As a couple with no children but a few assets that may or may not outlive us, my husband and I have spent some time creating a living trust. We've revised and updated it a time or two, and it's getting time to make another pass at it. It's part of getting older and being responsible, I suppose, and making sure that if there's anything left when we're done with the assets we've accumulated over the years, those assets go where we want them to.
It turns out it's a very values-laden exercise, this allocation of our potential financial remains. We have earmarked quite a few charities, organizations that value what we value, and our trustee tells us she is looking forward to being our appointed philanthropist. (Not so much on cleaning out my office!)
My husband and I have also talked a lot about the savings and investing habit that his grandparents and parents inculcated in him.. I wish I had learned those things from my relatives, but I don't know that it was a lesson they could pass along. Fortunately, I learned it from my inlaws.
The whole reason we have been able to ride out our 'accidental retirement' stems from those good savings habits that he learned from his elders and we brought into our marriage. We started with IRAs and 401(k) contributions in our 20s, and we never stopped. (Well, hardly ever.)
Is this happening in our next generations, in our families?
What are they doing to take care of their own future? And how can we encourage them to be actively seeking a healthier financial future, when they're in their 20s and 30s?
I have often thought about sending the N&Ns (nieces and nephews) a subscription to a financial magazine, or a book on finances; however, my experience has been that unsolicited advice is unappreciated advice.
We believe there is something valuable we can pass along to the N&Ns, along with the money: an appreciation for the value of saving and investing that may also incentivize them to think NOW of their own financial futures.
What we're leaning toward in our trust is writing a provision for our trust that while our trustee is doling out the estate monies, she can match the N&Ns' IRA and 401(k) contributions, up to a limit. What's left goes to our favorite charities!
We are also considering a premium for funds put away before they hit 30, so that they really take advantage of compounding, a great financial tool on its own. Just ask Einstein! It's not rocket science.
Had I been offered that deal from one of my family members, I would have thought very hard about the money I was farting away on stuff I didn't really need; instead, I'd have put something away, even if it were just $25/month, into an account where that money would grow and last longer than the things I farted it away on. It would earn me even more down the road, potentially.
And hey, I'd keep my Auntie really healthy so that she didn't have to blow my potential inheritance on health care!
But seriously, the best things we got from those who preceded us were some values that have put us in good stead. I hope we can do the same for those who follow.
Save those financial statements, kids!
Tick tock.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Friday, July 22, 2011
Can you hear me NOW?
Just recently I've noticed, more than ever, that people don't listen, particularly those in customer service positions. When they're older, I just figure they perhaps can't hear me; when they're young, I figure they don't listen. They aren't paying attention. Perhaps because I am not on their text screen?
At our local sandwich shop just a while ago, my husband ordered "A #9, white bread, hold the mayo." I said I would have the same.
The young woman then asked me what kind of bread I wanted. I said the same as his, white bread.
"Both of you?"
!!!!!
And then she asked whether we wanted mustard and mayo. "No, hold the mayo," we repeated.
And then she asked, do you want lettuce, etc., on it? "Does it come with the #9?"
"Yes," she replied.
"Then, yes, we want all that," and I walked away before I reached over the counter and smacked her out of sheer frustration.
Oh, and then she wanted to ask us how our day was going so far, and what plans we had for the weekend.
Oh, I dunno. Stand here and wait for you to figure out the sandwich order?
SAME. Is that a hard word?
We have a majority of non-native English speakers in our area, but this was not her issue; she was as white as the bread on which she eventually made the sandwiches. I believe the bread has a higher IQ, though.
I don't know what has prompted her short attention span, and I guess I don't want to delve into the reasons now because there's not much I can do about it, anyway.
However, it really does strike me that with this "Silver Tsunami" coming towards our youth, astute business people would be well advised to train their customer service staff to PAY ATTENTION.
I think they train these kids to cross sell and upsell -- or try to train them -- but it becomes so much of an automatic thing they say that they never really pay attention to the responses, and so they miss the whole point.
Just before the sandwich shop, I went into my local supermarket branch of my bank. As I made my deposit, the teller asked me whether I am a homeowner I replied I am, and she asked me if I am happy with my mortgage rates. I stopped her there and suggested she take a good hard look at my bank portfolio and then decide whether she wanted to continue. She kept trying to sell me a new loan, a first mortgage, to replace a very small HELOC we have.
I was nice about it, but there again, it would make so much difference if you felt that your bank knew you. Even the regular branch I've gone into, just about weekly, for banking, trust business, stuff like that? I had the woman who set up our trust account and who has seen me there many many times stop me and ask me for my ID. All I was trying to do was correct HER misspelling of my first name on the account into which I had just made a good-sized deposit.
Am I the only person, the only boomer, out there, who would like accurate service and would actually patronize such places if I were to find trhem?
At our local sandwich shop just a while ago, my husband ordered "A #9, white bread, hold the mayo." I said I would have the same.
The young woman then asked me what kind of bread I wanted. I said the same as his, white bread.
"Both of you?"
!!!!!
And then she asked whether we wanted mustard and mayo. "No, hold the mayo," we repeated.
And then she asked, do you want lettuce, etc., on it? "Does it come with the #9?"
"Yes," she replied.
"Then, yes, we want all that," and I walked away before I reached over the counter and smacked her out of sheer frustration.
Oh, and then she wanted to ask us how our day was going so far, and what plans we had for the weekend.
Oh, I dunno. Stand here and wait for you to figure out the sandwich order?
SAME. Is that a hard word?
We have a majority of non-native English speakers in our area, but this was not her issue; she was as white as the bread on which she eventually made the sandwiches. I believe the bread has a higher IQ, though.
I don't know what has prompted her short attention span, and I guess I don't want to delve into the reasons now because there's not much I can do about it, anyway.
However, it really does strike me that with this "Silver Tsunami" coming towards our youth, astute business people would be well advised to train their customer service staff to PAY ATTENTION.
I think they train these kids to cross sell and upsell -- or try to train them -- but it becomes so much of an automatic thing they say that they never really pay attention to the responses, and so they miss the whole point.
Just before the sandwich shop, I went into my local supermarket branch of my bank. As I made my deposit, the teller asked me whether I am a homeowner I replied I am, and she asked me if I am happy with my mortgage rates. I stopped her there and suggested she take a good hard look at my bank portfolio and then decide whether she wanted to continue. She kept trying to sell me a new loan, a first mortgage, to replace a very small HELOC we have.
I was nice about it, but there again, it would make so much difference if you felt that your bank knew you. Even the regular branch I've gone into, just about weekly, for banking, trust business, stuff like that? I had the woman who set up our trust account and who has seen me there many many times stop me and ask me for my ID. All I was trying to do was correct HER misspelling of my first name on the account into which I had just made a good-sized deposit.
Am I the only person, the only boomer, out there, who would like accurate service and would actually patronize such places if I were to find trhem?
Friday, June 10, 2011
Cunning and Connivery at the Checkout Counter?
Just recently, I've been in pie-making mode. My first attempt was a pumpkin pie, sugar-free for my husband. I figured pumpkin is healthy. It's squash, right? Fiber? Vitamin A?
Keeping health considerations in mind, I went down the aisle at my local grocery store the other day to get the fat free evaporated milk. The national name brand had a price posted, and hey, it was on sale! The store brand had no price posted.
I first went for the national brand, on sale at $1.39, but grabbed the store brand, too, just to see what the non-posted price was.
It was 99 cents. I told them to keep the 'sale' national brand and I'd take the one for 40 cents less.
A couple of days later, Iwent to the same store, looking for French bread rolls for French dip beef sandwiches (OK, so, we took a break from the healthy stuff!), and on a table in the back of the store, there I saw just what I wanted, and hey, they were on sale! Next to these rolls I saw another brand, no price.
I took both packages to the front, and once again, the sale brand was more expensive, by quite a bit, than was the similar product (lower in fat and carbs, by the way!) that had no price posted.
I am starting to think they do this on purpose.
Today, while shopping at a clothing retailer, I went through checkout with a nice, chatty cashier who asked me whether I wanted my receipt in the bag. Sure! And then, I stopped. I pulled out the receipt and noticed she had overcharged me for one item by $8.00 and charged me TWICE for the ONE cute coral straw hat I bought to wear out in my backyard while gardening. It took her a while,but she fixed it.
And finally, in my last shopping foray of the day, I ended up back at the local grocery store, where I was going to save another 50 cents per item if I bought 8 'mix and match' items. I watched that register tape and didn't see the discounts. The 'helper' at the self checkout couldn't figure out how much we were supposed to get back; she didn't have a calculator handy to help her figure out how much 8 x $.50 was going to be, so she sent us to customer service.
We got back our $4.00. On one hand, I think, "These people have jobs?" And on the other, I see why they do. If they make enough mistakes or yack at us enough to distract us, we may get home and never realize that we've been overcharged.
I try not to be any more paranoid than I have to be, but I really do wonder . . . and I have learned to watch the prices.
As my Granny would say, "Thievers! They're all thievers!" :-)
Keeping health considerations in mind, I went down the aisle at my local grocery store the other day to get the fat free evaporated milk. The national name brand had a price posted, and hey, it was on sale! The store brand had no price posted.
I first went for the national brand, on sale at $1.39, but grabbed the store brand, too, just to see what the non-posted price was.
It was 99 cents. I told them to keep the 'sale' national brand and I'd take the one for 40 cents less.
A couple of days later, Iwent to the same store, looking for French bread rolls for French dip beef sandwiches (OK, so, we took a break from the healthy stuff!), and on a table in the back of the store, there I saw just what I wanted, and hey, they were on sale! Next to these rolls I saw another brand, no price.
I took both packages to the front, and once again, the sale brand was more expensive, by quite a bit, than was the similar product (lower in fat and carbs, by the way!) that had no price posted.
I am starting to think they do this on purpose.
Today, while shopping at a clothing retailer, I went through checkout with a nice, chatty cashier who asked me whether I wanted my receipt in the bag. Sure! And then, I stopped. I pulled out the receipt and noticed she had overcharged me for one item by $8.00 and charged me TWICE for the ONE cute coral straw hat I bought to wear out in my backyard while gardening. It took her a while,but she fixed it.
And finally, in my last shopping foray of the day, I ended up back at the local grocery store, where I was going to save another 50 cents per item if I bought 8 'mix and match' items. I watched that register tape and didn't see the discounts. The 'helper' at the self checkout couldn't figure out how much we were supposed to get back; she didn't have a calculator handy to help her figure out how much 8 x $.50 was going to be, so she sent us to customer service.
We got back our $4.00. On one hand, I think, "These people have jobs?" And on the other, I see why they do. If they make enough mistakes or yack at us enough to distract us, we may get home and never realize that we've been overcharged.
I try not to be any more paranoid than I have to be, but I really do wonder . . . and I have learned to watch the prices.
As my Granny would say, "Thievers! They're all thievers!" :-)
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Oprah, Meredith, and Me
When flipping through channels lately, more and more do I see that less and less will I see anyone my age on television.
That is, unless it's those models doing household chores and then with an accidental touch, their immediate landscape turns into the great outdoors and finally, eventually, they end up sitting companionably side by side in two separate bathtubs. Beats post-coital cigarettes, I guess?
What's up with that two-tub thing anyway? Middle age sex is that dirty? I don't get it at all.
Well, two tubs is maybe slightly better than the Depends commercials, or "I've fallen and I can't get up!"
And then this morning, I saw Meredith Vieira leave "The Today Show," as Oprah left her show a couple of weeks ago. Even Katie Couric is now moving from evening news to a talk show.
It's not that I see myself in Katie or Oprah or Meredith, although I have always liked Meredith's hair, but it's that their all leaving around the same time has gotten me to wondering why.
And I am wondering whether their leaving has anything to do with the rest of the people I see on TV and whether the networks are moving these women out.
Diane Sawyer was just over in Afghanistan. Maybe we should have told her to watch her back!
Just wondering . . . .
That is, unless it's those models doing household chores and then with an accidental touch, their immediate landscape turns into the great outdoors and finally, eventually, they end up sitting companionably side by side in two separate bathtubs. Beats post-coital cigarettes, I guess?
What's up with that two-tub thing anyway? Middle age sex is that dirty? I don't get it at all.
Well, two tubs is maybe slightly better than the Depends commercials, or "I've fallen and I can't get up!"
And then this morning, I saw Meredith Vieira leave "The Today Show," as Oprah left her show a couple of weeks ago. Even Katie Couric is now moving from evening news to a talk show.
It's not that I see myself in Katie or Oprah or Meredith, although I have always liked Meredith's hair, but it's that their all leaving around the same time has gotten me to wondering why.
And I am wondering whether their leaving has anything to do with the rest of the people I see on TV and whether the networks are moving these women out.
Diane Sawyer was just over in Afghanistan. Maybe we should have told her to watch her back!
Just wondering . . . .
Thursday, May 26, 2011
A Silver Tsunami on the Streets of the Bay Area!
Well, I've been a Baby Boomer for a while now and praised and vilified accordingly, and now, thanks to last night's newscast, I'm part of the impending Silver Tsunami ready to terrorize the streets and highways of the Bay Area.
The newscast 'warned' that in the next 10 years, 1 in 5 Bay Area residents are going to be 65 (I think that was how they put it) and so younger residents will need to start thinking about how to have "the conversation" about our not driving when the time comes.
Really? The younger folks should be worried about me? I am not talking on my phone, or texting, or playing grabass with my passengers, or shaving my bikini line, or smacking bratty kids -- or all of the above!
Actually, I find that over the last couple of years, I've become somewhat more careful as a driver. For example, I no longer drive with the stereo blaring; I want to make sure I can hear sirens coming down the road -- and approaching intersections! I also find that I watch out for others a whole lot more; I am not being so distracted by daily worries of work, etc., and instead pay more attention to what's going on around me.
Part of that, I must admit, is trying to be a more defensive driver since I find the frenetic pace of the Bay Area freeways getting worse and worse. If someone is coming from behind me and wants to get off the freeway at the same exit I do, will they wait for me? Nah, they speed up and go around me and cut in front of me, and yes, I am driving the speed limit or maybe a bit faster,depending on the flow of traffic.
The freeways have not been very pleasant around here for a very long time, and they seem to be getting worse. I can finally understand why my elderly friend would only take surface streets. She found the freeways too hectic. I am starting to feel that way, too. Even dear ol' 680, which I've always enjoyed driving, isn't quite the pleasure cruise it used to be.
The other factor that may be playing into this is the fact that my life has slowed down, anyway. Since I am not out driving in commute traffic any longer, I am not caught up in something and am not acclimated to the faster speeds and the need for quick reaction times for the idiots driving erratically on the roads.
I am glad to be out of life in the fast lane, in all respects, but sure wish there was time and space for some slow lane time.
Even the slow lane is the fast lane on our freeways!
The newscast 'warned' that in the next 10 years, 1 in 5 Bay Area residents are going to be 65 (I think that was how they put it) and so younger residents will need to start thinking about how to have "the conversation" about our not driving when the time comes.
Really? The younger folks should be worried about me? I am not talking on my phone, or texting, or playing grabass with my passengers, or shaving my bikini line, or smacking bratty kids -- or all of the above!
Actually, I find that over the last couple of years, I've become somewhat more careful as a driver. For example, I no longer drive with the stereo blaring; I want to make sure I can hear sirens coming down the road -- and approaching intersections! I also find that I watch out for others a whole lot more; I am not being so distracted by daily worries of work, etc., and instead pay more attention to what's going on around me.
Part of that, I must admit, is trying to be a more defensive driver since I find the frenetic pace of the Bay Area freeways getting worse and worse. If someone is coming from behind me and wants to get off the freeway at the same exit I do, will they wait for me? Nah, they speed up and go around me and cut in front of me, and yes, I am driving the speed limit or maybe a bit faster,depending on the flow of traffic.
The freeways have not been very pleasant around here for a very long time, and they seem to be getting worse. I can finally understand why my elderly friend would only take surface streets. She found the freeways too hectic. I am starting to feel that way, too. Even dear ol' 680, which I've always enjoyed driving, isn't quite the pleasure cruise it used to be.
The other factor that may be playing into this is the fact that my life has slowed down, anyway. Since I am not out driving in commute traffic any longer, I am not caught up in something and am not acclimated to the faster speeds and the need for quick reaction times for the idiots driving erratically on the roads.
I am glad to be out of life in the fast lane, in all respects, but sure wish there was time and space for some slow lane time.
Even the slow lane is the fast lane on our freeways!
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
To the Root of the Matter
In my previous post I wrote that I had been up to spend time with my mom. We had a good visit; she recognized me two days out of three, which is a good result, as far as I am concerned. I came back newly charged up to find a way to move her down here, and I am glad to report that I got her onto a waiting list for a place very near by. Whether or not I can get her the financial aid she will require is another matter.
During this visit with Mom, as always, several people told me I look just like her. I used to reply laughingly that if they didn't stop saying that, I was going to stop coming! I don't see the resemblance, but many apparently do. That's OK. My mom, age 78 and despite years of smoking cigarettes, has lovely skin, and I hope mine will hold up as well.
I also took a good look at her hair this time around. (I wrote before that I was slowing down and taking a better look at everything around me, and here's another example!)
It's not all white, more salt and pepper, with some silver woven in. So I start to wonder if I look so much like her now, will my hair age like hers did? Her mom had nearly all black hair until she died, with very little silver in it. As my hair stands right now, underneath the color job I last had done a few weeks ago, I see that my hair is mostly dark -- some color between black and brown that I can't really name -- with some silver woven in. I also have some pretty striking white hair at my temples.
When I worked, I worried more about coloring my hair because I have always thought roots looked pretty skanky, despite what the younger generation allows itself to look like. After I got 'retired,' I let my natural color grow out for a while, but I didn't like it, so I went back to coloring it. Someone else wrote that she colors her hair so as not to be 'invisible,' and it made me wonder why I still color mine.
The simple answer is that it looks prettier when I do.
One day, when my hair has made its transition to that beautiful white that I now see at my temples, I will let it all be white (although how I am going to make that transition, I have no idea.) I have two men friends, Mike and Ken, whom I've known since both were much younger and blonder. Both now have beautiful white hair. Pop, also, has lovely white hair, and if mine looks as good as theirs does, I'll gladly wear the white.
Until then, I'll keep working to keep my hair the color it was when I was in high school: not because I think it makes me look younger -- I am not fooling anyone -- and not because I feel invisible otherwise.
It just looks prettier to me, and that ought to be good enough!
During this visit with Mom, as always, several people told me I look just like her. I used to reply laughingly that if they didn't stop saying that, I was going to stop coming! I don't see the resemblance, but many apparently do. That's OK. My mom, age 78 and despite years of smoking cigarettes, has lovely skin, and I hope mine will hold up as well.
I also took a good look at her hair this time around. (I wrote before that I was slowing down and taking a better look at everything around me, and here's another example!)
It's not all white, more salt and pepper, with some silver woven in. So I start to wonder if I look so much like her now, will my hair age like hers did? Her mom had nearly all black hair until she died, with very little silver in it. As my hair stands right now, underneath the color job I last had done a few weeks ago, I see that my hair is mostly dark -- some color between black and brown that I can't really name -- with some silver woven in. I also have some pretty striking white hair at my temples.
When I worked, I worried more about coloring my hair because I have always thought roots looked pretty skanky, despite what the younger generation allows itself to look like. After I got 'retired,' I let my natural color grow out for a while, but I didn't like it, so I went back to coloring it. Someone else wrote that she colors her hair so as not to be 'invisible,' and it made me wonder why I still color mine.
The simple answer is that it looks prettier when I do.
One day, when my hair has made its transition to that beautiful white that I now see at my temples, I will let it all be white (although how I am going to make that transition, I have no idea.) I have two men friends, Mike and Ken, whom I've known since both were much younger and blonder. Both now have beautiful white hair. Pop, also, has lovely white hair, and if mine looks as good as theirs does, I'll gladly wear the white.
Until then, I'll keep working to keep my hair the color it was when I was in high school: not because I think it makes me look younger -- I am not fooling anyone -- and not because I feel invisible otherwise.
It just looks prettier to me, and that ought to be good enough!
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Checking in with Mom -- "You Talkin' to ME?"
They, whoever "they" might be, keep talking about the Baby Boomers as the sandwich generation, taking care of both kids and parents.
Well, I don't have kids, but I have a mom, all right. She's been in a skilled nursing facility, up in WA State, where my brother dumped her, for about 13 years (And may I just say, now THAT is what I called skilled -- keeping her alive all these years, when the average is 3 years in a facility.) Honestly, with the long list of things wrong with her, I don't know why she is still alive, but she is.
More or less.
It's not the life I would want to live, and in her more lucid moments, when I fly up into the Pacific Northwest, she expresses surprise at her whereabouts.
I wheeled her out in her chair yesterday, when the sun was out (oh joy), and she said, "Doesn't it EVER get warm here?" Yes, I replied, when it's summertime. "Well, WHEN is summer COMING, then!" she replied quite vociferously.
The social worker tells me Mom is in a state of advanced dementia, yet when Mom has her hearing aid in, and when she finally realizes that I am there, she becomes quite lucid and pretty chatty.
I have done what I usually do on these quick trips: clean out the old ratty clothes, replenish her wardrobe, spend short snatches of time with her -- she isn't awake for very long -- and then I head back to the hotel to rest up for the next foray into the life I sure don't want to live myself.
And while she hasn't quite yet got it that I was here today, she knew yesterday. But then she kinda blew that because she asked where her other daughter was. (She doesn't have one; she only has 3 sons. They all have children, or live too far away to visit, so of course they don't visit.)
God knows she could use another daughter, that's for sure, but there's just me.
Mom and I weren't that close when I was growing up, for a variety of reasons. We were shopping buddies, mostly, but she seems to have spent most of her quality time with my 3 younger brothers.
So now, when my time has expanded and I've had the chance to slow down, to look at birds and hills, and all that nature stuff, I have also had the time also to slow down and see my mom. She is no longer the mom I grew up with, but I have to say we have a better relationship now than we did back then.
She said to me the other day, "You're just a sweetheart," and I asked her, "Who am I?" because it was so unlike anything she'd ever said to me.
She said my name, so I knew she was talking to me.
Like I said, time has slowed way down, in a way, now that I'm 'retired,' or whatever, and I think this time with Mom is yet another gift, and I am grateful.
Well, I don't have kids, but I have a mom, all right. She's been in a skilled nursing facility, up in WA State, where my brother dumped her, for about 13 years (And may I just say, now THAT is what I called skilled -- keeping her alive all these years, when the average is 3 years in a facility.) Honestly, with the long list of things wrong with her, I don't know why she is still alive, but she is.
More or less.
It's not the life I would want to live, and in her more lucid moments, when I fly up into the Pacific Northwest, she expresses surprise at her whereabouts.
I wheeled her out in her chair yesterday, when the sun was out (oh joy), and she said, "Doesn't it EVER get warm here?" Yes, I replied, when it's summertime. "Well, WHEN is summer COMING, then!" she replied quite vociferously.
The social worker tells me Mom is in a state of advanced dementia, yet when Mom has her hearing aid in, and when she finally realizes that I am there, she becomes quite lucid and pretty chatty.
I have done what I usually do on these quick trips: clean out the old ratty clothes, replenish her wardrobe, spend short snatches of time with her -- she isn't awake for very long -- and then I head back to the hotel to rest up for the next foray into the life I sure don't want to live myself.
And while she hasn't quite yet got it that I was here today, she knew yesterday. But then she kinda blew that because she asked where her other daughter was. (She doesn't have one; she only has 3 sons. They all have children, or live too far away to visit, so of course they don't visit.)
God knows she could use another daughter, that's for sure, but there's just me.
Mom and I weren't that close when I was growing up, for a variety of reasons. We were shopping buddies, mostly, but she seems to have spent most of her quality time with my 3 younger brothers.
So now, when my time has expanded and I've had the chance to slow down, to look at birds and hills, and all that nature stuff, I have also had the time also to slow down and see my mom. She is no longer the mom I grew up with, but I have to say we have a better relationship now than we did back then.
She said to me the other day, "You're just a sweetheart," and I asked her, "Who am I?" because it was so unlike anything she'd ever said to me.
She said my name, so I knew she was talking to me.
Like I said, time has slowed way down, in a way, now that I'm 'retired,' or whatever, and I think this time with Mom is yet another gift, and I am grateful.
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