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.
