Ceanne is here today. She is our accountant. It is the end of the fiscal year and we have to close the books.
I will admit to you that of my many talents book-keeping is not one of them. Yes, I understand that I run a nonprofit that must be totally and transparently accountable. I’m a good girl and keep my Giving Matters profile up to date religiously. But the devil is in the details, isn’t it, and that’s where I sometimes fall down on the job.
“I need you to go back to before November and get all the transactions for the flood building account,” she says. Oh, dear. The online banking service is not my friend. I try October. Nothing. I try September. Nothing again. Then I realize there were no transactions because we hadn’t started construction yet. Saved.
Credit card bills. I have the receipts. Stacks and stacks of them. But why didn’t I match them up at the time I submitted the bills to Ceanne? Why, oh why. I sit at the open dock door, smoking and matching. Smoking and matching. The alarm at the cement mixing plant across the street goes off, signaling they are about to start pouring. It is like the alarm that goes off in my head when the word “accounting” is mentioned.
Ceanne is patient but firm. No penny will go unaccounted. If there were anything smaller than a penny, she’d count that, too. And while this is agonizing, this is just the beginning. We have to get the books in order because next month comes THE AUDIT.