How I Got Scammed

Posted on July 26, 2025 by doradueck

No excuses, but it was early and I was just beginning my coffee. I was checking my mail, my social feed. Checking to see what was new, and then I saw a post about an investment project by none other than Mark Carney, whom I happen to respect. Now I will admit that I skimmed rather than read it carefully, that my mind had immediately thought war or savings bonds, that type of thing, and what a good idea, thought I, and since I’ve been feeling especially patriotic in the last months on account of you-know-who (haven’t we all?) I clicked, and long story short, I was led to believe it was exactly as I’d supposed. And before I knew it I had joined the club and given my credit card number in the amount of $250 (U.S. I noticed later). I was passed from one person to another to “Patrick”, my personal minder, I guess you could call him. As soon as I gave up my number, I got a cell ping from my credit card company with a warning, and there were a few other red lights flashing by now, but to every fear and/or objection I raised came assurances as smooth and confident as maple syrup.

When “Patrick” asked my name, he exclaimed that, wow, his wife had just read my book, something about a hidden thing, right, an Amish story, right? “Mennonite” I said, still quite friendly, even though I was beginning, yes, to have doubts about everything. Half my brain told me he had simply googled my name and come up with this information, but the other half was, I’ll be honest, flattered, even kind of excited at this amazing coincidence, because his wife thought it was such a great book; she simply loved it! And somewhere along the way I must also have indicated that it wasn’t greed for returns that motivated me but patriotic idealism, for I had enough to live on, and by this time, I can also assume in retrospect, he calculated my age and thus knew I had some money in the bank. Worth fishing for.

Long story short, as I say, I did realize I’d been hooked for something that wasn’t what I thought it was, and now it was too late to get out of the credit card transaction. Shortly after, I wrote and said I’d felt pressured, I wanted out immediately. With apologies and cheer I was informed that yes, of course, they hadn’t meant that at all, and the next day I would find my deposit returned in full along with what I had already gained in one day. Which was truly there the next morning, with $100 “earned” on my “investment.” Wow, good returns, eh? But by now I knew they were just upping the bait. At any rate, I locked my credit card (and later cancelled it).

When “Patrick” said he would call the next day, I said he should do so at 11 a.m. I arranged to go over to my son’s place for that time (he was working at home). Ashamed, embarrassed, I explained the situation. He confirmed its scam-ishness. Then the phone rang. “Patrick.” I said Hello and handed the phone to my son. He gave “Patrick” a thorough scolding, for leading his mother along and all that. If he exaggerated my capacity (lack of, that is) a little, so be it; his vigorous defence of me felt good.

Although it ended well enough, there was still the mess to clean up. Once the transaction moved from “pending” to paid I did the dispute process,.The credit card assistant reminded me that I had freely given my number, but fortunately the transaction was successfully reversed. It may seem that I scammed the scammers, for technically I got back all I gave and more, but it’s not quite true, for my bank has bracketed that transfer and it will be investigated by their fraud department, so neither the bank nor I will be liable for receiving fraudulent funds. And it was such a huge hassle, cancelling my credit card, changing all my passwords, taking various other precautions, and my stomach was in turmoil for a couple of days until I felt innerly strong again.

I asked my son not to tell anyone about his mother’s foolishness and he agreed, but several days later he said, “Actually, you should talk about it.” He’s right. So I took his advice and have been compelled, like the penitential Ancient Mariner, to tell my tale to others. Sharing such stories and one’s vulnerabilities can be a mutual education. In the process I’ve heard of others’ follies and gained from their lessons.

But now I’ve told “the world” on my weblog so maybe it’s enough.

Otherwise I’m having a lovely summer, being extra careful on all fronts, no impulsive clicking, and the local hydrangea flowers are at their most glorious and the blackberries are a-ripening.

Thinking about arches

Posted on May 23, 2025 by doradueck

I like arches. I’ve been thinking about them–their sense of invitation and transition. The way they frame what’s ahead. I don’t mean famous arches like L’Arc de Triomphe in Paris or the Gateway Arch in St. Louis. but simple arches I’ve encountered.

This first one is created by trees meeting over a path to the dike I often walk, and just beyond it is View–of the bay, which is sometimes beautifully spread with water and sometimes, when the tide is low, less beautifully spread with mud.

The next is also local, also of greenery. Enter this portal and you’ll be in a peaceful, quiet Tsawwassen place of trees, flowers, and plants called The Secret Garden.

And I love detouring through this one on my way to the library. It’s structural, yes, between two parts of a condo building but leads to a large reflective pool with koi.

I have a few favourites from travels. First one is in Turkey, one arch opening to another. It seems both holy and mysterious. Second, somewhere in Europe, Freiburg I think (and don’t you just want to go through and around the corner to that street?) Third is in Central Park, New York. The ceiling nearly grabs all the attention but there, at the end, three arches, stairs, and light.

And as metaphor? In the ordinary, daily life? For me a book or story is like an arch that summons me into another place. The exercise of gratitude is an arch as frame around the day’s happenings. Any shift of thought or action that leads me toward a different, perhaps wondrous view or next steps is an arch to go through gladly.

A ritual procession down 56th

Posted on April 16, 2025 by doradueck

A good funeral, poet/undertaker Thomas Lynch says, gets the dead where they need to go and the living where they need to be. When my husband Helmut died four years ago in the middle of the Covid pandemic, the usual mourning rituals had to be significantly modified. Not all of this was disappointing. It was a privilege for me, for example, to wash his body myself and, with the help of a son, dress him after death. The funeral service had us as a family separated into three “bubbles” but was meaningful nevertheless, as music, readings, eulogy, and homily flowed smoothly via the technological help of one of our pastors. We very much missed the physical presence and hugs of other people but, as a livestream production, it was possible for local friends and family as well as those in faraway places like Winnipeg and Paraguay to participate.

Once Helmut knew his diagnosis was probably terminal, he built his ashes box himself, of two favourite woods–maple and walnut. The plan was for cremation and then interment in a columbarium niche. The first part happened, and then four years passed with the box and ashes in the apartment with me. I didn’t mind at all, to be honest. But the time had come, and the opportunity, for the second part. This month, the whole family was together in B.C. for the wedding celebration of our daughter and her wife who were married five years ago, also during Covid, but sans the party. The couple graciously yielded a day of their celebration week for the interment of Helmut’s ashes.

I decided I wanted to walk to the cemetery and all the children and available grandchildren (some were in university classes and couldn’t come) gladly joined me. It’s about two kilometres from my apartment to the cemetery, but everyone’s fit to walk. The nearly-nine-year-old granddaughter wanted to know why we were doing this and I told her about the practice of pallbearers, about the symbolism of carrying our dead where they need to go. It took us about half an hour, down 56th Street, the main street of Tsawwassen, and whoever wished to, had their “turn with the urn.” (It was heavy!). I enjoyed this walk and the various conversations enroute, this carrying of our husband, father, father-in-law, grandfather at the pace of our feet.

A granddaughter takes her turn.

At the cemetery, we gathered under a canopy. I shared a few thoughts and memories, as did others, the granddaughters read some selected scripture texts, we spoke a litany of commital together, and the three children placed the box in the niche. Then the cemeterian came and closed the niche and placed the plaque over it. It felt emotional for many of us, but good.

I’ve startled a few people already with the photo of the niche plaque, because my name is also there. Please don’t be, it’s what my parents did with their cemetery stone, and it feels perfectly comfortable for ours. A niche has room for two “urns” and it’s where my cremains will go as well. Whenever; year only to be added.

After the ceremony, we gathered at the home of the oldest son and family, not far from the cemetery. Since I’d baked cinnamon buns for our lunch together and since I needed to be alone for a bit after the interment, I walked back down 56th Street, just me this time, and that felt necessary and symbolic too, and I picked up the pans of buns and brought them to the house in the car. We had a lovely day together, all of us gradually turning our thoughts to the upcoming marriage celebration. (Which turned out to be a wonderful day too.)