Fwinter Adventures

Fairbanks is always a pretty busy place, if you know where to look.  Even Fwinter, that weird season where it's fall in the rest of the planet and early winter up here, doesn't slow anything down.  I think it's a mix of factors, but mostly the isolation.  The next big town is 6 hours away, which really prompts people to make their own fun, but a lot of the people up here are a little nuts, too, which adds a delightful crunch to life.

The Fiber Festival takes place every October.  It is THE place for everything fiber-related.  Rabbit, sheep, muskox, reindeer, alpaca, yak, goat... if it has fur, someone in Fairbanks sells products made of it. There were lessons on how to string a warp on a loom, using a spinning wheel (or a drop spindle, your choice), using a knitting machine, harvesting rabbit wool, making felted animals...My favorite demo was the sheep shearing.  It was about 30 degrees outside and a guy walked us through shearing an Icelandic sheep, who wasn't too thrilled about the process and kept mean-mugging Jane. (In all fairness, all sheep look like they're mean-mugging everyone all the time.) We ate fries from the foodtrucks while we watched the sheep get stripped.

The only flaw in the day was Brenna had an allergy attack. After we pet the rabbits, she turned to me, all pink and uncomfortable, and rasped that she couldn't breathe and needed to go outside.  This was unexpected, because she's been around rabbits before without any issue, including earlier this summer.  Still, since we were knuckle-deep in bunny angora, that seemed the most likely cause. Her sisters were delighted and accused her of being allergic to happiness since she was allergic to puppies and now apparently also to bunnies.  However, we crushed this theory when we went to another event the next weekend at another location and she got all pink and raspy again, and this time there were no bunnies to be found.  Our current theory? She's allergic to pot.  The only thing the two events had in common was a couple of CBD sellers and several obvious users as well. (It's Alaska and marijuana is pretty prevalent up here.)  Well, at least I'll be able to tell if she ever tokes up.

One weekend, against my better judgment, I took the girls out to a corn maze on a real farm. The girls oohed at the cranes in the wheat fields and aahed at the rows of enormous pumpkins and stressed their way through the corn maze. I even let them pick a couple expensive but experience-points pumpkins to bring home for pies.  I regret making this last decision for two reasons: carrying thirty-eight pounds of pumpkin back to the van was not fun, and the big pumpkin survived all of three days before Echo rolled it off the window seat and killed it.

Halloween is always an adventure. This year we were all witches.  They all turned out pretty well, but I think B as Bellatrix was my favorite.  Actually, check that.  My van was my favorite.

There have been some small adventures. We hit the Museum of the North for their homeschool day, and then again for their to-scale Planet Walk. We went to the Children's Museum (where I may or may not have threatened to burn their flipflops if they wore them again before May) and the last day of the farmer's market. We had two more ER runs, one for a bead up the nose and the other because one of my kids got pink-eye the night before a very social and committed Thanksgiving (yes, not ER worthy, but it's shocking how few doctors are in the office at 5 on Thanksgiving Eve).  The bead was easily resolved with the coolest contraption I've ever seen--a little syringe with a balloon on the end.  Insert the plunger into the nostril and through the bead, depress the plunger to inflate the balloon, and *pop* no more beads in the nasal cavity.  She didn't even have to be admitted.

We were also lucky enough to be invited back to help our friends process their annual moose.  It was just as awesome as last year.  Good people, lots of work, and delicious moose to take home, which has to be one of the best goodie-bags I've gotten as an adult.

I also managed to sneak in one last kayak trip out to Chena Lake Recreation Area before the snow stuck for good.  It was gorgeous and quiet, with diving birds, beavers, and hawks against the fading gold of the birch.  I can't wait to get out there again next summer.  The aurora came back, and that was nice, too.

Then we dived into winter preparations.  We did the annual fwinter organization of the snow-gear, which is a fancy way of saying two tubs of gloves, snow pants, and boots vomited all over my living room and shuffled around until everyone had all the gear they needed for the day the white stuff came to stay.

Sadly, I also retired my faithful Milepost.  Three years and thousands of miles later, coverless, pages missing on both ends and many in-between crinkled and dog-eared, it's earned its reward.  Rest in peace, old friend.  I've already replaced you and started planning for next summer's fun, but you'll always be my first.

Sometimes you just need a random road-trip...

Every year my mother makes a trip up to visit us during the summer, and I squire her around the state.  This is convenient, because it gives me an excuse for a road trip down some random highway.

This year we went to Circle.  Not to be confused with the Arctic Circle, Circle is a small village where the mostly-unpaved Steese Highway dead-ends at the Yukon River.  Apparently original settlers thought they were on the Arctic Circle line and named the settlement accordingly…only for their descendants to discover they were off by about 50 miles—which might give some insight into how they ended up way out there in the first place.  Isolated is an applicable word. 

 We inadvertently chose the one week of the 40-Mile caribou hunting season for our little expedition; every turnout in the White Mountains was full of trucks and campers and caribou heads.  At one point we actually saw a pair of caribou, tottering shell-shocked across the road.  A white truck immediately pulled over on the side of the road and the driver jumped out, rifle in hand, to pursue them into the brush.  I still have mixed feelings about it.  

 The scenery was beautiful, though, as long as you didn't look at the road.

Up on some tundra around 40-Mile.

Low bush tundra cranberries.

Random flag, just in case you're unsure you're still in Alaska.

After four hours, we reached Circle, a handful of buildings on the southern bank of the expansive gray Yukon. The only public bathrooms were in the Washeteria, which also included showers and a couple of washing machines. The town store had RVs and airplanes next to the private outhouse in the parking lot, and a lone payphone in its own little shed off the side of the highway (a term which only loosely applies at this point).

I love that the instructions are on the side.  There were also knife-holes in the opposite wall where someone got bored while waiting for their knickers to dry.

So this hotel has been unfinished for years, and has become a landmark of the area.  It's even in The Milepost...but everything is in The Milepost.

We took a few minutes to take pictures and step in the largest river in Alaska.  The Yukon is 1400 miles long in Alaska, with an additional 580 miles in Canada. The couple of times I've seen it, the river has been calm and deceptively easy-going--but when you're the size of the Yukon you don't have a lot to prove, and just your size gives you some inertia.  It's a pretty impressive river.

In case you can't see it, the sign clarifies "NOT the Arctic Circle."

It's not a real road-trip unless someone throws a fit.

After a quick stop at the Washeteria, we drove home.  There was a brief stop in the creatively named Central, an equally small town with a mining museum.  We saw some grouse (or ptarmigan, I have no idea) and surprised a moose in a marsh.  It wasn't an exciting trip by most people's standards, but it ticked a lot of my boxes.  Hours spent with people I love on a road that most people never travel, with beautiful country and a couple of laughs and a moose...it doesn't get much better than that.

Because when your shoes get dirty of course you take them off.

It Takes Two (Dozen) to Tango: A Tax Audit--I Mean Review--in 7 Conversations

It was all my fault in the beginning.  Maybe it was a brain fart, or one of the half-dozen distractions running around complaining about what I cooked for dinner, or perhaps just over-confidence. After all, I've successfully done my taxes for 10 of the last 15 years, and we've never had an issue.  Whatever the reason, when TurboTax brought it to my attention that I had reported the exact same amount of income as last year, I said, "Huh, what an odd coincidence.  Oh well." and hit transmit.  A month later, when my taxes hadn't gone through as they normally would, I looked into the matter.  The IRS site said the refund was still processing.  I checked through my paperwork for the bazillionth time, mostly to reassure myself it wasn't my fault.

My heart dropped when I noticed the year on Rick's W-2: 2017, not 2018.  No, no, no...I furiously logged in to the website where I got his W-2 and doublechecked...sure enough, there were two years of W-2s available, and I had simply printed off the wrong one.

The Great Tax Season Tango of 2019 had begun.

**The following situations are real, and while some liberties have been taken with the exact wording, the general gists, feelings, and situations are accurate, and the conversations happened more or less as follows.**


That following Monday I called the IRS bright and early.  After two lovely hours on hold, I finally managed to get ahold of an organic, unrecorded being.

Me: Hi!  So I entered the wrong W-2.  I just need to correct the reported income and withholding.

Agent: That's great, ma'am, let me take a look at your return. Please verify your name, address, social security number, a good phone number, horoscope, and exact coordinates of an intimately-located freckle.

Me: *stutters answers*

Agent: *type type type* Your return is processing, ma'am.

Me: Yes.  But the amounts are wrong.

Agent: *type type type* Yes, your return is flagged and is being reviewed.

Me: I'm being audited?!

Agent: You're being reviewed.  The incorrect income was reported.

Me: *slowly and clearly* Yes.  It was.  I am calling to fix it.

Agent: You can't do that, ma'am.

Me: Sure I can.  I have the W-2 right here.  The employer has already reported the correct info to you, which is why you knew that the income was wrong.  I'll just give you the right numbers, you check them against what you have, and just manually change it.  Too easy.

Agent: Can't be done.  That would be far too easy.  This is the IRS after all.

Me: So what do I do?

Agent: File an amendment, immediately. The sooner the better.

Me: I will assume since you work for this rather specific agency, you actually know what you're talking about.  I will do the things you say.

I filled out the paperwork, but as I was preparing to mail it, doubt crept in.  Riding a wave of anxiety, I called TurboTax as well as a local accountant.

Me: Hi, this is the situation *explains* The guy said to file an amended retu--

Accountant and TurboTax agent: NOOOOOOO!  For the love of Zeus and everything holy, don't file another return. Amend nothing.  Do nothing. Wait for THEM to ask YOU for things. Anything else will just confuse them, the poor dim bastards.

Me: Okay, but he said--

Accountant and TurboTax agent: DO. NO. THING.

Me: Okay!  Jeez.

Thus I waited for three more weeks until I received my formal letter announcing that my return was under review.  Finally!  I could move forward.  I had bought audit protection so I called TurboTax, ready to hand it over to them and not stress about it anymore.

TurboTax: Of course we'll help you!  What's the code on the righthand corner of the letter?

Me: *reads it*

TurboTax: Oh.  Oh no.  I'm so sorry, that just means you're under review.  When you're audited, it's a different code.  We can't help you yet.

Me: What's the difference between an audit and a review?

TurboTax: Well, ma'am, right now they're just reviewing the return.  If they decide to audit it, they'll give you another letter with a different code.

Me: That...is incredibly unhelpful.

TurboTax: Thank you for paying for a service we won't let you use. No exchanges, substitutions, or refunds.  Have a wonderful day!

Me: *grumbles curses*

I googled the fastest way to contact a human in the IRS (there are whole articles devoted just to this clandestine sequence of numbers) and called the IRS again.

Me: Hi, there's a problem with my tax return.  I put in the wrong W-2 by mistake.  I need to verify the amount of reported income and withholding.

Agent: That's great, ma'am, let me take a look at your return.  Please verify your name, address, social security number, grandmother's favorite type of cake and name of your first pet.

Me: *mutters answers*

Agent: *type type type* Okay, your reported income and withholding are being disputed and need to be verified.

Me: I-isn't that what I just...? *sigh* Yes, I have the correct W-2.  Where do I send it?

Agent: We can't use that.

Me: Um...what? It's a W-2 issued by an employer who is also the government.  It doesn't get more legal or legit than that.

Agent: Yes, ma'am, but we like to needlessly complicate things here at the IRS, so we can't use your employer-issued W-2 to verify your income.

Me: What do you need then?

Agent: Six months of pay stubs, including December of 2017.

Me: ...We don't really get paystubs.

Agent: You can also send a letter printed on company letterhead verifying the amounts.

Me: Company letterhead?

Agent: Yes, from the finance office.

Me: Which one?

Agent: *slowly and loudly* The main one.  The Army does this all the time.

Me: *repeatedly knocking head on the wall* Thanks!

So I called around the Army for forty minutes and ultimately wound up talking to everyone from the main DFAS office in Detroit to the local company finance office, and ABSOLUTELY NO ONE knew what I was talking about.   Paystubs it was.  I hunted them down online and printed them off manually.  I mailed them to the address given and waited the 5 weeks they required to process my return.

A couple weeks later, I received a letter asking for documentation--specifically, six months of paystubs or a letter on company letterhead verifying the income amounts.  I called up my friends at the IRS again.

Me: I am trying to verify my income for my return.  It's being reviewed.

Agent: Great!  Let me take a look at your return.  Please verify your name, address, social security number, birthday of your frenemy in third grade, and sing the alphabet backwards.

Me: *answers through clenched jaw*

Agent: *type type type* So I'm looking at your return.  It's being reviewed.

Me: *strained* Mmm.  Yeah.  I sent in the requested documents several weeks ago, but I just got another letter requesting the same paperwork.  Did it arrive?

Agent: *type type type* I don't see anything, but sometimes it takes several weeks to get it attached to the file.  You can try faxing it to one of these three numbers.

Me: I'll do that.  Is there anything else you need?

Agent: Just the documentation.

Me: Just to clarify, I don't need to file an amendment or anything?

Agent: Nope.  This is much faster and less confusing.

Me: Uh-huh. And once you receive the paperwork it will take like, what, 4-6 weeks to get my return?

Agent: *laughs merrily* Oh no, you silly. It will be 6 to 9 months at a minimum.  We're dreadfully behind.  It's tax season, you know.

*sigh*

So I faxed the paystubs a total of three times due to receiving errors, and waited the requisite ridiculous number of weeks before calling to confirm that the documents had indeed been received and that they didn't need anything else, only to get a letter several weeks later:

Dear Tax Payer, 

We're so incompetent that we can't verify a single amount or do simple math and are confused by the paperwork that we created, so your return will be further delayed while we process it.

Love,

The Internal Revenue Service

*cue mental screaming*

Finally, I get yet another letter some weeks later, announcing that they have joyfully processed my return and adjusted my refund, and that if I don't wish to appeal the amount, to sign and return the enclosed letter and they would mail my check in 6 to 8 weeks.  I did the Dance of Happiness and Relief all the way to the mailbox to mail off what I hoped would be the last letter, and spent the next several weeks riding a wave another wave of anxiety that I had somehow screwed up again, that I had checked the "contest the return" box or forgotten to sign it or some other such piddling mistake.  Words cannot describe how happy I was to finally receive an envelope postmarked Internal Revenue Service, check clearly visible through the window, 8 long months after this whole crapstorm started...

And then I opened it.

The long-awaited check was for the original--not corrected--refund amount.  Naturally.

At this point, there are two options: either I cash the check and send them back the difference, or I void the check and ask the IRS for a new one, which would shortly arrive in 6-8 weeks.  Yeah...that wasn't going to happen. I deposited the check, then called the IRS to see where I needed to send the overage.

Me: You gave me too much money.  I want to send some back.

Agent: Really?  That's weird.  I'll have to take a look at your return.  Please verify your--

Me: Yeah, yeah, I know the drill, here's my identity.

Agent: *type type type* Well, we sent you a refund.  It mailed out ten days ago.

Me: I know.  I deposited it. I just need to confirm how much to send back and where to send it.

Agent: You want us to void the check and send another one?  We can do that--

Me: Nope.  That ship has sailed.  The money is in my account.  I want to return the amount you overpaid me.

Agent: We didn't over pay you.  It says the amount was approved.

Me: Yes, simpleton.  This was the original amount.  I entered the wrong W-2.  There should be notes on the file.  I also received this letter, code 8X7Y!#$6, dated 8/25/2019, stating that my return had been reviewed and my refund amount corrected and lowered.  So what do I owe you and where do I send it?

Agent: Wow, you're organized.

Me: Mmhmm.

Agent: Well, subtract this from that, carry the one and divide this by this and this...$1775.

Me: $1775?

Agent: Yes.  That is what we--are you sure we overpaid you?

Me: I promise.

Agent: *chuckling* I've never had ANYONE try to give us money back before...

Me: Fun story.  Address?

Agent: Um...Try this...no...this...wait.  Let me get my manager...

Manager: Nobody ever sends back money. Are you sure?

Me: *clenching fists and howling silently at the ceiling* Yes.  It's in the notes.

Manager: Hm.  If you're sure.  Try this one.  No, try this one.  Maybe this one...

We ultimately settled on one of three locations in sunny Georgia. However, by the time I got around to actually writing Uncle Sam a check I'd forgotten which of the several addresses I'd been given was the correct one, so I called again.  I'd gotten quite proficient at winding my way through the tangled recordings by then, so I managed to get a human within fifteen minutes.

Me: Let's cut to the chase.  Where do I send you a check for overpayment?

Agent: I need to look at your return.  Could you please verify--

Me: Nope.  You overpaid my refund, I'm sending it back before you figure out your mistake and retroactively charge me interest.

Agent: Oh, too easy. Send it to this place in California.  Make sure it's certified so you know we got it.

Me: Bless you, competent government employee.

Agent: Go in peace, my child.

 I mailed the check certified and tracked it until it was marked delivered. Last week the check cashed, finally ending the 9 month dance of hell with the government.

So what did we learn?  Two things. First, if you do your own taxes, triple check everything, and if there's a coincidence, it means that there's a glitch in the Matrix and something is wrong.  Second, the government has a knack for complicating things that should be incredibly simple and shouldn't be trusted to organize a bake sale much less fund and run a country. Oh, and Epstein didn't kill himself.