Day 16, Takin’ care of bidness

Monday 12/17/2018

I suppose “takin’ care of bidness” could be the default title of a lot of these posts. Went for a run and was pleased it went well, 35 minutes of my gentle jog (4.5mph when on a treadmill) without stopping except for a couple of traffic lights, and felt good.

After a shower I spent a couple hours continuing to tidy and organize and discard stuff from the various file drawers. I’ve a 6-inch pile of Schwab monthly brokerage statements, and some other categories of paper financial records, all from the era 1997 (when we set up our trust and managed accounts) through about 2002 when it seems Marian decided it wasn’t worth it to save them any more. But I broke out some sub-categories, like the documents that show the history of how our respective IRAs rolled from company to company, or the documents that establish when we each bought IBM shares, and how much they sold for. I wrote an email to our financial advisors’ office listing these groups of records and asking if I can recycle them. I’m guessing all this stuff is dead history, but I haven’t heard back yet. (Later: yes; recycle the lot.)

I set up a wide pendaflex in which to collect everything related to getting Marian officially deceased, bureaucratically speaking. The Neptune Society docs, the notes from different banks, and so on. One section that looms a bit ominously is the inch-thick pile of Medicare EOBs dating back to spring when her illness began. So many services rendered by PAMF and by Stanford Health, each specified as “provider billed” (huge sum), “medicare approved” (1/4 that), “you may be billed” (a pittance). But the pittances add up, and so far as I know, I’ve yet to see any kind of bill from either PAMF or Stanford. So the thick wad of EOBs is the bulk of that pendaflex. I’d love to see it go in the recycle bin.

Spent an hour sanding the tops of the other two little tables, then put them away. Tomorrow looks pretty busy; I’ll try to paint them Wednesday, maybe.

Eduardo’s Gutter Cleaner crew indeed merit their 5-star rating on Yelp. They pulled up 15 minutes ahead of schedule and were gone an hour later. All the leaves are off my roof, my downspouts are sluiced clean, and the house looks tidy from the street. Good.

Got a head start on tomorrow by stripping the bed and washing the linens. This something I normally would do on “Suli day,” the day the cleaning lady comes, which is tomorrow. This was also the scheduled quarterly day to rotate the mattress, five minutes of heaving and hauling, and something I will continue to do (once more? twice?) as only one side is getting used anymore.

Emotionally a pretty tranquil day, which is welcome after yesterday.

Day 15, Highs and Lows

Sunday 12/16/2018

This day started out with

A High

which requires some back-story. For mumble-mumble years, every Sunday morning Marian and I walked about a quarter-mile to the coffee shop in Midtown to read the Sunday paper and have cappucini and sweet rolls. Late last year, some quite noisy groups of friends started occupying the place Sunday mornings. This particularly annoyed Marian, so we switched to the much quieter (in fact, so quiet one wonders how long they’ll be business) Baron Barista, about 2 miles away. That meant driving, not walking, which was OK because Marian’s walking distance shrank steadily over that time anyway.

Last week I mentioned how it was quite an emotional experience to go back alone to the P.A. Café Sunday morning. Today I had the notion to go to Baron Barista instead; and then had the sudden notion, “Wonder if I could walk that?” A quick check of Google Maps showed it was 2.2 miles and 40 minutes, which seemed well within my capacities, so off I went, paper under my arm.

Swinging along it dawned on me, with a real jolt of pleasure, that I was doing something that was only possible to me as a bachelor. Even a decade ago, such a walk would have been out of the question for Marian, and so wouldn’t have occurred to me as a possibility. Here I was, doing a new thing that was possible only in my new life. Trivial though it was, it felt good.

Later, the Downers

Forty-odd years ago, Marian brought home a “pony-tail palm” (beaucarnia recurvata) which over time grew and grew until “Beau” towered nearly 7 feet above the rim of the pot, and had branched out like a menora.

Knowing that my time in this house was limited, I have worried about what to do with Beau for months. I wanted to find a new permanent home for this plant, and hated the idea that it might end up in a compost pile. Fortunately, Liz Shaw, a niece-in-law of Marian’s sister Jean, is a landscape gardener by trade, appreciates plants, and agreed to take Beau into her own home.

The arrangement was for her to come today and at noon sharp, she and her son Spencer pulled into the driveway. They very professionally staked and tied Beau’s branches, moved him out to the truck, and wrapped him securely in a sheet. They roped him him securely into the bed of the truck and he was off to his new home.

I had not expected this to be an emotional event; after all this was exactly what I wanted to have happen, had planned for, and marked the end of my responsibility for the plant.

But it was emotional, very much so. I had a hard time controlling my voice saying goodbye to Liz, and for half an hour after they left I wandered around the house, sniffling and wiping my eyes — closer to actual tears than I’ve been since Day 2 — and mumbled a couple of times, “Just shards of the old life, going away,” which was the best I could do to sum it up.

Up a little

So I’d had the plan (since Dennis wasn’t able to join me for The Green Book) that I’d go see Ralph Wrecks the Internet solo. It was time to execute, so I blew my nose and acted. I love modern movie going. I bought my senior ticket for Century 16 on Fandango.com, had the ticket sent to my phone, walked into the theater 15 minutes before showtime to wave my phone at the scanner, sat down in my reserved lounge chair and reclined it. Aside from the fact that they showed twenty minutes of previews after the start of the nominal show-time of 2pm, it was a good experience.

Day 12: SSA, FOPAL, incidental drama

Thursday 12/13/18

First order of business today was to drive to the Neptune Society in San Jose to collect the five official copies of Marian’s death certificate that I’d ordered. I’ve been advised I could need up to eight, but so far I actually haven’t needed one.

Before I could do that I got to throw a

Hissy Fit

Honey-Do Handyman were supposed to clean the leaves from my gutters last Friday; as I noted then they didn’t show and didn’t tell me until I called them that day. Same deal today: I left a message last night asking to be told when the guys would show up. No response. I called this morning and left a message at 8am. No call back. At 9am Michelle answered the phone and gave me the same apologetic song and dance, big job in San Francisco, tried to make it work but just couldn’t, blah blah. I confess I yelled at her. “Extraordinarily busy? You’ve been extraordinarily bad a communicating! Forget it, I’m gonna get somebody else.”

You know what? You can’t bang down a cell phone. Stabbing the little red icon extra hard doesn’t have the same effect.

So I called the top-rated gutter cleaning service on Yelp. Then off to San Jose and from there to

Government Bureaucracy

I went to the Social Security office in Mountain View. I wasn’t sure how long this would take, but figured it couldn’t be any worse than the DMV. Actually it pretty nearly is. The waiting area has seats for maybe 30 people. So when they are filled, the security guy at the door won’t let you in. There was a line of about eight when I arrived, and I got in after about ten minutes. (When I left, the line outside was over 20.)

Inside, you check in at a screen and get a number, then wait to be called to one of 15 windows. I was Z937. I swear they called all 9 other Z93x numbers before me, as well as lots of other numbers. But after almost exactly two hours I was called. And could not complete the process because, in order to properly adjust my Social Security status, the very friendly and apologetic agent had to see not only Marian’s death certificate, but our marriage certificate. Which I didn’t have with me.

So I got an appointment for a call-back on 8 January. At least, no waiting that time.

Next up was to drive up to Ace Hardware for more painting supplies for refinishing the tabletops. But along the way I encountered

More Drama

Driving north on Alma in downtown Palo Alto, approaching Addison, I saw the big SUV ahead of me side-swipe a parked Prius. Audible thump, both cars bounce. SUV slows down, continues to the next corner, Channing, turns right. So do I, as I’m going to Ace Hardware right there. I park right outside the store and watch the SUV across the street as it pauses. I note the license, and go into the store.

When I came out it was gone. Just for curiosity I drove around the block, parked on Addison, and looked at the red Prius. Sure enough, a big paint bruise on the left quarter panel. And no note visible. So I wrote up a note describing what I saw and the license number, and my phone number, left it and went on because I had an appointment at

FOPAL

I joined Friends of the Palo Alto Library a decade ago, when we decided to fire Wells Fargo and go with a credit union. We had no direct connection to Stanford, but you can join Stanford Federal Credit Union if you are a member of FOPAL. So we joined. (Today I learned that more than 100 people a year join FOPAL for exactly that reason, to get an account at SFCU.)

Now I want FOPAL for its volunteer opportunities. Today I met with Janette Herceg, who is the volunteer coordinator (and FOPAL’s one and only full-time paid staff person). It’s an astonishing organization. Using mostly volunteers, they have a throughput of over 30,000 books a month; that many donations in and about that many out via their sales or to recycling.

So I’ve agreed to initially work as a sorter on Wednesdays, when they are short-handed. There are other jobs that I may graduate into, but there’s a lot to be learned.

This evening the Prius owner called, very grateful. We agreed she’d pass my info to her insurance agent and take the agent’s advice about contacting the police. Leaving the scene of an accident is a felony, but I don’t personally feel like pursuing that angle.

Day 11, city adventure

Losing a TV show

Last night I scrolled through the DVR list and sort of automatically started playing the latest episode of the cooking show, Cook’s Country. And quickly realized that I didn’t care about how Basque fried chicken is made!

Oh, this is so sad! Cook’s Country and its sister show America’s Test Kitchen were two shows that Marian and I could watch together and talk about. “We could make that.” “Nah, too many ingredients.” But now: I don’t expect to cook an actual entrée ever again. I don’t care about easy ways to make suppers. And there’s nobody to exchange snarky comments with about over-elaborate recipes. So this is the first TV show that I’m dropping because its main interest for me, was sharing it with Marian. Went through the DVR subscription list and dropped one other, Dancing with the Stars. The rest of them I have enough interest in to keep watching — even Top Chef , which is a whole different kind of cooking, a performance art, that I can admire without needing the personal connection.

Anyway, that was last night. Today (12/12/18) I went on

A City Adventure

The plan was to take Caltrain to the City, Lyft to the DeYoung museum, see an exhibit of works by Gaugin, and return the same way. But walking to the Caltrain station I was hit by lots of

Anxiety

I found myself again beset with formless anxiety—that feeling you might get when you realize there’s something undone, or overdue, or mistaken, but with no specific object or reason. I knew I was doing what I planned to do; knew it was a viable plan; knew I was ahead of schedule. Whence the fretting?

And realized that what was missing was Marian’s agreement in the plan! Here’s how it is with partners: One says “I think I’ll do thus-and-so Wednesday.” And the other, “We were going to such-and-such that day.” “Oh, well, maybe in the afternoon…” “When will you be back, I need the car by…” and so forth. Every activity gets cross-checked and tweaked to be sensible and efficient. Before, if I were to set off for the city for a day, it would be with the comfortable assurance that I’d shared the plan with Marian and her practical mind—the mind that had so often caught me in simple oversights—agreed that my plan made sense.

Don’t have that now! Rechecking all my intentions, I carried on with

the Adventure

Which all worked smoothly enough. I’d actually spent five minutes reading up on Gaugin before I left and learned more from the very nicely arranged and documented exhibit. But, meh. Not a fan of his paintings, except for one or two of the later ones, like Reclining Tahitian Women. But I kept wandering through the other galleries and quite enjoyed the room full of big landscapes, California and Hudson River School, and was quite amazed by some of the huge carvings in the collection from New Guinea and the Solomon Islands.

Had a nice lunch in the café and started back. On the train home, Maria from the Neptune Society called to say that the death certificates will be ready tomorrow. So tomorrow I need to get them, then visit the Social Security office and make that notification official. According to Jean, when she reported Bill’s death, she was given the option of choosing which payment to continue receiving, his or hers, and obviously you pick the larger, which in my case, would be Marian’s.

I have also uncovered an ancient IBM Life Insurance policy that might or might not mean I have $5000 coming from them. Not clear, but I will also be notifying them tomorrow or Friday, once I have the certs. in hand.

Transition begins

Monday, 12/3/18

As noted, this is a blog about the experiences of an older man, newly widowed, adjusting to life as a bachelor at age — shall I be coy? Naw. Age 76. A healthy 76; after all, I ran my usual 4K jogging route this morning without stopping.

Just a day ago

Let’s get real. As I write it was just over 24 hours ago that the extremely polite men from the mortuary contracted by the Neptune Society carefully and respectfully wrapped Marian’s body and wheeled it out of the house where we’d lived together for 45 years. She loved this house and more than once said she wouldn’t leave it alive, and like most things she said, she was right.

Her end was not at all unexpected; she and I were in no kind of denial about her diagnosis, or the reason she was being cared for by hospice nurses, not regular doctors, or the steady deterioration in her strength.

I’ve had several months to think about and pre-plan my transition to codger-hood — since her diagnosis in April, really, and more intensely since the oncologist said “there’s nothing more to do” back in September. I’ve got quite a list of policy decisions and possible actions to take during this transition — a transition I expect will take more than a year, or might never end.

One of the early decisions was, “blog it”, and I set up this blog weeks ago. (I was delighted to find that “codgerville.net” was available.) No, I didn’t tell Marian I’d done it. We did talk about my future as a bachelor, and she had several very sound suggestions. But it seemed a little presumptuous to take actual steps.

In hindsight, an amazing amount of stuff has gotten done in that 24 hours. On the principle of not making a blog page too long, I think I’ll break off here.