Bermuda grass

Remember the little patch of grass I planted out front. It has remained untouched for over two months. It was so tall I thought the weed wacker might pull it out by the roots. I cut the worst of it down. It still looks pretty rough. There’s a brown patch where the cistern overflow is located. Still, just for you babe. You wanted a little lawn. Take your shoes off and walk barefoot through the grass.image

Money Honey.

Let me get this straight. I am, we were, not rich by American standards. That’s why retiring to Belize makes sense. Our American dollar yields us two Belize dollars. It’s not necessarily cheaper to buy things as it is more difficult to find the opportunity to spend like I would at home. (Note to self, my reference to “home” is still the U.S.) There’s only one mall close by and I have to do a border crossing plus buy Mexican travel insurance for the car to get there. There is no Starbuck’s, no T.J.Maxx, no Micro Center. If being able to shop at those types of stores is important to you then this is definitely not the place for you.

By Belizean standards I am pretty rich. I have two cars and a boat in my driveway. I have a fenced yard enclosing a 1600 square foot, concrete house. I used to consider it small. Now, of course, there is the tiny house movement. Thank you HGTV. Those houses are small as are the houses of most villagers. They shrink further when considering the size of the families housed in them. Sometimes I see a place and I think we should trade dwellings. They need my space and I really only need theirs especially now that I am only one.

Crazy talk, eh, David? It’s o.k., I’m staying put.

When David died we lost money. The annuity payment that David received will now come to me, is a lifetime benefit and is reduced by 33 1/3 from the original amount. We chose this scenario. We might have chosen differently had we had the prescience to know David would only last three years into retirement. After subcontracting back to his former employer he enjoyed less than a year in full retirement but let me continue. We lost money. I suppose it can be argued that no we did not since the total benefit amount remains intact and the payout is for life albeit at a reduced amount. Well, one down and one to go. Who wins?

The benefit is from a Fortune 500, large, stable company. While nothing is 100% sure it is more probable than not that this is a secure, lifelong income source.

If I die tomorrow the buck stops with me. There is no beneficiary payout upon my death. Assuming I don’t live another twenty one years it bothers me that the money David saved would return to the retirement fund and not go to his family. It bothers me a lot. I don’t like that I have no control over that money although at sixty three years of age my time to “grow” it is limited. I would have to grow it conservatively but at a rate that beats inflation.

Our kids are independent. They are educated. They haven’t required help from us in a long time. Both kids are in long term relationships. They are responsible for themselves. We are responsible for ourselves. End of story. I know beyond a shadow of doubt that David would have me take the pension payment and run.

But he died and it’s my story now. I have a penchant for spending. A friend once opined that I would die penniless because I was a spendthrift. That sticks with me. I had better be careful here. Very careful.

Rollover. Lifetime survivor annuity. Lump sum. Partial payout. These have occupied my thoughts for days. I feel that I am paralyzed and cannot move forward until I make this decision.

EXIF ⬆️ ➡️ ⬇️ ⬅️

Maybe you think I haven’t been working on the blog. I’ve been learning why images rotate sideways after uploading them into WordPress. Ah! I’m not sure how many times I deleted, downloaded and reinserted images before it dawned on me that it might be a problem others have had. That coupled with our slow  internet service has been enough to deter the most prolific blogger. I am persevering.

I read a profile of a “food blogger”. Does that make me a “death blogger”?

Belbrize

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Belbrize is back up under the carport. The keel is a little dinged up where we scraped the rocks last time we took her out. Nothing horrible but I remember the sound when we hit.

March 17, 2015. I sent this description to the kids. “Took the boat out finally yesterday. We are laughing about it now but yesterday it was a cluster. We are very boat inept but guess we won’t get proficient unless we take her out. First while taking her out we hit something, the bottom. It didn’t sound good. We were just a little off from where we normally run her out over the sandbar. We managed to float off whatever caught us and went on. Went to the Blue Iquana and anchored her out (a first for us) and took the little dinghy we built and rowed to shore. Rowing is a skill I need to work on but the waves were with us and helped carry us in. On the way back to the boat we were going against the wind and the waves so it was more difficult. We made it to the boat where we promptly flipped getting off. I believe we were screaming at one another at that point. : ) Yam-Yam (our home built dinghy) floated because of the foam and plastic pop bottles we put under her seats. We towed her home half full of water but still floating. Poor Yam-Yam. So….we had left after one and stopped for lunch. The sun went down while we were still on the way home. We should have started the motor a little sooner. Hindsight is always better than foresight. ; ) Sigh. The situation was further complicated by the fact that we had no running lights. WTF! Maybe our batteries are dead. Who knows? We are such rookies. We dropped anchor rather that try to hook up to the mooring ball in the dark and the boat is still here in this morning so all is well. David skinned all the knuckles on one hand, we both feel beat up and I think I chafed my ass sliding on the wet seat and along the deck. Everything pretty much no worse for the wear (we hope). We decided taking the motor off and on is such a total drag that we are going to leave it in place on the boat…thievery be damned. We’re going to put a cable through the motor housing and also through the hull of the boat with a 120 decible alarm attached. If you cut or pull on the cable it will wake some neighbor somewhere depending on which way the wind is blowing. Sick of hefting that 50-60 pound weight over the railing to get it into place. Other wise it’s sell this baby and get a boat with an inboard motor. (P.S. the 48 footer is off Fb so must be in contract.)”

You know what I remember? Sitting up on deck with David after we were safely anchored, having a beer, holding hands and looking up at the stars.

I miss looking out at Belbrize now when I get up in the morning. I miss greeting you when we stumble from the bed into the kitchen to make our coffee.

 

Punch in the gut

I’m walking in the backyard at dusk with the dogs. The papaya trees that we grew from seeds are five feet tall. You would be amazed. And the fact that you are not here hits me in my gut. I want to throw up.

One month ago today.

We will be asked to get a CT scan that will confirm that the blood flow to your brain has been horribly, irrevocably disrupted. We will meet with the organ procurement team. I hold your hand and am amazed how tan you still are against the white sheets. I want to imprint the feel of your skin because I know I will lose this physical connection with you in a matter of hours. I love the feel of your skin. It is soft. I will remember that you love me but I will not be able to touch you.

There is a vacantness about you now. The fact that your heart still beats and your lungs inflate are irrelevant. image

We will sit with the organ procurement team member and fill out the requisite forms. While we are there they test you by removing ventilator support to see if you will breath on your own. You pass the test. You do not breath. They tell us it may take up to 72 hours before you go to surgery and I don’t know if I can survive another 72 hours with you lying there.

They will call us at midnight. You are unstable and recipients are already being located. We have a few hours with you before they take you to surgery. Yuri, Caitlin and I walk to the hospital in the dark. It feels awkward. For the most part we walk in silence. It is a death march. I want to reach out and comfort them but fail. I refuse to be comforted. I want to wail and fall down like I have seen family members do but it isn’t my nature. We walk on.

I’d like to tell you that my last hours with you provide solace but they do not. The kids take turns in the room. I go in. I yearn to climb up in the bed beside you and go to sleep with you. Can’t we just go to sleep now together forever? Why are you leaving? Why have you left me? There are still people coming in and out of the room and the nurse sits at the window outside. It’s not very private. When we are all together again beside you the anesthesiologist comes in and meets with us. He details your care prior to the surgery. They will be very respectful.

Should I stay with you until they wheel you away? I am torn. I think you have already left the premises. Still, I’m unsure. I don’t want you yelling for me and I’m not there. We walk away. I’m panicking inside. I resist the panic that grips me and makes me want to run back to your side. I can’t leave you like this surely.

In the morning I am filled with unreasonable anxiety. I wish I had elected to have them call me when they took you to surgery instead of upon completion. No one calls to tell me it’s over and I don’t remember when but I call the organ donation contact number. It’s confirmed that the procurement was completed around 9:30 that morning. image