love

More $#*! my boyfriend says.

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While visiting my daughter in Phoenix, I called DF to hear his voice and give him an update. It wasn’t much of an update, since the visit was a lot like every other trip I’ve made.

Doing chores to help out, visiting thrift stores, stopping by The Dollar Tree for odds and ends like a new paring knife and 32 ounces of Silkience shampoo, playing with the dog and binge-watching TV shows Abby thinks I’d enjoy.

Sadly predictable, but it works for me.

At the end of our conversation I told him I’d call again the next day.

“Hoping to report something moderately interesting,” I said.

“Moderate interest is fine,” he replied. “Anything more would be usury.”

A nerdy pun that mentions personal finance: Can’t help lovin’ that man.

 

And as I pointed out in a previous article, “$#*! my boyfriend says,” it’s just his way. Our conversations are often weird and never boring.

 

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Wedding crashers.

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The sun came out this evening, after five or six days of gloom and/or rain. DF suggested we ride over to Kincaid Park and enjoy a view of the water, or at least a view of anything other than our own yard and our own four walls.

The parking lot at the Kincaid Chalet (actually a former bunker for nuclear-armed Nike missiles) was fairly crowded. Not unusual, since a lot of special events take place there.

“I think it’s a wedding,” DF reported when I returned from getting my sunglasses from the car.

The chalet is probably the number-one place for wedding receptions in Anchorage. You get a great view Mt. Susitna (aka “Sleeping Lady”), Fire Island and Cook Inlet, plus tons of trees and, sometimes, moose and bears.

We heard music and laughter and a DJ’s booming voice, and saw nicely dressed people milling around outside the chalet, whose doors were open. We intended to walk on by. But then Louis Armstrong’s voice arose, singing “What A Wonderful World.”

I pulled up short. “Let’s dance.”

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Gifts for pets on Valentine’s Day?

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I’m not going to be with my sweetheart today, except in spirit (and by phone). That’s because I came back to Phoenix to lend a hand after my son-in-law broke one foot and badly sprained the other.

Since I won’t have a holiday of my own, I’m focusing on other people’s Feb. 14 follies. For example, did you know that some people buy Valentine’s Day gifts for their pets?

Not making that up. Couldn’t make that up.

 

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Warmth and plenty.

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thOh, the breakfast we just had. Perfectly cooked bacon, done in the oven. Sliced tomatoes. The last of the homemade rolls from the freezer, toasted and served with a choice of three homemade (not by us) jams. Tea and coffee aplenty

Scrambled eggs for me and for DF, eggs done “the way Jesus had his.” (See Matthew 11:30 for the punny explanation.) A dish of yogurt with rhubarb compote, both – you guessed it – homemade. The only reason we didn’t add in some of those Del Monte red grapefruit sections was that we forgot they were in the fridge.

The fireplace insert was churning out BTUs, its flames resurrected from the previous evening’s fire that had entertained us and also dried two racks of laundry. While I slept in DF had folded that laundry and put away the racks.

This lazy Saturday morning was seasoned perfectly by gusts of snow blown against the kitchen windows. Not new snow, but slabs of old snow and hand-sized chunks of frost blown off the roof and the neighbor’s giant larch tree. My breakfast sat more snugly and smugly each time snow scoured the panes: It’s out there and I’m in here, enjoying warmth and a leisurely breakfast.

All of which reminded me of a line from Pearl S. Buck’s “The Good Earth.”

 


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Life: Is there a do-over?

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thTell me: What is it you plan to do with your 30 wild and precious extra years?

Right now a man can expect to live to at least age 72 and possibly as long as 87; for women, the numbers are 79 and almost 89. (Hint: It helps if you’re rich.)

Back in 1916, the average life expectancy for men was 49.6 years and for women 54.3 years.

According to a new study from Allianz Life, most of us (93 percent) are excited about the fact that we’re living three decades longer than our ancestors did.

Among the top plans for those years are “travel extensively” (56 percent) and “live in a different place” (35 percent). Most interesting to me is the fact that almost one-quarter of those surveyed say they would “take more risks in life.”

In part, that’s because they’re steeped in remorse about the road(s) not taken.

 

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I’ve been thinking about retirement.

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th-3A recent freelance experience suffused with mega-micromanagement left me teeth-grindingly irritated and wondering, “What if I just quit?”

Pipe dream, at least for now. I’m too young to collect Social Security and not quite far enough along in my personal retirement savings to stop contributing.

It’s not that I don’t like what I do. Writing is as natural as respiration. Even if I quit writing full-time I’d likely freelance here and there. Lately, though, I’m viewing time as more important than money, and resenting the hours spent on non-life-enriching stuff.

We now interrupt our regular broadcast to check our privilege: Plenty of people in the world don’t have the freedom even to consider such a choice. They work until they die, and with their last breaths apologize for not contributing more to the family and for costing so much money to bury.

I know that I am in a pretty benevolent place: I can work from home, the job is interesting and lets me help people, and I get to see DF for lunch every day.

Which brings me to the main reason I want to retire.

 

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My frugal Valentine.

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thThe other day I awakened to the sound of a vacuum cleaner, but the noise wasn’t quite right. It sounded a bit muffled, and why would DF be vacuuming anyway? We have a robot to do that.

Maybe he was dust-busting around the fireplace insert, which he sometimes does when he cleans out the ashes. Whatever. Because I was zonked on cold medicine, I went back to sleep instead of getting up to check. Later that day I found out that he was getting his ears lowered, i.e., using the Flowbee in the basement.

The sound of a man cutting his own hair…Now that’s frugal sexy. He’s been self-saloning for decades, saving who knows how much money. This is just one of the reasons I find him devastatingly attractive.

Newer readers who aren’t clear on DF’s backstory should check out “Midlife love rocks! (Ask me how I know),” the post that introduced him back on Valentine’s Day 2013. We’re still together and still entirely stupid about each other.

 

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Moving in together? Talk money first

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thCohabit in haste, repent in poverty. Or at least in aggravation, according to a recent survey from Rent.com.

“How finances will be divided” is the top issue that survey participants wished they’d talked about before sharing space. What a surprise.

“He/she doesn’t pay enough of our expenses” is a recurring theme in advice columns and, I’d bet, in couples’ counseling offices. If I had one suggestion to anyone planning to move in together, it would be “talk about money – and keep talking.”

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How much should a wedding cost?

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thIn honor of Valentine’s Day, a shout-out to all engaged couples: You don’t have to spend the alleged “average” of $30,000 on your nuptials.

In fact, I think it’s smart to consider what you can afford – on your own or with help from family – vs. what wedding planners are so eager to sell to you.

Holly Johnson of Get Rich Slowly agrees with me. “Thirty Gs is a lot of money to everyone I know, and the last thing most of us want is to start a new marriage off with tens of thousands of dollars in credit card debt,” she said in an article called “Wedding savings accounts: How I saved for my wedding.”

Johnson’s wedding was low-key, with a total outlay of about $3,000. And guess what? They’re just as married as folks who plan to spend 10 times that amount.

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