The 2024 Gardens: Part 1

My very last garden post in 2023 went up three days before the endoscopic ultrasound (a routine procedure performed without a hitch in almost all cases) that landed me in the hospital and skilled nursing for nine weeks. As I wrote when I finally got home in late October and finally started blogging again (albeit slowly) in late November, the gardens had gone to tatters since late August. And while I said then that I would "likely" have a garden again, I confess that it is now late April and other than make a few lazy notes in my head, I have not done a single thing on the garden front. 

That being said, absolutely nothing prepared me for what I discovered a few days ago coming up in the kitchen garden:

Recognize this? Here, let's try another photo:

Those, my friends, are volunteer lettuce starts. I never even suspected that lettuce would go to seed and then come up in the spring. 

In that last garden post in 2023, I noted that some of the the Black Seeded Simpson lettuce had gone to flower:

I had taken down most of the flowering stalks, but left a few up because the flowers were so beautiful and delicate:

Given the medical situation this fall, no one ever got back to them to clip the remaining flowers. And so the lettuce did what any sensible plant would do: it seeded itself.

We' won't be making much salad from these few starts unless they get a lot larger. All the same, I clipped a few leaves this evening and added them to our salad bowls before we sat down to supper. That gave us each a taste of spring and a hint of the magic of growing our own food.

And that taste was delicious. 

An Addendum to my Money Thoughts

 

Clarifying those pennies

After posting yesterday, I had an exchange of comments with Sam, who blogs at Sam Squared (yes, go read her; her reentering the blogging world has given me inspiration as I try to regain my footing). Sam marveled that I met my bills on my small pension and I elaborated a bit more on where my dollars went. A huge part of my being able to do so is the privilege of being in a stable relationship with someone who shares my money outlooks (no debt, not a spender) and who owns his own home mortgage-free (so no debt there either; also a huge privilege). Sam, unexpectedly widowed a little over a year ago, does not have the luxury of a working spouse; plans that she and her husband were putting into place for retirement were abruptly upended. Because of my cancer, Warren and I entered this relationship knowing that, even without this being a later-in-life union, we had to discuss and review regularly the hard reality that I will drop out of the financial picture earlier than "typical."

I also shared that had Warren and I not come together, which gave me the gift of stable, free  housing, I would likely (a) have continued to work, despite my diminishing health and (b), even with drawing my Social Security, but certainly if I were only drawing the small pension, I would probably be living with my dad on the outskirts of town. I am very close to my dad, but trust me, we would drive one another crazy. 

I recognize those are privileges, even a fallback plan of living with a parent, that I have that many do not.

I also realized, later in the evening as I reflected on money, that I had financial assistance from the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society for some of that time, which reimbursed me my health insurance costs (Medicare and the Supplemental Plan). Face palm. OF COURSE I could get by on the small pension because my insurance costs were covered. In fact, I have assistance for insurance reimbursement from another source for July 2023-July 2024; my medical messes and dealing with that stress have kept me from tracking down and submitting my vouchers, but I will get them in within the next few weeks. That reimbursement made a huge difference in my finances and my ability to meet my bills on a small income.

Money.

Money Thoughts

Per the lyric from "Cabaret," money makes the world go around.

Maybe yes. Maybe no. 

For several months, and not as a result of my lengthy medical matter (thank you, Medicare and my AARP/UHC Supplemental Plan G for paying every penny of the costs, including the Supplemental paying the $1600 hospitalization deductible that Medicare does not pay; that alone more than reimbursed me for the annual costs of the Supplemental Plan), I have been having what I can only call financial PTSD moments. [Please note: as someone with diagnosed PTSD, I am not using that phrase lightly. I have written openly about my financial/money trauma before—not a pretty story. But I don't live in that world anymore, thankfully.]

I made the decision last fall (perhaps as a result of the medical experience) to start drawing Social Security in 2024. Just before I disappeared down the medical maw, we had made an appointment to meet with a local financial planner and look at where we were financially now and in the future.  Warren and I, as a later-in-life relationship, keep separate and separated accounts. We share household expenses but we have no joint assets other than our love for one another. The financial planner had that information, as well as a thumbnail sketch of my medical history and its impact on my life expectancy. She had numbers for our expenses, our account balances, everything. I had a small bequest from a former client that was marking time in a low-interest account; could I put that to better use? My monthly income of $736 (last year; it is now up to $753) was a small pension. Because I had no debt and am not a spender, I never finished any month in the red even at that income level. I was past Full Retirement Age for Social Security purposes. So when we finally sat down with the planner (there was a long delay due to my being in the hospital and my subsequent recovery), she showed us projections based upon our both reaching our late 80s (highly unlikely for me, entirely possible for Warren) and upon my dying somewhere in the next decade (highly likely) and Warren continuing to live into his 90s. And that is without my going back to work, among other things. She gave us both praise: neither of us carry any debt. Nothing. Rien. Nada. 

And, no surprise in large part because of having no debt and neither of being Big Spenders, there was plenty of money to carry us into those faraway years. 

Before meeting with her, I ran the numbers between drawing Social Security starting this year or waiting until I was 70 in 2026. While waiting until I was 70 would give me—well, Warren, because 70 is a stretch for me—a larger monthly amount, the difference did not offset the benefit of having more money coming in monthly starting now and being able to direct it into savings and small investments. I applied for Social Security to start January of this year; easy peasy. Approval followed quickly. And that's when the PTSD kicked in.

What the heck? 

I was struggling. Not with the decision to start taking Social Security. Not with the concern that having more money would change my lifestyle. No, I was having flashbacks to the profligate spending spouse of yore who used to excoriate me for not making enough money to support him in a style in which he felt entitled, to the months of not being able to work at all after my initial diagnosis, to the financial constraints my health imposed that I could do nothing about, to all of that.

In past years, I have written about keeping stringent money controls over my finances. In 2017, I had to replace a car and I refused to go into debt to do so. I was treating my NW contingent to tickets home in the summer, another expenditure I refused to charge. And back in those days, I started every calendar year with an insurance deductible of $1500 (Medicare/Supplemental Plan annual deductible? $240 for 2024) that I needed to pay.  That was when I started printing out my pay stub every two weeks and assigning every dollar a job. (If any of you are Dave Ramsey fans, you will recognize that language; for the record, I did not get it from Dave Ramsey.) That system lasted until my very last pay stub in 2021. But even after that, I have continued to track my income, my outgo, and, yes, balance my checking account monthly, an activity that earned an incredulous gasp from a colleague who said he hadn't balanced his in years because he knew he always had plenty of money in it. Well, I didn't have that privilege for a long, long time. (I still balance it. And I still keep my "accounts on [my] thumb nail," as Thoreau admonished us.)

So back to the PTSD issue. What got me through it? 

Deep breaths. Seriously. Long walks (impacted and impeded by broken wrist, more surgery, and other issues, but, hey, I am building back up). Seriously. Watching financial videos (George Kamel, who is part of the Ramsey team, is a favorite) and hearing repeatedly both in videos and in articles: get-out-of-debt-now (a goal I met years ago). 

And, touching on these different sources, hearing some stats and numbers that calmed me down tremendously and finally allowed me to move forward without being triggered.

One came from Geoff Schmidt, a CPA who has a YouTube channel (Holy Schmidt!) that focuses mostly on retirees and retirement, either putting yourself in the best shape for retirement or, once in retirement, managing your finances so that you do not run out of money. His factoid? Per a 2022 Census Bureau analysis, 71% of all retirees in the United States carry an average of $19,888 in non-mortgage debt. Car loans, credit cards, who the heck know what, but 71%. (Yes, my jaw dropped.) He then said: Get. Out. Of. Debt. Now.

Not a problem here.

The other snippet came from George Kamel, who has a YouTube channel by the same name and whose sense of humor and blunt approach I enjoy. A Millennium, George is part of the Dave Ramsey empire and pushes the Ramsey Baby Steps formula to put yourself on the right path financially as early as possible. And yes, getting out of debt is a critical Ramsey Baby Step. (Again, not an issue here.) But the snippet he recently shared was that Americans annually spent $1800 per person on clothing. 

Annually. Per person.

Yes, I know. Averages are averages: many spend way more, many spend way less. But $1800? 

When I shared that with Warren over supper, I added, "I haven't spent $1800 on clothing, including shoes, over the last 30 years combined." (Katrina, if you are reading this, I know you are shaking your head.) We have had a lot of fun with that stat, including my sharing it with our neighbors, who tend to view clothing purchases the way we do. Mark was headed to pick up his elderly mother (she's 95) to take her to a funeral and pointed out that his suit jacket was easily 30 years old. "I had it relined once. And yeah, it's starting to fray. But you know what? It does fine for how rarely I wear it." I shared that I regularly wear a sweater that my son Ben wore in 6th grade—in 1997. That was when Mary spoke up and said in her early days (engineering/sciences), she bought a lot of professional clothes so the men would understand she was a professional. She then admitted that at some point, preparing to move, she had 28 or more wardrobe boxes in the attic, filled to the gills with suits, blouses, shoes, purses, and so on. All of us started laughing. I said when I graduated from law school in 1981, I bought one suit. One. And owned one pair of dress shoes. One. Lots of laughter. Mark looked at her and said, "I don't know if I would have married you if I had known you had all those clothes!" More laughter. 

It is mid-April and the PTSD episodes have faded. I still have a lot going on in my life, we still have a lot going on in our life together, and Warren has a WHOLE lot going on in his life. Those things carry their own weight and baggage and some of them I will be sharing in posts to come. But PTSD isn't one of them.

And neither is going out to buy $1800 worth of clothes!  

Dogwood Blooms

When I started writing this post early in the morning, it had a much longer, messier title and I meant to ramble through several topics. But looking at it several hours later, I think I will hold it to one thought: the dogwood tree. 

There is a dogwood tree close to the east side of the house and it is in full bloom. The dogwood tree is elderly; Warren's parents planted it decades ago. When you stand in our bedroom, the blossoms of the upper branches are right outside the windows. When I do dishes at the kitchen sink, the blossoms of the lower branches are right outside the window over the sink. I do not know how many more springs the tree has left in it, but my heart lifts up when I behold it in full bloom. Lilacs are my favorite spring bloom of all, but nothing matches the stunning impact of this dogwood.

As seen from the backyard

Last fall, when I was whiling away my hours in the hospital, Warren and his son David put some drupes (the seeds of the dogwood) into peat pots and stowed them in the back of the refrigerator. Drupes have to have a lengthy, cold period before they will sprout. I have not pulled them out to see if we have any sprouts, but I think it is time to take a look.

I wrote that last bit this morning and, hours later as I finish this up, I just went down and took a look. Nope. No sprouts. Probably not going to get any, looking at it. None of us (David included) ever checked on them; I think they needed watered. I may water them after I post this, and then check again in a few more weeks.

In a day or so, I will return to the other topics that I meant to dump into this post. But for now, back to what is happening outside: a chorus of spring joy. 

Which Was the Bigger Event?

Today there was a total solar eclipse across a swath of the United States. Where we live (Delaware, Ohio) was in the path of totality. Warren and I were invited to a viewing gathering next door and spent a wonderful few hours chatting, laughing, and watching the sun slowly disappear and then reappear. 

So as to not arrive empty-handed, I made two types of cookies to take: a cinnamon sugar cookie and a double chocolate cookie. Earlier in the day, I took some to our neighbors on the other side. In thanking me, Adam (the father of Margaux of the wonderful birthday tower) texted that he was "assuming that this is the correct way to eat them for the total eclipse effect:"

Eclipse preview

Yes, indeed! 

Seven years ago, there was a partial solar eclipse in our area, but this was the first full solar eclipse any of us (there were seven of us total) had ever seen. We were all wonderstruck.  All of us just kept marveling at what was taking place over our heads. We kept commenting on the changes in the light and the air temperature. 

And truly, there are not enough words to describe the event.

Solar corona at totality; if you were looking through eclipse glasses, you would see the sun totally blackened with a shining ring of light around it. My phone? Not so much! 

So yes, that was a BIG event today! 

But there was another BIG event earlier today. Midmorning, after thinning out the dead flowers from a birthday bouquet, I walked the discards out to the compost container back by the Hej garden. That garden currently is covered in purple deadnettle, one of the first flowering anything to come up in the spring. I had seen the garden last week and knew that it was carpeted in the small flowering plants. All the same, I stopped in my tracks. 

What stopped me?

BEES!!! 

Several bumblebees were zigzagging through the deadnettle. I only had my phone on me, but all the same managed to capture one of them in action:

The bumbler clearly ignoring me

 I went back to the house and grabbed my camera. Now, I have not really used my camera since shattering my wrist in January. I tried a few times, but pretty much lacked the physical capability to hold it as well as enough sensation in my index finger to trip the shutter. But I have been doing my exercises faithfully for week and while I am not 100% yet, I am much better. Better enough that I could get some shots off.

In the brief time it took to walk to the house, get my camera, then walk back out to the Hej garden, the bumblebees had moved on. But happily for me, the honeybees had moved in behind them and were busy mining the pollen:

The first honeybees of 2024

Bees, bees, bees! These are the first I have seen in 2024 and that, for me, is also a BIG event! 

I love that on a day of a once-in-a-lifetime sky event, my morning started with my finding a whole bed of bees, already starting their 2024 rounds. And maybe there aren't enough words to describe that event either.

The bigger event? They were both BIG. 

The Tale of Two Cakes

Yesterday was my 68th birthday. Warren and I tend to keep birthday celebrations low-key (although he is turning 70 next week and that might make for a bit more confetti than usual) and that was especially true this year because of professional commitments on his part. 

Low-key day that it was, there was cake. Several years ago, I figured out that the best way for me to have chocolate birthday cake (my personal favorite) was to make it myself. I love to bake, so that was never a hurdle.

Yesterday was no exception. The Non-Consumer Advocate, Katy Wolk-Stanley, recently posted about making a Depression-era cake. A chocolate cake. I recognized the recipe as one that also was called "Canadian War Cake" because it did not rely on scarce commodities such as butter. So in the spirit of the day and my mood, I had one ready for lunch!

After lunch

My life contains great friends, great neighbors, and great community. Our youngest neighbor, Margauxcat (her version of her name, which is Margaux), apparently wanted to make sure my birthday was well-noted. Mid-afternoon, I received a text from Maura (her mother) that "Margaux has a birthday surprise for you! It's rather precarious..." and we coordinated their dropping it off here. 

"Rather precarious." How great is that?

A few minutes later, Maura came across the front lawn bearing a small tray on which was indeed perched something "rather precarious." Margaux was dancing around close behind. They had made muffins and Margaux decided that I needed one with extra special attention. So she built a tower from two, cementing them with buttercream icing, which accounted for the "rather precarious."

The "rather precarious" treat from next door

But it didn't stop there. Margaux decorated the top tower with what I can only describe as a bejeweled pit filled with colorful sprinkles and golden coins:

The bejeweled pit! 

What a gift! What a birthday treat!

Warren and I shared the tower after dinner last night. I gave him the foundation and I took the top piece, scattering little gold and blue bits and pieces across my plate. It was an absolutely wonderful way to end the day, both in taste and in neighborly love. 

And I still have chocolate birthday cake left! 

Looking at the 2024 Groceries: End of First Quarter

Photo by micheile henderson on Unsplash

Back in November, as I was slowly regrouping from my long medical catastrophe earlier in the fall, I speculated that, having lost several months, maybe I would start to track our household grocery expenses (food and common household items such as tissues and dish soap) again. I kinda sorta tracked them in December, then scrubbed 2023 entirely. I think we came in somewhere around the $300.00 mark that month, what with additional purchases for baking biscotti and making peanut brittle, but that's a rough guess. And the other months were just lost. Farewell, 2023.

Here we are in 2024, and despite more medical interruptions (the broken wrist being one of them), I am again tracking our household grocery expenses. 

So let me start out with the obvious: yes, food costs have gone up, even from last year. Thank god for a husband who shares my attitudes and beliefs on plain (but tasty) cooking and does not turn up his nose at leftovers. (I am still stunned when someone says to me that they throw out their leftovers because "no one will eat them.") Thank god we have a working freezer. Thank god our food waste, with rare exception, is zero in this household. (The most noted exception? The hummus we bought and started eating in July got lost in the medical chaos in the fall; it was not salvageable when it came back to light months later. I have no problem cutting mold off of hard cheese, just so you know, but hummus is not a hard cheese.) 

Still, even with a very thrifty January ($70.73, all food), our first quarter expenses rang in at, gulp, $682.87 for both food and household items, or $227.62 a month average. Of that figure, $634.64 was food. Ouch.

Okay, not terrible and not even that far off on what we were running in 2023: $208.16 at the half. But I'd like it to be a bit better. 

Now, a couple of notes. There was a major restocking of the pantry and freezer in February and a smaller restocking in March, the latter triggered in part because we had a guest artist staying with us mid-month. And March was a tad high because, of course, with hams going on sale around Easter, we bought some. (Only three this year. Trust me!)  

I also want to note is that these figures do not reflect the one-a-day protein drink that my oncologists and my PCP want me to drink; those came into my life back in July 2023. Yes, it is a nutritional item, so it is "food." But it is, as far as I am concerned, a medical add-on that I would not be buying but for their insistence. (And, given the tremendous weight loss of this fall, I appreciate that I already was drinking them.) The cost ($17.20 for a case of 12, or $1.43 a day) is one I chalk up to oncology and other medical impediments. I am not factoring them into our home groceries. 

That's where matters stand at the end of the first quarter of 2024. I will be very interested to see what the next quarter brings! 

Two tangential notes! One: when I smashed my wrist and could not write down grocery purchases, I created a spreadsheet on my computer to track the numbers. Talk about coming out of the Dark Ages! Two: our local (and superb) farm center, Miller's Country Gardens, just opened for the season. Their colder-weather starts (cabbages, for example) will come out for sale this month; the warmer ones (TOMATOES) in May. I have not made a list, let alone checked it twice, but you know there will some tomatoes. How could there not be?