My CPA, who moved to nowhere Oregon last year, is in town for tax season. This is wonderful for me, as sending several sets of documents via carrier pigeon to the outskirts of the Pacific Northwest wasn't very appealing. And more importantly, I happen to really like the guy.
I had breakfast with my CPA last Friday. We discussed the state of the economy and our predictions for the future. He told me about how his grandfathers both worked on the Hoover Dam in 1931. We talked about his summers while in high school living in Tuba City Arizona, instead of working at the Tropicana in Las Vegas--where he wanted to be as a 16 year old lad in the 1950s (he grew up in Vegas). We updated each other on our spouses. I gave him a brief rundown on the kids, Marty's job situation and my opinion of the Phoenix real estate market. I even shared stories with him about the year I spent in Burlington Vermont as a teenager.
Oops! We never got around to discussing my taxes.
Monday, February 16, 2009
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