Paying off the mortgage

We paid off our mortgage this week. I confess, I shed a tear. It has been a long journey.

I have some angst about sharing, wondering if it’s too personal a topic, but this is a retirement blog after all, and paying off a mortgage is a big decision for retirees and aspiring retirees. In case you are wondering, you can start late or go slow and still get to the finish line.

As an Army family, we rented or lived in apartments furnished by the military. We saved some money on a tour of duty in Egypt and used that for a down payment on our first house. By that time, I was in my late 30s, and Dale was in his 40s. We’d been married 13 years.  

Dale and I moved more than 20 times for jobs. There would be five more houses in our future, including the one we live in now. Two houses ago, we lived in Texas, I had a good job and we were planning to stay there. We made extra payments on the house and were close to paying it off when my company “encouraged” me to transfer to California.

Even though I’m a California native, and Dale loves this state as much as I do, we did not want to go. Already well past 50, this was the opposite direction of travel if solvency is your goal. But I didn’t have a lot of options, so we said OK, let’s do this thing. We had two ground rules. We won’t live like college students, and we won’t touch the retirement money.

My work location was in the Bay Area, specifically Silicon Valley, which is ridiculously expensive. But we wanted a house, so we made a decision to live further out, where still, we could barely afford a starter home. We bought a house we could never pay off in our lifetime, assuming we would eventually move again. Thankfully, my income was sufficient to make the payments.

To get back and forth from the hinterlands to work, I rode a commuter bus for two or more hours a day, depending on traffic. But it was pretty nice, saving me money and stress, and I am forever grateful for the bus, the 121.

Once I decided it was time to retire, we wanted to stay in California but in a less expensive area. We found the spot where we live now and bought the home while I was still working. It was easier to get a loan while I had a job. However, I found it exceedingly stressful to owe money on two homes.

Plan A was to sell the Bay Area house as soon as I retired and use the equity to pay off the retirement house. However, we didn’t get as much for the house as we had hoped, and that meant we didn’t have enough to pay off the new house. Instead, we went to Plan B and used the equity to recast the loan … the bank applied proceeds from the old house to the principal on the new house and adjusted the payments accordingly. At least we wouldn’t start retirement with a huge monthly bite.

The first year of retirement was stressful enough, so we didn’t mess with anything, even though we could have dipped into our savings to pay off the mortgage. We were still finding our retirement legs. This year, feeling more comfortable with the new normal, I talked with our accountant and our financial planner, and they both agreed. Pay it off.

Although I am excited, I did grumble about always being the sensible ones. Why not do something crazy with the money? But, of course, being sensible is the key to our whole lives.

We’re not superstars of the retire young and achieve financial independence movement. We both came from low-income families and both served in the military, which helped to pay for education and jump start our lives. And then we kept our heads down. Sure, we had fun and took some nice vacations along the way, but it was mostly work, save … work, save. I’ll be 64 this year, and Dale just turned 70.

This is not a financial blog. Everyone has to figure it out, but reading how other people manage retirement finances hopefully contributes to the body of knowledge that will help you make good decisions. In my quest to learn, I read advice from many professionals recommending you pay off the mortgage before you retire. If we could have, we would have.

While ours is not a textbook approach to retirement finances, it worked out fine and feels pretty awesome.

Rambling Thursday #3

This week in golf history – I shot an 85 in a tournament with rules, witnesses and everything. The highlight was a 39 on the front nine. It was a transcendental experience. I think the last time I scored that low on nine holes was sometime in the early 2000s.

The day before the tournament, I went out as a single on a different course, just to get my mojo going. I played with a threesome – a husband and wife in their late 50s and their new son-in-law. The SIL was a strapping lad who could hit the ball 300 yards – straight into the trees. It was painful to watch.

The couple was quite charming, and I was even thinking about swapping phone numbers so we could stay in touch. Mike, as we will call him, was a good but sporadic player. I mean, aren’t we all? I think he was trying to show off for the SIL, but he kept chunking it.

As we made the turn to hole 10, it’s like something switched, and Mike became angry and violent. Every other word was f-this, f-this effing game, and I don’t mean in a low muttering way as might be heard from my lips occasionally. This was loud and scary, and then he started throwing clubs. Flinging them across the fairway.

I never said a word. Just tried to stay out of his way. As proven by my personal medical history, I am tough to kill, but I try not to make it easy for anyone.

They seemed embarrassed and scooted off quickly at the end. No time to exchange phone numbers, thank goodness. I thought about my own temperament, and while I’ve never tossed a club, I have been known to call myself horrible names and get in a funk after a poor round.

I’ve worked hard to stay calm and remember even poor shots and horrible lies are part of a game I like to play. Key words: game, play.

Maybe I should go back and find club-flinging Mike. He said he recently retired from Silicon Valley and was still wired. I know a thing or two about that, but here I am in my second year of retirement, new and improved, and ready to offer a few lessons on the lost art of chill.

Mermaids

This Washington Post article about mermaids intrigued me. A different time, a different place, and I could see me living the mermaid lifestyle. I’ve always loved the water and spent hours playing in waves at the beach, but my idea of heaven was a public pool. Or even better: the pool at a Motel 6. We didn’t have water parks like they do now. I’ve still never been to a water park, and it is sort of on my bucket list. Do they have adults-only days?

I found the picture above in an old photo album. That’s my mother’s handwriting. I grew up in southern California. Fullerton, to be specific. There was a public swimming complex called Jimmy Smith’s. The photo might have been taken there, but I’m not sure. I kind of remember the wooden structures.

By the way, they sell mermaid tails on Amazon. Of course, they do.

Hiking vs Walking

I’ve been begging Dale to join me on walks, but he always refuses. I finally asked, what would it take? He said one word. Hike. Oh, there’s a difference.

Apparently, the beautiful trails in our neighborhood don’t scratch his itch. He wants to see new stuff all the time. More wilderness. OK, I said, game on. I purchased books on local day hikes, and we’ve been going out once a week. Dale hurt his knee recently, so we’re taking it slow.

Knowing us, Dale would be happy with moderate hikes, while I am likely to focus on building our endurance so we can do harder treks. One thing we agree on. Day hikes only. Home by happy hour.

Dale has been using my cannabis balm on his knee with great success. I swear it’s the only thing that keeps my body moving. I added the recipe to a new section on the blog called Downloads. I also added a little one-pager I’m calling the Aging Badass Credo. My attempt to capture the essence of what I believe contributes to a happy and healthy retirement.

Happy Mother’s Day

Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms out there! I hope you have a lovely day.

I’m a kitty mommy to Riley, and I’m pretty sure he wanted us to celebrate with our “Triple B” breakfast … biscuits, bacon and bloodies. I whip up the drinks, while Dale cooks the bacon and makes the biscuits from scratch.

Pro tip: Dip the rim of your glass in lemon or lime juice, and then coat it with a mixture of kosher salt and Old Bay Seasoning.

I use the salty coating as a rub for my celery. Dale just licks the glass. Riley wanders around looking for butter.

Fire in the belly?

Although I occasionally snark about politics, I haven’t written what I would call a well-reasoned thought piece on current events. I grumble with the morning news, but then I let it go. All that bullshit is in a hot air balloon … I’ve cut the cord, and it’s floating away. I can’t reach it …

I’ve always felt a responsibility to speak out and lived much of my life fired up about every little thing. My contributions are small, but I served in the military, I vote, donate to good causes and even marched for equal rights a time or two. Oh, and writing letters to the editor about anything and everything was practically a part-time job.

Since I retired, it seems I have no fire in the belly. I’m not sure the fire is out completely, but retirement has certainly doused the flames.

I am enjoying simple pleasures. Food, books, the outdoors, art, love, sleep. This may be indulgent, but it’s fantastic to live life as I want and not be fucked with. Granted, in the cosmic sense, we’re all being fucked with, but I am profoundly grateful for my day-to-day life.

For some people, retirement is an opportunity to become more opinionated, and I admire them. That could still be an option for me as well. While I love my life, sometimes I feel kind of bad I don’t take a more active role in the topics of the day … unless the topic is dinner.

Maybe I just need more time to decompress from working, and the fire will return (if I even want it to return). As for political activism or at least civic consciousness, I suspect a lot of us go back and forth over the course of our lives. We all want to be responsible citizens, and sometimes we speak up, but sometimes there’s nothing we can add to the conversation.

I was probably a better writer when I was fired up. Now it appears I’m too damned happy to write compelling prose. But the truth is priorities can shift as we age. I rather like the absence of hormones and raw emotions, and if that’s what fueled good writing, good riddance.

Still, I enjoy sharing stories about retirement and the tail end of our journey through life. And I hope I’m a living example that aging isn’t bad – getting older can be the best experience ever. After two bouts of cancer and other unwelcome drama, I’m here for the party.

While I sometimes doubt myself, I am hopeful this blog will evolve as I evolve and that what I have to say will resonate. Cut myself some slack for chilling out a bit. All I know is happiness, for me, was a long climb up, and I’m hanging on tight.

How’s the fire in your belly?

Our he-she shed

The garage is not exactly my She Shed, but I have been gradually encroaching on Dale’s turf with my arts and crafts stuff. He was all for it until I said I wanted to tidy up.

First he called me Marie, which is my middle name, but he was referring to Marie as in Kondo. I explained I don’t want to purge, and there’s a lot of shit out there that does not give me joy. We need it anyway. I just want to find a home for everything.

Dale is resistant to such efforts. One time he went to visit his sister, and by the time he reached the airport, I had already cleaned his desk. He was pissed, to say the least. I keep my hands off of his desk now.

This time, I break it to him delicately. “There’s something I want to do, but I need your support.”

He gives me the arched eyebrow. “I want to tidy up the garage, but it means messing with your stuff. I promise I will not throw anything away without your permission.”

“There are tools I don’t recognize. I’ll gather unknowns into a pile and review with you one-by-one.”

Heavy sigh. He says, “I knew this was coming.”

Long pause.

“I guess.”

My green light. So excited. Since we still share this space in the name of love, I’ve decided to call it our He-She Shed. Ambiguity appeals to me.

The garden fork is my latest work of art (or something like it). I actually tried to donate the old fork prior to its transformation, and it was rejected for being dirty. So, I cleaned it up and painted it.

Binge reading

Binge reading is a fine way to enjoy your retirement. I’m antsy and have a hard time relaxing enough to just slump down and read for hours, but once I do, it’s bliss.

I have two library cards from two different systems and get most of my books from the library. If one doesn’t have it, the other one might. Sometimes I pluck from the shelves at home, although we drastically reduced our book inventory when we moved to our retirement home.

The local library branch is a short walk from our house. I slap on a backpack and feel like a kid again, off to wander the stacks and dream big. We were avid readers and joined every summer reading club that ever was. How did I miss A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle?

The book was published in 1962. I was seven. Probably too young then, but it seems like it would have turned up on a reading list at some point. Yet, I never heard of it. I found the book on a display at the library that includes employee favorites. It’s a young adult novel about children who travel through space and time to save their father … and the world. I loved it.

Next on the binge list was Commander in Cheat: How Golf Explains Trump by Rick Reilly. Although I’ve resisted all previous Trump books, golf is the siren call, the crack cocaine of temptation for me. Rick Reilly is a very funny golf writer.

The book was entertaining, but I couldn’t read it at night. Left me in a bad mood right before bed. It’s kind of like watching a train wreck, and you can’t look away. In full disclosure, I loathe Trump, and this book further documents what a truly vile person he is.

Cheating at golf is one thing, and lying about how many club championships he has won is another, but I was particularly horrified by the stories of cheating the workers who build his golf courses. Bullying contractors to accept less than 50 percent of what they were owed because Trump was tired of spending money.

Dang depressing. I am done reading about the man and hope I can get him out of my consciousness by 2020.

The last book I binged on was Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens. It seems like half the world has read it, so I’m not telling you anything new, but what an absolutely wonderful book! The novel is part coming-of-age and part murder mystery about a girl, Kya, who is forced to raise herself in the marsh.

Kya is accused of murdering her former lover, and the story flips back and forth between the murder and growing up so lonely and under such tragic conditions yet becoming an expert on the marsh habitat.

I plopped on the comfy reading couch and didn’t budge until I finished the book and wiped the last tear from my eye. By the way, the writer is a scientist who has written non-fiction books, but this is her first novel – at age 70!

The next book I’m tackling is from the family stacks. Although I adore the Lord of the Rings trilogy by J.R.R. Tolkien, my fandom is based on the movies. I’ve never read the books. Dale had a boxed paperback set, so I’ve started The Fellowship of the Ring. It’s a slow start.

What’s the best thing you’ve read lately?

My first yard art

After deciding in retirement I should explore and experiment with visual arts, I started making tile coasters. As a complete novice, everything I know I learned from a YouTube video. The coasters came out great. I have even been so bold as to feature them in my gallery.

I love making coasters. The process relaxes me and taps into previously neglected creative juices, but how many coasters does one need? So, I put the coasters in time out while I considered other artistic pursuits.

The backyard began to call my name. Other than vegetables and herbs, neither one of us is into gardening. We’ve been trying to spiff up the yard on the cheap, so I thought, why not add splashes of color with yard art? Focus on something useful. For inspiration, I turned to Pinterest, where I was beguiled by garden totems and started a yard art board.

Garden totems are super cool. Some are hand-painted poles or towers, and others are stacked bowls and globes that look like something out of Alice in Wonderland. Making a totem is my ultimate goal, but I wanted to start small and learn a few things along the way.  

I found a scrap of cedar in the garage. I sanded it first and then added a coat of primer. I bought a set of acrylic paints suitable for outdoor projects and just kind of went at it freehand. The “front” side has all the colors, while the “back” is black and white. It took two coats, and then I protected it with two coats of sealer to add some gloss and help protect it from the elements.

When it was finished, I wandered around the yard trying to find a home for it. I thought about adding a dowel to make a sign I could stick in the ground, but I ended up hanging it on the fence. I even put in the little hanger screws and cut and twisted the wire! Dale says that makes me a certified tool user.

I like how my little artsy thing kind of peeks out from behind the Sego palms. I can see adding more pieces at different depths and different heights along the fence line. All in all, a very fun project.

If someone had told me I would be doing arts and crafts, I would have said they were doing drugs again. Art was just never my thing, and I’ve pretty much avoided colorful stuff most of my life. Beige works for the house, and black works for the wardrobe.

It just this second occurred to me my art truly does reflect my inner journey. One side wild and colorful and the other simple black and white.

The more I experiment with color, the more I find myself craving colorful clothes, but that might be part of my imaginary transition to eccentric Bohemian heiress who spends her life dabbling in things that amuse her.

A lesson from the obits

During my career, I got totally wrapped up in the idea I was my job, that my value on the planet was based on what I did for a living. Even today, I see former colleagues pursue their ambitions as though it’s all that matters.

Retirement strips you of old expectations, and you begin to see who you are without the pressures, demands and distractions of the workplace. Some are uncomfortable giving up their professional identities. But when the gloss of the job is gone, maybe you become the person you really are, the person you were supposed to be all along.

Work is good, and hard work is honorable. Why not be proud of our professional achievements? I am. But that’s not all there is. To me, it’s never clearer than when I pause to read the obituaries. That’s often when you see how a person’s life is characterized. Sure, there are famous people and unique individuals who found a passion that drove their careers, and you might read their obits in The New York Times.

But for the rest of us ordinary folk, what you did for a living is sometimes secondary. The real meat of a creative life tribute are the passions that shaped a rich and wonderful life.

The deceased person’s children often write the really good ones, and that’s when you see why they were interesting and more importantly, why they were loved and cherished. I’ve edited this a bit so as not to intrude on a family’s grief, but here’s an excerpt from a recent obit in my local paper:

As a school teacher, we were all lucky to have him home for summer break. We spent hours on the river in a kayak he built by hand, as he pointed out birds and plants along the way. He was a father to so many of our friends, and our home was the hub of the neighborhood. He was a frugal chef, and his mystery meat Stroganoff was legendary. He was a little league coach, umpire and soccer referee. He taught himself to play the mandolin and had a black belt in Judo. He was never afraid to try anything.

What a revelation! I’ve enjoyed – and continue to enjoy – an interesting life. I try to be a good person … fun, honest, compassionate and civilized. But I never measured myself by that standard, because I thought only work counted.

Now I know work is just a small part of who we are, and simply living life with good intent is accomplishment enough.

Artichokes & easy homemade mayo

Preparing and enjoying delicious food is probably our number one priority in life. We’re both retired, we’re both avid cooks and we both have hearty appetites. Damn, we eat well. The biggest disappointments usually involve restaurants!

The artichokes were in abundance at the farmers market this morning. We brought home these big boys for dinner tonight. I trimmed them up, doused with lemon juice and steamed the artichokes upside down for about 35 minutes. When they are cool, I’ll pry apart that middle section and scoop out the choke (the inedible part).

UPDATE: For such large artichokes, 35 minutes wasn’t enough time. They were delicious but slightly under. Next time I’ll cook them for 45 minutes or try the Instant Pot.

If you are unfamiliar with artichokes, you pull off a leaf and scrape the “meat” off with your teeth. When all the leaves are gone, you’re left with the heart, which is a disc-shaped bit of artichoke flesh that might be the best part.

Most of us like to dip the leaves and the heart in some sort of sauce. We like homemade mayonnaise. I’ve been making mayonnaise for years with many failures. It seems like the whisk of the food processor isn’t wide enough to fully emulsify the ingredients. I annotated the recipe below after one miserable experience.

Enter one of our favorite food guys, Kenji. I’ve adapted his recipe just a smidgen, and it’s amazing. So easy. But as always, you need the right tool, which in this case is an immersion blender that comes with its own blending cup. I suppose there are other ways to do it, but the blender head needs to fit snugly in the cup.

A big artichoke is filling enough to spoil dinner, but light enough I still want more. This is kind of decadent, but Dale is making shrimp cocktails to go with! Maybe some wine? I usually pick out the wine. With apologies to Tolkien, Dale started calling me the Silmarillion because we can never pronounce Sommelier.

A white or dry rosé? I’m just a Silmarillion with no real wine expertise. I make it up as I go.

Easy Mayonnaise

Homemade mayonnaise is an unparalleled treat. This is the easiest way to make it that I know of. It’s hard to mess it up. You will need an immersion blender with the blending cup that comes with it. I’ve adapted this recipe from Two-Minute Mayonnaise by J. Kenji Lopez-Alt at Serious Eats.
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Ingredients
  

  • 1 Whole Egg
  • 1 Tbsp Fresh Lemon Juice
  • 1 Tsp Dijon Mustard
  • 1 Clove Garlic (Minced)
  • 1/2-1 Cup Vegetable Oil
  • 1/3-1/2 Cup Olive Oil
  • Kosher Salt

Instructions
 

  • Put the egg, lemon juice and mustard in the bottom of the blending cup. Add the garlic (optional) and pour the oil on top. Let it sit for 15 seconds or so. 
  • Using the attachment with the mixing blade (not the whisk), place the head of the immersion blender at the bottom of the cup. Turn the speed on high. Do not pulse or move the head. As the mayonnaise forms, slowly tilt and lift the head of the immersion blender until all the oil is emulsified. 
  • If you want basic mayonnaise, use one full cup of the vegetable oil. Add salt to taste, and you’re done. You can do the same with all olive oil, although some people find it bitter.
    If you want to experiment with a stronger flavor, you can mix oils to your taste and make the mayonnaise per the instructions.
    If you are worried about bitterness, make the mayonnaise using 1/2 cup of vegetable oil and transfer the emulsified mayonnaise to a bowl. Slowly whisk in 1/3 to 1/2 cup of olive oil. Go slow and stop when you like the taste. Add salt to taste.
  • Store in a sealed container in the refrigerator for up to two weeks.

Rambling Thursday #2

I saw this sign on the back of a truck when I was driving home from golf. Stopped for a red light anyway, so I snapped a picture through the windshield.

Food

Whipped from walking 18 holes of golf two days in a row, I am happy to stay home and hang around the house today. Dale made breakfast tacos with his Mexican-style chorizo made from scratch, scrambled eggs and homemade salsa verde. Delicious! When my mother found out he could cook, she said, “Keep him.”

Contrary to my last post, it’s clear Dale is quite motivated. Just depends on what it is. I hope everyone knows I write about our spats in the spirit of fun. Even if we were angry at the time, the stories make us laugh. If I were really mad at him, I certainly wouldn’t whine about it in public. I’d take a more devious approach.

I’ve been making the Jim Lahey no-knead bread with great success and wanted a “heartier” loaf, so I combined a couple of recipes from Jim and others I found online. We had oats, barley, sesame seeds and sunflower seeds, so I was good there. Jim’s recipe called for flax seeds. I didn’t have any, so I used hemp seeds, which is a so-called superfood I use for soup and in my granola.

The last ingredient needed was millet, which I didn’t have. I was rummaging through the shelves, when I found an almost empty bag of farro, a grain I’ve used in soup. I figured it would work as a substitute, but in hindsight, I’m not so sure.

I haven’t made the soup in awhile, but as I recall, farro took a long time to cook. The bread was delicious although a bit crunchy. As in maybe tooth-cracking crunchy. I attribute that to the farro. Dale named the bread Colon Blow, so obviously, I’ll be working to refine the recipe. He said next time leave out the rocks and marbles.

Measles

I’ve been reading about the measles outbreak and began to wonder about my own immunity. I researched it, and it turns out if you actually had measles, you are immune for life. With certain vaccinations, you may need a booster.

Good news, as I had measles when I was a child. I asked Dale if he had measles, and he said yes, remember, I had shingles? It appears one doesn’t get shingles if one hasn’t had measles. But I had no recollection of him having shingles.

You? Shingles? When? He said when we lived in Columbia, S.C. Remember that patch on my arm? I’m like, what, those baby shingles? You’re counting that? All he said was, “Yeah, well, I’m sorry I didn’t die.” Then we laughed.

We’ve both since had the shingles vaccine, but Shingrix is a new one they are recommending even if you’ve had the first one. It’s not cheap. But apparently even baby shingles are terrible.

Correction: In the comments section, a reader let me know there is a relationship between shingles and chicken pox … not measles.

DIY Pedi

I did not get my first pedicure until I was at least 40. It cracks me up now, how this is so routine in today’s beauty culture. I feel like an old lady bragging about walking to school barefoot in the snow, but these young girls have no idea what it was like to live with poorly groomed feet.

Gave up getting my toes painted when I was swimming a lot. Chlorine took its toll. I still got regular pedicures, but I had them buffed shiny. They usually charge an extra $5 because it’s so hard to use arm muscles, I guess. But the results are worth it. Bonus … you can get out of there faster because you don’t have to wait for your toes to dry.

Because I go minimalist, I don’t need a pedicure often. I’ve been going about every six weeks to about $30 a pop. Yes, it’s chump change, but it’s pretty much wasted chump change, since they aren’t doing anything I can’t do myself. I rather embrace the role of frugal retiree.

This week I got out my tools and went to work. No pictures for your protection, but they look pretty good to me. I may go to the salon for a special occasion, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be sticking with the DIY Pedi.

A Fan

I love unusual names with a certain ring to them. There’s no set of criteria, other than it just pops out at me as a great name. I’ll see one, and say, “I’d change my name to that.” It’s an ongoing joke at our house.

One of my all-time favorites is Fan Bingbing. Who wouldn’t change their name to that? I’m pleased to report the Chinese actress has reappeared after a year’s absence.