STOCK MARKET

         So far, the news hasn’t posted anything about people jumping out of buildings or blowing their brains out because of the stock market. At least as far as I know; and since I don’t watch any news beyond the crawl on Good Morning America, I suppose it could have happened. I’m trying not to look at my accounts and dwell on the damage they’ve suffered over the last couple of weeks.

          When I first invested in the stock market on my own, I had just a couple of thousand dollars to play with. I took a couple of classes on investing and did ask one of the instructors if he’d invest my money for me. But it was too little…he was after big money investors. One of the things he did tell the class, however, was that he could put every single penny he had into Starbucks stock and sleep like a baby at night.

          With that instruction in mind, I did a bit of research and signed up for an E-trade account. Initially, I bought Starbucks, Immunex and Esterline Industries, all Northwest stocks. Fortunately for me, Starbucks split a couple of times, so I ended up with the most stock in that company. Immunex was purchased by Amgen, and I received a few Amgen stocks and a bit of money. Just last year, Esterline was bought by some other company, but they only gave me cash. Their stock price was quite high, so I understand why they didn’t want to provide stock.

          Along the way as my account grew steadily, I never took out dividends or any other earnings, but re-invested in companies I researched and decided would be good investments. With the exception of two, which I keep hoping will turnaround, I’ve done very well. At least until the last two weeks. Fortunately for me I’m not sure how to figure out the percentage I’ve lost…and don’t bother providing me with the information on how to do it. I don’t want to know. The last time I looked which was last Friday, I was both saddened and disconcerted because while I’d lost a lot, I’d actually gained some that day.

          When I left City of Seattle employment, I took the funds I’d paid into the retirement system as well as the City’s match. The Zoo Society set up a 403b account and I paid into that for another ten years. When I made the decision to retire, I almost made a huge mistake and signed up for an annuity. Thank heavens I didn’t, because the person doing the sale was selling me the worst annuity you could buy at that time.

          Again, I did some research and bought a couple of books. Using that information, I decided to move my money out of the 403b into an IRA with Fidelity. I’ve been very pleased with the staff and the way my money has done in the last eight years…except for the last two weeks. I also looked at that account last Friday and was pleased to see it had increased by thousands that day. I haven’t looked since because it was already down thousands before last Friday and I’m sure it’s down again.

          In the past in talking about retirement and finances, I often joked about how when I became homeless, I’d cook my cat food on the manifold of my car…do cars even have manifolds anymore? I also joked about knocking on friends’ doors and asking to take a quick shower and do some laundry. I was just joking then and am still joking now. My social security is enough to get me by if the stock market takes an even bigger dive. It just wouldn’t be enough to allow me to spend freely on frivolous stuff or travel much farther than the end of my driveway…which I’m not supposed to do these days anyway.

          I feel very fortunate to be in okay shape when it comes to my finances. I hope the majority of people who depend on stock market returns are doing okay too   and will continue to do so until it begins to make money again, whenever that may be. Meanwhile, I’m going to refuse to look at my accounts and say a prayer of thankfulness when I see the social security deposit in my checking account.

CORONAVIRUS

Sheesh!!! I guess we’re all in the same boat…well not really since we’re supposed to stay six feet apart from any other human. You know what I mean though. Absolutely nothing to do that is outside our homes. Yes, we can go grocery shopping on an as needed basis, but I imagine everyone is pretty much like me. You wait until you absolutely have to go (out of milk) and then dash in and dash out, using hand sanitizer again and again and then washing your hands when you get home.

          I don’t know how many of you saw the article or televised report about the young man, Avi Schiffman, who lives on Mercer Island. He’s 17, has been coding since he was seven and put together the Coronavirus Dashboard. You can find it here:  https://ncov2019.live/data. 

It’s an amazing piece of work, at least in my opinion, and he updates it on a regular basis. In the upper right-hand corner, there’s a little red button that says, “Buy me a coffee.” I haven’t done it yet, but plan to.

          I honestly don’t know if this accumulation of facts is reassuring or frightening. I’m trying to go about the business of living without actually living beyond my front door. Even though I have email, Facebook and my phone, I’m finding myself feeling a bit cut off from life as I knew it. No meeting friends for lunch or dinner or a drink. No deciding at the last minute to go to a restaurant for a meal on my own. No deciding to go to a movie unless it’s on my own television. I’ve a feeling if it lasts until June or July which I’ve heard mentioned, I may be depressed enough to want anti-depressants.

          On the plus side, however, is I now have all the time I want to do the things at home I’ve put off c I was too busy. Of course it’s also on the down side, since when I was so occupied with outside activities, I could excuse my inability to buckle down and get the job done because I was simply just too committed to other stuff. Now, there’s no excuses for not doing projects I’ve put off for days, weeks, months…years???

          So far, I haven’t delved into a book to while away the time, but I could easily do that. The library may be closed, but I can get books on my I-pad. I also haven’t turned to the television to binge watch shows that my friends and family have told me are absolute must-sees. Before coronavirus, I was much too busy to read and/or watch TV.

          Another desirable event, at least this week, is the weather.  The first day of spring is on Thursday and it’s supposed to be 60 degrees. On Friday it’s supposed to be 61. That’s get out there and muck about in the dirt weather. I just may get all those Mexican grasses transplanted from where they are to where I want them. I may also get all the various other big grasses cut back so they can proceed to grow for this season.

          A woman I know said that she makes a daily list of things she wants or has to get done. I begin a list each Sunday and add to it through the week. Out of 13 things currently on the list, I’ve completed six. I’ve also worked on three of them that are a daily chore, i.e., physical therapy, walking and John’s bedroom. Today, I’m three for three when it comes to those. So, I guess I’ll add grass transplanting and grass cutback to the list for later this week. That just leaves four left that I haven’t yet done, although one of them is almost complete.

          Depending on when coronavirus disappears and I can return to the normality of my previous life, if that happens, I should have completed a whole bunch of projects. Maybe all my windows will sparkle from cleaning, all the floors shine, the dust be totally removed, houseplants repotted and showered, John’s bedroom ready for repainting and redecorating, garage sale items priced and boxed…the list should be endless.

          I hope all of you who are reading this are healthy and as happy as you can be with where you’re located and what you’re doing. I’m making the effort, and I must admit that crossing off an item on my list definitely brings a big smile to my face. What are you doing that brings a smile to your face? Any suggestions for activities I could add to my list?

DONKEY AND CARROT

         Saturday, I spent the entire day going through just one box of John’s gold card collection. I sorted them and produced an Excel spreadsheet with the type of card, series number and worth…if known. I even went so far as to list two of them on E-bay, but I was really just shooting in the dark when it came to listing a price. 

          This is just one small box of cards…there’s lots more, and I’m feeling so very overwhelmed by the work I’ll need to do to sell them as well as a variety of other items I know have value.

          Yes, I have someone coming to take a look at this entire mess and let me know if her company can put together some kind of estate sale. However, some of the specialty items like gold cards won’t be the type of item that would do well in an estate sale. These items I’ll need to get appraised and most likely find a way to sell myself. 

          I know someone who will be looking at the family home once the parents pass away. It is filled from basement to the rafters with stuff. Some of that stuff has to be worth some money, but my friend has said she’d just as soon dribble a little gasoline around, throw a match through the door and walk away. I sort of feel like that myself. 

          Now, I wish I’d browbeat John into doing something about his mess. Not that browbeating would have led him to sell one single item, but he could have shared where to go to get appraisals and where to look when it comes to selling these esoteric items. It would also have forced him into putting everything into some order. As it is, I have multiple file cabinets and tool cabinets where nothing is sorted. There are boots, screwdrivers, electric saws, and other stuff I can’t even come close to identifying all jumbled together. That also doesn’t take into consideration the four safes, two of them gun safes. The gun safes don’t necessarily contain guns and the other safes have stamps, more cards and who knows what else.

          When fall came along last year, I figured I’d have the majority of the stuff in the house sorted and boxed and labeled in some fashion. I even thought I’d be selling a lot of stuff on E-bay, but yesterday was the first listing after the initial two I did in September 2019…nothing sold then either.

          Of course, sitting at this computer and writing these blog posts allows me to ignore the need to sort and classify and organize. I really resented spending an entire day going through those cards and creating a spreadsheet. I really resent John leaving me with such a mess. We were retired together for seven years and could have organized everything beautifully if he’d been willing to give me the time, or I’d been willing to be super annoyed and demanding.

          I have a new plan for the coming days/weeks. Once I’ve made my daily healthy trek around the neighborhoods with my neighbor, I’m going to spend the next hour (maybe more) in John’s bedroom going through stuff, organizing and making lists. I’ll need those whether I hire someone to do an estate sale or I do it myself. To encourage me toward this effort, I’m not going to allow myself to sit at this keyboard and do what I enjoy so much more…writing whatever comes into my little mind. That will be the carrot before this donkey…I’ll have to see if it works.

DO I HAVE A PROBLEM???

            I had a few days last week taking tours down memory lane. It was fun and the memories great. It served to remind me just what a special young man John was as well as what a great relationship we had at the beginning. Unfortunately, visits like those still require me to return home eventually, return to my real life and feelings for today. 

          I’m wondering if I may have a drinking problem. For most of my life, I avoided alcohol because alcoholics are rampant on both sides of the family. Well, maybe not on my biological father’s side of the family, so that gives me hope. Anyway, a year or two before John died, I began to have a spot of gin with a garlic stuffed olive and a bit of olive water…a dirty martini if you will at 5:00 pm each day. I never got wasted and only had one each afternoon. I could still cook dinner and do whatever needed doing the rest of the evening. n.b. They're now calling these quarantinis on Facebook.

          This became a habit, one I looked forward to each and every day and more so once John died. I watch the clock and wait for it to read 5:00 pm…no drinking before that. Then, I fix my glass and sit down to enjoy, and enjoy I always do. I think perhaps the amount of gin may have increased since John died. I don’t have to make dinner if I don’t want to, or do anything else besides lock the chicken up and water the dogs before I go to bed. My glass isn’t any bigger and I don’t think it’s any fuller, but my reaction seems to have become much stronger.

          The reason I think I may have a problem as well as having increased my gin allotment is that I usually zone out (pass out?) for a while on the couch with the doggies. I don’t spend the entire night, but I find myself not remembering the program, or parts of the program, I was watching on television. I don’t spend hours like that, but while it doesn't happen every night, it seems to have become a more frequent occurrence. Of course, if I had someone to talk to other than the dogs, I’m sure I would be more alert and with it. I know if I get a phone call, I’m perfectly capable of carrying on a conversation without slurring my words or sounding as though I’m drunk.

          Unfortunately, I don’t want to admit or really think my daily gin imbibing is a problem. You see, I like the way the gin takes the edge off the evening. I don’t feel quite so lonely. I don’t feel quite so depressed. I don’t feel quite so alone because all my feelings and thoughts are dimmed and vague. I like that…a lot.

          There are days where I don’t watch the clock or have a drink. I’m doing other stuff or have met family or friends for dinner. Because of those times, I don’t believe I have a serious problem. I don’t come home and hit the gin bottle afterward. Since I am almost always the designated driver, I also don’t have more than one glass of wine or drink if I have anything at all. I’m cheap and hate paying the big bucks for something I can purchase more cheaply by the bottle.

          What brought this all up was Tuesday night and Wednesday morning of last week. According to my Fitbit, I went to bed at 7:33 pm and slept deeply for two hours and 12 minutes. I woke up at 12:30 and watched television from my bed for 1.5 hours before going back to sleep. Then, I woke up at 7:10 am. When I woke up, I felt sad and depressed and really didn’t want to get up. But the dogs really needed to go out after almost 12 hours in their crates.

          I wasn’t walking Wednesday morning with my neighbor, but had to be at the dentist by 10:00 am. So, the doggies and I snuggled while I had my coffee and cereal and watched part of Good Morning America before turning the channel to Law and Order. I sat there until 9:00 am when I absolutely had to get in the shower. At the dentist, lying back in the chair, my eyes suddenly filled with tears. I managed to control them so no one noticed, but I was inexplicably so very sad.

          So, is it the gin that’s making me this way? Or, is it just the grieving process? I know when my daddy died it was in November. I held it together, didn’t cry or carry on until the following June. Then, it was like a damn burst and I cried and cried and yelled and yelled and was practically inconsolable. Is the gin keeping that grieving action away or not? Or, is this grieving process different since it’s for a husband and not a daddy?

          With the days getting longer and the weather nicer, I know I won’t be watching the clock because I’ll be outside. I suppose if I’m still watching the clock then and continuing to imbibe, or drinking gin at a much later hour, it will be time to reevaluate my gin drinking.

I really have no idea. I don’t think I need to pour out the remaining gin or sign up for AA meetings, but I’m wondering if other widows or widowers have found themselves in this kind of a quandary? Anyone out there have any wisdom to impart…I’m accepting any and all provided.

MY FRIDAY THE 13TH

         No, I didn’t get out and purchase a lottery ticket on Friday the 13^th. I didn’t leave the house at all, not even to go get the mail. I did open the front door to retrieve an Amazon package and a magazine and cookies my wonderful neighbor left for me. But that was it.

          Instead, I accomplished a lot of stuff. The biggest accomplishment was removing all the glass from the garden window by the computer and running it through the dishwasher for the first time in well over a year. While the dishwasher was working, I cleaned the window on the inside. It will be even better once I clean the outside. I even managed to push the desk my strong granddaughter had pulled away from the window back into place once I’d replaced all the clean glass. My goodness how everything now sparkles.

          If that wasn’t enough, I vacuumed the house and did all the laundry. Finally, I fixed myself a scrumptious dinner. I made the first meatloaf I’ve made in probably 50-some years. John didn’t like it. I didn’t use a recipe, just threw in stuff I thought sounded good. Then I cut up a bunch of vegetables and stirred them up with olive oil and balsamic  vinegar before putting them in a covered pan in the oven. It smelled absolutely lovely and tasted wonderful. Therein lies the problem. It tasted so good I had a second helping of both.

At bedtime a few hours later, I still felt a little stuffed, but went to sleep without a problem. I woke a couple of hours later with a tummy that felt as though it held a very large rock. I ate a few Tums and drank some water, but that didn’t seem to help at all. I watched some TV, tried to sleep again, watched some more TV and eventually went to sleep at maybe 4:30 am. 

          When I woke up a few hours later, my tummy felt fine, but so far all I’ve had this morning is a latte. I think I’m starting to feel hungry. I’m not sure about dinner tonight. I figured I’d eat the leftover meatloaf and veggies, but I don’t want another night like last night. I’ll see how my tummy feels at the end of the day.

          I also called the owner of Ginny’s Girls. It’s a company that helps you with your estate or garage sale. She’s going to come on Monday to check things out and talk about helping me with eliminating the majority of the stuff in my house. They do prefer you not be living in the house when they do this, so I don’t know if it will be a possibility. I’m sure I could spend a night or two in my car…ha ha ha. She told me they usually take $1,500 to $2,500 from the first $10,000 and then a percentage of the rest of the sale. Does this sound like a good idea? Has anyone out there dealt with this company? She may not want me as a client and I may not want to be a client. We’ll have to wait and see. 

          In the 51 years I’ve lived here, I believe I have done two, maybe three garage sales. One or two made good money, but the third was a complete bust with a huge pickup load of remainders being donated. Do you, my faithful readers, or new readers for that matter, have any ideas or suggestions with regard to having a company do all the work? Or, do you know anyone that’s worked with a company that performs this kind of service? If you have or know someone who has, I’d love to know the name of the company. I’d also be happy to have the benefit of your knowledge when it comes to successful garage sales if you’d like to share. 

CHOKING...SO SCARY

        Living alone can be pretty scary at times. I was talking to a friend Wednesday night when I swallowed some water…it went down the wrong pipe and I couldn’t breathe. I also couldn’t talk. It was pretty scary for a while there. I dropped the phone and went to the kitchen sink. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to breath again. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to breath. I leaned over the kitchen sink and tried to breath. I made this horrible noise. I was pretty sure I was in the process of dying since I couldn’t get any air into my lungs.

          Fortunately for me, and my friend on the phone, I managed to draw some air into my lungs. Bit by bit, my breathing became easier and I was finally able to respond to my friend’s anxious entreaties. She was ready to hang up, call 911 and send them to my house. I was so grateful to be breathing again, and we had a nice long conversation without any difficulties on my part.

          I have to admit it scared the pee out of me…literally. I had to go and change my clothes after I got off the phone. No matter how hard I tried, it was like my lungs were frozen. I couldn’t get any air past my throat into my lungs. I actually thought I just might die right then and there.

          It’s this kind of thing you don’t really think about when you are living on your own. Every morning I swallow an entire handful of vitamins and pills without thinking about what would happen if they didn’t all go down. Well, now, I’m thinking about that. It’s probably time I separated the pills out into several different groups so I can take them safely without having to worry that I might choke and fall to the floor to be discovered whenever.

          I have a friend who posts every single morning on Facebook. The purpose of her post is to let her friends know that she’s survived the night and is ready for the day. That seems pretty smart to me, although by the time family and friends realize there’s no post, it’s probably far too late.

          There’s an earlier post where I wrote about taking care of myself at home alone. It never occurred to me that I’d need to think about what would happen if I choked. Well, now I’m thinking about it and am going to be much more careful when it comes to drinking and talking simultaneously. I’m also going to take my pills in several batches so none of them get stuck.

          Ah, the things I continue to learn on this new journey. Have any of you widows or widowers had things like this happen? Would you share your experiences and thoughts with me? I’m always on the lookout for new information.

FRIDAY THE 13TH...AND GOD

         Whoa, it’s Friday the 13^th, the first one for this year. The 13^th has always been a lucky number for me. I met John on the 13^th, we got married on the 13^th, our granddaughter was born on the 13^th, and there’s other stuff that’s happened on the 13^th that’s buried somewhere in the filing cabinet of my brain. Those are the important ones that head the list.

          Being superstitious isn’t something that I am. I don’t worry about ladders, black cats, mirrors or anything else that’s supposed to bring you bad luck. I do have to admit that in my youth, whenever it seemed as though something awful was going to happen or was happening, I’d immediately send prayers up to God. I eventually came to believe that those prayers were just another sort of superstition.

          I was raised Southern Baptist, but not the strict kind that didn't allow dancing, makeup or stuff like that. I was sent to Sunday school every Sunday and mom and grandma sometimes went to church services. My dad never went, even on the holy days of Easter and Christmas. My grandma and mom did definitely go those days.

          What I remember most about those Easter services was getting a new Easter outfit. A new dress, shoes, purse and even a hat and gloves. Since I haven’t been to church on Easter in decades, I don’t know if they still do that. The Easter outfit was more important to me than the Easter candy. I sound pretty shallow, don’t I.

          In any case, I was raised to believe that God was good. My crisis of faith came in my late teens. It started with a photo of a child on fire in Viet Nam. This was a small child and I felt so heartbroken by the look on this child’s face. I questioned my parents and eventually the clergy at the church. No one could provide me with a satisfactory answer. If God was good, how could he allow such a small child to suffer so? The answer everyone seemed to fall back on was, “God has his reasons.”

          It was at that point I stopped going to Sunday school or church. With the exception of my own wedding, my eldest son’s wedding and the weddings and funerals of other people, I haven’t been inside a church or attended any services. I know it bothered my mom, but even her entreaties to attend Easter sunrise services couldn’t sway me.

          That’s not to say that when trouble comes, I don’t find myself praying to God, i.e., “Please God, please, please, please….” for whatever it is that I need to have changed for the better.  I also know, even as I’m reciting the words to myself, that if there is going to be any kind of a change, it’s up to me to make it happen. God isn’t going to point his finger and fix whatever it is that’s wrong.

          I do find myself wishing, however, that I hadn’t lost my faith. I know people who attend church, live the kind of lives of which God would approve, and who practice the Golden Rule. To me they seem stronger and more certain about their lives and their afterlives. Their faith and church attendance appear to bring them a lot of comfort as well as comradery with their fellow church members. There’s a sense of brotherhood/sisterhood in those folks.

          I find now that I’m alone, it would be good to belong to such a group. My inclusion wouldn’t be based on my belief in God, but the need for a sense of belonging, a sense of being part of something larger. That’s not to say I’m going to get up on Sunday mornings and start checking out the various churches in my area. It’s just something I think and wonder about now and then.

          What I will do today, though, is take myself to the store to purchase a lottery ticket. After all it is my lucky day and this might be the one time I could win something. I do know that when the Sunday paper comes, before I check the numbers, I may silently be saying, “Please God, please, please, please let me have a winner.” 

          Like I said above, pretty shallow aren’t I?