Archive for the ‘Life’ Category

The Thinker

Affording retirement and running the numbers

I’m a bit anal about money. It probably comes from being a child of someone who lived through the Great Depression. So our retiring last year was a leap of faith. Of course being anal about money, I spent some time with our financial adviser basically to hear him tell me we could actually afford to retire. I retired, but didn’t quite believe it could last, particularly when we started spending thousands of dollars fixing up our house to sell it. The money going out far exceeded our retirement income.

April 29 is our settlement date, but will be important for another reason. On that day for the first time since at least 1981 I will be debt free. That’s because with settlement I won’t own a house anymore and thus won’t have to sweat the mortgage payment. Never mind I never technically owned it. I never got the mortgage balance to zero, although the balance is now under $20,000. With settlement the loan balance will be paid off. We expect a check for about $440,000, which will probably sit in a high yield checking account for a few months. Then it will go to purchase the next house.

We have no car loans and our home equity loan will be paid off at settlement. So we’ll be living totally debt free, assuming we don’t take out a mortgage on the next house. That’s our goal although we will probably draw from other savings to pay cash for our house to avoid a mortgage. Over the years we refinanced our current house twice, so our mortgage payment has lately been under $1200, and that includes escrow for property taxes. $1200 a month is very cheap housing in Northern Virginia, particularly since the next owner of our house is paying $505,000. Even with 20% down he will likely have a monthly mortgage payment in excess of $2500. Mortgage payments will hopefully soon becoming a distant memory for us.

No mortgage payment frees up a lot of cash, which is a good thing for many reasons. One reason is because when you are retired, you live on less money than you used to. To enjoy the same standard of living, you pretty much have to pay off your mortgage. Until recently I wasn’t confident that we could actually do it, and it has made me nervous. Now it’s becoming clear that we can actually retire without sacrificing our standard of living. More money will still go out for a while. Simply moving our stuff will cost us close to $5000. There will be settlement fees with the new house, perhaps a couple of thousand dollars. And there will be one time costs with moving into a new house, which mostly involves window treatments. Toward autumn though these should be in our past as well. With time I hope we can recoup these major one-time expenses.

I do know that when we move to Massachusetts we’ll be spending far less to live. Moving to “Taxachusetts” is supposed to be just the opposite, so much so that Massachusetts is frequently cited as one of the most expensive states to live. In our particular case, most of our income is my pension. Massachusetts won’t tax this income. Running the numbers today I quantified the savings: about $380 a month. These savings essentially continue until we are dead. Assuming we live 30 more years and never move out of Massachusetts, that’s $136,800 we can spend on something else.

With a new house under construction, we’ll be renting for three to four months. We’ll be paying $975 a month to rent a two bedroom, one bath apartment in Easthampton. Rent is not the same thing as a mortgage and since we are renting month to month we have no legal commitment beyond the end of the month. The landlord takes our rent and pays for the apartment’s upkeep as well as its property taxes. As a percentage of our monthly income, $975 will be hardly anything and much less than we pay to live in our current house, when you add in the other expenses like lawn care and water.

Of course it’s not quite that simple. We will eventually move into our house paid for with cash, but houses have expenses too. Our property taxes will be more, $15.80 per thousand dollars of assessed valuation, last time I checked Northampton’s property tax rate. We’ll pay more in property taxes in Massachusetts than we do in Virginia, about $1300 a year more. Property taxes alone should cost us around $620 a month, which is as much as a mortgage payment in many places. Since we’ll be in a condominium, we’ll pay about $350 a month to the condo association, compared to $62 a month we pay now to our homeowners’ association. However, the condo fee includes exterior maintenance, so I won’t have to worry about having the money to replace the siding or the roof. Electricity and water are likely to be more expensive as well, although many houses install solar panels and often get credits from the power company for putting electricity into the grid.

So there’s no way yet to fully quantify our net savings by relocating, retiring and selling our house, but it is likely to be substantial. I don’t expect that we’ll have more money to spend as retirees than when I was working and making more money. That will become clear in time. With a relatively fixed income it will become important to track expenses against a budget and regularly adjust our lifestyles accordingly. Not all costs can be anticipated. But it looks like on April 30 we will not only be debt free but retired both in body and spirit.

 
The Thinker

Ducks in a row

Houses are not really sold until closing. That’s something I am beginning to understand in my gut after our house was “sold”, i.e. put “under contract”. A real estate contract is actually a highly conditional contract that gives the buyer plenty of reasons to later opt out. These typically include a satisfactory home inspection, a termite inspection and a radon test. No house is perfect, of course, and home inspectors are paid to find stuff.

The home inspector for our house sure found stuff, stuff we would have never noticed in a million years and stuff that really didn’t matter. A handrail we added for support on the stairs to the basement had pickets too widely spaced in this inspector’s opinion. A really stupid child might fall through somehow and hurt themselves. So Elias, our handyman, is busy adding these redundant railings to preclude any such thing, although we are pretty sure the buyer is a single guy. He also noticed a vent missing from a room in the basement and wrote that one up too. And lots of other stuff. But we could get rid of the contingency just by reducing our sales price $7000, the maximum price to fix these “defects”, which included a pool of water from snowmelt in our backyard too he felt should require us to regrade the lawn. Apparently, someone had not informed that the buyer the house was 30 years old, not brand new. I guess if you are a home buyer, you have every incentive to shoot for the moon.

We fought back of course and figuring we had the better bargaining position (given that we had two full price contracts to choose from) told him we wouldn’t fix the swale or tear up the stucco ceiling to add a vent that really wasn’t needed. And we crossed our fingers he wouldn’t walk away. He didn’t. The rest of it we can fix up for another $1000. So that contract contingency is satisfied, as is the radon test. The termite inspection will come in time but that has never been problem. Which leaves the appraisal. The appraiser may tell the buyer that he paid too much for our house, so he should pull out of the contract, or negotiate a lower price. I doubt that will happen.

This is the downside of owning a house. The mortgage interest deduction is nice, but a house is a second child that never stops going to college. It means you don’t have to sleep on the street, providing you can keep up the payments for thirty years. To translate its value into hard cash you have to jump through these flaming hoops, the next one more daunting than the last. But increasingly it looks like we will get through them all with only minor burns, but not without ingesting a lot of antacid.

So now we are here back in Western Massachusetts looking at a hole in the ground. It’s not any hole in the ground, it’s our hole in the ground, what will be our next house, a condominium in a 55+ community which is actually a single family house. As holes go it looks pretty good and that’s because the foundation is laid. Moreover, despite the freezing temperatures and most of the snow unmelted the land is reasonably graded. What’s missing is all the rest that makes a house a home, like a frame and a roof, but that will come in time. We have to be ready for that time, which is why we are here not only pondering our frozen concrete filled hole in the ground, but shuttling around Western Massachusetts talking to vendors about stuff like floors, lighting, cabinets and appliances. Gas or electric appliances? Which of the hundreds of chandeliers we looked at today will hang from our foyer? Hallway lights in the ceiling or on the walls? The builders need to know these details, not immediately, but they must be planned for, and now is the time to figure out these details.

Then there is the minor matter of living somewhere until the house is ready. There are plenty of places to rent out here after our house is sold near the end of April. Unfortunately, almost all of them require a yearly lease, so we have to spend time calling around and scouring Craigslist for sublets and month-to-month rentals. It’s a hit and miss process, but we found a renovated apartment building in Easthampton that will work, only because it is nearing completion. The investor-landlord need tenants in an otherwise empty building. New carpet and appliances make it appealing, but the neighborhood is a bit sketchy. An auto repair shop is across the street and down the street are many old Victorian houses, some somewhat dilapidated. It will do for the four months or so we need temporary lodging. The good part about paying rent is you don’t pay a mortgage, or property taxes, or for the general property upkeep. Owning a house in many ways is a foolish thing to do. The owner is willing to cut us a deal just to start to get the building occupied.

It’s unclear where all our possessions will sit in the interim. There are the usual storage facilities out here and we visited a few to discover they can’t take our stuff, at least not yet. Check with them a week or two before we move up, they tell us. We’ll have to find something. For now we take it on faith that it will somehow work out.

When not occupied with these logistical maneuvers, I ponder this major life change we are about to make. I know I will miss many things about Northern Virginia, where I spent the last 31 years. I will leave behind a daughter, the bulk of my friends, a whole network of doctors and  various other professionals, and many pleasant memories. There’s really no going back. It’s a big gamble that life will somehow be better up here in Massachusetts, and it’s harder to believe two days from spring when the temperature here is below freezing, the winds are gale force from the northwest, piles of snow are everywhere and killer potholes pocket virtually all the streets. If it had been just me, I’d probably not have chosen to live here, but of course it’s not just me. It’s also my wife, who hates Northern Virginia and needs a colder climate. It’s what we could agree on. I know that it will take a long time to feel this place is my home, and not just another way station in life.

Selling our house though will be a gigantic relief. It’s been a money pit and a constant hassle. I’ll be glad to finally cash in on that asset, which may mean no mortgage at all for the new house. A new house will buy us, at least for a time, a respite from worrying about infrastructure. Then perhaps retirement can genuinely begin.

All it requires is getting all our ducks in a row. After much work they are at least all moving in the same direction. That’s progress.

 

 
The Thinker

Sold to the man with $505,000

Now here’s something I won’t miss I thought as we sat in capital beltway traffic during the middle of the day. How many weeks or months of my life had I squandered sitting in Washington traffic? There was no possible way to tally it, but at least it was coming to an end soon. While we were escaping to Baltimore, there was no escape from Washington’s predictably unpredictable traffic, at least not while we still lived here.

Or maybe there was. Ahead was the spur to I-270 north. A relatively new Intercounty Connector now connects Montgomery and Prince Georges counties in Maryland. For $3.20 we could avoid yet another tedious beltway tie up. It was hardly the shortest route to Baltimore but unsurprisingly it was the fastest today.

We were escaping to Baltimore because escaping was what our realtor recommended during open house weekend. Baltimore served the purpose of keeping us close but distracted while allowing our newly listed house to be easily inspected freely by prospective buyers. The big event was Sunday’s open house from 1-4. The calls from realtors had already started. Bright Photoshopped images of our house were now online, emphasizing light filled rooms, wood floors and empty kitchen countertops. Based on the calls we were getting, all the hassle of transforming our home into a house was clearing working. Come by anytime, we would tell the always-polite realtor on the other end of the call. The calls came while we drove down Eastern Avenue in Baltimore, in search of landmarks recommended by my sister who lives nearby. And they came in while we ate an early dinner at Matthew’s Pizza, Baltimore’s renowned hole in the wall pizza institution, also on Eastern Avenue.

The idea of escaping during open house weekend would only be partially realized. There was no escape Friday from the below freezing temperatures, endless snow banks and the partially snow filled parking spaces of Baltimore. There was no escape from the usury parking rates near the Hyatt Regency hotel at Inner Harbor, where we had a room for two nights. At least there wasn’t until we opted for the Arena parking garage six blocks away where the socialist City of Baltimore’s daily parking rate was just $16.00.

Inner Harbor was bone chillingly cold and mostly empty on this Friday night. We had made sporadic forays to Baltimore over the last thirty years, mostly to its touristy Inner Harbor area. In 1984 my then girlfriend Terri had surprised me with two nights in this very same hotel, a perk of being the one who made travel arrangements at her office (and being known by name by the Hyatt reservations staff). It is still an impressive hotel, but Inner Harbor was not quite as impressive thirty years later. The shops were less upscale and there were some vacancies. Thirty years ago Mayor (and future governor) Donald Shaffer might have been seen here strolling among the stores. Inner Harbor was his idea and it was very successful. While Shaffer is dead, his statue is still here overseeing Inner Harbor.

Saturday found warmth slowly returning and snow melting. The free Charm City Circulator made it relatively painless to get from point to point downtown. It helped if you liked to walk. Federal Hill was snow covered, but the walks to Fort McHenry were at least shoveled. The place known for the rockets’ red glare during the War of 1812 was unvisited by my wife, but even on this frosty morning the view of the harbor was still spectacular. The most spectacular find of the day turned out to be the Walters Museum accessed via a slow moving Circulator bus. William Thompson Walters was clearly filthy rich (he was a railroad tycoon). He and his son created a staggering collection of mostly European art, almost all of it in excellent condition that highlights medieval periods and the Renaissance. It’s all available for free but is largely unknown, perhaps because it is hard to get to.

Part of our mind was stuck back home. We wondered how many realtors had come through our house with clients in tow. The phone calls had slowed down, but some realtors might have not tried our cell number and simply brought their clients by. We had seen that happen routinely the last time we had a home on the market.

Sunday morning my sister Mary, who lives in nearby Columbia, volunteered to give us a driving tour of Baltimore. Mary might as well have been born in Baltimore. She adopted the city and likes to dress up like a Baltimore “Hon” with a beehive hairdo during Honfest week. She gave us a tour of areas of Baltimore we had never seen. Baltimore has an undeserved reputation. It’s actually an amazingly diverse but very urban city, known for its endless brownstones and many ethnic areas, most of which are quite safe and festooned mostly locally owned businesses. Urban prospectors would be smart to check it out. We checked out the Broadway Diner on the far side of Eastern Avenue for breakfast before starting our driving tour. We also checked out my father and stepmother on our drive back home, and stayed for dinner with them as well.

We returned home near sunset, our house emptied of people but with the back doors unlocked and a stack of real estate business cards on our dining room table. We spoke by phone with our realtor. The open house was a huge success. So many cars were parked along the side of the street that our neighbors had a hard time getting down the street. One prospect had driven up over our curb into our driveway, leaving tire tracks on our sod. Our house was still clean, but the driveway was full of muddy boot prints and tire tracks.

Our realtor was proactive enough to hire an assistant. They had prospects leave their boots and shoes on our porch. Debbie (our realtor) handled the front of the house while her assistant handled the back of the house. Rooms were frantically inspected and closets peered into while various couples tried to imagine if they could live here and afford our $505,000 asking price.

Debbie said we had an offer and to come by her office Monday afternoon. When we arrived on a spring-like Monday afternoon, she had two offers for us to consider. Both were at our full asking price. Both buyers were highly qualified, putting 20% down in cash and financing the rest. Both were happy to pay our asking price. And both were single men. The offers were essentially the same. We chose the Indian guy mainly because his settlement date worked better for us. (We imagined he had a bride to be back from India, and that our house would eventually be full of children.) We drove home with an Under Contract sign to place atop our For Sale sign. Our house had been on the market exactly three days.

This outcome was surprising but should not have been. It’s not for the same reason that we sat in beltway traffic three days earlier. Despite the hassle of living in the Washington region, people still have a frantic need to live here, and are willing to pay the price. It is a seller’s market in our area right now. Moreover, we were the only house for sale in our desirable neighborhood, and our house is in excellent condition. We hit the jackpot, but it was by design, not by chance. It meant about $10,000 more in fix up expenses in the last six months, and a huge amount of labor. It meant cringing while a stager turned our home into something we did not recognize. And it meant a weekend in Baltimore playing tourist while buyers assessed our house and pondered offers on our hot property.

It was a triumphant and to me stunning conclusion to our house selling odyssey. We now have to figure out where to live while our house is built, and we already have an unexpected offer from my sister Mary to live with her rent free in Maryland.

The Walls of Jericho have fallen down. A new adventure in Massachusetts waits for us.

 
The Thinker

Some taxing mistakes

The tax code giveth and the tax code taketh. In 2014, the tax code tooketh, to the tune of about $3000 in checks I did not expect to write to the U.S. Treasury and Virginia Department of Taxation. Ouch! No one likes paying taxes and I don’t like paying mine anymore than anyone else, but I particularly didn’t like it this year when instead of getting refunds I was writing four figure checks. Because of my success in previous years I sort of assumed that it wouldn’t be a problem in 2014 either. So I kept things on autopilot. I didn’t change withholdings or exemptions. I figured it would sort itself out.

But it didn’t. And the answers of why I suddenly paid so much more in taxes when the tax rates haven’t changed were lessons for me and maybe for you too if you read this. What were the causes?

  • We lost an exemption when our daughter moved out. She was employed all year but lived with us until October. She paid for her automobile expenses but otherwise lived off house fare and got free rent. I assumed because we paid most of her expenses we could still claim her as an exemption. An exemption is worth almost $4000 off your taxable income. If you are in the 25% tax bracket like we are, that’s about $1000 in taxes. How much of her expenses we paid does not matter to the IRS. What matters is how much money she made and since she made more than $3,500 we could not claim her as a dependent. So in our benevolence to help her acquire the savings she needed to live independently, we were also taxed for the privilege. Ouch!
  • We started earning interest again. We put a lot of our cash into Ally Bank, an online bank, which pays about 1% interest. 1% interest is not much, but it beats the .01% we were getting through the credit union and USAA Savings Bank. It’s nice to earn interest, but it’s income so you have to report it. $219 in additional interest effectively cost us $53.50 in extra taxes.
  • When I retired I was paid for six weeks of accrued annual leave, a significant lump sum of money for which I was disproportionately taxed. There is wisdom in retiring on the first of the year. That way your lump sum applies to the next tax year when your income will be less. I didn’t do that and retired August 1. Despite our retirement for five months of 2014, our earned income was just $16,500 less than in 2013. This was largely due to the lump sum paid on my retirement.
  • My business income went up but I didn’t want to pay quarterly taxes on the income because of the paperwork hassle. It worked out in the past by making my four-digit tax refund three digits. This time it worked against me.
  • I could not claim my health saving account deduction. Last year I got the full $2500 credit. Since I wasn’t employed all year in 2014, I actually only put about $1700 into the HSA, but there is no requirement for money to accrue for it to be paid out. $2500 was paid out. The end result was that I could not claim the credit at all, so that effectively cost me $625 in taxes.
  • I hassled my wife to put money into her employer’s 401K while I kept putting money into her IRA. Because her 401K money was tax deferred, her IRA money was not. It’s good to save money but because it was not tax deferred it effectively cost us $812 in extra taxes. Hey, it seemed like a good idea at the time! On the plus side some day I will be able to take out the money we put in for 2014 and not pay tax on it.
  • Because I made more money consulting, I had to pay more self-employment taxes. Cost for the extra income: $128 in taxes.
  • Our cars depreciated, so we paid fewer personal property taxes, which added $33 in taxes.
  • Our mortgage is almost paid off, which means there is less of a mortgage interest deduction. That effectively meant $150 more in taxes.
  • We gave less to charity. This is mainly because my wife stopped going to her temple and feeding them regular checks. I didn’t think to make up the deduction with other charitable spending. This effectively cost us $566 in taxes.

The above was slightly offset by some good things: lower earned income, more consulting income and of course the pleasure of being retired. But I have learned that tax-planning vigilance is needed. Moreover, I learned that major life transitions can cost you a lot in taxes if you don’t anticipate them. When we lost an exemption, it was not entirely bad. We won’t be paying for our daughter’s expenses in the future.

2015 will not be any easier for us tax-wise, as we will be relocating and buying and selling homes. But it was clear that I was not withholding enough money for income taxes. I tried a number of online calculators but even the IRS’s calculator is really deficient. It turned out to be easier to estimate income, deductions and credits in a spreadsheet based on the fields in a 1040, calculate my estimated 2015 tax from it and then figure how much I needed to increase my withholding so not to end up in this situation again. It’s about $500 more a month.

I hope in 2016 I find I am not similarly surprised.

 
The Thinker

There’s no place like house

Our six-month home improvement adventure is finally nearing a close. Our punch list: it’s nearly punched out. There are no large and annoying tasks to put our house on the market remaining. Some of those that do remain simply cannot be done right now. Most likely though the five inches of snow on the ground will melt and temperatures will stay reliably above freezing before our house lists in two weeks. When it does then I will pound those stakes into the ground to make the edging along our garden look right again. And we will pull the wild onion shoots from the garden as well. Right now though these imperfections are covered, quite literally! Two weeks from tomorrow, our house will get listed and a new set of hassles will start.

Inside our house though we are getting down to things that probably don’t matter. My touch up painting in the laundry room is pretty obvious. I’d like to repaint the walls, but not sure I want to buy yet another gallon of paint to make it look seamless. I am thoroughly sick of painting. I am sick of painting and all the crap that goes with it: caulking, patching, priming, masking, sanding, positioning drop clothes, taking knobs out of doors, and switch plates off the walls and putting them back in again. I am sick of cleaning up afterward and trying to get my paintbrushes clean yet again. It is more than painting, of course. To name just a few, I am also sick of constantly vacuuming, dusting, cleaning, trashing and rushing to and from the local Lowes.

There is still stuff that needs to be moved around or put away to make our stager happy, but for the most part that work is done. We are also loath to remove some stuff until the last possible moment, such as most of the items on our kitchen counter. If you encounter a kitchen counter minus most appliances, it’s a good sign that the house is about to go on the market. The assumed buyer wants to imagine her stuff on those counters, which is not your ugly toaster or your very used electric can opener. So we must make it look like no one actually uses our kitchen instead.

All this is really for the photographer. Twenty-one years ago when we bought this house, there was no World Wide Web. If you were lucky you had a brochure of the house to look at first that you got at your broker’s office. Instead, you generally depended on cryptic house descriptions that realtors gave you. They came from printouts off dot-matrix printers in the realty office. You plotted the actual locations of these houses using a local atlas so you could get some idea if the house was in a neighborhood that would work for you. Now your house is mostly sold online, thanks to your stager who makes each room unrecognizable to you but mostly thanks to the photographer, who has a unique assortment of extremely wide angle lenses that can make a bungalow look like a mansion. It will all be brightly lit, using Photoshop if necessary. The fancier photographers might use panoramic cameras with high-resolution detail so strangers can get 360-degree sweeps of your bedroom. That’s when you’ll be glad the stager noticed the bottle of lube on the bedstead and had you put it away in that special drawer with your many whips, frottages, restraints and adult DVDs.

Our house has been ruthlessly decluttered. We’ve given away literally thousands of dollars of stuff, mostly to Goodwill, mainly because we don’t want to invest the energy to sell it. Freecycle has been another godsend. It’s amazing what people will take when you advertise it for free. My wife posted on Freecycle four bottles of a sports drink she’ll never finish. Some slinky Asian American woman stopped by a few hours later in her gym clothes to pick them up; I guess she needed some electrolytes for her workout. My wife can give away practically anything, no matter how trashy I think it is, with a creative posting on Freecycle. A lot of stuff gets claimed in minutes. An occasional item will languish, but a reposting will usually get rid of it. Some stuff though is not even fit to give away. One (an outdoor table) literally fell apart as I helped to put it in a guy’s truck. He was nice enough about it and helped me haul it to the curb.

It took us twenty-one years but finally our house is clean and fit for human habitation. It’s just too bad that actual human beings don’t live in houses like ours. That’s because you have to be retired for six months with little else to do but fetishly turn the real into the surreal using lots of disposable cash to reach this level of crazy perfection. Real people fill their house with stuff (most of it junk, actually). Real people don’t vacuum daily, and they leave dishes in the sink, sometimes for days at a time. Real people (and we are guilty here) leave baskets of clean laundry lying around until some amorphous day in the future when we decide to fold them, by which time half of it has been picked out, worn and is back in the dirty clothes basket. Real people don’t scrub their sinks after each use, so it will look shiny and unused if some potential buyer comes by. I leave out rich people because they aren’t real IMHO. If you want to get some sense of what it takes to live 24/7 in a clean and well-ordered house, watch the staff in Downton Abbey. No one else has the time, except when buyers are house hunting. Then they expect to see a surreal HGTV-like house; a house that will never again appear once the first moving box is plopped down on the living room floor.

What the next owner of our house won’t notice or give any thought to is how much time, money, fretting and brute labor went into our house while we owned it. Developments like ours were sprouting like weeds in the mid 1980s, and construction standards were somewhat sloppy. Our house had many defects, stuff you wonder how any county home inspector could approve. Among the ones we encountered were drywall ceilings on our porch and the deck literally nailed into our sliding. We fixed these and many other defects, not to mention did a lot of remodeling, painting and repainting, replacing appliances, and fussing about dandelions and drainage in the backyard. We spent huge amounts of money, well over $100,000 according to my records, just to keep our house functional.

For the new buyer it all that comes free. Once they own it and entropy reasserts itself they will discover the real cost of home ownership. It’s something that we will escape, at least for a time, when we move into our newly constructed house in Massachusetts this summer. Moreover, the condo association will have to fix problems with the exterior of our house.

Still, despite the hassle and expense of being homeowers, with a mortgage that is still not completely paid off, I’m going to miss this home of ours, which BTW is now mostly just a house. I know that even after the messiness of this gargantuan change in our lives that I will often feel nostalgic for this place I still call home.

 
The Thinker

Deathwatch

My mother passed away ten years ago this November. Her decline and death and the vivid memories it brought back (many of which are cataloged here in my archives) were on my mind yesterday as our car, facing stiff headwinds scurried west on I-70. For we were on our way to say goodbye to another loved one. As we exited onto I-68 toward Cumberland, Maryland the wind tried to push us off the road while we also gained altitude. By the time we exited on U.S. 40 toward Uniontown, Pennsylvania there was snow on the ground in spite of the bright sunshine, while the temperature kept steadily dropping. When we pulled off the road toward Aunt Pat and Uncle Paul’s house on the Youghiogheny Reservoir the winds were still brisk and the early afternoon temperature registered a frigid 10 degrees Fahrenheit. With my warmest coat and hat on, it still felt cold outside in the sun. The dry snow crunched below our feet as we ascended stairs to knock on their door.

Cousin Beverly had phoned us a few days earlier to let us know that her mother had a stroke late last year. It paralyzed the left half of her body and left her largely unable to move or say anything clearly. Since then it had been all downhill, which meant of course a hospitalization, a nursing home, and now hospice care in the lower level of their home. We steeled ourselves. She may be on a deathwatch, but the house was warm and Aunt Pat had plenty of company. There was Chris, a good-hearted friend of Bev who had moved up for the duration. There was a nurse’s aid and later a LPN. There was Uncle Paul, Pat’s husband, who is in the early stages of Alzheimer’s disease, but was reasonably alert and chatty, and who greeted us warmly. There was a small friendly dog, as well as another friend of the family who seemed to be there for the duration, driven up from North Carolina by Chris. Those Adventists know how to stick together.

Except for all the attention to Aunt Pat at first our visit seemed sort of normal. She was in a reclining wheelchair, placed into it by Chris, her mouth now perpetually wide open, with just slits to show her eyes. Her body was a mess of bedsores and infections. A catheter drained her bladder. A tube going through her abdomen into her stomach provided nutrition of a sort. The LPN applied dressing to her wounds. When Pat chose to talk it came out as a moan but her meaning was clear: she was in pain. Her vision had been declining for years due to macular degeneration. She could no longer make out faces, but only see light and colors. She could hear what was around her, at least when she was awake, but had virtually no other ways to be understood. The stroke had largely taken away her speech. The guttural sounds that occasionally came out were hard to interpret.

She was ready to die, that much we knew through our phone conversation with Beverly. From seeing her up close and hearing her moans, death seemed to be something to hasten, not postpone. Her face was pallid. The stroke had stolen with it any sign of animation. Pat had always been a forceful woman, kindly but stubborn, and a woman of deep faith and conviction. Part of her faith required her family to do all they could to keep her alive. It was clear to me that these extraordinary efforts while well intentioned had the effect of being cruel. My own mother eventually died from a bladder infection due to having a catheter in her 24/7, but like Pat she also had congestive heart failure. Pat’s heart was having a hard time meeting her body’s needs. She was retaining water (not a good sign) and her oxygen levels were dropping too. And she was often moaning. This brought calls to a registered nurse and the injection of a rescue drug to alleviate her pain. It also brought a major decision. She was gently lifted from the wheelchair and into her bed. There she will stay until she passes.

In the living room with Uncle Paul, he seemed inured to his wife’s suffering. It might have been the Alzheimer’s, it might have been that her condition was very old news, so he was eloquent with us instead, anxious to hear how we were doing although it had been more than seven years since we last visited. A little dog bounded from lap to lap happily. Paul shared pictures of their life together while other adults fussed over Pat’s condition. Like his wife, Paul is a passionate Adventist. He can’t drive anymore, which means he can’t drive an hour each way to Cumberland on the Sabbath to attend church. There is, he happily reported, an Adventist channel on the satellite TV. Ministers come by regularly to provide pastoral care to both Pat and Paul. While the moans from his wife waffled from her bedroom, he informed us that in all the universe Satan lived only here on Earth, and we must resist Satan and follow Christ. (I didn’t ask why God put us here and if that made God a sadist, but I wanted to.) He had tried to convert us the last time we were here. We nodded dutifully but did not agree with his thesis. This was no time to disagree about theology, but Paul is too kindly a man to disagree with in any event.

Meanwhile Pat drifted in and out of consciousness. It was not clear much of the time if she was conscious, but when she moaned we at least knew that she was hurting. We weren’t sure what if anything she could say to us, but when she seemed reasonably alert and we listened closely, it sounds like “hurt”. No doubt. I touched her gently not wishing to start yet another bedsore. Her skin was paper thin and easily injured. “Aunt Pat,” I said, “they gave you a medicine for the pain. It should stop soon.”

My wife talked to her and tried to listen but it was mostly a one sided conversation. She told her how grateful she was to her. It was Pat that had took her in when she had to leave college. There were opportunities in Washington D.C. that did not exist in Flint, Michigan. Pat had hosted her and Pat had also pushed her out. She had the courage her mother seemed to lack to tell her it was time to stand on her own two feet. After leaving their house, my wife lived in a fleabag apartment, then in a high rise with a roommate and not much after that she ran into me. It was Aunt Pat that indirectly brought her into my life. As I held Pat gently I told her how sad I was to see her suffer, but how profoundly grateful I was that by choosing kindness for my wife, I found the woman I love.

I watched while the nurse’s aide frequently hydrated her lips and mouth. Tubes were periodically sent down her sinuses to remove mucus. All sorts of things were being done to keep her alive, but her systems were failing. The nurse told Paul that much. Her body was shutting down. Medicines would not work much longer.

My wife promised Pat that she would come back but I don’t see how it is possible. I can’t imagine that Pat will live much longer and we are three hours away by car. I never had the emotional attachment to Pat that I had to my mother, but I certainly grew to respect both her and Paul. When my time comes I simply don’t want these sorts of extraordinary procedures to keep me alive. She was suffering pointlessly and needlessly. It would be more humane to simply do the best to manage her pain but otherwise let her die a gentle death. For now she was living the script that her faith taught her: to keep her body alive as long as possible, even though there seemed literally nothing to live for except more discomfort and pain.

My wife was crying of course when we left and began another three-hour journey home. I felt it best to drive while she sat in her seat mostly quietly, a sad and vacant look in her eyes. I don’t expect Aunt Pat to last more than a few more days. I am certainly grateful to have known her. I wish her (if it is possible to state this without sounding callous) a swift but gentle death. May it come soon.

 
The Thinker

Panicking because of “Juno”

That’s what the marketers at The Weather Channel are calling the snowstorm now hitting the northeast coast: Winter Storm Juno. They do this I think because they can, even though the National Weather Service won’t deign to name these winter storms. Juno, or whatever you call it, has our attention as we are in a hotel in Western Massachusetts and are not particularly prepared for a blizzard.

What I was prepared for was 5-6 inches of snow to fall here on Tuesday, because that was the forecast when we left. By the time we had arrived last night the anticipated storm had turned into another Snowmageddon, with New York City’s mayor warning residents that the snow storm could be of epic proportions. This of course had me turning our hotel room’s television to the Weather Channel so I could join in all the anxiety. Last night 18 – 24 inches were expected to fall out here in Northampton. Later in the evening it had turned into two feet or more. Meanwhile, we are at a hotel here in Hadley, Massachusetts with a problematic tire, me with no snow boots and no snow shovel to dig out our car with. It was not hard for me to imagine how the situation could get worse, dangerously worse even. Our hotel loses power, no one arrives to make us breakfast and with all the grocers and restaurants closed down we were left to survive by breaking the glass on the hotel’s vending machine for calories. Actually, it would be worse than that. When we asked the hotel clerk, he said if the hotel loses power for eight hours, all guests have to leave. I guess we find shelter from a shrieking blizzard inside our car, or perhaps by tunneling our way into a snowbank. I understand snow is pretty good insulation.

Traveling in New England in the winter is always chancy, but I figured we could dodge this bullet too. As regular readers know, we are trying to get a house built up here, and that meant we needed to meet with the builder and architect, something best done in person. The sooner we can start construction, the sooner that we can move in. And so we came up again, although we were last here just five weeks ago. This time, because she is on vacation, our adult daughter Rose came with us. I guess she was curious to see why the heck we wanted to move 500 miles from her.

Fortunately, “Juno” deferred arrival until after our planned Monday meeting. Temperatures were in the teens, winds were brisk and the snowbanks were already high around here from a foot of snow dumped just a few days ago. We met with the builder and designer in a brisk and business-like meeting around noon, with still some open questions when it was over. Our sales agreement is not yet complete. Even if we can nail it down, no earth will start moving until we cough up five percent of the sales price and the city of Northampton agrees to allow the builder to at least dig a basement and put in a foundation. Even in the best case, after they move potentially two feet of snow off our property to be, it will take at least a week for some earth to literally move.

So for right now, our house is a longer-term problem, and “Juno” gives me something to fret over. My wife, a former Michigander that is used to large snowstorms, is literally blowing this off. “We’ll be fine,” she says and she condescendingly agreed to go buy some food and a snow shovel to assuage my sense of panic. Yeah, but she wasn’t a Boy Scout. I have to “be prepared”. Unfortunately, I wasn’t enough of a Boy Scout to be fully prepared before we left.

And so we are scrambling. Can we spend another day at the hotel if needed? Yes. Is there a backup generator at our hotel? No. Will there be a breakfast on Tuesday and Wednesday morning provided by the hotel? Probably, if someone can get here to prepare it. Will local restaurants be open? It depends on the amount of snow and wind, of course, but most if not all probably will shut down. We might be able to get a pizza delivered and most convenience stores (if you can get to them) should be open. In short, it’s unlikely, if we are eating at all, that we’ll be eating healthy.

So before “Juno” arrives, you scrounge instead. Hatfield is basically a huge strip, so scrounging is easy. I found some snow boots at a Famous Footware across the street. Target had a snow shovel in case I have to dig out the car. They also have some food we can heat if microwave in our room still has electricity. The Big Y around here passes for the Giant Food we have back home, and we bought more provisions there. Now we wait for “Juno”.

The forecast for our area is now 12 to 18 inches with high winds, which means blowing snow. Our realtor thinks the interstates will be clear and open on Wednesday when we plan to go home. I’ll try to turn on the Weather Channel less and slip into the hot tub adjacent to the hotel’s pool more.

At least until the power goes out.

 
The Thinker

Retirement journal: Part 3

It took about five and a half months of retirement but this morning when I woke up I realized had nothing pressing to do.

I guess that’s good. For much of these last months the pressing things were related to our pending relocation and mostly they involved fixing up our house. That work is mostly done. We got something of a Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval last week when our house stager came by to tour our house. It’s her job to make it attractive enough to draw a seller willing to pay top dollar. I was worried she’d want to bring in rented Ethan Allen furniture and make us move much of our furniture into storage, but there was none of that. She approved or at least could work with the furniture we have.

Her suggestions were for the most part easy to deal with: silver knobs and handles for the kitchen cabinets and lots of fluffy white towels for our bathrooms, which either she or our realtor will supply from their inventory. Our beds will need skirts around them. Perhaps the most onerous task is to get rid of the green trim in the living room, dining room and hallway. The green trim will become bright white, and that includes two doors painted green. Mostly she was positive. Our months of work have paid off. We’ll find out how well it worked around March 1, when our house will go on the market. If we get and accept an offer then a whole other process will start.

Already our home is becoming a house. Most of the personal items hanging from the wall have been put away. Possessions are moving into boxes that are getting stuffed into closets, probably not to be seen again until they are reopened in our new home. Furniture is getting moved around. Open space is what buyers want. So off went the valences that obscured the view of our deck, which makes our main floor now appear much larger than it is. Clutter like our coat tree is bad and we were instructed to hide it. Buyers must get the illusion of large and uncluttered open spaces, including kitchen countertops. Our many upgrades over the years are marketable. These include hardwood floors on the main level and granite countertops in the kitchen. The stager complemented us on our curb appeal and smiled when she saw our large backyard. It should appeal to someone or someones probably like us, just twenty or so years younger than us: someones with the time and money to tackle the endless tasks of keeping a house in good repair while actually living in it. I assume it would be a family with small children, but for some reason I imagine some gay or lesbian with lots of stuff buying the house instead.

Meanwhile our new home awaits construction. Nearly a month has passed since our last visit to Northampton Massachusetts where we will move but there has not been much progression on our attempt to get a house actually constructed. Both the builder and the architect inconveniently took two-week vacations during the holidays. The ground froze over while they went to warmer climates. The foundation is the first part of our house to go in. It doesn’t sound like frozen ground will keep us from having the foundation put in, but completion a P&S (purchase and sale) agreement has. We had to find a lawyer up there to represent us, and the owner of the plot is supposed to forward an agreement to our lawyer. It’s no big deal and it hasn’t happened yet, but maybe it doesn’t matter since we need to go up there again to have a meeting with the architect (now back in the snowbelt), and our amenities will certainly affect the price. In any event, we will need to find 5% of the assumed price when they start digging the basement, and any old check won’t do. It has to come from our credit union directly, because Massachusetts’s privacy laws prohibit the builder from seeing our account number.

There is a high probability that we will settle on the sale of our existing house long before the new house will be ready. This means we’ll have to live somewhere, so we’ll probably have to find temporary digs. We’ll likely move to some apartment or house near our new home, leaving much of our stuff in storage up there but unpacking quite a bit of it while we wait. The other possibility is that our house won’t sell for whatever reason. We will take all steps to prevent this of course, but it really has to sell if we are to pay for the bulk of the new house. Renting out the old house while buying the new is possible, but we’d need some sort of bridge loan. And it would raise the complexity of the whole relocation thing another notch.

All these things are in motion but at the moment not much of it requires our immediate attention. So today is something like a slack day, and it’s not the first. Last week we took in a Wednesday matinee. Apparently some theaters try to attract us people of leisure with discount Wednesdays tickets. That’s how we got to see The Imitation Game for $5.75 a ticket. It’s amazing how much less complicated living in Northern Virginia is when you can routinely get around outside of rush hour. It makes living around here almost pleasant.

I put out new versions of two open source programs that I have written. My consulting business continues to do well but at the moment there is not much in my work queue requiring immediate attention. When the weather cooperates I can get my daily walks in rather easily. I’m hitting the gym more often because most days are below freezing, but some days I take long walks in the cold air anyhow, bundled in my warmest coat, hat, scarf and gloves and with a podcast in my ears. I am contemplating starting a port of my two open source programs to a new platform, but finding the time to write my first app still is on the back burner, but something I want to do. It’s how I have fun, apparently. The idea is to sell an app or two, although most apps tend to languish, but hopefully it will generate some significant income worth the time invested.

In general, I am finding that retirement is good. I am still somewhat skeptical I can actually afford it, but a year or two of experience will prove it one way or the other. It’s not bad to bring in some income, but I do it mostly because I enjoy it, not because I have to do it. I want to stay busy and do stuff I enjoy but without feeling the pressure to make another mortgage or tuition payment. To find out if I succeed, keep reading these occasional retirement journal posts.

 
The Thinker

Occam’s Razor 2014 Statistics

Before I begin blogging in earnest for 2015, a look at this blog’s statistics for 2014. My web browser traffic has been on the downturn for years, but at least in 2014 that problem has been arrested, although modestly, with a 7% increase in visitors compared with 2013. According to Google Analytics:

Overall 2014 Web Usage Statistics

  • Total Sessions: 19,727 (54 per day), up 7% compared with 2013
  • Total Page Views: 26,104 (71.5 pages per day), up 5.2% compared with 2013
  • Percent of New Visits: 88.9% (85.4% in 2013)

Most Viewed Posts

  1. Site home page: 2,260 page views, up 25% compared with 2013
  2. Eulogy for my mother in law: 1,622 page views, up 66% compared with 2013
  3. Craigslist casual encounters: now a crazily dangerous and illegal waste of time: 941 page views, up 47% compared with 2013
  4. The root of human conflict: emotion vs. reason: 733 page views, down 2.8% compared with 2013
  5. Craigslist casual encounters: now officially a complete waste of time: 522 page views, down 77% compared with 2013
  6. Eulogy for my mother: 522 page views, down 44% compared with 2013
  7. The illusion of time: 454 page views, down 62% compare with 2013
  8. If Aubrey fought Hornblower, who would win? 313 page views, up 30% compared with 2013
  9. Facebook’s appallingly bad user interface: 312 page views, down 8% compared with 2013
  10. Review: What the bleep do we know? 251 page views (this was not in the top ten list last year)

It’s curious how few items on the Top Ten list change from year to year. My most popular content remains quite dated. Certain Craigslist posts though continue to score impressively, which perhaps justifies my monthly forays into my local Craigslist casual encounters section.

Top Tags

Tags are a way to organize content that are more discrete than the larger lumping of a category. Top tags in 2014:

  1. Craigslist (356 page views)
  2. Taxes (187 page views)
  3. Tarsal tunnel (130 page views)
  4. Mr. Spock (125 page views)
  5. Ideal Protein (107 page views)

Top Category

Sociology (54 page views)

Top Browsers

  1. Chrome (30.89%, 6,093 page views)
  2. Safari (23.07%, 4,551 page views)
  3. Internet Explorer (22.84%, 4,506 page views)
  4. Firefox (11.12%, 2,193 page views)
  5. Mozilla Compatible Agent (4.27%, 842 page views)

Safari is principally from iPhone browsers and indicates mostly mobile traffic.

Busiest month: January (3,001 page views)

Slowest month: December (1,622 page views)

Mobile sessions in 2014: 3,759 smartphone and 2,173 tablet sessions

% Mobile Visits of Total Visits: 30% (up from 26.3% in 2013)

Syndication

In the middle of the year I gave up FeedBurner as my syndicator, since it was clear that Google was not maintaining it. I switched to feedcat.net and it routinely shows me with more than 200 subscribers. It says I currently have 198 subscribers, which are the same as unique week readers. If this describes you, thanks for reading! More is good and it indicates a trend I’ve seen for a few years now where content is being read indirectly through aggregators and newsfeeds instead of through browser views. This explains, in some part, the drop in direct web hits over the last few years but makes it impossible to know what you are reading, although presumably it is current content.

Social Media

According to AddThis, which adds a tracking anchor to the end of URLs if you hit the site with a browser, there were 187 shares in 2014, with 147 via copying an address bar, 14 on Facebook and 11 on Twitter.

Google Analytics tracks social media differently. It looks at the referrer (referring web site) and if it’s a social media site, it counts it. It counts as top referrers:

  1. StumbleUpon (372 sessions)
  2. Facebook (164 sessions)
  3. Twitter (12 sessions)
  4. Pinterest (11 sessions)
  5. Blogger (5 sessions)

Reader profiles

Quantcast.com has a number of statistics about my readers. You are disproportionately male (68% of total), ages 45-54 (23% of total), childless and make more than $100,000 a year. I attract an overly disproportionate amount of readers with graduate degrees as well as Asians and Whites. I also tend to attract Democrats and politically active people.

Raw web log statistics

Finally, there are my raw web log statistics, which suggest the blog is overrun with visitors. Most of these are various search engines, not actual human beings, which means there are a whole lot of search robots regularly indexing the blog for a relatively tiny amount of human traffic. My web hosts provide a number of web log statistics analysis tools. I’ll use AWStats. For 2014 there were:

  • 343,687 visits (up 26% from 2013)
  • 142,246 unique visitors (up 37% from 2013)
  • 916,941 page views (up 11% from 2013)
  • 53 GB of bandwidth

More in 2016.

 
The Thinker

There and back again: a three-day nerve-wracking adventure in house hunting

It’s been a while since I have put out a post. When that happens it is usually because I am busy. Retirement is supposed to be less busy and more restful. So far that hasn’t proven to be true. Of course, most retirees don’t start their retirement actively working to move 500 miles away. We are moving of course to simplify our lives, but at least for a year or so it will make our lives much more complex.

Case in point was last Wednesday through Friday when we made a whirlwind visit to our future home in western Massachusetts. We had to go to pick a home. A confluence of events made a trip a necessity, but it all boiled down to my wife’s great desire to move into a new house. New houses don’t grow on trees, although it takes a lot of trees to make one. A new house takes six months, sometimes more to go from plot of land to house and it starts with the hassles of picking a plot and a style house at a negotiated price and then financing the deal. So we were there to look at a few final candidate-housing sites and hopefully make a selection. All this right before Christmas and after being delayed for a few weeks while my wife recovered from another cold from hell.

It could have been delayed again by winter weather, always problematic in December. But the weather gods were benevolent this time. We dealt with cold weather but no precipitation during our drive from Northern Virginia. We try to avoid the New Jersey Turnpike, which also allows us to dodge most Washington area traffic. So this meant sneaking out of town the back way, up U.S. 15 past Gettysburg, around Harrisburg on I-83, then I-81 to I-78, and then about forty miles of I-287 in New Jersey until we slipped into Connecticut on I-84. The only toll on this route was $5 to cross the Tappan Zee Bridge over the Hudson River. Traffic congestion was not too bad either: some roadwork on I-287 and some delay getting through Hartford during rush hour. Otherwise it felt surprisingly speedy, just 8 hours and 45 minutes with minimal stops. We arrived in Holyoke, Massachusetts in darkness and wended our way back to the now comfortable D Hotel where we had stayed in August. The affiliated restaurants at the hotel were jammed with locals there for holiday parties, but the hotel itself was largely empty, which was how we could get a room there for $68 a night at a Hotwire rate.

In the winter the Northampton Massachusetts area remains pretty but definitely looking different than in the lushness of summer. The trees of course are largely bare and the days are very short with near total darkness by 4:30. There was no snow on the ground except in a few piles in parking lots, but the temperature was at or below freezing most of the time with stiff breezes. It’s a beautiful area even in the winter without snow, but one thing I noticed in this trip is that it is obviously less prosperous than Fairfax County where we live. All the money in our county buys large houses that are newer in general but also meticulously well maintained. Fairfax County also has stricter zoning: no ugly billboards to view driving down the road. In Northampton there are quite a few shabby houses, shabby mostly due to age (many are a hundred years old or m ore), but also because people earn less there. Northampton has pretty good zoning laws, but go outside the city limits to places like Hadley across the Connecticut River and it quickly turns ugly. No place is perfect.

Thursday was decision day and it was as challenging as you can imagine. Next to deaths in the family, divorce and losing a job, buying a house out of state must be the next most challenging event in life. In August we had scouted lots of neighborhoods so we knew what we liked and where. In January there is not much on the market. But if you are going to have a house built it’s a bit past optimum time to place your order. Ideally you make these decisions before the foundation is laid but it took months of discussion for us to get this far. This late in the year it is problematic but still possible. Wait too long and groundbreaking is likely to occur April 1.

We looked at a new community being built in Hatfield, a bit north and east of Northampton. The houses we looked at were large and quite fancy, not to mention an excellent value. It’s just that no one was actually living there yet, and only one plot of the 12 had been sold. Two units had been finished, and one was under construction.

The salesman with a ring in his ear told us his husband was the architect and was currently out of state. (I mentally noted how completely banal gay marriage was in Massachusetts. It is so institutionalized that no one gives it a thought.) While I loved the house, Hatfield did not agree with me. It is filled with mostly old houses, very large and many not well maintained, often with a farm in the backyard. There was no bike path, no restaurants to speak of and no place to buy groceries beyond a corner store. My wife really liked the community but I couldn’t see myself spending the next thirty years in a community that did not appeal to me, no matter how nice the house. It was not yet noon and already we were in arguing.

So it was back to the 55+ community near Northampton that was the reason for our visit. Armed with our buyer agent realtor Craig, we met again with the realtor selling the property to go through available plots and other issues. Our realtor took us through a nearby park and we ate lunch at a local diner while we argued and tried his patience. Eventually we sent our realtor back to his office while we went back to the hotel to hash through all the options and then drive through both neighborhoods again.

We took a break to meet a client of mine living in the area. We met him at Joe’s Pizza in Northampton, so popular that even on a cold Thursday night there was a significant wait for a table. But the pizza at least lived up to its reputation. My client Roger turned out to be a really nice guy and we all got along great. Count one future friend in my future neighborhood. Roger helped take our mind off the impending decision and we agreed to sleep on it. Sleep was somewhat restless as we weighed in our own minds the size of our decision. Having a new house constructed would most likely mean we would close on the sale of our house first, so we’d have to endure temporary housing in the area. We were not thrilled with the alternative, but it’s the price to be paid when you make the decision to go for a new house.

Morning though at least brought clarity: we wanted a particular lot in this community in Florence, which is on the west side of Northampton. We ate breakfast at Sylvester’s in Northampton while trading calls with our realtor. Mostly though we needed to get back on the road for home. The greyish skies suggested snow and/or ice but nothing happened. The weather improved the further south we went. We tried a different route going home by taking I-84 through southern New York State and northern Pennsylvania, then connecting with I-81. It turns out it is just as quick as our other route, much less used and thus much less likely to be affected by traffic accidents. We made great time. Driving time was about eight hours.

Once back home we immediately started trading emails with our realtor and chatting with him on the phone. Yesterday we went back and forth on the wording of an offer. It was declined, not because they don’t like us, but because the seller wants a guarantee that we will buy the house even if our current house doesn’t sell. So more paperwork remains and our credit union will get a call in the morning.

Three days. There and back again. More forms to fill out. More paperwork to file. More decisions to be made. More house to clean and prepare to show. The house decisions at least is made but waiting to become more concrete. A new year approaches. 2015 looks like it will end a whole lot different than where it will start: in our new home in New England.

 

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