The other day I saw one of those “Old Guys Rule” T-shirts. This one read, “Only the good die young,” which might explain a few things.
One can never predict what one’s partner will say in the morning, especially if you haven’t had any coffee yet. Today there was a premium due on the life insurance policy I took out on myself a number of years ago, and my wife wanted to know if the benefit would be enough to pay off all the debts if I died. (Women are very practical about these things, and she was trying to decide if we should keep paying or surrender the policy.) Unfortunately, it isn’t the kind that builds up cash value, and what’s worse, it runs out when I turn 70. Some life insurance, huh? When I was a lad, nobody ever told me that you can’t get the good kind of life insurance if you’re already over a certain age. Not that I would have paid any attention, of course, and this pathetic, expensive policy was all I had.
“Sure, it’ll pay off all our debts and leave you a hundred grand besides,” I told her. “That is, if I die sometime in the next six years!”
This led to a brief discussion of her annuity payments, which are as large as they are only because I signed away any right to them after she dies. At the time, I figured this was okay, because we needed the maximum payout then (and still do), and why should she sacrifice income now so I can live it up after she’s gone? Besides, if she died, who’d want to go on living, right? But this morning I saw myself alone, alive, and trying to survive on Social Security and my wits. I wished the image had never entered my mind.
For that reason and a thousand others, by the time I left to run my major errand of the morning, taking a load of computer gear to the Habitat for Humanity ReStore Center, I was already trolling for snags in the big black water. It was a glorious day, however, and I deeply enjoyed the slow drive to the north end of town in my truck. The news at the other end wasn’t so good: the ReStore wouldn’t take any of my old SCSI peripherals, the software, or anything, really — what I had was just too old! I probably didn’t want to get rid of it, anyway, being me. So what if we don’t have room for me to maintain a Mac museum, we might, someday. That meant that all the junk had to go back to the storage unit where I’d gotten it from the week before. A tactical retreat, as it were.
At the storage unit, I beheld a surprising sight: walking up to one of the smaller units was a quiet, thin fellow dressed casually but nicely, pulling one of those suitcases with wheels like you see in airports. This wasn’t an airport, though, and the wheels made a lot of noise in the gravel. I looked around and didn’t see a car — okay, here’s someone walking along pulling a suitcase, fine, I told myself. This is Taos, what the hell. Then he did a remarkable thing: he unlocked the door, walked inside, and pulled the door down with himself inside! I’ve never seen anyone do that in my life. Five minutes later he opened the door and emerged wearing a completely different set of clothes and carrying a backpack. He walked straight to the portable latrine over by the fence, did his business, and walked on down the road… My God, he’s living there, it hit me! Almost envious, I started to estimate his living expenses and then caught myself. (Good!)
On the way home I dropped off the recycling stuff that we store in my truck. Literally, as it turned out, because a bagful of bottles fell out of the passenger side door of my truck and smashed on the ground at my feet. While cleaning this up, I happened to glance over at the feeding frenzy at the “free box” adjacent to the recycling center: someone had dropped off a couple boxes of clothes, and half a dozen people were tearing into the donated items, flinging them right and left in a mad rush to find something that fit. I looked more closely: one of them was a big guy with a beard and a beat-up hat, maybe 30 years old, and wearing a dress. Well, who doesn’t like matching outfits, I told myself. Fling, rip… I could hardly watch, even with the comic relief.
By the time I sat down in front of my computer to eat my lunch and read the news, I was ready for a change. Didn’t happen, though. The first thing I saw was how some Democrats don’t want us to have a government health care plan because it would be cheaper than Blue Cross and hurt the private insurance industry. I’m pretty sure the fellow living in the storage unit and the guy in the dress have wonderful health insurance from their employers, however, just like I do, so never mind.
Later that afternoon, I cut down the tall weeds around the house. There were a lot of them.
After dinner, my wife looked so beautiful in the soft evening light. Even after 30 years, to see her curled up in a chair with a fresh tan on her face and her bare feet tucked under her legs still takes my breath away.
This is all that matters now, that quality of attention…
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{ 7 comments… read them below or add one }
Living in a storage facility is nothing new. I saw it myself a few times. Always sad. Of course, but for the grace of… whatever… there to I go
Against the rules, of course, and I guess that’s why they lock the place up at 7:00 p.m. every night. The fellow I saw may be sleeping elsewhere in this good weather. Never saw it before, myself.
Hey, didja see that tweet about $25K for Detroit “homesteaders”?
wow this unleashed a wild flash of memory for me. I once spent a day in a storage unit in Taos with a bottle of tequila and the heartbroken blues, which had mutated into the “mean reds” (to borrow from Mr. Capote). It was cool and dry and there were some loud voices in my head that day. When I left the storage unit (politely escorted by Taos’ finest, I wasn’t bothering anyone but it was against the rules) I was dragging behind me one of those black suitcases with wheels, in the pouring rain. Perhaps Taos inspires that type of magical thinking. It seemed like a logical choice to me at the time…. Thank you for reminding me of how grateful I am that that no longer seems like a logical choice.
Hoo HAH!
Well, there’s something else I haven’t done, myself.
So many choices, so little time…
As usual, I have to talk about the financial stuff…. Believe it or not, Term Life Insurance IS the good stuff, if you have discipline. You have to pay more for cash value insurance. If you’d been taking that extra and sticking it into a plain old bank savings account, or savings bonds or just about anything safe, you’d have about twice as much at cash in time as you would from the insurance company. They pay squat for interest.
So, however you invested the extra money (Arkansas farm land, good mood altering substances, whatever) you’re probably better of than you would have been with an “old style” cash value policy.
J
You are blessed, in so many ways. Not the least of it is in the way you manage to see what you love so clearly — fresh and new and present before you, as exhibited by that last paragraph. Beautiful. I hope to inspire and have that one day again, too. xo
Gina! Great to hear from you, and thank you so much for your generous words all the way from Bawlamer…
Come back again, and just wait until I get the posts organized on this blog: there’s a lot more you might want to read if you could only find it!