are $11.00 for adults and $7.00 for children, and since I'm too lazy to write it all out again, it's also spelled out on this previous blog:
But really, what details do you need other than that the fish fry is on?
And don't forget also, since we're asking you to not forget stuff, that the AFD's history book Smoky Days and Sleepless Nights is still on sale, with all proceeds going to Albion's volunteer fire department. Take a closer look here:
My post on Indiana was the monthly winner on 50 Authors From 50 States, and so one of my commenters has won April's grand prize! Mari C. (you know who you are!) will get a gift made in right here in the Hoosier State, by Homespun of Indiana. Here's my original post:
Thanks to Mari and everyone else who commented, there's an Indiana sidebar post on the 50 Authors page this week. Oh, and here's the website of the company that's providing the prize:
Like many small
businesses in the time of Covid-19, things are a little tough for the Pokagon
State Park Saddle Barn this year. (Yes, it’s inside a state park, but the
Saddle Barn itself is a private business.) At
this point they do plan to open sometime close to Memorial Day weekend (I’ll
get back to you on the exact day), but they’ll only be able to work at half
capacity and will have comply with Indiana's Covid-19 guidelines. Ordinarily they open for weekends in March, then go seven days a week starting Memorial Day.
"Let's ride!"
So here’s an idea
to support a local business—you can buy your own Pokagon Saddle Barn t-shirt:
I know it’s
cool, and you can buy your own, or at least donate to the cause. Like many businesses
of the equestrian variety (it's a real word, I looked it up), the people who
work at the Saddle Barn love horses. I should know: My wife is one of them. But the horses don't just go into suspended animation between seasons. They’re
living beings who need food, veterinary care, medicine, pasture space, and of
course insurance—all year round. That's the short list.
Emily loves her job, even on cold days. Although the cold isn't great.
This year they
need a little extra support.
The funds raised will go to Deena Coleman, the business
owner, so she can keep all the horses and be ready for when things get a bit
more back to normal. She's been running the barn for over 30 years, and hasn't raised prices in at least 10. So please, get
yourself a shirt! That’s what friends are for.
Our dog Beowulf, wondering how that other dog got so big.
Yes, they do love their job, even first thing in the morning.
After some discussion, the Albion Volunteer Fire Department has decided to go ahead and hold our annual fish fry, on Wednesday, June 10th. The fish fry, a decades long fund raising tradition for the AFD, is normally held on the Wednesday of the Chain O' Lakes Festival. Although the Festival was canceled this year due to the coronavirus situation, AFD members decided to go ahead with their event on a limited basis.
This year's fish fry will be a
take-out only event, to avoid having a large number of people gathered
together. That means it can't be all-you-can-eat. There is also a change in the
menu, as the firefighters usually serve tenderloin, but that's coming up short
this year due to pandemic-related meat supply shortages. Chicken will be the
other meat served, instead.
Prices are $11.00 for adults, and $7.00 for children, and the event runs from 4:40-7:30 p.m. at the firehouse, at 210 Fire Station Drive.
So join us on June 10th--at least for a little while--on a drive-up and carry out basis. We hope to see you there!
Funds raised go to such areas as firefighter training, not to mention the equipment they train with.
There was a certain irony a few years ago, when I finished doing my taxes on April Fools’ Day.
Come to think of it, it’s a wonder the director of the Internal
Revenue Service didn’t hold a press conference that day: “You know how we
set up this huge, expensive, insanely complicated way of doing your income taxes, that has more twists and turns than an Alfred
Hitchcock movie? April Fools!”
That would explain a lot.
This year I got my taxes done early, which prompted the fates (who
have a sense of humor) to change the deadline. One of the few good
things about the coronavirus outbreak is that if you ran behind
on getting your returns done, you were golden for another few months. But
I got mine done earlier than usual.
Ha, ha.
Anyone who wonders why I usually finish my taxes close to the
deadline never went long form. It was also about money: A few years ago I
expected to owe, and up until then didn’t have the cash. My part time
job was as a freelance writer, which means my publisher didn’t take
taxes out. (But they did pay me, so yay!) It was a recipe for
that old joke about simplifying IRS forms: “1. How much did you make
last year? 2. Send it in.”
In the end I got a bit of a refund. A refund, by the way, is when you
jump up and down excitedly and make big plans to use the money your
government was so nice to send you, completely forgetting that it was
your money to begin with.
The bigger reason why I waited so long is because until the last few
years, I was too cheap to pay somebody else to do my return. That’s selfish,
considering over $150 billion dollars are spent just filing
taxes in America every year, and how many people does that keep
employed? If the feds ever did simplify the tax code, it could collapse
an entire industry. Not just one, but two – the market for headache
medicine would decrease substantially.
And local taxes–don’t forget local taxes.
Because I worked four jobs that year (no wonder I was so tired), and
two of my employers didn’t take out taxes, going “EZ” was out of the
question. Instead I had to use the long form, code named “SU”, which of
course stands for “Stroke-Ulcer”.
Luckily, I have a carefully organized filing cabinet, with folders
dividing up everything so that finding the necessary paperwork would be
quick and painless. It would have, if I used that filing cabinet. Instead, I
spent the year piling bills and receipts on every available surface of
the house. First step: ransacking the residence.
Then I organized materials into one pile for the stuff I knew I’d
need, and one pile for the stuff my paranoia told me I’d need, but I
never really do. Then came work-related spending, such as calculators,
pens, notebooks, highlighters, aspirin, highly caffeinated soft drink …
By the way, do not drink alcohol during this operation. One
wrong calculation or smart aleck notation, and you’re sitting in an
office with a man whose job description includes the words “make
miserable”.
Then I fired up the online tax preparation program. See, I wasn’t
crazy enough to do this stuff from scratch with no assistance at all. My
wife short-formed that year (EZ – ha!) and it still took her two hours.
Overall it took an entire weekend to do my federal and state income
tax returns – a bit more if you figure in recovery time. Since I don’t
drink, recovery time took longer.
Stop worrying, we already paid the tax on your kibble.
“Couldn’t we just find a way to simplify the tax code?” Capital idea,
but it flies in the face of history. Every attempt to make figuring
income taxes easier has just made it more complicated. Every attempt to
close a loophole opened a dozen new ones. It’s almost as if Washington
was full of lawyers, bureaucrats, and career politicians who know we
can’t be bothered to vote them out ... but surely that’s not the problem?
Complicated as it might seem to us peons, it costs only eleven
billion dollars or so to operate the IRS every year. That’s small
change, in Washington. So small, in fact, that I sent a letter to my
Congressman asking for just one percent of that to help stimulate my
economy. He sent me a thank you and an invitation to his next town hall
meeting, which I can’t afford the gas to drive to.
So it’s done, and I get enough of a refund of my own money to pay my
property tax bill, which again – ironic. My donation surely takes the
Federal budget out of the red, and they’ll have that pesky trillion
dollar budget deficit taken care of in no time.
Meanwhile, my refund will get me enough fuel to reach the pharmacy, for more aspirin.
See, here's the thing: Life goes on. Morning always comes. The Dude abides, stuff like that.
I'm no philosopher. What I am is a student of history, and I can tell you this right now: Not only is the coronavirus outbreak not the end of the world, but the human race has been through much, much worse. Plagues, wars, dictatorships, natural disasters, holocausts, reality TV, we've seen it all. Tell me the Kardashians aren't deadly, at least to your brain cells.
Yes, do what you can to stop the spread. Yes, have calm, reasoned debates about how to tread that fine line between protection, rights, and economic needs. No, don't break down in a screaming hissy fit every time everything doesn't go your way--see previous sentence.
This is a time, as with any crisis, when people need to come together. Let me rephrase: This is a time when we need to get along--to, in the immortal words of the guy the Romans executed (no, the other guy, from the movie), "Always look on the bright side of life". Yes, it's a frightening, frustrating time. But ask yourself this:
Did I make things any better by yelling and hating everyone?
No. The answer is no, you didn't. Sheesh.
For all the virus and discontent floating around in the air, it's here: Spring arrived, anyway. Why not try a spring-like attitude? Laugh. Love. Leave the room a little brighter than when you entered it.
There are all sorts of places where you can get some fresh air without being breathed on. This one is Chain O' Lakes State Park, and see? Getting green!
