Day 47, not in hot water

Thursday, 1/17/2019

Today I was scheduled to spend a full day (10-4) doing cataloging at the CHM Shustek Center in Fremont. Prior to leaving I took a shower and… noticed the hot water wasn’t, or at least was only warm. I immediately knew the water heater wasn’t heating. It was familiar because, I dimly recalled, we just recently had that same problem fixed. So once dressed, I pulled down the big red three-ring binder in which we have kept all receipts for household repair for the last oh gosh, since the 1980s? Earlier maybe. Flip flip flip to the tab for “plumbing”, wondering did I file that receipt last fall, or just scrap it? Yes! I had. On 10/18 we had a repair person from “Water Heaters Only” in to fix the temp sensor so the pilot would light.

Called them. They could come today; sorry, I can’t be home today, tomorrow? Sure, 12-4pm; great, tx bye. Off to work. Cataloged some old stuff: parts of a Motorola EXORciser, a microcomputer development system from 1975. M6800-based box with a motherboard and a bunch of cards plugged into it, oh, a mighty 32KB memory card there. And a heavy (52 pounds, we weigh these things) dual 8-inch floppy drive box. This was a donation from the California Department of Transportation. What the heck was CalTrans doing with a Motorola development system in 1975? Perhaps developing some piece of embedded traffic control hardware based on the M6800. But why had they held on to it until now? Maybe because they only just retired the last of their whatever-it-was embedded traffic light controllers, who knows?

Back home, I just had time to snatch a bite and a quick nap and then had to head out to a house concert that started at 7pm in Santa Clara. Concert was OK, a trio of people doing bluegrass and old contra-dance tunes on fiddle, banjo and guitar. I’d expected more bluegrass, but the lead guy was big into work songs — he gives workshops teaching people to how to sing during manual labor, didn’t think there’d be a lot of demand but, well — and we the audience got coerced into singing some sailor rope-pulling songs a capella. A lot of the audience were into contra dancing, which is apparently quite a thing in this area, to judge by the long list of upcoming contra dance events that was circulated at the break. Come to First Methodist Church in Palo Alto Saturday evening and if you don’t know how to dance, we’ll teach you. Um, nunh-unh, thanks.

That was implementing part of my “being a bachelor” plan that I’d worked on last fall. One of the bullet points is, “attend at least one performance event per week”. Well, I’m over-achieving because, movie last Sunday, concert tonight, basketball game tomorrow. The unwatched TV is stacking up on the DVR. That is not a problem.

Day 46, taxes and books and a painting

After yesterday’s writing, I packed up two boxes of books to take to FOPAL on Wednesday. This consisted mostly of bird books and birding-related books. I had no idea we had so many books about birds and birding. Marian had accumulated them over the years; I recognized only a couple. I’ve no intention of ever spotting another bird; that was her hobby that I supported but didn’t really enjoy. So losing those books is another shard of the prior life, but not one that caused much emotion. Well, a little — when I riffled the page of her most-used birding guide and saw all the check marks and notes in her handwriting of what species we’d seen and where.

Another half-box was the books by and about Arthur Ransome that I mentioned back on Day 35. I received the two additional, $1 books that I ordered then. Now I arrayed them all on the table and sat down with eBay to see what prices such books were getting. And quickly realized that my collection was still incomplete, there was one more novel and at least two more popular biographies that I didn’t have. So much for selling a complete bookshelf. I put the books in the box for FOPAL.

Except for one. Most of the books are paperback, but one is cloth-bound, and on looking inside I realized it was a first edition, or at least a first American printing, dated 1942. Similar Ransome hardbacks are on eBay for $50 and up, so I took some pictures and put it up on eBay. We’ll see.

Got an email from Craig wondering if I wanted to visit Channing house or not. Very timely, given how I’d just put my ILF decision back on track, so in a quick exchange we agreed to meet Saturday afternoon.

The rest of the afternoon, I added yet another feature to my program, and to my delight, the new feature worked exactly right first try. So that wrapped day 45 nicely.

Wednesday, 1/16/2019

Went for a run, it was OK. Back home did some desk stuff. Paid a credit card bill. Created the folder to hold all the tax info for 2018, using the 2017 folder as a model. Key item here is to download the PDF copies of a total of eight form 1099-Rs, from all the various accounts we have that generate those (two Social Security, two pension, four brokerage). Made a checklist of all the tasks to do going forward with the taxes. That doesn’t really get busy until February.

Booked myself to attend the PAC-12 Women’s Basketball Tournament, in Las Vegas March 7-10. Bought one reserved seat, booked a hotel room, booked the flights. This will be the first time I’ve traveled anywhere as a bachelor, and indeed the first flight since… I think since October 2017 when we returned from NYC. Hopefully the gummint shutdown will be over by March?

In the mail: the official document from the Neptune Society, stating that Marian was “respectfully delivered to the sea” on January 10th. I have to say, the Neptune Society has been a class act the whole way, supportive, responsive, professional. I’m glad we signed with them all those years ago.

One of the items I want to get rid of is this painting: 4337722_orig

We commissioned this; it was actually painted for us; we met with Dean Linsky (click the link to see his website) in Yosemite Valley in 2004 and walked around with him pointing out features we liked. A couple of months later the painting arrived, and it has been on our wall ever since.

Looking forward I don’t want to try to house it in a small apartment. Linsky’s work is marketed mostly through New Masters Gallery in Carmel. I’d like to consign it there for sale, but I’ve been having a hard time getting any info out of them by email. So today I called up and spoke directly to the gallery owner, Bill Hill. I have to say, Bill’s telephone manners are abrupt. Although his gallery has been in business for years, he’s clearly not a salesman type. I emphasized how I would have to depend on his expertise to know what the painting would go for, and at his request sent a cell-phone shot of it again by email. Maybe this time he’ll look at it.

Anyway, off to FOPAL, taking two boxes of books. And home for a quiet evening.

Day 45, the case for the prosecution

Tuesday, 1/15/2019

Rainy day. Drove to the Y, walked briskly on a treadmill for 20 minutes, did my strength exercises. It’s “Suli day”, that is, the day I expect our housecleaner to make her biweekly visit, so as customary I wrote her check, and stripped the bed and put the sheets to wash. On return from the Y, I made up the bed, then sat down to talk to myself about

Three AM thoughts

That’s what this blog that has almost no readers is: me talking things out to myself. Partly, I’m keeping a diary, so the days don’t dissolve into a blur. For instance I know what day I went to the City to visit the deYoung museum because it’s in here; without this record I’d have no clue. Partly, I’m writing for an imaginary audience; maybe someday there will be a real audience and I hope my experience will help somebody. But a key function is working out what I actually think about things, and as it were, fact-checking myself. That’s important, as I don’t have a sensible partner to call BS on my wilder ideas.

So at 3am I woke because the garden sprinkler system had kicked in. Water flow in the old cast-iron plumbing makes a quiet noise which is ample to keep one awake in a silent house, even if you pull the duvet over your ears. Lying there I began to recall all the things I don’t like about this house. Yes, Marian loved it. Yes, it looks adorable from the street. Yes the interior is tidy, comfortable and well-maintained. But there’s a dark side, or actually two: top and bottom. At 3am I began going over all the things that made me coin ISMISEP back on Day 4: “in six months it’s someone else’s problem”.

The bill of indictment starts with that watering system that was part of an expensive, complete overhaul of the landscaping in 2012. Well, the drip piping is ok, it’s the controller I dislike. Horrible user interface. I’ve asked Richard, our gardener, to suggest an alternative but he hasn’t found one. Besides the controller, some of the plants that went in then have died, or are struggling, as well as some that Marian ordered and planted since. There is a line of trumpet vines along the fence, plants that flourish in tropical luxuriance four doors down the street, that are barely clinging to life here. I don’t have any interest in diving into the Sunset Garden Book to try to figure out replacements, or in trudging through nurseries picking out plants. It pleases me to think that ISM the whole landscape will be SEP.

The garage! When the house was built in 1925 it was OK to put a detached garage up against the property line in the corner of the lot. This building is heavily eaten by termites, but its most striking feature is the floor. It’s a 6-inch cement slab that was laid directly on adobe clay. Adobe moves, it swells in winter and shrinks in summer. The garage floor has broken into tectonic plates that lift and tilt to make enormous cracks with one- to two-inch breaks in level. There’s no practical repair; if I tried to take out a permit for any work on it, the city would make me demolish it and build one properly set back from the line. So it’s a storage space for now, but come the earthquake (or if the termites ever stop holding hands) it will collapse in a heap.

That’s outside; then there’s underneath. This nearly-100-year-old building is on a low cement foundation. Under the floors is a pitch-black space with barely 18″ between the joists and the damp adobe. That’s where the cast-iron drains and plumbing run, that make interesting water-hammer noises while the sprinklers are on. I last poked my head under there last year, reaching in to set a rat-trap, smelling the dampness. Decades back I crawled the whole length, running speaker wires to the corners of the living room so I could have surround-sound. Not again! I hate that space.

Topside is no better. Above the middle third of the house is an attic space that can be reached with difficulty by bringing a ladder into a closet. It’s hot in summer, cold in winter, and in the past has been invaded by roof rats, attested by fossilized droppings. A long time ago the City of Palo Alto subsidized anyone who’d get insulation blown into their attic space, and we did, so the space has what looks like a six-inch fall of gray snow. It’s quite effective as insulation, but it makes me nervous because it drifted over several runs of the original knob-and-tube electrical wiring. Just the antique wiring makes me nervous (and would cost a ton to replace), but having it covered in processed newsprint is not an improvement.

The stuff also makes cozy nesting for rats. I was last up there early last year, because we were hearing in the night the telltale chomping and scuttling sounds of rats settling in above us. I set out a bunch of traps, and renewed the steel wool chinking in the couple of holes in the foundation through which I think they gain entry. And it worked; I’ve not heard any rodent noises in months. But I hate that attic space. If I hear rats again, I’d have to go up there and retrieve the traps with (probably) mummified rat corpses in them, and clean and bait them and set them out again.

It pleases me to think that ISM the crawl space, the attic, the ancient wiring, and the rats could be SEP. Or more likely, bulldozed to make way for a new house. I’ve mentioned the appliances: the refrigerator, washer, dryer, dishwasher, and the A/C are all approaching the end of their expected life-spans. ISM they too can be SEP.

In years past, I gave serious thought to replacing this house myself: moving out to a rental and hiring an architect and a contractor to demolish the building and put up a new one that would recall the modest charm of the original but with modern construction and a bit more space. OK, that is not going to happen now. I have no interest in embarking on an 18- to 24-month home building project, let alone spending half or more of the old Nest Egg on it.

At the end of day 43 I asked myself, “Is it worth $25K a year for a fresh start?” or, what if I just stayed put and spent that much money here?

The answer is, no amount of piecemeal spending could relieve my 3am worries about the fabric of this place; and frankly I am not up for any amount of remodeling, which in my experience is always a vast amount of trouble and frustration.

So, yeah, if a fresh start in a pleasant place where I have zero worries about building maintenance, appliance repair, or landscaping — if that costs $25K extra a year, it’s probably worth it.

Day 44, SFMOMAdventure

Referring to yesterday, on consideration $30/day for food is not “generous”; given a restaurant meal for one in this area is always going to push $30, and I expect to eat out at least twice a week, $50/day would be a better average allowance. So that makes the default stay-at-home cost around $32K/year — still $20K less than a typical ILF and up to $50K less than the most expensive.

Monday, 1/14/2019

Over the weekend I’d seen some reference to SFMOMA, San Francisco’s modern art museum, and that reminded me that I hadn’t had a museum or urban experience since Day 11 when I used my brand new Clipper Card and Lyft to go to the deYoung Museum. This day I didn’t want to run because of a leg condition (long story, later), so why not go to MOMA? The weather was threatening but heck, I’ve got an umbrella.

I walked to the CalTrain station in a light sprinkle but it was dry the rest of the day. Took a Lyft the short distance to the museum. Actually got out a block early because traffic on 3rd street was not moving — riding in a Lyft in downtown SF is powerfully reminiscent of riding Lyft in Manhattan a year ago. (And not a pleasant reminiscence.)

I and Marian went to MOMA just once, ohhhh… at least ten years ago I imagine. I was surprised at how very large it is, 6 floors of stuff. I walked the 2nd, 3rd, 5th and 4th floors this time. I’ll have to go back to see the rest. Two major galleries were of photography, which tempted me to start taking pictures with the phone. Here’s a wee gallery.

img_3577-xl — SFMOMA from Yerba Buena Center

Internal staircase — The interior is dramatic

"Student" by Wayne Thibeaud — There were many grade- and middle-school classes around

"Student" by Wayne Thiebaud — I like Wayne Thiebaud’s works. This is “Student”.

Spiders by Louise Bourgeois — MOMA in Manhattan has only one of Louise Bourgeois’s spiders. Here’s a whole family!

img_3563-x3 — Sorry, didn’t get the artist. I liked the way the words DEATH, MATTERS, PAIN, DOESNT, KNOWS, CARE flipped on and off at random.

img_3569-x2 — Vertical format selfie in front of a horizontal format painting. Oh well.

img_3576-x2 — Ran up the saturation here.

img_3583-x2 — David Attenborough whisper: “In the early spring, the cranes begin to gather, the younger blue ones respectfully following the mature orange ones…”

img_3588-xl — Why am I hearing the Macarena in my mind?

Day 43, Should I stay or should I go?

Welp, it was only slightly better than a hamburger. I started for Castro street (aka restaurant row) in Mountain View, thinking to go to Casa Lupe, a modest little Mexican café that we went to many times. Except approaching it, it occurs to me that I’ll likely be recognized by the waitress that served us many times over the years, and I don’t want to answer the inevitable question. And in fact I don’t want to go to where we went as a couple many times, including, I realized, the last or nearly last time Marian was able to go out to a restaurant.

So there I was wandering down Castro and more or less at random picked a modern Indian casual place where I ordered chicken curry and naan. The waiter wanted to know how spicy, and I said, oh, medium. Whoa. I do not want to know what that cook thought was really spicy, because the dish I got was barely edible, and I usually enjoy hot food. Anyway, back home, watched a little TV, got a serious case of the yawns about 9pm and went to bed, knowing it would mean being up early on Sunday morning.

Sunday, 1/13/2019

And was: up and dressed and had finished the NYT puzzle (38:40, not too far off my average) by 7:30. Out to the old coffee shop with the winter sun just up, shining through broken clouds. Walked along being very consciously aware, in the moment, apprehending the air and the light and my body, thinking, “this is me, this is mine,” deliberately claiming life as a solo person.

And of course I was home again with plenty of time on my hands before I was due to meet Dennis for a movie at 1pm. In the email was the info from Alan that I requested yesterday, on three additional independent living facilities (ILFs, henceforth).

I added their numbers to my document and then made up a little table of their monthly rentals on a 1BR unit, which range from a low of $3200 to a high of $8800.

Given those numbers, it appears that a ballpark estimate of the annual cost of living in an ILF is $60,000, give or take. $45,000 minimum. And when I think about that, I hear The Clash in my mind,

Should I Stay or Should I Go?

I sat at the desk going through the check register and the online bill-pay record for the past 12 months, making an estimate of what it costs to live for a year in this fully-paid-for suburban home. In very round numbers: utilities $4K, insurance $4K (earthquake insurance is a bitch), maintenance including gardener, another $4K, taxes $2K (thank you Prop. 13!). Allowing a very generous $30/day for food adds $11K. So a ballpark estimate to merely stay put is $25,000 per annum, or about one-half the annual cost of an ILF.

Hmmmm…

The decision to “not be a home-owner” was one of the first conclusions I came to when I began thinking about my future as a widower, months before the event. I felt tired of having the responsibility of worrying about building and appliance maintenance and taxes and insurance.

Wanting a fresh start, too; to force a break with the past and to begin a new form of life with minimum baggage.

Is it worth $25K a year for a fresh start?

Or, here’s another way to think about it: apparently I’m willing to consider spending $60K/year for a residence and food. What could I have, if I stayed put and spent the other $35,000 right here? That much money would buy all-new appliances and an upgraded car — and that’s in just the first year.

Hmmmmm…. This indecision’s bugging me… don’t know whom I’m sposed to be…

To be continued.

Day 42, simple Saturday

Saturday, 1/12/2019

After breakfast I sat down to review the info on senior residences that Alan Brauner had sent. The info was in the form of PDF which looked like a printout from a database selection. Well, here’s the top row,

senseasons

Lots of good info, actually more than I need since I’m pretty sure I don’t want a Studio and certainly don’t want a 2-bedroom unit. To make sure I’d digested it I made my own document for each the places, and added entries for three others I knew of that I was curious about. I sent him an email asking for his info on those three. His data includes actual prices. You can’t get that from anybody’s website. The websites, like this one for The Avant for example, are all about healthy carefree seniors enjoying luxurious amenities, and avoid any mention of actual dollars. So the fact that Alan’s data includes what I suppose are current prices makes it valuable. (Although one has to wonder what those plus-signs really mean. I suppose if a 1BR starts at $8800/month, then the “$8000+” for a Studio can’t go much over $8799.) (Well, on second thought, maybe there are super deluxe studios that actually cost more than the cheapest 1-bedroom units.)

Prices are kind of all over the place. Among the seven facilities in his data, the monthly price for a 1BR ranges from $3200 to the $8800 at the Avant. What does a 1BR at the Avant have that is worth four thousand dollars a month more than a 1BR at Chateau Cupertino? You couldn’t tell from their websites. So — lots of research and shopping yet to do.

That done I went out, first to the Post Office to mail a packet of historical family data that turned up while I was cleaning out bookshelves. This was a folder of miscellaneous history and type-written biography about my mother’s family back in Pennsylvania that had been sitting between her autobiography and my father’s autobiography. Oh yes we are a writin’ family; the two of them went to a lot of trouble, each writing up their personal history and having it typed and copies made and distributed to junior relatives. (Sorry, posterity, from me this blog is all you get.) At some point I’d acquired this other material about my mother’s family, and stuck it in the same shelf. Now I sent off the fat packet (11.1 oz said the postal scale) to my niece who does all the family genealogy.

Thence to the market to buy some groceries. This grocery is next door to FOPAL, and today was the start of the book sale weekend. I’d never seen one of these, so after I put my grocery bags in the car I walked around to have a look. People queue up to enter, and are allowed in in small groups as similar numbers of people exit from the opposite door. Inside it’s quite crowded. I’d only seen the sale room when it was quiet, as I went in to stack a sorted box of books in front of its appropriate shelf area. Now it was full of people blocking the narrow aisles to stoop down and look at titles on the lower shelves. Lots of people were walking around with big armloads of books.

I had not meant to buy anything, but… In the science fiction section there was a Douglas Adams Hitchhiker’s Guide omnibus, with all the novels of that series in one fat volume. For two bucks, how could I resist?

Back home I had a nap, added a feature to my program, and thought about what to do for dinner. I believe I’ll go out; hopefully for something nicer than a hamburger.

Day 41, flashback sad

Friday, 1/11/2019

Here’s a new syndrome: while I was filling my pill-cases and dressing this morning I had a mild feeling somewhere between disassociation and imposter syndrome: a vague sense that I was faking this independent adult life, that I was somehow putting on an act, a pretense, of being competent and capable. I hadn’t had that before, and it passed off quickly as I thought about it.

Later in the morning I set about doing a task I’d been putting off: taking a picture of my car registration and proof-of-insurance card. This because I’d seen the advice to do this, and to remove the printed cards from the car, multiple times. It seems that the registration slip and the insurance card provide good info for an identity thief; and police will accept a photo of registration on your phone.

So I got the two cards out of the car and was about to take the pictures when I realized that the photos app had over 1400 images. “That’s stupid,” I said, and started deleting pictures. Scroll scroll scroll to the top and start selecting groups and deleting them. Of course this takes me back to 2014 and on and pretty soon I am hitting blocks of pictures taken on various trips and outings. Italy, two years ago; New York City, 18 months ago; the WBB post-season trips only 9 months ago. Things I had done with Marian just last spring. A wave of grief just washed over me. So much intelligence, so much talent, so much good humor and courage and competence, ground down and extinguished by sickness. That it was all gone and over with seemed unutterably sad.

Yes, I know: Marian was just one of 154,000 people who died on that day of December. Probably most of them left survivors who feel as I do. It doesn’t help.

I did a couple of other things of a practical nature, then walked to the Stanford campus to meet up with Scott to see an exhibit and have lunch. The exhibit was We shot the war, photos from the archive of Overseas Weekly, an unauthorized alternative newspaper for servicemen. Lots of photos and stories of military life, fighting in ‘Nam. Scott has read a lot more than I of that war and filled in background. Afterward we had lunch at the Cantor museum café.

Home for a nap and a quiet evening.

Day 40, Back to Yosemite

Thursday 1/10/2019

Today I was scheduled to work for CHM at the warehouse where 98% of the collection is held, a big climate-controlled, secure box in Milpitas, off Yosemite avenue. For long months around 2008, and again in 2015, I spent a day a week working there helping to store and catalog hundreds of items. In 2008, it was a huge collection, two tractor-trailer loads, from Germany to process. In 2015 it was a campaign to catalog and photograph thousands of items that had been incompletely catalogued when the Museum moved from Boston to Mountain View. I hadn’t been in the Yosemite warehouse in three years. It hadn’t changed much, and the volunteers and staff who I worked with were all old friends from previous days.

The work was familiar but strenuous. We were moving a group of large chunks of a DEC KL-10 and a VAX, which were sitting on the ground floor, and putting them up on pallets so they could be fork-lifted to one of the upper levels. It was part of a game that Aurora, the site manager, called “museum tetris”, moving things from level to level to optimize space. Each heavy box had to be rolled on its casters up a ramp onto a pallet. Then its screw jacks could be lowered to stabilize it, and compression straps wrapped around it to lock it to the pallet. I worked on that with three others, while three more worked at moving dozens of storage boxes and placing restraint straps to ensure they wouldn’t fall in case of an earthquake.

About suppertime, my niece Denise returned a call and I finally got a chance to offer her our china service. She’ll consult with her partner and get back to me.

Day 39, Consultation

Wednesday, 1/9/2019

Had a good run, that is, one where I didn’t need to stop anywhere. Then headed out to

A meeting

as arranged, with Alan Brauner of Senior Seasons, a referral agency for senior living facilities. Alan turned out to genial, frank and seemed to be well-informed on all the local facilities. We went over my particular desires, and he promised to get back to me with details on several places he thought would suit me.

One thing I learned from this talk was the two classes of facility. One is the “buy-in” type, where you pay what he referred to as an “exorbitant” fee, effectively purchasing your unit, as you might a condo. The advantages of this arrangement are two. One, you have purchased some form of a real-estate property, and in theory you (or more likely your heirs) can sell that when you don’t need it. His experience with the buy-in home that his parents retired to, however, was that the contract was so written that the facility kept a good share of the capital gain on the sale. When his parents died, their estate realized only a few percent more than the initial purchase cost.

The other advantage of a buy-in is that you lock in a monthly rental — oh yes, despite buying in, you still pay a monthly fee in the thousands of dollars — which will not increase even if you need a higher level of care. Channing House, where my distant acquaintance Craig lives, is a buy-in facility. I mean to contact Craig and get a tour, and if it seems appropriate, I’ll grill him a bit on what he paid and what he gets for it.

The other style of facility is month-to-month. You make no commitment other than to give 30 days’ notice before moving out. (Well, I imagine there are longer leases available.) You are renting an apartment with full services (“like being on a cruise”, Alan said) for a monthly fee. You don’t own anything, so there’s nothing to come back to your estate; and while some are “continuing care”, that is, providing various levels of assistance, the monthly charge goes up with the level of service needed.

I headed home to

Kill the freezer

What? Well, for several nights I have been annoyed by the noise of my refrigerator, which is separated from the bed by one wall. The circulating fan in the freezer has developed a buzz. The fridge is old, in fact (referring to our Home Inventory spreadsheet) we bought it in 2000. (All of our appliances are of similar vintage. ISMISEP!) I had replaced the fan in the freezer several years back; now it was buzzing again.

When it was keeping me awake around 4am, it suddenly occurred to me: why am I keeping that freezer compartment going anyway? There’s nothing in it but ice. Previously we’d “cook for the freezer” a couple of times a year, filling it with containers of home-made soups and stews. Then we’d take an entrée from the freezer once a week or so. Well, those were all gone, and won’t be replaced. Marian kept a couple of gel-pads in the freezer to use on her back, but I tossed those old pads in my semi-hysterical clean-out on Day 1. The freezer compartment is empty except for a few odds and ends of leftovers that frankly, I don’t want to eat.

So, back home from my meeting, I put the the food items from the freezer in the green recycle and turned the freezer thermostat to off. I strongly suspect my electric bill will go down. I know I’ll sleep better.

Then it was off to FOPAL for a sorting shift. Wow that is a workout: on my feet and continually moving for 2+ hours, shifting heavy boxes of books around. This weekend is the first of the bi-weekly sales of the year. Most section managers have loaded their shelves and declared a “hold” on their subject, meaning that when a box of “History” of “Nature” books fills up, we can’t take it to the sale room as usual. It has to be stacked in the sorting area, the center of which is now dominated by a mountain of boxes, leaving less and less room to walk around. People showed up at the door with more books every few minutes. Three sorters could pretty much keep up with the flow.

On the way home I stopped at Goodwill and handed in a bag with the last remnants of Marian’s stuff and a few items of my own I’d culled from my side of the closet.

By 5pm I’d received an email from Alan, listing seven facilities he thought might interest me, with details on their costs and amenities. Well, as I emphasized to him, I’m in no hurry. I’ll look at those maybe this weekend.

Day 38, Social Security

Tuesday 1/8/2019

I started the day with a brisk walk to the YMCA and my (short, perfunctory) round of strength exercises.

Today was the day for the long-anticipated appointment with the Social Security that I’d been given on Day 12. Then I’d been unable to complete the process because I hadn’t brought proof of marriage. I’d been worrying about whether the government shutdown would be affecting SS offices, but no, everything was operating normally. I only had to wait a few minutes, and in fact I think my name was called within a minute or so of 1pm, my scheduled appointment time.

I’d left early and stopped to pick up some kind of lunch at a Safeway store across from the SS office. When checking out there I had realized to my great chagrin, that I didn’t have my wallet with ID and credit cards. I had carried it on my exercise outing and neglected to transfer it from my shorts to my jeans when I dressed. Well, no biggie, I knew right where it was, on the dresser, and shouldn’t need it, right?

So what is the first thing the very nice and helpful SS clerk asked for when I sat down? My ID, of course! God damn I felt like a… like a forgetful old fart, is what. But he said smoothly, “No problem, I’ll just ask you some security questions,” and proceeded to grill me about where I was born, mother’s maiden name, and a few other things. After some more interrogation he told me that my Survivor Benefit would have the effect of raising my SS payment by about $400/month. Mentally I calculated that would mean I’d be getting about the same amount that Marian used to get, a bit over $1600/month.

In the end, the net effect of (a) the end of Marian’s IBM pension, (b) the end of her SS payment, offset by (c) the increase in my SS and (d) some reduction of monthly expenses (I’m paying way less for groceries than before, for example), is a drop of about $3500 in the monthly household income. In the past we lived comfortably off our combined pensions. Going forward, it is clear I will have to begin to dip into the nest egg on a regular basis. Fortunately the nest egg is pretty chunky and can survive many years of dipping. (Actually, now I think about it, just raising the “required minimum distribution” out of my IRA somewhat above the minimum will come close to covering the shortfall.)

Back home and with my wallet back in my pocket, I made out the check for the first quarter estimated tax payment and mailed that. When Marian did our taxes last spring, she had prepared the federal and state quarterly estimated tax vouchers, each with its mailing envelope and a big post-it note with the date by which it should be mailed. Today I mailed the federal one with the “1/15” post-it. One remains, the state one to mail before “2/1”. And that will be the end of Marian’s carefully prepared tax materials. I’ll have to step up for the next cycle. Me, the guy who walks out of the house without his wallet.

Suli, our cleaning lady, came today. I showed her the remaining items in Marian’s closet and she said she’d take them all, “for my mother”. OK, fine. And when I got back from the SS, that side of the closet was empty at last. I moved my collection of hats to the upper shelf on that side.

I spent some time inventorying our collection of basketball memorabilia. We had a number of items relating to the short-lived San Jose Lasers professional team: sweatshirts, signed team photos, etc. I emailed a friend, another Lasers fan, with the list. She’s very well-connected into that fan base and will forward the list. Hopefully somebody will want some of these things.