["Let Inga Tell You," La Jolla Light, published May 25, 2026] 2026
When you get to be my age, you have probably developed some pretty good coping skills. Or then, maybe you haven't. I know such people. I am even related to a few of them.
But my superpower has long been documentation. It has saved me more time and money than I can even estimate, never mind given me some great column material to mine during weeks when nothing else seems to inspire me.
Documenting was actually a pretty major part of the office job I held for more than 20 years. My job description should have read: "Must be able to navigate a vast incomprehensible bog of bureaucracy administered by persons whose sole role is to make sure that no problem ever gets solved."
My boss' solution was to relegate all this bottomless bureaucracy to me. This included figuring out how to pay visiting scientists who had ignored all instructions and come with the wrong visa, or hiring summer help outside the allowable guidelines. I once hired a summer student on a purchase order as basically a side of beef. Still proud of that one.
But as I have learned even outside my job, having a solid trail of documentation is often the only way something is going to get resolved. A year ago, I wrote a four-part series about my year-plus efforts to get the streetlight in front of my house fixed. My 90-page log memorialized every single phone call and email I sent or received. But honestly, that - along with my trademark pathological persistence - is what it took to make it happen.
Given my 23-year career as a problem solver and trouble shooter, I have an almost frightening instinct for when something is going to go south. And at that point, I'm in full documentation mode. This has been especially helpful for tracking medical bills and unraveling the way-too-frequent billing errors after a major medical event. While my husband was in the OR after his heart attack, I was in the waiting room already setting up the spreadsheet.
I also keep a file on my computer desktop with everyone I've ever hired, and equally importantly, all the people I want to make sure never to hire again. When I see multiple people on Next Door recommend the same person, I add them even if I don t need that service at the moment. My great handyman, PT guy, HVAC service, and tree trimmers have all come from Next Door recommendations.
Here are my hot tips for problem resolution:
History repeats itself: As anyone who has been reading my column for a while knows, I am a world class techno moron. So every time I/we fix some glitch on our various electronics or appliances (especially our constantly-cranky cable box), I note it in my computer file. Otherwise, we were always trying to remember what we did to fix a problem the last time it occurred.
Get copies of everything medical. Preferably before you've left a doctor s office: We have had enough care by enough providers from different networks over the years that I always get a print copy of all labs, plus imaging reports, and a copy of the image itself on a disk even if I have to pay for it. This has saved us a lot of duplication of services over the years which means saving a lot of money, repeat tests, never mind pain and suffering.
If you want someone to reply or to help you, make it easy for them. Give them a concise summary of what the issue is, what might have already happened, and what you are hoping to happen. The less work they have to do to reply, the more likely it is you'll hear back. This worked especially well for our dog's plethora of health issues evaluated by multiple vets. If it's something that will need a snail mail reply, include an SASE.
Most times when a signature is required, they don't care if the actual person signed it. They just need a signature. This is especially true in bureaucratic institutions. I can t calculate how many documents I signed for my boss and both husbands, all of whom hated having to sign stuff and who were more than happy to have me sign their names for them. I remember taking 15-year-old Henry to the DMV to take his written test for his driver's permit. The DMV clerk said, "Sorry, he needs his father s signature on this too." Next available appointment was not for a month. Henry was crushed. I said, "No problem. Fortunately his dad is waiting for us in the car." I hustled the puzzled Henry out the front door, signed his father's name to the form, and came back to hand it to the clerk. Did she know? Maybe. Did she care? Absolutely not.
When I'm dead, my heart "won't go on" as the song says, but I hope my computer files will. I have a file called Everything you ever wanted to know about this house. This, of course, assumes anyone will actually look at it.
But it's not going to be my fault if whoever ends up with my home discovers the hard way that you can't leave the washing machine unsupervised or it will go off balance and flail around like a mechanical bull with a broken speed control and potentially end up in the living room. Or that the dryer will fluff in perpetuity. I tried to save you. I really did.
