(Bill, Betty and the 2011 taxes. Photo Socotra.)

I walked over to Willow on Friday, happy that it was Friday and the working week could get buried. There was a lot to be thankful about. The line of ominous weather did not arrive in Washington, though it savaged the mid-section of the country and killed 38 people.

I looked at the daffodils poking up early in the plant boxes along Fairfax Drive, and wondered what it all meant.

I had been listening to Ira Flato’s Science Friday show on NPR as I closed in on completing the weekly report and a set of clearance issues with the Agency that is my main customer. I like to stay current with the state of technology and what is likely to be coming down the pike towards us- sometimes the technical stuff is pretty breathtaking, like the Neutrinos that either do, or do not, travel faster than the speed of light, and thus either invalidate Einstein’s theory of relativity or don’t.

One of Ira’s guests was that irritating Dr. Michael Mann of Penn State. He was the lead author on who devised the computer model that produced the famous “Hockey Stick” graph of doom from global warming. He was 33 at the time of the research that defined a whole generation of scientists and activists, and he seemed a little defensive as Ira led him through an interview in which he vented at the people who think he is either irritating or lying about his research.

I think it might be both, or possibly neither, but I am comforted that at least we will actually see if his predictions are true based on direct data over the next few years.

It is either going to get warmer or colder, or stay about the same, though that is not what the climate does. In any event, since there is nothing we can do to stop the increase in CO2 in the atmosphere without invading India and China, we will just have to see whether Dr. Mann is right or not. It will come and the truth will set us free or shackle us in chill despair.

When I got to the bar, Old Jim was sitting at the apex of the Amen Corner and John-with-an-H was next to him. I took my stool with a sigh of contentment and the prospect of the weekend to come. We got comfortable over the next couple hours, and greeted the Lovely Bea and Jon-without, and bantered with Liz-with-an-S and the dark-eyed beauty Katia.

We talked not about the climate, a bit about tornedos- the worst year for them in terms of death count was the year of the Tri-State outburst that killed nearly 700 citizens in 1925- and then we moved on to other things.

I almost accomplished something Saturday but managed to goof off as the sky cleared and it was glorious to think of nothing at all. Sunday arrived dark and chill and my eyes widened as I realized the freaking taxes needed to be filed. Mine first, due to the stupid company I set up that is a non-profit and not by design. That has to be done by the Ides of March. Then, the folks need to file for the 2011 and 2012, though not by much.

And there was something else. The urn I ordered had arrived during the week, and I needed to get the boxes down in the library and open them. I had promised my sister I would comingle the remains and then divide them in two, so that there would be a set for each of the services in June, in Pennsylvania and Ohio.

Then I realized I had to get my butt up to Pennsylvania and survey the town and make arrangements, and there was a stone to be bought and carved and, oh crap, I probably needed to talk to the VA again. By the time my foggy brain had processed all of that, I was half-way through a pot of Dazbog-brand Russian coffee and there were piles of 2011 tax documents strewn all over the dining table, and the two small but ominously heavy white boxes with the heavy tape on the sides.

I looked over at them- the piles of paper and the boxes.

Crap, I thought. There are two certainties in life, that is for sure, and I realized that Death and Taxes were right there on the table.

Screw it, I thought. I put the boxes back in the library. I am not going to deal with both on the same afternoon.

Copyright 2012 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com