Sunday, September 30, 2018

Domestic Violence is Real - Republished in Honor of Domestic Abuse Awareness Month


Following is a true story. My ex-husband's name was changed to keep the guilty from bothering me. Blaming the victim is alive and well -- and few people understand the true dynamics of domestic violence. Many believe claims of domestic violence are overblown, exaggerated, and -- the victim's fault -- or she must like it. In honor of Domestic Violence Awareness Month, I'm sharing my story. The following article was written about five years ago, about an incident several years before that. Please know, how much blaming the victim hurts.



Small Dogs, Small Men, and Mini-Blinds


I don’t apologize for my grudges. Brutus, Mima’s nasty little rat terrier, a dog I had known for seven years, totally unprovoked, tore across the living room and bit me in the leg. Bobby, a small man and my husband at the time, for no good reason, swung a rolled up set of mini-blinds, swung like a baseball bat, connecting with my back and nearly killed me. Still today I am wary of small dogs, small men, and mini-blinds.

Back then, my family, my friends, and more than one cop, asked me, “Why don’t you just leave?” They all meant, and sometimes said, why don’t you just leave Bobby? -- he hits you and you keep letting him come back, and what is the matter with you that you allow it? Back then, I never had an answer. It wasn’t love that kept me there.

We were in my kitchen the day he almost killed me. Bobby and I weren’t exactly married and we weren’t yet divorced. He had filed divorce papers months before, but then refused to finish the process. Our marriage was in limbo. He was back in my life, insisting that he help work on the house. The house was a government foreclosure, abandoned for over two years, a haven for neighborhood kids skipping school, and in need of general repair. We found it together, but bought it with my name, credit and down payment. During fights and renovations, the house was in constant chaos and disarray -- piles of block, stacks of sheet rock, tools, tear-out, and mess.

That day in my kitchen, Bobby told me to go out to the trailer in front of the house and tell the guy, our supposed laborer, staying there to get out. I told Bobby no. I hadn’t let the guy move in there to begin with, I didn’t think I should have to tell him to get out. Bobby was holding the mini-blinds when I told him no. He was on his way to hang them somewhere in the house. I did not tell him no rudely, or add any other comment. Just no. I don’t remember the blow hurting, at least not right away. I didn’t fall down.

Instantly enraged, I yelled. I yelled at Bobby for hitting me, and what did he do that for, and why doesn’t he go throw the guy out himself if it’s that important. I imagine, but I don’t remember, I was rude then, all the angry words I was yelling. I sat down in an office chair with wheels that was in the kitchen for some unknown reason, and pushed myself backwards across the kitchen floor toward the back door, still facing Bobby and still yelling at him for hitting me like that. I lit a cigarette to try and calm myself, but I couldn’t smoke it. I couldn’t inhale, then I couldn’t yell anymore, and then I couldn’t talk. I could only whisper.

Ten minutes after the mini-blind blow in the back, sharp pain shot through the left side of my chest to my shoulder. My left arm went numb except for the tightening steel band above my bicep. I could barely breathe, and I couldn’t talk. I whispered, “Take me to the hospital or call me a f*** ambulance, now.”

I could still walk so we took Bobby's truck. He sped through back roads, running stop signs; now playing the hero rushing me to the hospital. He talked non-stop: I’m sorry, I don’t want to go to prison, please don’t make me go to prison, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you, I love you, we’ll say you slipped and fell, I only just tapped you, we’ll say you fell down, I don’t want to go to prison, please don’t make me go to prison. I listened and tried to continue breathing. I thought I was having a heart attack.

At the emergency entrance Bobby jammed the truck in park, jumped out and scrambled for a wheel chair. He wheeled me through the double doors. I whispered to the orderly that I couldn’t breathe. The hospital workers moved faster than I had ever seen. I had been at that emergency room only the week before, but the week before I waited two hours for a doctor. The week before I had been laying on the couch and Bobby had hit me with a wooden stool. That day he was angry because I wouldn’t tell him where I had been. In fact, I had taken my eight year old son to the video arcade. I hadn’t answered Bobby's question only because he was demanding to know, not asking. So he had hit me with the stool, bursting the thin skin on my shin, rather than slicing it, while I lay supine on the couch. I still had the stitches from the week before.

But this day, a week later, the hospital workers quickly hooked me to tubes, and put me in a bed behind a curtain. Bobby stuck by my bedside, still talking to me about how much he loved me and how he was going to make sure I got well. He didn’t talk anymore about how he didn’t want to go to prison or that he was sorry he hit me, someone might have heard. He was the attentive husband now. When hospital workers came in, Bobby talked to them about football, and whether I was going to be alright. When the doctor came in and asked me what happened, I whispered, “I fell down.” Over the next hours I dozed and woke up, over and over to stare at the big round school clock on the hospital wall, the hands never seeming to move. Once I whispered to Bobby, “Get somebody in here to convince me I’m not dying.” The nurse Bobby fetched said they were waiting for a bed in the Intensive Care Unit. She promised I wasn’t dying, and promised to take care of me.

Later on a nurse wheeled me in my bed to the Radiology Unit where three nurses and a doctor picked me up by the corners of the blanket underneath me and set me down on the scanning table. Before closing me inside the MRI tube, the doctor instructed me to remain perfectly still. I had no will to ask questions, think, or protest. Enclosed in the tube, like a modern day mummy I was sent through the scanner, the giant magnet encircling my body, radio waves aligning my hydrogen molecules so that the doctor could see my pain.

Next, now in ICU, the doctor told me my spleen had ruptured, and my pain was from internal bleeding. The doctor told me a ruptured spleen is serious, life threatening, and he might have to take it out. But, the doctor continued, the holes in my spleen might heal themselves. The doctor watched over me all night that first night. On the third day in ICU, he told me my spleen had healed itself.

During those three days I slept a lot. I was hooked to an IV and oxygen. A nurse came in every few hours and gave me a morphine injection. The medicine burned going in my hand and sent me off to sleep. When I was alone and awake I made plans. I forced myself to call to memory a friend’s phone number, and repeated it silently until I could never forget it. I could have a nurse call my friend and tell her I was here and then she could call my mom. I bargained with myself that if the doctor wanted to operate, I would call Mom, in case I died on the operating table, someone would know what happened. Mom was out of town, on vacation in North Carolina with my son. I made myself remember the name of her hotel. I didn’t want to call my friend or my mom. I didn’t want to spoil her trip. I didn’t want to hear the words, why don’t you just leave. I didn’t want to hear their anger at Bobby and then at me. Not now, I had to get better first.

I had visitors during those three days. Bobby came, talking about how much he loved me. Bobby's boss came, a twice disbarred attorney now owner of a telemarketing room. The guy, the laborer, who I was supposed to throw out of the trailer came, I don‘t know why. A social worker came. I considered telling the social worker the truth, but didn’t. It would have been fine with me if they had put Bobby in prison then and there and kept him forever, but I couldn’t convince myself it would be that simple.

I had tried to get rid of Bobby over and over. I had told him to leave, go away and never come back, but he always came back anyway. I had left him repeatedly and found I had nowhere to hide. I had sworn out protection orders and no contact orders, only to see him immediately violate the court’s order. He would call me or appear at my house, and nobody cared. When he hit me, I called the police and Bobby would leave before they responded and come back again after they left.

After the cops had come and gone he would return to my house usually in the middle of the night, angry and drunk. He drank vodka and grapefruit juice, from noon to midnight, everyday. He never slurred his words, he never stumbled, growing more agitated as the day wore on. Any words I spoke could be the wrong thing, and set him off. By late at night he was manic, talking incessantly. His words clearly uttered, made no sense.

Within minutes his words could range from oaths of undying love to death threats. He called me every vulgar name and accused me of sleeping around. He would say he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me and that he loved me forever. He would put one hand on the back of my neck and one on my chin; and tell me he could snap my neck. Just like that.

I tried to ignore his words and stay away from his fists. It didn’t work. If I went to a bedroom and locked the door, I could hear him breaking things; or he would finally break through the door. Constantly talking, threatening, accusing, then saying he just wanted to talk, make nice.

People, my family, my mom, the cops, and the few friends I had left, thought I let Bobby come back every time. I didn’t. He just came back and then he wouldn’t go away. People thought I liked being his victim. I didn’t. People thought Bobby kept coming back because I loved him. I didn’t. People thought I was the village idiot.
I went home to Bobby when I was released from the hospital. I felt elated to still be alive. Of course, he promised to never hurt me again; he always promised that. I didn’t believe him, I had nowhere else to go. Four days home from the hospital he closed my arm in a door.

Bobby tortured me for over a year.

I have an answer now for the people that asked, “Why don’t you just leave?” I did. It took some time to escape alive -- but I did. My son and I took refuge in a safe house, a hide out, and stayed for weeks. When it was time to leave I invited another woman in hiding, another refugee from abuse, to stay at my house. She helped me through the scary days that followed. Bobby threw rocks through my windows and set fire to my shed.

Ten months after I escaped, Judge Warren cracked her gavel and pronounced him guilty of one count of domestic violence.

Years later, I am still wary of small dogs and small men. Mini-blinds are now just ordinary, although I avoid them.




Saturday, September 15, 2018

Florida Property Tax Exemptions


Newcomers to Florida may not be fully aware of Florida's rules on property tax exemption. The following are rules in one county and are the same or similar throughout Florida.


Florida Property Tax Exemptions


The Property Appraiser’s Office administers all property tax exemptions.


  • $50,000 Homestead Exemption
Every person who on January 1 of the current year has legal title or beneficial title in equity to real property in this state and who in good faith makes the property his or her permanent residence or the permanent residence of another or others legally or naturally dependent upon him or her, qualifies for this exemption. You may apply in person at any time through the year, but the deadline is March 1 of the qualifying year.

First time applicants must come to our office in person. Spouses information is required if property is jointly owned. You will need to bring:
  1. Florida Drivers License or ID with correct mailing address.
  2. Florida vehicle registration with correct mailing address.(If you own a vehicle)
  3. County Voter’s Registration with correct mailing address. (If you vote)
  4. Social Security Numbers for all applicants and spouse.
  5. If you were not born in the US, we will need to see proof of citizenship or permanent residency.
  6. If the property is in a Trust, we will need to see a copy of the entire Trust.
  7. Copy of recorded deed or tax bill.
  8. Copy of Mobile Home Registration or Titles if you live in a mobile home.

  • $500 Widow/Widower Exemption
A widow or widower who is a legal and permanent resident of Florida qualifies for this exemption. If the surviving spouse remarries, they are no longer eligible. If the husband and wife were divorced before their spouse’s death, the survivor is not eligible. You need to produce a copy of the death certificate when filing for the first time.

  • $500 Disability Exemption
People who are permanently disabled are eligible for this exemption. If applying for the first time, please provide a Physician’s Certificate from a licensed Florida physician.

> $500 Blind Exemption
Every Florida resident who is blind qualifies for this exemption. If filing for the first time, please bring a certificate from the Division of Blind Services or an Optometrist’s Certificate verifying the applicant to be legally blind. The Optometrist’s Certificate can be found on our web site in the Forms to download section.

  • Total Exemptions
Honorably discharged veterans who are Totally and Permanently Disabled due to service connected disability qualify for this exemption. If filing for the first time, please provide a letter from the Department of Veterans Affairs that verifies your disability. If you are a paraplegic, hemiplegic or other totally and permanently disabled person who must use a wheelchair for mobility or who is legally blind, you may also be exempt from taxation.

  • First Responder Exemption
The surviving spouse of a first responder, who died in the line of duty while employed by the state or any political subdivision of the state, is totally exempt from paying taxes on their homestead property. A letter from the state or appropriate entity is required which legally recognizes and certifies that the first responder died in the line of duty while employed as a first responder. The first responder and spouse must be a resident of this state on January 1 of the year in which the first responder died.


It is very important to remember that if you sell your home and buy another home, you must come in to the office to make a new application. The homestead exemption DOES NOT automatically follow you to your new home.


!!! NEW HOMEBUYER BEWARE!!!


Be aware that there could be significant changes in the property taxes on the home you are buying.

In Florida, state law limits the annual increase in the assessed value, not market value, of homesteaded property to 3% or the Consumer Price Index (CPI) whichever is less. This is also called Save Our Homes. When homesteaded property is sold, that limitation is removed and the property is reassessed. This results in a new assessed value.

If you purchase homesteaded property, the taxable value of the property can and probably will, increase the first year after sale, especially if it has been owned and homesteaded for several years by the same owner.
Assessed Value – Any Exemptions = Taxable Value

This information is very important to understand because if your taxes are paid by your mortgage company, you may be surprised by the increase in your monthly payment, due to the increase in your assessed value, which means a higher taxable value.

When there is a change in ownership, the assessed value will be brought up to the market value. This may include a name change on your deed. According to Section 193.155(3)
Florida Statutes, except as provided therein, property shall be assessed at just value as of January 1 of the year following a change of ownership. Therefore, adding or removing the name of an individual as a joint owner of the property can require the property’s assessed value to be reassessed at market value as of January 1 following the change of ownership if the new owner files for Homestead Exemption.









Thursday, September 6, 2018

Path to Citizenship

We didn't know exactly what to expect when we arrived at the DHS building in Orlando. We were there for my husband's citizenship ceremony. Entering the building, going through the security process, is just like boarding an airplane. Empty your pockets, take your shoes off, put your belongings in the tray. We expected the security process, we had been to the building the week before for my husband's civics test. He passed with flying colors, and this day he had his letter in hand recommending him for citizenship. Once through security we sat in chairs in the open lobby and waited to find out what happens next. Before long a DHS officer called for everyone there for the ceremony to stand in line behind the stanchions. Next, the officer, in a booming voice, explained that families would be called after all of the citizenship candidates were seated. He called the candidates in groups of about 20 to leave the line and go to a set of tables where officers were signing people in. After the sign in the citizenship candidates went into a room to the far left that I couldn't see. I kept my eyes on my husband until he went into that room and was out of sight. I waited with members of other candidates' families until we were called in. 

Our road, my husband's and my road, to his citizenship was mostly smooth, but not without its challenges. Days after we married in 2007 we filed the paperwork for his adjustment of status, the set of documents for an initial green card. All told, at that time, that first set of documents which we prepared together, cost around $1900. in USCIS fees. We married in November. The most storybook wedding ever, in the courtyard of the Lightner Museum complete with a white carriage and white horse to carry us to the reception. We planned to go to England for Christmas so that I could meet his family. When we filed the initial documents we had also filed the travel authorization document, Advance Parole, the I-131. Green card applicants have to be careful about traveling while approval is pending, lest USCIS determines that you've abandoned the application and then you have to start all over again. We filed the Advance Parole along with everything else, so that traveling to England would not be a problem. But, we didn't get an answer about it, and we didn't know what to do, so we scheduled an emergency appointment at the USCIS field office to request that they expedite his travel documents. We got the authorization, but only by showing the officer that we'd already purchased plane tickets. 

 England was lovely. It was my first visit. I'll never understand why the grass stays green when its so cold. Florida grass goes brown at the slightest drop in temperature. The flight was good, long haul flights are never exactly fun. Coming back to the states through Orlando, after being on a plane for over nine hours, we got pulled aside and had to wait in a room for two hours before being processed through customs and immigration. I learned later that the reason we were pulled aside was because my husband's immigration status was pending. 

 A month or so later we received the letter to appear at the USCIS field office for our initial interview. This is the interview where newlyweds show the officer their wedding pictures and original documents so that the officer can see make sure its a bona fide marriage. Its an important first step in the process, as there are, in fact, many people who think they can game the system. Marry for a fee, etc. Our marriage is bona fide, married for all the right reasons. But, on the way to our appointment, driving the interstate, a front tire blew. Blew out of the blue. Nothing wrong with the tire, didn't run over a nail or a screw. Tire just blew out. Luckily a road ranger came to our rescue, towed us off the interstate and to the nearest tire store, where we bought a new tire. By this time there was no chance of arriving at our appointment on time. We tried to call the 800#, which we found to be an exercise in futility. That number always goes straight to a voicemail menu. There was no way to let USCIS know what had happened. Back on the road, we proceeded to the USCIS field office. The officer at the door let us in and rescheduled the appointment for later that day, only after we showed him the time stamped receipt for the new tire purchase. 

 Over the next two years, my husband had to get a medical exam, get fingerprinted several times (biometrics), and file more papers to remove the temporary conditions from his green card to change his status to a permanent resident alien. All these at a cost. Overall around another $900. Last year we decided it was time for him to apply for citizenship. We could have done so sooner, but hadn't felt the real need. Filing the forms for citizenship (N-400) plus biometrics cost another $725. It was 10 months before he received notice to take the civics test. He was ready. He had made me drill him on the 100 questions for days and days. His goal was to answer the first six questions correctly, so that the test would end there and then. He did it. The next week was ceremony day. 

 The ceremony was quite touching. I felt great that my husband was becoming a U.S. Citizen for me, for us. When the families were allowed into the ceremony room, a speaker from DHS welcomed us. She then asked for all the soon to be U.S. Citizens stand. That day there were 94. She called country by country until all citizenship candidates stood. The family members, whooped and hollered when their country was called and their candidate stood. We said the Pledge of Allegiance together. Then the National Anthem came on complete with patriotic video on the big screen at the front of the room. Next, the families were asked to take their seats, and the candidates repeated the oath, line by line. Once the candidates said the oath, they were declared United States citizens and everyone clapped and celebrated. The DHS speaker then talked about how we, as U.S. Citizens although not bound by race, religion, or ethnicity are bound together because of the freedoms that we enjoy. She went on to say that as U.S. Citizens we are to help one another, and that we are all equal. Inspirational and patriotic. Near the end of the ceremony, a lady came around and passed out little American flags to everyone who wanted one. Lee Greenwood came on the big screen and sang “God Bless the U.S.A.” It was a good and memorable day. Now we're working through the next checklist. He already updated his driver's license, and registered to vote. He still needs to visit the social security office and apply for a U.S. Passport.