USMB Coffee Shop IV

[Nosmo King]

"Alexa, what time is it?"

"It's 4:41am" the answer came back from my robotic overlord.

That was my interchange early this morning after Daisy the Mutt whined me awake.

"Oooh, oooh!"

It's hard to transcribe the whine of a miniature poodle. It's even hard to resist it. So I got out of bed, rubbed my eyes and fumbled for my slippers. Stumbling for the door, I attached her collar, opened the door and clipped on her leash. I fell back into bed and waited for her yap to be let back in.

While laying there, I recalled the item I read in the Review Sunday morning. The East Liverpool police reports included an item about a discussion held with a vagrant at the Carnegie Library down at Fourth And Broadway. The cops responded to a call from the library staff about a man sitting outside the west wall. They found the individual with his cellular phone charging from an electrical outlet on the library. He was also taking advantage of the wi-fi signal emanating from the public library. Garbage was strewn around the man. He agreed to clear out cleaning his garbage before he left.

Now, there are things about this story already marking a cultural shift in the lifestyle of hoboes. A cell phone, internet signals stand apart from my perception of how drifters get along. My idea of a hobo is born of the classic bum carrying his possessions in a kerchief tied to a stick slung over his shoulder. Unshaven and a stump of a cigar clinched in his teeth, my notion of a hobo would be found down by the railroad tracks waiting for a slow moving freight train ready to move on down the line. Drifters, in my mind, were not carrying cell phones and surfing the internet.

But the last line of the story completely blew away my stereotype of vagrants. East Liverpool's finest found human feces on the library grounds. The cops asked the bum if that matter was his. He responded, "No, but I'll gladly clean it up."

'I'll gladly clean it up'?!? What manner of person would deny pooping yet be glad to clear up the mess?

Hobos ain't what they used to be.

The hobos of my memory were rather shabbily dressed men knocking on the back door and politely asking my mother if there was any chore they could do for a meal. She always pointed them to the rake propped against the tree or maybe the hoe and the vegetable garden or the bucket of whitewash where she had only done part of the fence. And while he did his chore she would prepare him a generous plate anybody would find appealing and maybe some pocket change if she had it. We were not wealthy people.

My impression as a small child, aided by my mother's explanation, was that these were proud men who expected to work for what they got. They were not beggars. I'm sure she tried to explain to me, but I remember wondering why they didn't have their own small unfrilly home as we did. Actually they did my mother a service as my father was not the sort to do any kind of manual labor and the hobos did some of the heavy lifting for her.

And I wondered what happened to them when they got really old like my great grandmother.

The romance of the Forgotten Man of the Great Depressin formed my notion of the hobo. The reality of a social networking, cell phone using outdoor pooper blew the romance away.

 

[Foxfyre]

"Alexa, what time is it?"

"It's 4:41am" the answer came back from my robotic overlord.

That was my interchange early this morning after Daisy the Mutt whined me awake.

"Oooh, oooh!"

It's hard to transcribe the whine of a miniature poodle. It's even hard to resist it. So I got out of bed, rubbed my eyes and fumbled for my slippers. Stumbling for the door, I attached her collar, opened the door and clipped on her leash. I fell back into bed and waited for her yap to be let back in.

While laying there, I recalled the item I read in the Review Sunday morning. The East Liverpool police reports included an item about a discussion held with a vagrant at the Carnegie Library down at Fourth And Broadway. The cops responded to a call from the library staff about a man sitting outside the west wall. They found the individual with his cellular phone charging from an electrical outlet on the library. He was also taking advantage of the wi-fi signal emanating from the public library. Garbage was strewn around the man. He agreed to clear out cleaning his garbage before he left.

Now, there are things about this story already marking a cultural shift in the lifestyle of hoboes. A cell phone, internet signals stand apart from my perception of how drifters get along. My idea of a hobo is born of the classic bum carrying his possessions in a kerchief tied to a stick slung over his shoulder. Unshaven and a stump of a cigar clinched in his teeth, my notion of a hobo would be found down by the railroad tracks waiting for a slow moving freight train ready to move on down the line. Drifters, in my mind, were not carrying cell phones and surfing the internet.

But the last line of the story completely blew away my stereotype of vagrants. East Liverpool's finest found human feces on the library grounds. The cops asked the bum if that matter was his. He responded, "No, but I'll gladly clean it up."

'I'll gladly clean it up'?!? What manner of person would deny pooping yet be glad to clear up the mess?

Hobos ain't what they used to be.

The hobos of my memory were rather shabbily dressed men knocking on the back door and politely asking my mother if there was any chore they could do for a meal. She always pointed them to the rake propped against the tree or maybe the hoe and the vegetable garden or the bucket of whitewash where she had only done part of the fence. And while he did his chore she would prepare him a generous plate anybody would find appealing and maybe some pocket change if she had it. We were not wealthy people.

My impression as a small child, aided by my mother's explanation, was that these were proud men who expected to work for what they got. They were not beggars. I'm sure she tried to explain to me, but I remember wondering why they didn't have their own small unfrilly home as we did. Actually they did my mother a service as my father was not the sort to do any kind of manual labor and the hobos did some of the heavy lifting for her.

And I wondered what happened to them when they got really old like my great grandmother.

The romance of the Forgotten Man of the Great Depressin formed my notion of the hobo. The reality of a social networking, cell phone using outdoor pooper blew the romance away.

Yes there is that.

As well as the lawlessness of the drug culture and massive prevalence of profanity, vulgarity, cruelty, and empathy, even glorification, of the villain in the movies, on television, in our music, etc., that has coarsened and depersonalized us as a society. Trust and giving people the benefit of the doubt has of necessity been replaced with healthy distrust and fear. When I was little, we as a family would sometimes drive as far as we could and then camp out overnight beside the highway. People left the keys in the ignition of the cars and we seldom locked doors. We women could carry our oversized purses and handbags without any concern. And my mother was in no fear of that hobo who needed a meal.

We cannot do that now. There is no way I would open my back door to a strange man knocking on it these days. And if he did not go away, I would have my rifle pointed at it until the police could arrive. In many ways life is much better now, but we have lost some good stuff in the transition too.

 

[saveliberty]

Just curious if others have experienced the same situation and how they handled it. Not a big problem, but a lifestyle change.

We are at the point where we need to sell our home of 40 years. Our children were babies here. The walls hold happy memories of loved ones whose chairs are now empty...the yard - memories of first bike rides, Easter egg hunts, weddings. I love the fields, the cypress swamps, the privacy...the wild turkey and deer who come to visit.

It's getting more and more difficult to maintain the house and fences, etc. It's a long drive to town. Our only grandchildren live 800 miles away. We want to be near them - they are at that precious age where they run squealing with delight into our open arms - that will not last forever. Their father, our youngest son, is a first responder and our dil is a medical professional. They need our help, and want their children to experience the added richness in life that having grandparents nearby can give them. We'd be leaving behind my elderly mother, and two other grown children.

The house isn't on the market yet - I'm just beginning the difficult task of sorting through a lifetime of memories deciding what to keep and what to let go. When it sells, we're thinking of leasing an apartment for a year close to the kids before we commit to a purchase. They have offered us their walk-out basement, but I feel that would eventually intrude on their privacy.

A dear friend says - make new memories. Anyway - have others here made similar decisions? Any regrets?

I'd consider the basement offer up front. You can see whether the whole dream can be reality or not. Moving for just the grand kids is probably not the best plan. It does go extremely fast and then you will have to consider your network of new friends to socialize. You can always find the apartment once you know the area better. Also, you seem to have three other eggs in your basket.

 

[task0778]

"Alexa, what time is it?"

"It's 4:41am" the answer came back from my robotic overlord.

That was my interchange early this morning after Daisy the Mutt whined me awake.

"Oooh, oooh!"

It's hard to transcribe the whine of a miniature poodle. It's even hard to resist it. So I got out of bed, rubbed my eyes and fumbled for my slippers. Stumbling for the door, I attached her collar, opened the door and clipped on her leash. I fell back into bed and waited for her yap to be let back in.

While laying there, I recalled the item I read in the Review Sunday morning. The East Liverpool police reports included an item about a discussion held with a vagrant at the Carnegie Library down at Fourth And Broadway. The cops responded to a call from the library staff about a man sitting outside the west wall. They found the individual with his cellular phone charging from an electrical outlet on the library. He was also taking advantage of the wi-fi signal emanating from the public library. Garbage was strewn around the man. He agreed to clear out cleaning his garbage before he left.

Now, there are things about this story already marking a cultural shift in the lifestyle of hoboes. A cell phone, internet signals stand apart from my perception of how drifters get along. My idea of a hobo is born of the classic bum carrying his possessions in a kerchief tied to a stick slung over his shoulder. Unshaven and a stump of a cigar clinched in his teeth, my notion of a hobo would be found down by the railroad tracks waiting for a slow moving freight train ready to move on down the line. Drifters, in my mind, were not carrying cell phones and surfing the internet.

But the last line of the story completely blew away my stereotype of vagrants. East Liverpool's finest found human feces on the library grounds. The cops asked the bum if that matter was his. He responded, "No, but I'll gladly clean it up."

'I'll gladly clean it up'?!? What manner of person would deny pooping yet be glad to clear up the mess?

Hobos ain't what they used to be.

The hobos of my memory were rather shabbily dressed men knocking on the back door and politely asking my mother if there was any chore they could do for a meal. She always pointed them to the rake propped against the tree or maybe the hoe and the vegetable garden or the bucket of whitewash where she had only done part of the fence. And while he did his chore she would prepare him a generous plate anybody would find appealing and maybe some pocket change if she had it. We were not wealthy people.

My impression as a small child, aided by my mother's explanation, was that these were proud men who expected to work for what they got. They were not beggars. I'm sure she tried to explain to me, but I remember wondering why they didn't have their own small unfrilly home as we did. Actually they did my mother a service as my father was not the sort to do any kind of manual labor and the hobos did some of the heavy lifting for her.

And I wondered what happened to them when they got really old like my great grandmother.

The romance of the Forgotten Man of the Great Depressin formed my notion of the hobo. The reality of a social networking, cell phone using outdoor pooper blew the romance away.

Yes there is that.

As well as the lawlessness of the drug culture and massive prevalence of profanity, vulgarity, cruelty, and empathy, even glorification, of the villain in the movies, on television, in our music, etc., that has coarsened and depersonalized us as a society. Trust and giving people the benefit of the doubt has of necessity been replaced with healthy distrust and fear. When I was little, we as a family would sometimes drive as far as we could and then camp out overnight beside the highway. People left the keys in the ignition of the cars and we seldom locked doors. We women could carry our oversized purses and handbags without any concern. And my mother was in no fear of that hobo who needed a meal.

We cannot do that now. There is no way I would open my back door to a strange man knocking on it these days. And if he did not go away, I would have my rifle pointed at it until the police could arrive. In many ways life is much better now, but we have lost some good stuff in the transition too.

They're still out there, living under bridges and getting food from a soup kitchen somewhere and sleeping under a bridge if they can't find shelter elsewhere. In most communities these days, panhandling or begging is illegal but you still see guys with a sign asking for work. Some are homeless vets suffering from PTSD or other physical and/or mental/emotional trauma, sad as that is to say. And the VA is an absolute travesty.

Nowadays it's about the welfare state, depending on where you live you can get along okay without working a day in your life. Used to be people had a work ethic and wanted to earn their way; not so much any more, although that could be in large part because for many the opportunity isn't there. And of course there are others who increasingly want more than they're worth as an employee, which hastens the day when automation or offshoring costs many their jobs.

 

[Ringel05]

Just curious if others have experienced the same situation and how they handled it. Not a big problem, but a lifestyle change.

We are at the point where we need to sell our home of 40 years. Our children were babies here. The walls hold happy memories of loved ones whose chairs are now empty...the yard - memories of first bike rides, Easter egg hunts, weddings. I love the fields, the cypress swamps, the privacy...the wild turkey and deer who come to visit.

It's getting more and more difficult to maintain the house and fences, etc. It's a long drive to town. Our only grandchildren live 800 miles away. We want to be near them - they are at that precious age where they run squealing with delight into our open arms - that will not last forever. Their father, our youngest son, is a first responder and our dil is a medical professional. They need our help, and want their children to experience the added richness in life that having grandparents nearby can give them. We'd be leaving behind my elderly mother, and two other grown children.

The house isn't on the market yet - I'm just beginning the difficult task of sorting through a lifetime of memories deciding what to keep and what to let go. When it sells, we're thinking of leasing an apartment for a year close to the kids before we commit to a purchase. They have offered us their walk-out basement, but I feel that would eventually intrude on their privacy.

A dear friend says - make new memories. Anyway - have others here made similar decisions? Any regrets?

The wife and I stayed with my parents for a short period of time, loved them dearly but if they were alive we wouldn't do that again, ever. Separate mind sets and separate norms eventually lead to unwanted conflict.

 

[Foxfyre]

"Alexa, what time is it?"

"It's 4:41am" the answer came back from my robotic overlord.

That was my interchange early this morning after Daisy the Mutt whined me awake.

"Oooh, oooh!"

It's hard to transcribe the whine of a miniature poodle. It's even hard to resist it. So I got out of bed, rubbed my eyes and fumbled for my slippers. Stumbling for the door, I attached her collar, opened the door and clipped on her leash. I fell back into bed and waited for her yap to be let back in.

While laying there, I recalled the item I read in the Review Sunday morning. The East Liverpool police reports included an item about a discussion held with a vagrant at the Carnegie Library down at Fourth And Broadway. The cops responded to a call from the library staff about a man sitting outside the west wall. They found the individual with his cellular phone charging from an electrical outlet on the library. He was also taking advantage of the wi-fi signal emanating from the public library. Garbage was strewn around the man. He agreed to clear out cleaning his garbage before he left.

Now, there are things about this story already marking a cultural shift in the lifestyle of hoboes. A cell phone, internet signals stand apart from my perception of how drifters get along. My idea of a hobo is born of the classic bum carrying his possessions in a kerchief tied to a stick slung over his shoulder. Unshaven and a stump of a cigar clinched in his teeth, my notion of a hobo would be found down by the railroad tracks waiting for a slow moving freight train ready to move on down the line. Drifters, in my mind, were not carrying cell phones and surfing the internet.

But the last line of the story completely blew away my stereotype of vagrants. East Liverpool's finest found human feces on the library grounds. The cops asked the bum if that matter was his. He responded, "No, but I'll gladly clean it up."

'I'll gladly clean it up'?!? What manner of person would deny pooping yet be glad to clear up the mess?

Hobos ain't what they used to be.

The hobos of my memory were rather shabbily dressed men knocking on the back door and politely asking my mother if there was any chore they could do for a meal. She always pointed them to the rake propped against the tree or maybe the hoe and the vegetable garden or the bucket of whitewash where she had only done part of the fence. And while he did his chore she would prepare him a generous plate anybody would find appealing and maybe some pocket change if she had it. We were not wealthy people.

My impression as a small child, aided by my mother's explanation, was that these were proud men who expected to work for what they got. They were not beggars. I'm sure she tried to explain to me, but I remember wondering why they didn't have their own small unfrilly home as we did. Actually they did my mother a service as my father was not the sort to do any kind of manual labor and the hobos did some of the heavy lifting for her.

And I wondered what happened to them when they got really old like my great grandmother.

The romance of the Forgotten Man of the Great Depressin formed my notion of the hobo. The reality of a social networking, cell phone using outdoor pooper blew the romance away.

Yes there is that.

As well as the lawlessness of the drug culture and massive prevalence of profanity, vulgarity, cruelty, and empathy, even glorification, of the villain in the movies, on television, in our music, etc., that has coarsened and depersonalized us as a society. Trust and giving people the benefit of the doubt has of necessity been replaced with healthy distrust and fear. When I was little, we as a family would sometimes drive as far as we could and then camp out overnight beside the highway. People left the keys in the ignition of the cars and we seldom locked doors. We women could carry our oversized purses and handbags without any concern. And my mother was in no fear of that hobo who needed a meal.

We cannot do that now. There is no way I would open my back door to a strange man knocking on it these days. And if he did not go away, I would have my rifle pointed at it until the police could arrive. In many ways life is much better now, but we have lost some good stuff in the transition too.

They're still out there, living under bridges and getting food from a soup kitchen somewhere and sleeping under a bridge if they can't find shelter elsewhere. In most communities these days, panhandling or begging is illegal but you still see guys with a sign asking for work. Some are homeless vets suffering from PTSD or other physical and/or mental/emotional trauma, sad as that is to say. And the VA is an absolute travesty.

Nowadays it's about the welfare state, depending on where you live you can get along okay without working a day in your life. Used to be people had a work ethic and wanted to earn their way; not so much any more, although that could be in large part because for many the opportunity isn't there. And of course there are others who increasingly want more than they're worth as an employee, which hastens the day when automation or offshoring costs many their jobs.

I don't disagree with any of that Task. And you didn't stray over the line into politics but you with the 'welfare state', and I with the 'drug culture', crowded it a bit too much to be comfortable here in the Coffee Shop. Just a cautionary observation.

Anyhow, happy to see you. You haven't been here for awhile and so happy you came back.

 

[SeaGal]

The wife and I stayed with my parents for a short period of time, loved them dearly but if they were alive we wouldn't do that again, ever. Separate mind sets and separate norms eventually lead to unwanted conflict.

We have found the same to be true. No matter how much we loved the folks we lived with, inlaws, early in our marriage,or those who lived with us, brother, more recently. I wouldn't want to put my dil through that for more than a few weeks or so.

 

[Foxfyre]

The wife and I stayed with my parents for a short period of time, loved them dearly but if they were alive we wouldn't do that again, ever. Separate mind sets and separate norms eventually lead to unwanted conflict.

We have found the same to be true. No matter how much we loved the folks we lived with, inlaws, early in our marriage,or those who lived with us, brother, more recently. I wouldn't want to put my dil through that for more than a few weeks or so.

I suppose there are a lot of success stories of shared accommodations during transitionary periods and others that would not be classified as successful. We took in a couple--best friends they were and remained--once when they were in need of a hand up during a transitionary period. It was okay but it became stressful for all of us as they need more space for themselves and we felt more and more resistant to giving up more of our space and lifestyle. It didn't wreck a beautiful friendship but it could have.

Our son and his first wife also lived with us for awhile in that same small house during a transitionary period for them. Good thing? Bad thing? He appreciated the safe harbor. She didn't. Hard to say if it was a factor that hastened a divorce that really REALLY needed to happen but I almost certainly would do it again for another family member who needed a place to crash for awhile.

As an aside, when he was ready to get back into circulation, I gave him strict orders. Whoever he dated had to be a person of faith and she had to like me. I figured that would keep him out of the market for awhile until he fully healed, but within a year we were attending his second wedding. That one has lasted more than 25 years now and she is very much family and loved.

 

[Pogo]

I've got a very very blustery day here, whipping winds and pouring rain. Great day to harvest my ghost peppers and Carolina Reapers. Have a ton of them.

A week ago I made my first foray into making hot pepper sauce out of about 10 of the ghosts. Used a jar of baby food as the base plus a fresh pear. Came out fairly nice, for a sauce you can only use by the drop.

I've gotta deal with these little beauties soon before it gets cold.... gonna have to find unwitting victims people to give some away.

Can''t even imagine how hot the Reaper sauce will be......

 

[SeaGal]

We did that when we left Kansas, though we weren't moving closer to our kids. We pared down from a very large bi-level home to fit comfortably into a two-bedroom apartment. Involved a huge garage sale and sale of a lot of stuff that did contain a lot of memories. But in the end, it is just stuff.

No regrets except that I do wish we had kept our piano. I did miss that. Nothing else really.

There's very little stuff that has any meaning - those few items that do are fairly small and will come with us. It's what can't be moved that is causing some unexpected grief...maybe melancholy nostalgia is a better description.

As I go through the rooms, I see the little boy who used to hide Cheetos in his bedside bucket lamp. The guest room mirror holding the reflection of my daughter in her wedding gown. The kitchen counter laden with so many holiday meals, and the site of endless games of dominos with my father, who's now gone. The chink in the brick out front where our eldest ran into the house on his new go cart. The hardwood floor in the studio put down by a beloved brother, gone too soon....the oak tree out in the field where my precious Sam, struck and killed by lightning, is buried. (not a person, my beloved white Arabian) I can hear the giggles coming from the windows of a forlornly empty treehouse...

I have a greater understanding for the elderly who are so reluctant to leave a house they've lived in for decades. I'm hoping someone will tell me, "Been there, done that, it's natural, and will get easier".

 

[Foxfyre]

We did that when we left Kansas, though we weren't moving closer to our kids. We pared down from a very large bi-level home to fit comfortably into a two-bedroom apartment. Involved a huge garage sale and sale of a lot of stuff that did contain a lot of memories. But in the end, it is just stuff.

No regrets except that I do wish we had kept our piano. I did miss that. Nothing else really.

There's very little stuff that has any meaning - those few items that do are fairly small and will come with us. It's what can't be moved that is causing some unexpected grief...maybe melancholy nostalgia is a better description.

As I go through the rooms, I see the little boy who used to hide Cheetos in his bedside bucket lamp. The guest room mirror holding the reflection of my daughter in her wedding gown. The kitchen counter laden with so many holiday meals, and the site of endless games of dominos with my father, who's now gone. The chink in the brick out front where our eldest ran into the house on his new go cart. The hardwood floor in the studio put down by a beloved brother, gone too soon....the oak tree out in the field where my precious Sam, struck and killed by lightning, is buried. (not a person, my beloved white Arabian) I can hear the giggles coming from the windows of a forlornly empty treehouse...

I have a greater understanding for the elderly who are so reluctant to leave a house they've lived in for decades. I'm hoping someone will tell me, "Been there, done that, it's natural, and will get easier".

You take those memories with you. They don't require something visual or tangible to rest comfortably in your heart.

On the other hand, if you have a strong sense that THIS is the place you are supposed to be, it could be better to wait awhile to change. Choosing out of fear often does not end well. Going with our gut usually serves us pretty well.

 

[SeaGal]

I'd consider the basement offer up front. You can see whether the whole dream can be reality or not. Moving for just the grand kids is probably not the best plan. It does go extremely fast and then you will have to consider your network of new friends to socialize. You can always find the apartment once you know the area better. Also, you seem to have three other eggs in your basket.

We will probably do that until we find a place. We go up there often and have stayed as long as a month at a time - I just don't want to make it long term. I'd rather we leave while they'd still hate to see us go.

Unless we were to invest considerable money into the basement it's not set up long term - one large, but nice, room, no separate bedroom, no bathroom or cooking facilities, the laundry is down there and the stairs are getting more difficult for mr sg each visit.

We have toyed with the idea of making an apartment out of half the basement, there is already a separate entrance and drive. Not being sure we can live there (weather), we thought a 1 year lease would give us the time and space to make a permanent decision.

 

[SeaGal]

You take those memories with you. They don't require something visual or tangible to rest comfortably in your heart.

On the other hand, if you have a strong sense that THIS is the place you are supposed to be, it could be better to wait awhile to change. Choosing out of fear often does not end well. Going with our gut usually serves us pretty well.

It is absolutely the right thing to do, physically and emotionally - we've taken three years to make this decision...and we're both anticipating the change. I just didn't expect goodbye to be so hard to say. Forty years worth of memories in one place is a lot to process.

We're not severing all ties - we have another house, smaller, more conveniently located, intended to be our retirement home eventually anyway, that our eldest son and his wife will be renting from us until we decide if our move is permanent. They lived across the field from us, and a job transfer one county over precipitated their recent move. So, we'll have new neighbors until we move too.

Thank you for your interest.

 

[task0778]

We did that when we left Kansas, though we weren't moving closer to our kids. We pared down from a very large bi-level home to fit comfortably into a two-bedroom apartment. Involved a huge garage sale and sale of a lot of stuff that did contain a lot of memories. But in the end, it is just stuff.

No regrets except that I do wish we had kept our piano. I did miss that. Nothing else really.

There's very little stuff that has any meaning - those few items that do are fairly small and will come with us. It's what can't be moved that is causing some unexpected grief...maybe melancholy nostalgia is a better description.

As I go through the rooms, I see the little boy who used to hide Cheetos in his bedside bucket lamp. The guest room mirror holding the reflection of my daughter in her wedding gown. The kitchen counter laden with so many holiday meals, and the site of endless games of dominos with my father, who's now gone. The chink in the brick out front where our eldest ran into the house on his new go cart. The hardwood floor in the studio put down by a beloved brother, gone too soon....the oak tree out in the field where my precious Sam, struck and killed by lightning, is buried. (not a person, my beloved white Arabian) I can hear the giggles coming from the windows of a forlornly empty treehouse...

I have a greater understanding for the elderly who are so reluctant to leave a house they've lived in for decades. I'm hoping someone will tell me, "Been there, done that, it's natural, and will get easier".

Been there, done that, after awhile it'll get easier but you have to have some time to adjust. In our case I just couldn't take care of our house and my wife's health was deteriorating and we needed to move out and relieve ourselves of what was becoming a financial burden and a physical/mental one. In short I needed the help and fewer problems to deal with and the money from our equity. It was hard, we built that house ourselves but the exigencies of senior living will catch up to you sooner or later and you're better off making that decision before it's too late. The good news: we still have each other so it's really just another challenge and adventure if you look at it that way.

 

[SeaGal]

Been there, done that, after awhile it'll get easier but you have to have some time to adjust. In our case I just couldn't take care of our house and my wife's health was deteriorating and we needed to move out and relieve ourselves of what was becoming a financial burden and a physical/mental one. In short I needed the help and fewer problems to deal with and the money from our equity. It was hard, we built that house ourselves but the exigencies of senior living will catch up to you sooner or later and you're better off making that decision before it's too late. The good news: we still have each other so it's really just another challenge and adventure if you look at it that way.

Thank you!...that's what I needed to hear!

Our story is very similar. Mr sg helped build the house from digging the footers to nailing shingles. His health no longer permits him to do the needed maintenance a house and 20 acres requires, and it's too much for me to do alone. It agonizes him.

I think a less demanding lifestyle will let us enjoy however much time we have left doing other things...and he can enjoy snuggling with the grandbabies instead of repairing fences.

You must be long married too. 48 years and counting for us. Just babies we were. I'm happy to hear your 'good news'!

 

[task0778]

Been there, done that, after awhile it'll get easier but you have to have some time to adjust. In our case I just couldn't take care of our house and my wife's health was deteriorating and we needed to move out and relieve ourselves of what was becoming a financial burden and a physical/mental one. In short I needed the help and fewer problems to deal with and the money from our equity. It was hard, we built that house ourselves but the exigencies of senior living will catch up to you sooner or later and you're better off making that decision before it's too late. The good news: we still have each other so it's really just another challenge and adventure if you look at it that way.

Thank you!...that's what I needed to hear!

Our story is very similar. Mr sg helped build the house from digging the footers to nailing shingles. His health no longer permits him to do the needed maintenance a house and 20 acres requires, and it's too much for me to do alone. It agonizes him.

I think a less demanding lifestyle will let us enjoy however much time we have left doing other things...and he can enjoy snuggling with the grandbabies instead of repairing fences.

You must be long married too. 48 years and counting for us. Just babies we were. I'm happy to hear your 'good news'!

Only 40 years for us, she had a massive stroke and I had cancer. Time does take it's toll, we had to change to a less demanding lifestyle as you say. Life gets a lot simpler and easier when you don't have to worry about money.

 

[SeaGal]

Only 40 years for us, she had a massive stroke and I had cancer. Time does take it's toll, we had to change to a less demanding lifestyle as you say. Life gets a lot simpler and easier when you don't have to worry about money.

That's a lot to deal with, and recover from. It is our time to change also. Your outlook - 'just another challenge and adventure' - is heartwarming and inspiring.

Mr sg said to me the other day, a day I didn't feel like doing anything more strenuous than vegging out on the couch and binge watching my favorite show on Netflix, yet felt guilty about it - he said, you've worked hard all your life to be able to enjoy doing nothing now. He was right!

May you and the missus have many more carefree days.

 

[task0778]

Only 40 years for us, she had a massive stroke and I had cancer. Time does take it's toll, we had to change to a less demanding lifestyle as you say. Life gets a lot simpler and easier when you don't have to worry about money.

That's a lot to deal with, and recover from. It is our time to change also. Your outlook - 'just another challenge and adventure' - is heartwarming and inspiring.

Mr sg said to me the other day, a day I didn't feel like doing anything more strenuous than vegging out on the couch and binge watching my favorite show on Netflix, yet felt guilty about it - he said, you've worked hard all your life to be able to enjoy doing nothing now. He was right!

May you and the missus have many more carefree days.

Any you both as well.

 

[peach174]

Mr. P saw the skin wound Doc this morning and his right side, that was getting better much sooner and wasn't as bad as the left side , has started to get worse.
Doc. said it's taking a little longer than normal, but it is getting better.

Then he saw the Heart Doc. and he changed one of the heart meds., because he is starting to retain water. It's been a delicate balancing act of being dehydrated, to now drinking too much water.
This new heart medicine will help him get rid of water retention.
But he is doing much better.
He sees skin Doc this Wed. and the heart Doc. in about 3 weeks.

 

[Ringel05]

Been wanting to try out Range Cafe and finally did so this afternoon........ Not impressed, not bad but not something to write home about or visit again anytime soon. The wife finally had her first Dr's appointment since we've been here so that ball is rolling.
What I really need is a good American, Tex-Mex combination restaurant. The Tex-Mex for me the American for the wife.