Retirement Planning—Saving Social Security

Those of us on the verge of retirement pay close attention to discussions of whether Social Security will go toes up in the near future. I believe I’ve stumbled upon a funding solution that will preserve Social Security for posterity.

My idea was inspired in part by the arguments over the extension of the Bush tax cuts. A key issue was whether the cuts should be allowed to expire for the very wealthy. There were differing opinions of what income marked the transition to that status. Some numbers thrown about were $250,000, $500,000 and $1 million per year. As a side note: these discussions always make me worry that I’m hovering dangerously close to poverty level.

The real key to my plan to save Social Security was modeled after the infamous donut hole of Medicare’s prescription coverage. We need to create a Social Security donut hole, but not on the receiving end of the equation—on the payment side.

With the current system, workers stop paying in when their income reaches $106,800. My plan will give rich folks a break for a donut hole of income running from $106,800 to, say, $1 million. (It’s not that I’m generous. I just don’t have the patience to argue about the threshold to super-wealthy.)

Earners once again begin paying Social Security taxes on income over $1 million. The political parties can fight over what percentage they should pay. Even if it’s less than the percentage paid by the lower income folks, on those ethereal salaries, Social Security will be fully funded for the next millennium. Now don't you all feel better?

While I’m on the subject of political parties fighting over things that could impact Social Security, let’s not forget the tax deal that Obama cut during the lame duck session of Congress. Democrats thought he caved too easily; Republicans thought they were tricked into supporting a stimulus package. Many pundits say they are both correct.

The December 12th edition of Inside Washington addressed this issue, and panelist Mark Shields caught my attention when he made this interesting observation. “The question about every conservative who comes to office is does he have compassion, does he have a heart. The question about every liberal leader is does he have a backbone?”

As I listened to this, the characters from The Wizard of Oz suddenly appeared before me. There was the Tin Man, lamenting his lack of a heart. Next to him, the Cowardly Lion wished for courage, which certainly sounded like a plea for backbone. It occurred to me that if Shields’ observation is correct, we need new symbols for our national political parties.

We should replace the elephant with the Tin Man and the donkey with the Cowardly Lion. This makes a lot of sense in the current climate. After all, our political conversations seem to have moved on down the road to Oz, and we can’t really be sure what we’ll find behind that curtain.

I wonder if I got rid of my ruby slippers when I was thinning out my closet...

RetirementSparks Christmas Greetings

Taking a holiday from the usual RetirementSparks posting today to wish all of you a very Merry Christmas. For those who don't celebrate this holiday, wishing you a peaceful day with friends and family.

Jagdish and I are in Vermont with my sister and her family. The trip up from Providence was uneventful, with suprisingly little traffic. It's a winter wonderland up here--just beautiful.

The next regular posting will be Wednesday, followed by another day off for New Years.

Warmest wishes to all of you.
Stay safe. Be healthy. Find joy and embrace it.

Retirement Planning—Species of Retirees

The end of the year always sees the publication of various lists. Time’s end-December issue includes a list of ten new species, including the Tube-Nosed Fruit Bat, the Bluetooth Tarantula and the Giant Woolly Rat. I do not lie. Check for yourself.

As I’ve collected information for my retirement, I’ve identified a number of distinct species of retirees. The most familiar one is the Pot-Bellied Pensioner. He was fortunate enough to spend his entire working life at one large corporation. They gave him an irresistible buyout package that has enabled him to sit back and do nothing at all. His lack of motivation to augment his discretionary income has resulted in a substantial weight gain around his midsection, which has led to considerable health problems. He doesn’t care, however, because his buyout included full health care coverage. The good news for our economy is that this species of retiree is on the verge of extinction.

A large but relatively young group are the Double-Dipping Unionites. These former government functionaries and public servants received lucrative retirement packages around age 40, at which time they took a second job. That job provided a similarly lucrative package that kicked in around age 60. Although I have yet to collect sufficient data to prove my theory, I believe that there is an unwritten but clearly understood system of job swapping among the Double Dippers. At age 40, those in career A trade places with those in career B, so that at age 60, they all retire with double dips. If enough of our cities and states go bankrupt, thus voiding all existing contracts, this species may one day become extinct, too. Don’t hold your breath.

Those of you who live in the more progressive states have surely seen the Downy-Chested Community Organizer. Dressed in a pouffy insulated vest in winter, this activist retiree goes door to door trying to drum up enthusiasm, signatures and contributions . She champions such causes as Save the Bay, Don’t Feed the Pigeons, Protect the Tube-Nosed Fruit Bat and Free the Giant Woolly Rats. This type of retiree shows no signs of impending extinction.

A particularly flamboyant species I identified is the Condo Commodore. Often self-appointed, but sometimes elected to his position, he patrols your community looking for violations of condo rules. Weather permitting, he is dressed in a navy blazer with brass buttons, khaki slacks and white patent leather loafers. If he is a widower, you are done for. The widows in the community will never support an uprising against him.

An unfortunately common species is the Red-Nosed Walmart Greeter. Most of us are familiar with the three-legged stool concept of funding one’s retirement (Social Security, some sort of income from a former employer, and your own 401K/IRA type of investment program.) Sadly, the Red-Nosed Walmart Greeter has a one-legged stool—the wobbly one of Social Security. She balances precariously on that stool at the door of your local Walmart, alternately smiling a greeting and dabbing at her leaky nose with the corner of her blue pinny. It seems as though the vital fluids of her life are draining slowly out of her, but it’s probably just hay fever.

The last and most obnoxious retiree that I’ve identified is the Smug-Mouthed Investment Wizard. This migratory creature had the foresight (and the time) to carefully manage his or her investments from at least age 40 onward. When it came to real estate, they bought at the low points in the market and sold at the high. They now own retirement-appropriate homes in every climate that the calendar requires, and they make sure everyone knows when they are making their winter pilgrimage to Sanibel Island. On the brighter side, each time they return to the north country, their skin looks more and more like leather. There is a god after all.

Retirement Transition—Marking How Time Passes

As someone who is still fully employed, I tend to mark the passage of time by certain repetitive tasks in the office. If I’m making a bank deposit, another week has passed. When I’m submitting the payroll, two weeks have gone by, and so on. I use the calendar on my computer to remind me of various things, including what day of the week it is.

Recently I received a robo-call that one of my prescriptions on auto-refill was ready for pick-up. My first thought was: “Has a month gone by already?” Then it occurred to me. Once I’m retired, those robo-calls could be the only way I'll know another month has passed.

Will I realize another week is history only when Lily starts looking askance at the litter boxes because they need changing? Gray roots of my hair crying out to be colored? Four weeks gone, but I’ll probably put it off another week. If I’m not working, I can go as gray as Jamie Lee Curtis. (But not if that means I have to start eating Activia.)

It seems there will be reliable ways to have a sense of the passage of time from one week upward. But what about knowing which day of the week it is when I wake up each morning? Most of us have had the Monday Morning Blues at some point in our working lives and we’re all familiar with TGIF. There’s no reason for Monday blues when you can sleep in every day. No, I’ll need to find with a new way to figure out what day it is.

Perhaps I’ll get some useful direction from that old nursery rhyme about Monday being wash day, Tuesday ironing, etc. By the way, it never made sense to me that mending day followed washing and ironing. Shouldn’t you mend things before you wash them, so the holes don’t get bigger as the agitator… well, agitates? And surely ironing and then mending is a recipe for re-ironing. (Well, it is if you’ve ever seen me mend anything.)

A Google search shows that in its original version this rhyme had Thursday as churning day and Friday as cleaning. More recent ones dropped churning (has no one heard of metaphors?), bumped up cleaning a day, and slipped in shopping on Friday. I have no quibble with getting a day to shop. Just saying, in this complex world, our houses probably “churn” even more than that little one on the prairie did.

While the specifics of the rhyme weren’t of much use, the concept helped me. Herewith my plan for how Jagdish and I will mark time passing once we’ve retired.

Sunday will be puzzle day—Sudoku, Times and such.
The polit shows will fill the morn, so we’re not out of touch.
Monday’s tagged for exercise; perhaps we’ll walk a bit.
Unless Jagdish’s knees give out, in which case we’ll just sit.
Tuesday it’s the Internet, I’ll write and chase my dream.
Jagdish will also be there with some money-making scheme.
Wednesday on to household chores, each week a different one.
We’ll wash and clean and press and mend from dawn to setting sun. [As if.]
Thursday can be artsy time, pursuing crafty fads.
With glue sticks, fabric scraps and some recycled paper bags.
Friday we will grocery shop and cook and bake things fine.
And then we’ll settle back to sip a lovely glass of wine. [Or two. Or three.]
Saturday’s for scouring every type of publication.
It’s how I’ll get ideas to free up scriber’s constipation. [Writer’s block?]
So there you have the weekly plan of how our days will pass.
And every night I’ll find some time to raise that long-stemmed glass.

Retirement Simplification—Acronyms for the Jargon

Political commentators sure use a lot of acronyms. I’m not talking about ones used for texting, like “OMG” and “LOL.” Theirs are strange. As I watched one of the political shows this past Sunday, I came to attention when I heard “BOMFOGers.” The speaker explained that BOMFOG stood for “Brotherhood of Man, Fatherhood of God.” He was warning viewers to be wary of those who spout meaningless platitudes. I think the term is a little like the onomatopoeic “bloviator,” but with a more political focus.

My first thought was that BOMFOGer sounded raucously close to another word with an M and an F that ends in “er.” My next thought was that acronyms can play a useful role in simplifying communications, especially in areas that are rife with jargon. I immediately realized that I could provide a valuable service by cataloging some acronyms for retirement.

Let’s start with Medicare. (I heard some of you moan, “Let’s not!”) It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it. You should look carefully at a MSIP (Medicare Supplement Insurance Plan) to cover costs that basic Medicare doesn’t. Part A covers hospital services. Part B covers medical expenses such as PSIOPMSSS, and PST, DT and DME. So, you’ve got your Physicians’ Services, In & Out Patient Medical & Surgical Services & Supplies; and also Physical & Speech Therapy, Diagnostic Tests and Durable Medical Equipment. I hope you’ve been paying attention, because there will be a test.

If you decide to get coverage for the prescription drugs you take, you’ll enroll in a PDP (Prescription Drug Plan.) Be careful not to confuse that with AARP’s PDP (Prescription Discount Program.) The latter PDP is free and is presently run through Walgreens. It can be used when your regular PDP doesn’t cover the prescription you’re filling.

So, if your PDP doesn’t pay for your medical marijuana, for example, AARP’s PDP might. If you’re smart, you’ll toke before you even try to figure this one out. Especially since the fine print reads “The AARP PDP is not a licensed pharmacy and may be discontinued at any time.” By the way, as best I can tell, bongs are not covered as DME.

Your PDP (Prescription Drug Plan) is where that infamous “donut hole” comes into play. The good news is, if you’re really decrepit and take lots of meds, you can throw yourself on the mercy of drug companies’ PAPs (Patient Assistance Programs.) When you reach the donut hole, your PAP kicks in. That way if the AARP PDP has gone toes up, you won’t get smeared.

Moving on to Social Security. We all know that FRA (Full Retirement Age) is the age at which our government finds we’re sufficiently senile to collect 100% of earned benefits. For my peers, that’s 66. However, 100% of earned benefits is not, in fact, the maximum we can receive. That’s right, we can get more than 100% if we’re willing to hang on until full senility sets in. The government has decided that for all of us that happens at age 70.

This means that FRA is really FRABNAFMAB (Full Retirement Age, But Not Age For Maximum Available Benefits.) It sets up a new concept: OFRA (Over-Full Retirement Age.) It also sends you to actuarial tables to decide if you’ll live long enough to make it worth waiting for MABRA, or whether you should take the money and run at FRA.

Once you decide to start collecting your Social Security benefits, you’ll have the option for DDA (Direct Deposit Advice.) When you choose that, your monthly payment will automatically appear in your designated account. Unfortunately for some of us, there is also the DDISEA (Direct Deposit Into Someone Else’s Account.) You may discover you have DDISEA even though you didn’t sign up for it, and it takes close to an act of Congress to undo it.

I hope you have enjoyed this informative, if brief, foray into the topic of retirement acronyms. There are so many more that I could share with you, but I don’t want to risk your having an attack of AFRJO (Acronyms for Retirement Jargon Overload.) I’m quite sure that isn’t covered by under OPMS, although it just might qualify you to find relief in medical marijuana. They say that every cloud has a silver lining.

Retirement Planning – Just Open the Darn Book!

A friend of mine who is about nine months ahead of me on the retirement timeline has been trying to decide when to stop working. He can afford to do it now, but as he told one of his colleagues, he doesn’t know yet what he wants to do with the next phase of his life. (He lost his wife about two years ago, so his long-held plans have changed.)

His feeling was, if he didn’t have a plan, why not keep working? The advice his colleague* gave him was simple, yet profound. He said: “You can’t start writing the next chapter of your life unless you’re willing to open the book.” I decided it would be a good idea to think about some of the headings on the pages of my life’s next chapter.

The first one is easy: Give away all the alarm clocks in the house and sleep in every morning. That would require some planning, though, because Lily would be walking all over me at some point, wanting her breakfast. I started a list: “Things to Buy for Next Chapter of My Life.” Then I wrote “Gravity-feed cat food dispenser.”

Another page should be: Read all the books that I bought and never had time to finish. Or even start. Of course, most of those books will have been sold or donated by the time we downsize for retirement. I add to the list: “Buy a Kindle." Or whatever electronic reading device du jour makes sense for a Mac lover. And then “Find out if Kindle comes with 3.25 magnifier.” I amend that to “Find out maximum Kindle magnifier number” and “Auto upgrades available?” By next year, I might be up to 3.5.

I title a page: Take up scrap-booking, or making greeting cards. (I have lots of supplies that I’ve collected over the years.) Somehow that sounds too crafty, not artsy enough for me. Maybe collage. Or book making. No, not the taking bets kind. The type where you bind your own books with handmade paper; it’s quite popular now. Although setting myself up as a bookie could be a way to supplement my retirement income. Hmmm…

Definitely: Start a vegetable and herb garden. Note to self: Do not plant anything in the catnip family; (that means no mint.) I tried growing catnip once, and the neighbor’s cat (an outdoor scamp) mowed it to ground level. He got so drunk that he trashed the entire herb bed. My own cats never saw so much as a leaf off the nepeta cataria.

This reminds me of how my father planted various fruit trees on our modest sized property in New Jersey. My favorite was the Carpathian walnut tree. (I am not joking.) My mother baked a lot of tea breads as gifts and many of them contained walnuts. Since those were pricey, my father decided to save money by planting the tree. He did not take into account the local squirrel population. Despite various attempts at curtailing their thievery (an entire post in itself), he was never able to harvest enough for more than one batch of bread. He eventually chopped the walnut tree down out of spite.

Perhaps: Volunteer at the Best Friends animal sanctuary in Utah. My friend, Sheryl, named them to receive contributions when she died. Their work is amazing and the DVDs they send tug at your heartstrings even more than that “Arms of an Angel” SPCA commercial. You know, the three-tissue anti-cruelty one with the dogs in cages and the Sarah McLachlan song in the background. If I went to Best Friends, I might never come back. Besides, I doubt I could bring Lily and Luke, and I can’t really picture Jagdish mucking horse stalls…

Suddenly I am inspired. I have the perfect heading for the next chapter of my life. Become a boutique wine maker. It brings together so many aspects of the other ideas. I can save money. I’ll have gifts to give. I’ll be a classic Virgo, working with the earth. And we all know what the best part of making my own wine will be. Santé!


*Credit to Michael Fine, even though he doesn’t know it.

Retirement Transitions—Road Wanderers

You’ve probably heard the phrase “road warriors,” the business people (usually sales reps) who spend most of their time in their cars. Their vehicles are essentially traveling offices, complete with computers, phone/faxes, office supplies, samples of their wares (if appropriate) and the basic necessities for frequent overnight stays. It wouldn’t surprise me if some of them even have minibars and yoga mats and Wii.

I think I’ve discovered their retirement equivalent: “road wanderers.” Road wanderers spend their time traveling around in their cars, visiting family and friends that they likely have not seen for decades. I figured this out on my way back from a trip to the New York metro area this past weekend.

It began with the annual brunch my college friend, Dee Dee, arranged on Saturday. I opted to drive from Providence the evening before. As I took note of the rising cost of gas, I decided to combine some other visits with this trip. I stayed Friday night with my nephew, Barry, his wife, Meg, and their twins in Westport, CT. They’d moved there several months ago, but I hadn’t seen their house yet.

Then I tacked on Saturday dinner in West Central Jersey with my former partner, Charlie, and his family from his first marriage. It was a slightly early birthday celebration for him, arranged by his daughter to coincide with my visit. Sunday midday I connected with a summer friend I hadn’t seen in over 40 years. (She found me on FaceBook.) By coincidence, Ann, who lives near Philadelphia, was doing a puppet show five miles from where Charlie lives. (If you’re counting, that makes four connections.)

Saturday night, I was supposed to be back in Connecticut staying with Lee, a former colleague from Colgate Palmolive, in anticipation of lunch on Monday. We were going to connect with Maida, another former Colgate colleague. (Are you still with me?) This all was canceled when Lee fell ill.

With Monday lunch (and friend tick-offs 5 and 6) no longer scheduled, I found myself driving home Sunday night, a day early. As I passed through the section of New Jersey where I went to high school, I thought, “If I’d known I would have the evening free, I could have stopped off to see Ted and Ellen. They live quite near here.” (Ted was one of my fellow band geeks.) That’s when it hit me: this could be a preview of my retirement years.

This got me to thinking about how I’d need to equip my car for life as a road wanderer. Certainly I’d need the ability to use a computer and a phone. I know what you’re thinking. Get Skype on the computer and you won’t need the phone. Have you tried to set up Skype? Humor me on this one.

I’ll need the ability to brew a proper cup of tea. Perhaps a mini-microwave. Does that mean I’d need a solar array on the roof of the car? I can’t imagine being away from my cats for any length of time. So I’d need cat-friendly lounging and scratching areas for them. Then there’s the litter…

Since I might not know how long I’d be away on each trip, I’d need a month’s supply of all my medications. (Oh, the paperwork!) And vitamins. And lotions. And dental floss. It would also be helpful to have a book on B&Bs that allow cats and to have a Zagat’s guide. There’s nothing worse than wandering the Amish Country looking for a restaurant that specializes in South Indian food. Or having an unrequited longing for thin-crust pizza in Colonial Williamsburg.

You may have noticed that I did not mention a portable wine cellar. I’m careful not to have more than a half glass when I’m going to be driving. As a road wanderer, I’d likely have to give up the vino en route. Quite a sacrifice, now that I think about it.

No wine; lots of litter. Hours upon hours with my driving glasses pressing on the bridge of my nose, making those ugly red marks. I may have to go back to the drawing board on this idea. And as long as I’m passing by the wine rack on my way there…

Retirement Planning – Creative Sparks

When I hear about reunions with people I haven’t been in touch with for thirty or forty years, I don’t rush to put them on my calendar in ink. Until recently, with the exception of my fellow band geeks, I hadn’t given much thought to what my high school classmates might have done with their lives. Ditto for my summer crowd

It was a 45 minute bus ride to my regional high school, where only 40 per cent of the students went on to college. The cute guys were more likely to be in auto mechanics and shop than in my calculus or physics classes. Let me amend that. The bad boys that I found fascinating were more likely to be mechanics and shoppies.

We lived year round in a summer community, and the seasonal folks came from all around our state. Looking back, it makes sense that they had the potential to become really interesting adults. But adult potential wasn’t something that concerned me.

Here is my deep dark secret. I was a shallow teenager, not prone to introspection and philosophizing. I was more interested in how attractive my girlfriend’s brother had become during his freshman year in college. Or the muscles that my brother’s beach buddies had developed over the winter.

One thing that has surprised me about the people from my past with whom I’ve reconnected as I approach retirement is how interesting they seem to be. They are smart and well-traveled—one was even in the Peace Corps. The biggest revelation is that they are amazingly creative, especially those who are already retired. This gives me hope for my own retirement.

One of my summer friends does puppetry with her husband. She studied it in Prague decades ago. We’re talking serious stuff, not faces drawn on your fingertips in ball point pen. A college classmate took up clarinet late in life and is totally immersed in her community band. My brother, who retired very early, became a fabulous outdoor photographer once he had the time to pursue it. [Check out his recent fall trip. http://www.pbase.com/rickdecker/sigma_dp1x and http://www.pbase.com/rickdecker/gallery/sd15_fall_2010

I used to do all sorts of artsy things. The company where I worked had a holiday doll pageant. They provided naked dolls (no snickering, please) and asked employees to make or buy outfits for them so they could be donated. They gave prizes in four categories for the handmade outfits. I won first prize thirteen years in a row and eventually captured first in each of the four categories. Mutter “competitive b- - -h” all you want, but I truly enjoyed doing it.

Perhaps retirement will afford me the time and the opportunity to take up new artistic pursuits, like photography. I bought a Nikon digital camera several years ago, but my eyes are so bad, I have trouble focusing. Jagdish would like to learn ballroom dancing. He has two left feet and I’ve broken both of mine (mercifully, not at the same time.) Also, his rhythm is distinctly Indian, and then there’s my diminishing sense of balance. Dancing doesn’t seem too promising an option. I suppose writing is creative, but I was hoping for something more… well, artsy. (Or flamboyant?)

I’m sitting here, trying to feel creative, looking around for inspiration. My computer keyboard catches my eye. Some of the keys are almost completely clean, while others have dark, smudgy spots around their perimeters. I wonder why all the keys aren’t smudged. The cleanest ones are the home row, and the dirtiest are the numbers. Maybe Lily walks along the upper edge with her dirty paws and the keys I use most often are the cleanest. But the function keys on the very top row are also clean. There goes the Lily theory. I’m perplexed. I’m also tempted to go get some Qtips and cleaning fluid.

Then I get into Jagdish’s glass half empty/half full mode of thought (see last Wednesday’s blog.) Were the keys with the white spots in the middle at one point totally smudged, so now are half clean? Or were the white spots never covered, and somehow the smudges only accumulated around the perimeter, so now half dirty?

It doesn’t say much for my creative sparking that I’m so easily distracted by a computer keyboard. I’m feeling quite inadequate compared to my peers. What we have here is a failure to find a muse. I don’t know about you, but if there’s one place I’d expect to find my muse, it’s at the bottom of a—you guessed it—lovely bottle of vino.

See ya!

Retirement Planning – A Shifting Line in the Sand

My husband called me the other day with an idea for a RetirementSparks post. Someone told him the time was twenty-five minutes to three. My husband countered that it was actually two thirty-five. He saw this as a variation on the glass half full vs. empty question. Stated differently: Are you focused on the present (it’s two thirty-five) or the future (twenty-five minutes to three)? I’m guessing he sees the present as the half-full option here.

The retirement correlation seems to be: Do I have three more weeks left in my working life? Or am I three weeks away from retirement? Neither, as it turns out. As my presumed retirement was drawing closer, I expected my plans to be solidifying. Instead, they seem to be turning to jello. Put another way, that line that I drew in the sand a few months ago seems to be shifting from my reading glasses zone to my driving ones.

Some things at work have conspired to make it likely that I’ll be working full time at least two or three more months. Or, futuristically (and glass half empty,) that retirement will be two or three months away. The more I try to plan for retirement, the more I find myself questioning how to define it.

Although my first benchmark was eligibility for Medicare, that had more to do with when I might be able to afford to retire, not when I planned to do so. Likewise, the date when my pension from a former career maxed out helped to define an “earliest possible” date.

Many people define retirement as when they stop working, preferably out of choice. For some that means no full time job; for others, it means not even part time work. I’ve always thought of “retirement” more as being able to stay up as late as I want every night and then sleep in, a time when I could spend my waking hours doing whatever I want. Or doing nothing. (As if.) I know that at least one of you gentle readers out there shares that view.

I suppose I could work part time and still qualify as semi-retired, using my own definition. That of course begs the question: “Is retirement a state of being or a state of mind?” If one’s schedule says “retired,” but one’s head is still “showing up” at that mental office every morning, who’s kidding whom? Likewise, if you come to work every day, but are counting the hours until the final punch out, aren’t you effectively retired?

When the dust has settled (or the grains of sand,) I suppose it doesn’t really matter how you label the phase of life that comes sometime after age 65 for most of us. And it’s not that important exactly where we draw the line. What matters is how gracefully we navigate the passage. Of course, it would be nice to do it in a boat that doesn’t leak and with at least one paddle. And a really good bottle of wine.