Moving On

This has been a whirlwind week. After touring scores of homes this summer--and bidding on two that we didn't get--we snagged one in under 24 hours. My head is still spinning.

On Monday, while a specialist was scanning my corneas, Mr. W was on his phone scanning the homes for sale in our desirable zipcodes. He drove me to the appointment thinking that my eyes would be dilated for the exam, which would have blinded me for hours afterward. As it turned out, dilation was not necessary and the female Doogie Howser cornea specialist diagnosed the tiny nodes on the edges of my corneas as the result of aging. Chalk up one more annoying condition to Father Time!

When I returned to the waiting room with that news, Mr. W was waving his phone. 

"Do you want to see our next house?" he asked excitedly. 

This sounded very ominous to me. We had disagreed on--I mean "seen"--so many homes, there was no telling what was waiting for me on that screen...

Well, it was a large ranch home with a good amount of e-curb appeal, listed just minutes earlier. It was located in our most southern target zipcode. He saw it before the interior pictures were posted and had already texted our Doogie Howser real estate agent, Tim, about scheduling a showing.

Moments later, when Tim texted him back, the interior pictures were miraculously available. Tim said he could schedule a showing and meet us at the house within an hour! The interior pictures were acceptable. At 21 years-old the place needs updating. On the positive side, it has a good floor plan, spacious rooms, a great back yard, a somewhat oversized garage, and a lot of potential. 

Thus, we were the first buyers to tour the house. The subdivision is off a major artery at a traffic light, so that was good, especially since the house is on one of the back streets. The houses are very nice and well-kept. Many huge (in my opinion) ones and many with three-car garages. This was a good sign as most of the subdivisions in our target area were in the 50-year-old range and were not wearing their age well. It was shocking to see such run-down, tattered, outdated properties that fetched ridiculous (in my opinion) prices. The main thing they had going for them was being located in the most popular areas of the county.  

Anyway, long story short, we liked the property. Our agent gathered some intell from the seller's agent that helped us come up with a mildly generous offer, and it was accepted by 10:00 a.m. on Tuesday morning. I was walking the dog when Tim called with this news. It took a while to wrap my brain around this. 

I forgot to mention previously that it cuts the distance to Dan's house in half. I would have liked to have gotten a little closer, but feel fortunate we "won" this one. According to the seller's agent, there were two other offers in progress and the showing schedule was crammed full, yet the seller decided to accept our offer. 

With Dan and Carlene having the baby in February, we should be somewhat settled in and ready to care for our-grand daughter one day a week, as requested. It is going to be very difficult for me to leave our present house and certain neighbors, but that's the only way we can move on... 

  

Farewell to Trixie and the Bob-Whites of the Glen

Earlier in the week, I dropped a box of books to be shipped from our local post office to a wonderful woman who lives in Louisville, Kentucky. The books were numbers one through 37 of the Trixie Belden teenage detective series written in the late 1940's through the mid-1980's. Trixie, her two older brothers, and four friends formed a club that they named "The Bob-Whites of the Glen." They lived in the Hudson River Valley in New York and had many adventures as tomboy Trixie was always leading them down the trail of a mystery.

I can remember the day my mom brought home book #2, The Red Trailer Mystery, for me from the grocery store. In the fourth grade, I was an advanced reader. And, yes, back in that ancient era, before B. Dalton, Barnes and Noble, and Amazon there was actually an aisle of books and magazines in the larger grocery stores. 

Why book #2 and not book #1?  I don't know; supply chain shortage? I read book #2 in one day and was hungry for another one. The characters and their activities were so interesting. The Belden family lived in a cozy old house on a bucolic small farm. Trixie's bestie, Honey Wheeler, lived a short distance away on Glen Road in the Manor House mansion with stables, horses, and a staff of servants, including a governess, a maid, a chauffeur, a gamekeeper, and a groom for the horses. Neither lifestyle was like my family's: six people and a large dog squashed into a two-bedroom, one bathroom apartment on the bus line in the city.   

The Wheeler's gamekeeper patrolled their immense wooded property on horseback to make sure poachers were not hunting on their land. Wow! On our cramped city block, we called the men who patrolled the area "officers." 

The Bob-Whites were upstanding young citizens, always respectful and supportive of each other and to others. They had good parents and adult role models. They worked together to help people in need and to benefit good causes. And they were all on a path to go to college with ambitions for their future. There was no smoking or swearing. "Gleeps" was the strongest word of surprise or regret in their lexicon. 

It wasn't long before I had the 15 Trixies that were initially available. Along with being so fun to read, they were beautifully illustrated with a detailed color picture in nearly every chapter. The Bob-White's solved intriguing mysteries throughout the Hudson River Valley, in New York City, in Arizona, Iowa, Missouri, Virginia, and a fake island likely near the Hamptons. The key to being able to travel was that Honey's dad was a millionaire business man (if you haven't already guessed that) and the father of the third female friend, Diana, was also a millionaire. 

Today, "millionaire" would not be that big of a deal, but it was back then, prior to Bill Gates, Mark Zuckerberg, and Jeff Bezos. 

I had a friend at school, Mimi McGuire, who was also consumed with Trixie and the Bob-Whites. She pretended to be Trixie and I was Honey. It's embarrassing to admit this, but I actually cross-stitched BWG in red on two patches of white material, because the Bob-Whites had jackets that Honey made and cross-stitched similarly. (Sewing was one of her many talents.) Mimi and I had matching blue sweaters to which we attached our patches. Then, for fifth grade, Mimi's mom moved her to a school for gifted kids and I never saw her again. I went from being the daughter of a fictional millionaire to being a friendless geek.....

There was a gap of time between the original fifteen books and numbers 16 through 39. I was about 16 and hanging out at the mall when I spotted #16 at B, Dalton. I had to have it, and then I would stop in regularly to see if there were more. Eventually, I accumulated the next 20 and thought that #37 was the last one. It wasn't until I did some sleuthing of my own--checking Ebay thirty years later to determine if my collection had any value--that I learned there was a book #38 and #39. Of course, those are the rare ones that are worth a couple of hundred bucks!

Also, due to the internet, about twenty years ago I learned there is an on-line Trixie fan universe in which scores of Trixie aficionados, many of them fan fiction writers, communicate and share stories. There is a central site that is organized and maintained by several super-fans who also organize an annual Trixie camp for those who would like to meet and reminisce in person at a luxury hotel.

Fast-forwarding to current times, as I will soon be 65 years-old, I do not need an obsolete nearly-complete set of dog-eared teenage detective books from my childhood. My Trixies had been surviving in a corrugated cardboard box in a closet for over 30 years, with me not having the heart to get rid of them. But with each of tick of the clock, I realized that they were a second closer to being thrown in a dumpster by my husband or son, whoever would survive me. 

That's how the wonderful woman in Louisville, Kentucky, enters this story. I posted the set of 37 books on Facebook Marketplace for $50, which was to include the postage to ship them. I was hoping someone who truly appreciated Trixie would give them all a good home. After 13 weeks, the right person stepped forward and--I'd like to say--adopted my Trixies. We chatted back and forth before the transaction actually occurred. Her mom is an original Trixie fan who introduced her to Trixie and the Bob-Whites. She has even attended Trixie camp with her mom! She said she only had a few books of her own, so that's why she was interested in my collection. 

In my posting, I was truthful about the condition of the books: several broken spines, major page yellowing, scribbling on the inside cover pages, etc. In particular, I pre-apologized to her about the childish scrawls in some of the books. She responded that the scrawls would make her like them more.

Gleeps! Could I have found a better person to be a steward of my adolescence?  Makes me want to tweet the Bob-White whistle for joy. 

Bye, bye, Bob-Whites....

Wryly Wreturns

Testing one, two, three... Testing one, two, three...

One was: can I sign on after nearly a year?  Seems so.

Two was:  can I still type on a keyboard? Somewhat.

Three was:  do I have anything to say?  Hard to say, and I mean that in the most really sense.

My wrytirement has been a bit rocky. Some health hits and misses for me. I now see more doctors than I did in the 63.5 years of pre-retirement life. The big Medicare supplement decision I must make in the next two months is looming over me like a black cloud. 

My mom died a miserable, lingering death shortly before Christmas. That followed a move from assisted living to a full-care nursing home and a year of going in and out of the hospital for various ailments. The only positive about the whole ordeal was that she was fairly unaware of her condition and surroundings. Alzheimer's is a terrible, heart-breaking disease.  

Mr. W and I have been searching for the ranch home of his dreams with no luck, just lots of in-fighting. This house must have a three-car garage, a generously oversized garage, or must be arranged such that a garage addition can be built as he needs accessible space for yard equipment, a variety of machines and tools, and, most importantly, a golf simulator. He retired three months ago, purposefully hanging on until the spring when he could golf when he was not at the driving range hitting golf balls, lurking in the aisles of Lowes, or slurping soda while burning money on lottery tickets at Quik Trip. A golf simulator will keep the golf going in the cold months. 

While I'm glad and grateful when he is out of the house and on the greens, the acute attraction to a game that boils down to hitting a ball with a stick into a hole in the ground baffles me. Obviously, I'm in the minority on this as golfing is a multi-trillion dollar industry supported by Saudi Arabia...based on the ability to hit a ball with a stick into a hole in the ground. 

I get some say-so about the new house, too. It needs to be closer to the home of our son and his wife. Currently, we live about 35 minutes away, and I would like to cut that in half. They don't have children yet, but I am hopeful they will and that they will need a battered old retiree to help them out once in a while. Unfortunately, the housing stock in the geographic areas that meet this requirement is on the older side and garages didn't need to be huge in the 1970's, because SUVs and not-so-mini vans had not been invented yet. 

Also, I would like a house with a nice kitchen that has an island or peninsula that is also a breakfast bar. We have that now and I don't know how I could do without one, which I understand sounds a little dramatic when talking about a wooden box with a countertop overhang. Equally as important, I want a window above the kitchen sink that overlooks a nice yard. Mr. W is still stinging over a house I rejected because the kitchen was buried in the middle of the square footage and the cabinets, floor, and walls were brown. It would have been like working in a jail, not that I have ever done that. 

This housing market is so crazy and competitive. We have been on numerous wild goose chases, one particularly this past weekend. Maybe I will write about it the next time I log in. I gave the best years of my eyes to the office, and now they bother me if I stare at a screen for too long. 

Adios. 

Been Meaning to Wryte...

Last month, I told myself I was going to post on July 1st to wryport on the first six months of wrytirement. That it is three weeks past this "deadline" is a perfect example of what being without a rigid schedule is like for me. I'll do it later...tomorrow...next week...next month...never...

One exception, with this blazing hot weather, I have been walking Frankie around our subdivision first thing in the morning, which is approximately 8:00 a.m. for us. We do the mile of main road, inlets, and cul-de-sacs, plus add another third of a mile crossing over into an adjoining subdivision. Speaking of exercise, I also suffer through 40 minutes on my recumbent bike every day, pedaling close to eight miles without leaving the basement. This is supposedly the equivalent of nearly16,000 steps. No wonder I'm drenched in sweat when the fun 40 minutes end. 

After it sat motionless for several years, I started using the bike again in April. During the months of April and May, following a near starvation (for me) diet, I lost about ten pounds. While this sounds good--and I'm not saying it's not--the truth is that a holiday weight gain added to a few Covid pounds had me in a very tubby situation. Thus, I'm at a "normal" (for me) weight and I don't have to buy new clothes after all!

Yes, I had many home improvement and decluttering projects on my wrytirement list. While I have completed some, others seem to be ongoingly stuck in the mud. In April, Mr. W brought down a number of boxes and several large items from the garage attic, many of which had been placed there when we moved into this house 32 years ago. Did we really believe that McDonaldland, Pizza Hut, and Care Bear collectible glasses were going to be so valuable in the future that we squirreled away two dusty, automotive-filmed cartons full of them? UHG... The only thing we should have collected and saved was our money! 

Ditto regarding Avon beer steins and Hallmark ornaments. And don't get me started on Beanie Babies, although most of those (more than 100) were from my mom. It is hard to let go of things that you'd think would be "worth something," but are not. 

Pathetically, I have no new hobbies or activities to report yet, unless watching Jeopardy every day at 4:30 p.m. counts. Occasionally, I correctly answer the final Jeopardy question. Whoo-hoo! If it weren't for history, geography, classical composers, Greek mythology, astronomy, Dutch artists, WW II heroes, the U.S. Constitution, current musical artists, international organizations, and similar categories, I could possibly get a lot more correct answers throughout the show and final Jeopardy. Just sayin'

One thing I was not expecting about retirement was that time would go by so fast. For not doing anything of significance, I can't believe how fast the weeks have flown by, a lot faster than when I was working. Thus, I conclude and recommend, if you want your life to seem longer, work in an office.  

Something I was expecting was that not working would cure my insomnia, but it hasn't. Still have nights when I can't get to sleep or stay asleep. The good news is that Frankie and I are available for a 5:00 p.m. nap, right after Jeopardy... 

Office Wear in the Days of Yore (Kidding Me)

Last night, I participated in a text exchange with a group of dear friends from Our First Real Job after college. It didn't start as a conversation reminiscing about what we wore to the office back in the olden days, but that's how it ended. 

Due to the pandemic and technology, two of them are working strictly from home where the dress code is business casual from the waist up and anything goes from the waist down, beyond the eye of the digital camera. One friend remarked on how she started her career in suits with skirts, slacks, and blazers, and she will end it in sweatpants. 

Forty years ago, if you wore sweatpants to work, you were a gym teacher!

The torture--I mean "memory"--of wearing a business suit, especially a skirted one, is seared into my brain. An itchy wool or synthetic-blend exterior with a slick taffeta lining. The slightly gritty sound made by pulling up the skirt over my pantyhose-clad legs. An all-around tuck of the tails of a polyester blouse, followed by a sharp suck-in of breath to button the waistband in the back. Finally, a swish of the zipper to create pure misery and suffering, only to be amplified by squeezing my arms into a taffeta-lined blazer. Needed a lot of anti-perspirant in those days, plus a good dry cleaner to get rid of the pit stains. 

Dressed in that office armor, no wonder my hot flashes actually started in my twenties! It was Steam City, even in the winter. Also, deformities in my feet can be traced back to stuffing them into high-heeled pumps, the crippling footwear of those years of yore. I can remember arriving home and sitting on the edge of the bed, extracting my poor swollen toes from shoe prison, then my varicose-vein wrapped legs from the pinch of pantyhose. Some days that included peeling a hardened spot of White-Out which had been hastily applied to curtail an under-the-skirt stocking run.   

Did we women really have to do all that to show the men that we were to be taken seriously in the business world? I haven't even mentioned hair and makeup!  Bags, jewelry, and other accessories! It was costly and frustrating to shop for all of that stuff, and it was a daily challenge to put ourselves together and wear something different than the day before. By Friday, it was just plain exhausting to me. Casual Fridays had not been invented yet, but even if they had been, some skank would have dialed it up to make sure the rest of us had to remain in costume.  

Men got away with looking the same. It might have been a different food-stained tie a couple of times a week, but basically the same shirt, pants, jacket, and, most enviably, comfortable flat shoes. Also, a monthly haircut (for those that had hair). Don't get me started on the inequities then or now. 

If my last job would have been work-at-home in sweatpants, I believe I would have stuck with it for a while longer. Although I did not have that option, I'm happy for all the women who are getting a break from the tyranny of what-to-wear, head to toe, to the office. Enjoy those sweatpants and flip-flops! 

And I'm sorry you have to see men who are working from home in their stained polo shirts.... Not mentioning any names.

Photographs and Memwrylies

I have spent the last few weeks scouring through scores of boxes stored across several bedroom closets and in our "cellar," as Dan calls it. In less than a week, he and Carlene will have a cellar of their own as the closing date on their home approaches.

My advice to them is not to keep things in boxes in their cellar. If these items are not useful enough to be unpacked and given an accessible place in your home, you don't need them! The only exception would be seasonal decor, photographs, and precious keepsakes, whatever those might be.

Mr. W and I will be assisting in their move, as will Carlene's parents. Dan is in for a surprise because I have a small pile of boxes that contain stuff that he left behind. Now that he will own a home with an ample cellar, these boxes are "on the truck" to be moved to his place. While I got rid of all of his trophies and awards (with his permission) last year, I did not send his school yearbooks to a landfill grave. Also, I saved a selection of his sports jerseys--in different sizes and from a variety of teams--that he may want to share with his offspring, if mentioning this does not jinx his chance to have offspring. Stick a needle in my eye.

Also, he has some collectible metal trucks and cars that were gifted to him that may someday be worth something. Of course, he was not allowed to play with them, so they are in perfect condition for him to show to his offspring and not allow them to play with them. Cross my heart and hope to die.

In addition to sorting through Dan's remaining stuff, I have made great strides in sorting through my stuff. Just today I took four boxes of paperback books and one box of home decor to my favorite charity thrift store. I've been averaging four to five boxes/bags of donations each week for the past month, mostly clothing and accessories. 

The most difficult category of stuff to make decisions about is photography. For example, I inherited my parents' wedding album when my mom moved into the memory care facility. A professional photographer took beautiful black and white photos of that special day and they are arranged in a large cream-colored album. It's lovely to turn the gold-cornered pages; my parents looked like movie stars from that era. I recognize the faces of my deceased grandparents and many great aunts and uncles, also those of aunts, uncles, and second cousins still alive. 

OK, so what's next for this history book? My brothers don't want it or it would not have been placed in my pile to take away from our mom's move. Dan won't want it. I have no doubt that he will similarly not want the expensive gold-cornered album from Mr. W and my wedding. In addition to that, the abbreviated version of our wedding is commemorated in a parents' album that naturally became my possession when my mom moved. So there is another album that Dan won't want. 

I also have photos from both sets of my grandparents' weddings, which would have occurred in the mid-1930's. The main photo of my mom's parents is 11" x 14" and it is a black and white photo to which color was added by hand. It is amazing, but what about its fate? My heart is heavy to realize that it will decay in a landfill with coffee grounds, diapers, moldy cottage cheese, and worse, sooner or later. It's just a matter of who sends it on its way.    

Perhaps I should write "in case of fire, throw in" on the covers of the albums and on the boxes that contain loose photos of days gone by. Maybe I should burn them myself, which I am considering. Seems like cremation is a more dignified option. 

From more current times, I have a collection of albums that I painstakingly put together of Dan's life from ultrasound womb photo to college graduation photo. I am likely deluding myself that his offspring will enjoy curling up with me someday and seeing the adventures of their father when he was their ages.

Stick another needle in my eye.

Groundhog Day is a Wryly Good Holiday

Happy Groundhog Day! My favorite holiday as it involves no extra work from women to celebrate it.  

There was an adorable groundhog family that lived in the side of a hill on the common ground of our subdivision during the summer. On our walks, Franker and I would frequently see the dad foraging around. Sometimes Mrs. Groundhog would appear at the entrance of the den, seemingly nudging Mr. G out, out, OUT.

I got it Mrs. G! Taking care of two babies, she didn't need the big lug underclaw as well. There were a few times that we saw all four of them enjoying a picnic on the hillside. Franker would go psycho, such was his strong instinct to chase and scatter the happy family. 

We have not seen them for quite a while because they are hibernating. They spend summer and fall stuffing themselves and napping in the sun, gaining fat to survive the cold months during which they snooze off the excess weight. Man, groundhogs are lucky!!! I can't imagine the joy of sleeping soundly through the winter months then waking up in March in shape to wear a swimsuit.

Wrytirement is going well, I think. No, I have not accomplished anything particularly impressive, but I've done some small projects here and there. Bags and boxes of unneeded stuff have been donated or disposed of; it will all add up to eventual success in the war against clutter.  

I admit that I do a lot of loafing, something for which I seem to have a knack. Not having to be on a schedule is wonderful! I do not miss the office AT ALL. My wryplacement has contacted me a couple of times with questions (for which I agreed to be accessible) and my former boss has contacted me about meeting for lunch in the future. Sure, sure, let me check my calendar....

Last week we received the news that an offer Dan and Carlene made on a house was accepted. They have been scouring the real estate listings, visiting open houses, and touring homes for sale with their agent for several months, trying to run ahead of the rising interest rates boulder. Their original target area was the zip code in which they currently live and several adjacent zip codes, a chunk of the metropolitan area that is highly desirable due to central location, a relatively urban-ish lifestyle, and historical affluence. It is crowded with original small neighborhood homes in their elder years and recent McMansions built after mercilessly tearing down elder homes. 

As they were each raised in the suburbs, the urban-ish experience has been different and attractive to our young couple. They enjoy walking to a nearby park and to restaurants and other attractions near the home they are renting. Dan somewhat snootily told Mr. W and me that they didn't want to live in a county subdivision such as the ones where they lived for their childhoods. They were seeking a location with more diversity and culture. They understood that for what they could afford, it would not be a spacious home, but that was fine because they are not into having a lot of "stuff" like we are.

The more they shopped these zip codes, the more they realized how nearly impossible it was to find a three-bedroom, two-bathroom home in decent shape, with a two-car garage (or a garage at all), priced under $400k. The asking price had to start somewhat below that amount to cast a wide net for passionate competition to incite multiple offers and push the final bid to at least $450k. 

Hey, nobody ever said a central location with diversity, culture, and limited square footage for their self-proclaimed minimalistic lifestyle was going to be reasonably priced.

Thus, they expanded their acceptable region and--you guessed it--they will be the owners of a four-bedroom, three-bathroom ranch, with a two-car garage, near the subdivision pool, in the county. Carlene was happy to learn that the pool has a swim team, as she grew up swimming on a local swim team in her parents' subdivision. Dan's first job was lifeguarding at our subdivision pool; he could walk to work. How convenient was that?

Welcome back to your childhood you two! The boring old suburbs, where the groundhog families live and multiply, will be happy to see you!