Retirement Tools — Candles for Retirees

Yankee Candles has just launched a new line of scented candles targeted specifically at men. Examples of the new “man candles” include “Riding Mower” (smells like freshly cut grass), “First Down” (leathery, like a football) and Man Town (“escape to the man cave with… musk”).

My husband carries Bean Pod candles in his store. They’re soy-based and burn much cleaner than paraffin ones. Because he’s a Bean Pod vendor, he receives advance notice of new lines. Here are some of the scents for retirees you’ll be able to buy in just a few months. You’ll note that they’re particularly deep on hobbies that retirees finally have the time to take up.

Gardener’s Paradise—an earthy mixture of potting soil, vermiculite and slightly damp canvas gloves. For those who are addicted to gardening, this is a great candle to burn when you’re going through planting withdrawal in the winter. Be sure to dead head the wick for longer burning.

Lounge Chair—that familiar blend of leather and pomade that tells you it’s your headrest and no one else’s. This scent is similar to Yankee Candle’s “First Down,” but less macho and more curmudgeon.

Woodworking Shop—the smell of fresh sawdust without all the mess to clean up. If you’re taking up carpentry in your retirement, this is the candle for you. Just don’t light it in the shop please.

Putting Green—the adrenalin-pumping aroma of newly mown grass, with top notes of morning dew and sand traps. Even when you can’t get to the golf course, you can always have your Putting Green.

Fermented Grapes Infusion—for the retiree who aspires to make boutique wine, light this candle for inspiration. It smells so realistic, you’ll be tempted to pour it into a tulip-shaped glass as it melts. Comes in a small oak barrel.

Medicine Cabinet—a dizzying blend of Ben-Gay ointment, Noxzema skin cream and Listerine mouthwash, whipped together to caress the senses. This one’s good for whatever ails you and it’s guaranteed to clear out your sinuses.

Fisherman’s Delight—a unique combination of just-caught bass and slimy nightcrawlers, a true fisherman’s favorite bait. We bet you’ll head to the attic to look for your waders as soon as you light this one.

Nap Time—the gentle smells of talcum powder and chamomile. Light this before your afternoon nap and sleep like a baby.

Cheese Factory—the distinct aroma of artisanal cheese with none of the milk fat. Why spend hours with a butter churn and cheese cloth strainer when you can just light one of these? As an added benefit, it won’t clog your arteries.

College Reunion—a swirl of misty memories, ivy-covered bricks, faded loves, rock music and stale beer. I’ll be burning this candle at both ends this weekend!

Retirement Venting — IRS Never Has To Say Sorry

Those of retirement age probably remember the classic line from the movie Love Story. “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.” We slow danced to Brenda Lee’s hit record I’m Sorry (“…so sorry; please accept my apology.”) It should come as no surprise that the IRS adheres to Ali McGraw’s philosophy, not Brenda’s. Simply put, being the IRS means never having to say you’re sorry.

A few months ago the IRS sent notice that I owed $33,770 from 2010. They claimed I earned $75,000 consulting and that I reported no income from that. In fact, I earned $750 and did indeed report it. (FYI, I’ve changed the figures here to protect against identity theft, but the order of magnitude is the same.)

I picked myself up off the floor and checked my blood pressure to be sure I didn’t need to go to an ER. Then I spent several hours combing through files in my basement, looking for the relevant tax material. When I put my house on the market in summer 2011, I stored papers that used to be stacked neatly in places I remembered reflexively.

I eventually found what I needed. I wrote a detailed letter explaining that the IRS missed a decimal. Then I went to Staples to make copies of everything and to the main post office to mail all that to the IRS, certified. I spent close to a day on this in total.

A few weeks later, a form letter came from the IRS. They had received my mailing and said to do nothing until I heard from them again. Soon after, I went to the local IRS office with my husband on something of his that required him to go in person. Since I was there anyway, I checked the status of my own problem.

After some computer sleuthing, a young woman insisted that the IRS had not made a decimal error. The company had indeed told them I earned $75,000. Presenting the original 1099 they sent me showing $750 would not help, since I could have fabricated it. The company had to file a revised 1099. I was not a happy camper, but deep breathing kept my blood pressure in check.

Finding the contact info for that company was almost as difficult as finding my tax return, but eventually I reached their bookkeeper. She assured me they gave the IRS the same figure they gave me, but she offered to re-file. I had her hold off until I received an official written response. I figured if one IRS humanoid could lose a decimal, another could misinterpret her computer screen.

After a few more weeks, I received another form letter from the IRS stating simply (but in large print) “Amount due $ 0.00.” No apology. No acknowledgement that they did indeed lose a decimal. No “sorry for scaring you half to death and wasting hours of your time.” But in mice type: “If you receive other notices regarding this matter, please disregard them.” As if. I’d have to be certifiable to disregard anything sent by the IRS.

As a public service and in good citizenship, I’ve put together a check list of responses the government can send taxpayers to apologize for IRS screw ups. This list preserves their love for form letters and removes any need for someone to actually behave as a human being. They can robotically tick off the most appropriate item. Or any item, for that matter.

·      We’re sorry we nearly gave you a coronary.

·      Oops! It was our screw up!

·      Lo siento! Our bad.

·      We will try not to/hope we never do this to you again.

·      We apologize for putting you at risk of having your Social Security docked because it looked like you earned way too much last year.

·      We feel really bad that you worried about a lien on your house, especially since you have it on the market. It would be a real bummer trying to sell it with an IRS lien on record.

·      Federal policy doesn’t allow you to bill us for the time you spent researching this problem and helping to correct our error. We’d compensate you if we could. Really we would. (Unless they took the money out of our own pay.)

As always, dear readers, I’m happy to be of service. I just wish the IRS felt the same.

Retirement Tools — Mixology for Retirees

In my early twenties I enjoyed a rum and Coke now and then. I had a Black Russian phase when I was traveling on business in my late twenties. In my thirties, I joined my father for an occasional gin and tonic on visits to my childhood home on summer weekends. These days I’m into good wine and cold beer, not hard liquor or mixed drinks. Still, I’d be remiss if I didn’t share new mixology for retirees.

First, some general information regarding cocktails and mixed drinks. You might wonder when it’s proper to shake the frozen concoction and when to stir it. This is more complicated than “shake if you’re making it for James Bond and stir if you’re in Margaritaville.” Here’s what I learned through my on-line sleuthing.

You shake a cocktail that has egg or dairy additives, including cream liqueurs. Likewise if it has fruit juices or syrups. Shaking makes it cloudy and effervescent. Strain it and the cloudiness should clear up. You also shake a mixed drink if you want to show off your new bar equipment.

You stir a cocktail that contains only distilled spirits or light mixers. Stirring is supposedly a gentler way to mix. Gin and whiskey cocktails are stirred so you don’t "bruise" the liquor. This makes little sense to me. Stuff that hard shouldn’t bruise easily. If you’ve paid careful attention, you’ll have concluded (correctly) that true martinis should be stirred, not shaken. That makes James Bond a contrarian (surprise, surprise). Plus, he drank vodka martinis, so all bets were off anyway.

Moving on to specific cocktails, the drink my mother favored when she went out with her lady friends was the Fuzzy Navel. The ingredients are peach schnapps and orange juice. Several online sites say to pour these into a glass filled with ice cubes and stir well. If your short-term memory still functions, you’ll realize that this flies in the face of the basic rules for shake vs. stir. It’s a good thing my mother didn’t know those rules, because she was not a contrarian; she was a joiner.

Variations found online include the Hairy Navel, which adds vodka, the Pierced Navel (adds grenadine), and the Not-So-Fuzzy Navel (adds grapefruit juice). But you can Google ‘til the cows come home and you won’t find a recipe for the Linty Navel. It’s a new cocktail made especially for retirees. It combines peach schnapps, calcium enriched OJ with no pulp, and the white of one large egg, poached. Shake all these together and serve over chilled tapioca bubbles.

Another variation on the Fuzzy Navel is the Fuzzy Ear Canal, also a specialty for retirees. In addition to the peach schnapps, you add equal parts peach brandy, curaçao liqueur and grenadine. Leave out the orange juice and forget about ice. Shake or stir; you won’t be able to tell the difference. By the time you empty your glass, all your senses will be impaired, but especially your hearing. You’ll swear that everything is being filtered through cotton balls in your ears.

A particularly stiff mixed drink I found is the Bristly Chin Hair. Combine three parts gin and two parts each vermouth and crème de menthe with one part Silver Needles White Tea. Brew the tea in boiling water for five minutes, then cool it in the freezer before adding to the alcohol mixture. Stir vigorously with a stainless steel drink whisk. If you made this right, the whisk should stand upright. You, on the other hand, will be stretched sideways after you drink it.

My research turned up a lesser-known drink—The Devil’s Handshake (a sweet and tart combo of fruits and tequila). You probably haven’t heard of the retiree variation—The Devil’s Middle Finger. It shares with the full hand 1½ parts tequila, ¾ parts lime juice and a teaspoon of ginger puree. After that, the Middle Finger goes its own way. Add a mouthful of light cream, a smidgeon of muddled papaya and a handful of trampled gooseberries. Shake vigorously until your middle finger hurts like the devil.

Finally, you’ll want to file away the recipe for the Metamucil Mudslide. Like a conventional Mudslide, you use 1½ ounces of Bailey's Irish Cream and ½ ounce of Kahlua. Separately, mix chocolate syrup with a tablespoon of Metamucil and coat the inside rim of the glass with this mixture. Fill the glass with ice and pour in the liqueurs. Be sure to lick off everything coating the glass if you want your mud to just slide on its way.

You’re free to go off now to practice your retirees’ mixology. What are you waiting for? Shake a leg and create a stir with your new cocktails. You can thank me later.

Retirement Updates — Product Potpourri

This week’s post is a potpourri, and a short one at that. There’s a major conference going on at my alma mater and I have some houseguests, so time is crunchier than usual. I’m sharing some product updates plucked from recent news reports. This doesn’t really tie into retirement, except that the fact that I’m retired affords me the "luxury" of watching the TV shows that feature this type of information and time for reading the miscellaneous blurbs buried in the back pages of periodicals.

First, those 1980’s Jellies plastic shoes are back. You know, the ones made with no animal products that started as children’s footwear and caught on with adults. Or pseudo-adults. The originals were a T-bar, or fisherman style sandal. Now we’re seeing ballerina flats, bows and flowers affixed to the shoes, perforated designs and even high-heeled jellies. I don’t know about you, but a high-heeled jelly seems like a visual oxymoron to me.

I did some further checking. You can get jelly tote bags and jelly purses if you’d like, and there are even designer jelly handbags (by Michael Kors, for one.) Designer jelly anything is another oxymoron in my opinion. There are also jelly belts, which I assume are purely decorative. If I wore a jelly belt, it would no doubt stretch well beyond its intended dimensions. And don’t even go where you’re thinking about jelly bellies…

I couldn’t find any jelly hats or vests online, but I’m sure it’s just a matter of time. Likewise no jelly suspenders, but I put them in the same category as belts—not at all practical. Personally, I’d like to see a jelly cat harness. I doubt that Luke would be happy in one, but he’d look cute as a button. Speaking of… jelly buttons would be awesome! (Not to be confused with belly buttons. And once again, forget about jelly bellies.)

The other category of new products I’d like to put on your radar is containers for wine. The word on the street is that wine-in-a-box has lost its stigma. There’s a wide array of choices now available boxed, from single serves, to family reunion size. Franzia, sold boxed at Trader Joe’s, claims to be the world’s most popular wine.

I suppose it was only a matter of time until one could buy wine in a purse. The Volére wine handbag is just adorable. The spigot comes out of one side, and you’d hardly know it was there. It comes in red, (off) white, and rosé colors. You can get this one at Stew Leonard’s.

Some of you no doubt see where I’m headed when these two stories merge. The next thing you know, we’ll be able to buy jelly shoes with spigots on their toes, ready to dispense wine on the go. Is this a great country, or what?