Tax Time – A Poem

Ode To The Penny-Wise At Tax Time

It’s ten lousy dollars
It’s no good to me
I’ll continue with pencil and paper
That’s free

Next year I’d have tried
Your app for my iPad
But you boys are so cheap
So it’s “Too Bad.” and “So sad.”

This year my taxes are already sent
No refund? You’ll lose in the future; I’m spent.


Doing my taxes is not rocket science.

Above is the approximate text of my third and final email to a tax software company because their ~$10 program won’t run on my Windows XP desktop.Thought I would try again after problems a decade ago with another software maker when trying to buy its software for the following year. I realize the problem this time may be with some glitch in my operating system. But the only reason to use tax software (for me, since my taxes are simple) is to save time. Dealing with software glitches (or billing issues) I will not do.

So my email #1 was asking for my money back and to briefly outline the problem.

My email #2 was to ask again for my $10 back and briefly explain the error message that appeared when I tried to run a special file they told me I had to download to avoid problems.

Their emails were not responsive to my issues – time and a little money.

The second refused to refund my money because it wasn’t their software problem. Not worth my time, but they got me after reading several Dr. Seuss stories to my grandson, so I couldn’t resist this snarky farewell.

South America Trip.2

OK. Still not about South America yet, but I warned you last time. Anyway – if I hadn’t gone to teach in Trinidad in 1965, I probably wouldn’t have done the two month South America trip in 1967. So kindly bear with me, or, if not, feel free to skip to the end of this post or go elsewhere with my good wishes and abject apologies.
Boarding The Plane in September 1965 Boarding The Plane in September 1965

Our West Indies CUSO volunteer contingent (young adults with university degrees or special skills who had selected to serve in the sunny Caribbean over more distant sunny places like Malaysia, India or Tanzania – about two dozen of us in all) assembled at Ottawa’s international airport on a very chilly morning in early September, 1965. We climbed an outside ladder, waved to our loved ones and entered Prime Minister Lester B. Pearson’s Canadair North Star. This was not a jet, but a plane powered by four Rolls-Royce Merlin propeller engines. They were proudly termed “turbo-props,” whatever enhancements that meant. Still slow and noisy compared to modern jet planes. Simpler times. It took us 19 hours of island hopping before our 8-member Trinidad contingent arrived at Piarco Airport in Port of Spain, the North Star’s last stop. Continue reading “South America Trip.2”