My IRS agent Garnett Morris (left) died last night. Up until last year she worked incognito, at Ieast from my perspective. I learned of her former occupation last October when my mother (center) and Garnett’s sister Jeannie (right) visited Garnett at the nursing home she’d recently moved into.
Garnett’s mind was sharp, and she shared stories about her life in Des Moines during and after World War II. My parents always had great respect for Garnett, who was my dad’s cousin, a career woman and mother in an era when most women stayed home with their children. But they never mentioned (or more likely I never paid attention when they did) that she worked for the IRS.
My retelling of the details may be fuzzy since Garnett’s revelation left me shell shocked. Dad’s faithful older cousin who sent him birthday cards year after year was with the Feds? This comfortable woman, whose Christmas letters were full of exceedingly average family news, was an IRS agent? How could I pay attention to what she said after a bombshell like that?
If what I remember is anything close to accurate, she started as an office worker, not as an agent. But eventually, she was promoted and in charge of a whole lot of office workers. And she traveled to be trained and to train other people, which I figure could have been her story while she did secret tax audits. So I think she really was an IRS agent, but the government doesn’t want her to blow her cover.
Ever since that day, I’ve wanted to visit her again and get the skinny on her job, under the guise of taking Mom and Jeannie to see her again. But I never got around to it, and now it’s too late.
I’m a little sad today, not because my overactive imagination didn’t get fresh fodder. I’m sad because Garnett would have enjoyed our visit. So in honor of Garnett, I’m going to conduct a time audit and straighten out my priorities. If I inherited the same accountant gene she did, it will be easy. More likely, my overactive imagination is messing with my head, and it’s going to be a chore.
Whichever it is, I know that while I’m tidying up my Day Planner, Dad and Garnett will enjoy a good talk. Because everybody in my dad’s family inherited the visiting gene. No exceptions.
