Coffee heat rising

Month: January 2011

Financial Planners: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

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Over at Bargaineering, Jim asks his readers if they use a financial planner. After starting to scribble an answer, I realized I wasn’t writing a comment; I was writing a whole new blog post. So rather than hijack his comments section, here’s my financial adviser story:

Those of you who read Funny about Money may know about my financial advisers at Stellar Capital Management, and about their amazing revival of my life savings after the trashing by the most recent stock market collapse. Several decades ago, while serving on the board of the Phoenix Chamber Music Society, I stumbled upon the gentleman who is now the most senior of senior partners there. The group had a large endowment that funded its activities. This guy, who had been a financial adviser and a music lover for years, was also a member of the board, and in that capacity he managed the endowment.

Came a serious market crash, followed by a brief recession. Everyone we knew lost their shirts, ourselves included. But the society’s endowment not only didn’t LOSE money, it MADE money.

When I pointed this out to my then-husband, a corporate lawyer, he hired the man forthwith.

After we divorced, I continued to have our financial adviser handle the money I took out of the marriage. I dealt with my sole and separate property myself, mostly by investing in mutual funds and in one half-baked municipal bond.

The municipal bond and the American fund, neither of which performed well, were suggested to me by another financial adviser, a former wife of one of my ex-husband’s former partners, who advertised herself as specializing in women’s finances.

Well, while she was very kind, gracious, and certainly most encouraging to women on their own, her advice was  just barely OK. The American Fund performed adequately but not brilliantly (it was not, we might say, “stellar”), and the municipal bond failed to keep up with inflation while it locked up my cash for a decade.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch… A few years after the divorce, my father passed away. Turns out he deeply disapproved of his 45-year-old daughter deciding what she should do with her life, and so, unknown to me, he contrived to disinherit me. He had told me that when he died, his then-wife would get the interest from his investments until she passed, and then the principal (about $90,000) would come to me. Trusting in this, I factored his promise into my long-term financial plans.

By way of delivering one last slap to the wayward child, he set up a trust that would disburse $1,500 a month to his widow, an arrangement that would drain the principal in about five years. He kept his money in a bank CD, whose return was so small as to be negligible. The widow, as he well knew, was the daughter of a woman who lived to be 102 years old, and so he expected she would easily outlive the money, which was passing directly from her bank account to her own daughter. To frost the cupcake, he made me his executor, so I would be forced to write her a check every month.

So I called my friend from the Chamber Music Society, and that was when I got wind of Vanguard Funds. He advised me to move all the money out of the CD and into a Vanguard short-term corporate bond fund. It was conservative enough that it posed no serious question about fiduciary responsibility, but it made a far better return than the laughable CD. In fact, for every dollar I had to fork over to the widow, the mutual fund returned 50 or 60 cents.

She outlived my father by about six years. Her health had been so exhausted, however, by having to care for my ailing father and by the questionable medical care she got at the life-care community where they lived, that she didn’t make it to the grand old age of 100. Far from it.

Thanks to my financial planner’s advice, even though she should have taken the entire inheritance away from me if things had gone according to my father’s plan, I managed to salvage about $40,000 of its principal. Additionally, my lawyer informed me that I was allowed to draw out an annual executor’s fee of about $1,200, which of course went directly into savings. All told, I rescued a little over $47,000 that would have disappeared without the advice of someone who knew what he was doing.

Having learned about Vanguard, I divided the rest of my non-tax-deferred savings evenly between Vanguard’s Wellington and Windsor II funds. These did moderately well over the years, while the financial adviser was managing the big IRA by investing in a wide variety of securities.

Contrary to our experience in previous bear markets, we lost a fair amount in the fall of the Bush economy, as everyone did. But in 2010 it came back, the rich getting richer as they do and bringing some of us along on their coat-tails. Total investments today are about five times what they were when I walked from the marriage, twenty years ago…not counting the paid-off house.

Along the way, I ran into another kind of financial adviser. At one point, the State of Arizona made a misstep, some charged as the result of corruption, that caused all its employee health-care insurers except Cigna to cancel coverage. None of my doctors would do business with Cigna, which was roundly hated in these parts. My dermatologist so reviled Cigna that he would not let me walk in the door, even after I offered to pay him out of pocket. It’s not easy to find competent medical care in this state, and so rather than discontinue a gynecologist and an internist whom I knew to be very good, I decided to buy private health insurance.

To afford this, I bought into an early health savings plan. In those days, such plans were few and far between, and you had to search out an insurance agent who could sell it to you. Well, after some digging I found one, and he did indeed sell me a health insurance policy.

Then he tried to make a move on my savings.

He told me that he was a financial planner and only sold insurance on the side. He could, said he, undoubtedly help me to earn lots more than I was earning with my present guy. All I had to do was tell him what my assets were, and for free he would draw up a financial analysis.

Right. Having no intention of moving a dime, I allowed the insurance agent to give me his pitch. What he presented was identical to the “analysis” prepared by the feminist CFP, only his style wasn’t as smooth.

I realized at that point that just about anybody can hang up a shingle as a financial “planner” or “adviser.” You don’t have to be a Certified Financial Planner to bill yourself as a financial planner. Nor do those letters after the name signify much more than that you have a bachelor’s degree, that you’ve passed a standardized test, that you haven’t murdered, raped, or embezzled from anyone, and that you’ve worked in the field for all of three whole years. At least the feminist had an MBA!

So. Do I use a financial planner? Yup.

Would I advise someone else to do so? Maybe. I would advise you to be very, very careful. Get references from people who have money—a lot of it—and keep a sharp eye on what your financial manager is doing. Find out, in full detail, how the person is compensated (they work either on commission or fee-for-service).

I review my financial statements in detail every month. Not once a quarter, not once a year, not whenever I feel so inclined, but every single month. I know where my money is invested, I get prospecti from those investments, and I know what those investments are doing over the short term and over the long term. Management of your life savings is not something you should blindly hand over to someone else, even if you think he (or she) can be trusted 100 percent.

Don’t expect to get rich quick, or to build capital without active involvement of your own. Never put all your eggs in one basket. And if an investment adviser comes up with something that’s too good to be true, run! As fast as you can, in the opposite direction.

What I Learned During the Year of Penury

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Well, assuming all goes as planned (big assumption, I know!), according to my budgeting software this year I should see a combined earned and passive income of about $52,000. That’s only $13,000 short of my late, great full-time editorial salary, and $8,500 more than I earned teaching full-time. And it’s a far cry from what crossed my bank account’s threshold last year, about $28,000.

I learned a lot of things by trying to live on 43 percent of my pre-layoff salary, very valuable things:

• If you’re not in debt, you can live on a lot less than you think you need.
• If you are in debt, you’d better have a good stash of emergency savings to cover payments.
• You can live frugally and still be reasonably comfortable, most of the time.
• No matter what anyone says about the alleged tax advantages of carrying a mortgage, when you’re unemployed a paid-off roof over your head is your second-greatest asset.
• Your third-greatest asset is a paid-off car.
• Your greatest asset is good health, should you be so lucky to have it and keep it.
• Beans, rice, and pasta are splendid things to eat.
• Chard growing in the garden goes a long way toward putting a nice meal on your table.
• A stand of lettuce helps, too.
• With careful planning, it’s possible to stay out of stores for surprisingly long periods.
• Raising the deductible on your homeowner’s insurance comes under the heading of penny-wise and pound-foolish.
• When budgeting for irregular income, it may be good to create longer budgeting periods than a month. At times, two- or three-month budgets may work more effectively.
• When money is tight, that is when every unplanned expense in creation crashes down on your head.

Despite fears to the contrary, I managed to stay in my home and live without too much deprivation by budgeting carefully, stockpiling food, conserving energy, and putting less money in savings.

It’s surprising how little it takes to get by when you’re not working. I would have done OK on even less, had I been inclined to shop in thrift stores and low-end grocery stores. It’s also clear that I could have cut living expenses still further by moving out of my present home, which has relatively high operating costs, and going to Sun City, where taxes and insurance premiums are significantly less.

What kept me in my home was not having a mortgage. Some years ago I decided to defy conventional wisdom by paying off the mortgage I had on my last house. It occurred to me that each monthly mortgage payment I did not have to pay represented a return on investment of exactly that much. I owed about $70,000 on the house and was paying about $860 a month, which, when the alimony ran out, was more than half my monthly take-home pay. Less than $200 of the PITI comprised tax and insurance. My investments earn about 7 percent; 7 percent of 70 grand is $408. So despite the protestations of two investment advisers, it seemed to me that little would be lost by investing a chunk of savings plus an inheritance in residential real estate.

Over a ten-year period, the house’s value more than doubled, allowing me to buy my present house, a somewhat nicer place in a quieter part of the neighborhood, and pay for it in cash.

If I hadn’t owned the house outright, I can’t imagine what I would have done last year. Although the house has dropped $35,000 in value since I bought it, you don’t realize a loss until you sell, and because I didn’t owe anything, I wasn’t forced to sell or default. There’s simply no way I could have paid $10,320 out of a $22,000 net income and survived. It was extremely lucky that I made that choice all those years ago, and that I’d managed to accrue enough savings to pull it off at the time.

So, I learned that a smart decision can pay off a long time after you make it. And I learned that it is not a bad idea to pay off a residential mortgage.

Having a lot of savings rescued me from the potential disaster posed by the mortgage on the downtown house. I used the tax-free portion of a whole life insurance policy to pay my share of the monthly payments in 2010. Because we managed to get a temporary loan modification, a couple thousand dollars of that remain to help defray the 2011 PITI.

There were some difficult moments. The cost entailed in falling and hurting myself was a bit startling. It would have been even more startling had I consented to surgery that would have caused the loss of an entire semester’s pay. Living through the summer with the thermostat turned up so high that my friends wouldn’t come inside the house was uncomfortable, and I’ll be happy not to have to swelter like that come next July.

When I would run out of cash, not spending a dime for a week or ten days at a time was a challenge. And the summer months, during which income did not cover base expenses, were nightmarish. Even though I’d saved enough from teaching income, theoretically, to squeak through May, June, July, and August on Social Security, by the time fall semester started I was running out of money. Classes started sometime after mid-month, we didn’t get paid until the last of the month, and that was only a partial paycheck. The summer stipend didn’t help much, because most of it wasn’t disbursed until long after I needed it. Being paid for only two classes during the first eight weeks of the semester didn’t help things much, either.

By December, the money pile had not recovered from the effort to get through three and a half months with less income than outgo. Fortunately, though, the stock market had recovered. The strategy of delaying a drawdown from savings had worked, and my IRA and brokerage accounts had returned to something close to their pre-Crash levels. At that point, my financial adviser and I decided it was safe to start a 3 percent drawdown, which, until inflation kicks in, will guarantee enough in the checking account to pay the bills, exclusive of earned income.

In retrospect, I learned that I would have been better off if I’d put all my summer survival savings into my regular cash flow account at the end of spring semester, rather than setting the money aside in a savings account and doling it out to myself in monthly “paychecks.”

Instead, I should have treated the summer as one three-month budget cycle. This cycle should have contained three months’ worth of expense budget: three months’ worth utilities, insurance, etc., plus three months’ worth of spending money. On the credit side, it would have included all my spring-semester survival savings plus projected Social Security. Subtracting debits from the summer-long total, not from one month’s worth at a time, would have allowed me to see at a glance how much remained to get by on until salary started again. This would have relieved a great deal of worry engendered by fretting about how to get by from month to month. I still would have been in the red at the end of the summer…but I probably would have stressed about it only once, instead of three or four times.

It really would have helped not to have had a $165 palm tree trimming bill in June, a $30 copay to the Mayo in July, a $105 electrician’s bill in August, and a $120 plumbing bill in September. I suppose that when you foresee a financially tight time coming, you should add about $150 to your regularly budgeted expenses to cover Murphy’s Law.

The economy is improving. Eventually most of us will get jobs again, although probably not at what we used to earn. The Fall of the Bush Economy is not the last recession we’ll see. There’ll be more, and they may be worse. By way of preparing for those, I think, the take-away messages are as follows:

• Live within your means, even in good times.
• Within your means, live frugally, even in the best of times.
• Build savings. Don’t limit savings to your IRA or 401(k).
• Distribute savings wisely between cash and investment accounts.
• Pay off debt. That includes mortgage debt.
• Avoid accruing new debt. Use savings to help pay for big-ticket items in cash.
• Take care of your health.
• Expect the unexpected.

Cranky Old Bat vs. Newfangled Junk

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You know you’re getting old when (among other things) you begin to feel that none of the gadgets, doodads, gizmos, and minor amenities that made your life comfortable exist anymore. Or if they do, the darn things don’t work anymore!

Case in point: The potholder.

What is it with those silicone things that the young pups think is so great?

These little frauds are a total mystification. They’re clumsy. They’re ugly. They won’t wrap around a hot pan handle. And contrary to what their admirers say, they don’t protect your hands from heat any better than a real potholder, which is to say, “a potholder made from several layers of heavy terrycloth.”

One consumer effuses, “I absolutely love these potholders!!!!” Exclamation point. Then she goes on to remark, “You need to be aware of the location of the hole in one corner of the potholder. I didn’t pay attention one day and got a nasty burn pulling a very hot pan out of the oven. If you are a bit of a klutz, like me, best to keep 100% aloe in the house just in case you do what I did.”

Uhm…. Doesn’t a hole in the potholder defeat the purpose of a potholder? The whole idea of using a potholder is to keep from getting burnt so you don’t need to have a bottle of aloe vera cluttering up your kitchen counter.

Another burbles, after allowing that they are a bit stiff and difficult to use, “They have a bonus use, as a very good way to get a grip on jars or similar items that are hard to open. (I use mine to unscrew the faucet water filter when it needs to be replaced.)” So…the tradeoff for the aloe on the kitchen counter is a hot pad that doubles as a rubber gripper. Why not just get a rubber gripper for those hard-to-open jars and opt the burned fingers?

Well, we—or more likely, a coalition of manufacturers and marketers—have decided that the silicone things are so wondrous that real potholders are getting very hard to find. The last time I searched in Williams-Sonoma, Bed Bath & Beyond, Sur la Table, and Target, I couldn’t find a real, terrycloth potholder, one that’s terrycloth on both sides, not one with a decorative scene stamped on useless cotton or one with a shiny, fake asbestos backing. All I want is a terrycloth potholder, terrycloth through and through. And I’d kinda like it not to be ugly.

After some traipsing through Amazon, I came across these Gourmet Classics terry Potholders, which look like they might do the trick:

Red is the only color that’s not plug-hideous. They also come in pea-soup green, dungeon black, and apartment-house beige. What recommends them is their size: they’re 8 by 8, the size of a normal potholder.

However, here’s one that purports to be 8½ x 8½. It comes in blue, red, and yellow, and not only that, but it’s a few cents cheaper than the “gourmet” variety.

That Wedgewood blue doesn’t match the blue trim in my kitchen’s Mexican tilework, but what the heck. The things hang inside a cabinet, so no one’s going to see them when they’re put away. Truth to tell, with some exploration you discover that this model comes in many colors, from day-glo red to cobalt via moss green.

If nothing will do for your kitchen but metaphorical greenness, believe it or not they make an “organic” potholder.

We’re told these things are made of cotton “grown without the use of harmful chemicals, pesticides and fertilizers. The methods, materials and dyes used in organic cotton have a low impact on the environment and are certified by Skal International.” The only colors available are earth-tones. In addition to the brit-shindle above, there’s a kind of pinkish terracotta, a leaf green that verges on the minty, and maize yellow. That’s a better selection than any of the other offerings. This potholder, though, is an odd shape: 7¾ x 9 inches. But that might not be a bad thing.

Isn’t it ridiculous that you can no longer buy an ordinary, functional potholder at the corner grocery store or even at the mall kitchen shop? Well. If all else fails, you can make your own:

Do-it-yourself_potholder

What products from the good old days do you miss the most?

How to Procrastinate, Dawdle, and Waste Time While Reading Student Papers

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Now, don’t get me wrong. I love students. And I’m thrilled to meet the 52 new and returning freshpersons in this semester’s composition courses. But let’s be frank: reading student papers is something that causes one’s attention to wander. Easily.

It’s the brain’s self-preservation strategy: focus on this stuff nonstop and your synapses clog. You fall on the floor beneath your desk, unconscious. Inexorably, the attention wanders, the Internet beckons, the fingers wish to occupy themselves with, ohhh…knitting or paper-doll construction.

Blackboard, that all-but-ubiquitous collegiate course management system, is one of the great time-wasters of all creation. Feeling bored with reading student writing? Turn to Blackboard. There’s nothing like watching a page load for five minutes to instruct you on what boredom really means.

BB’s endlessly meddling administrators took it upon themselves to install new “blog” software (the function doesn’t really mount blogs, but it apes them in an oblique way). Was anything wrong with the old “blog” function? No. They just wanted to add a little bloatware, complicate our lives, waste a bit more of our time. Mission, we might add, accomplished.

After having strained every gut to get my spring courses built and online by the end of fall semester, what do I find when I reopen my BB courses by way of revving up for the first day of class? Yes. They’ve disabled all my blogs, which form a central part of each of my three courses. To get them back online, I have to sit through an endless “synchronizing” process…for each and every separate single individual goddamn redundant blog! Over and over!

Okay. Did that a week ago.

Get online today and find…what? Every blog I open goes through the same endless (“This may take a few minutes”) process…AND once the execrable things finally do load, there’s no way for users to create the entries they need to build for their assignments. So, send an inquiry to the admin who has been assigned to struggle with this program for us.

Go back to reading student papers.

Brain boggles. Cruise the local Play-Nooz sites, killing time by clicking thumbs-up or thumbs-down on the commentary. Gratified to see that Gabrielle Giffords is improving beyond what anyone could imagine.

Re-engage Blackboard on the blogging battlefield. Finally force it to bring up a “New Entry” button. Write new instructions for how to use the blog function; post these on all three course sites. Over and over and over again…

Read e-mail. Review the 46 college & district messages MacMail has already relegated to the trash; find that MacMail is right about all of them.

Learn from BB admin that now you have to instruct students to “save” and THEN “save and submit” to post a BB blog entry. Rewrite and repost instructions. Over and over and over again.

Begin reviewing intro papers and entering attendance and participation scores. By way of speeding the interminable grading process, I’ve learned to make a hard-copy notecard for each student, listing all the assignments with places to enter their scores. This is much easier and faster when you’re plowing through a random set of papers than trying to plod up and down BB’s endlessly reloading pages (which take you back up to the top of the grade sheet, over and over and over again…never stop saying you’re bored…). Once you’ve finished reading all the papers, all you’ve got to do is alphabetize the cards (easy to do when you’ve also numbered them) and then enter the scores quickly from top to bottom.

Problem: This entails handwriting 12 assignment titles 52 times; that would mean writing the same 23 mind-numbing words 624 brain-deadening times.

But wait! I recall I have a ream of heavy card stock, liberated from the Great Desert University when I abandoned ship. If I can recreate a set of 3 x 5 cards with a table, I can enter the semester’s assignments once and then just copy them to create a page of identical cells, which can then be printed out 26 times. It means I’ll have to cut these things apart with scissors, but somehow that seems less onerous than writing 23 mind-numbing words 624 brain-deadening times.

A lot like cutting out paper dolls.

Persuading Word to build a table with cells that measure exactly 3 inches by 5 inches without dorking things up is not as easy as it seems. Mind-numbing.

Enter in Google the following search string:

I hate Blackboard.

Dozens and dozens of sites come up. I quit scanning them after five pages of hits.

Enter in Google the following search string:

I love Blackboard.

Three sites come up, one of them titled “I love Blackboard—NOT.” One reports the results of a poll asking people whether they love or hate Blackboard; 7 percent report they love it, implying that 93 percent hate it. The third emanates from a site called blackboard.com.

Take scissors and cut out 52 notecards word-processed onto heavy stock. Fill in names and scores. Alphabetize and number cards. Enter students’ scores in Blackboard. Discover that in each spreadsheet, the endlessly redundant, space-and-time-consuming unwanted columns I marked as “hidden” have all come “UNhidden.” Click “hide” again. Over and over and over again (never stop saying you’re bored…). Hit “enter” to submit a grade and what happens? All the hidden columns get UNhidden. Again.

Other first-rate procrastination strategies: Google “evil Blackboard,” “useless Blackboard,” “frustrating Blackboard,” “annoying Blackboard,” “fu¢king Blackboard” (fill in the obvious character there), “farking Blackboard,” “godawful Blackboard,” “demonic Blackboard,” “accursed Blackboard,” and so on.

At last, you finish your work. A two-hour job has only taken you about five hours.

You have now killed a substantial part of the day. It is unclear whether you have wasted more time trying to do your job with an impossibly clumsy tool or whether you have wasted more time trying to distract yourself from the tedium of trying to do your job with an impossibly clumsy tool. Whatever. It’s time to get up, feed the dog, fix dinner, and go to choir practice.

One dares not reproduce this fine graphic, for fear of lawsuits from its creator or, more likely, from the megacorporation that promulgates Blackboard. But it expresses one’s sentiments nicely, after a day of educational time-wasting:

Snakes on a Blackboard.

Admirable. If you teach college courses, if you go to college, don’t miss it.

Budgeting for a Windfall

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Things are looking up. The departmental chair has assigned me not one but two summer courses, God bless him! Even though it appears the magazine writing course will not make, that’s still seven sections for 2011 (assuming three sections materialize in the fall). Pay for seven sections amounts to $16,800, or a net of $13,272. We await the credit union’s offer in the pending renegotiation of the upside-down mortgage on the house M’hijito and I naively got ourselves into, but it can’t be any worse than we were paying before we got the loan modification at the time I was laid off. In the worst-case scenario, I would owe $9,600 in 2010. My teaching income is the sole source now of cash with which to pay my share of the payments. Think of that: $13,272 − $9,600 = $3,672, a nice little windfall!

What on earth am I going to do with $3,672?

Seriously. After a year of living frugally, I actually had to think about how I could spend an extra thirty-seven hundred bucks.

The obvious, of course, is stick it in savings! But in February another unpaid sick-leave reimbursement will come in. It will fund my Roth IRA with about $1,650 to spare; what I can’t put into the Roth will go into the brokerage fund. The net represents 31 percent of net 2011 earned income. So I don’t feel any great urgency to stash the the cash I’ve earned by actually working.

Au contraire. It’s time for me to have a life.

There are a few things I’d like to spend some money on. For example: air conditioning. I do not ever want to have to spend another summer sweltering inside my home with the thermostat turned up so high the activity of tapping on a computer keyboard breaks a sweat.

Then: water. In the summer of 2009, as some of you may recall, I kept a mostly unsuccessful container garden under the orange trees. Because plants in pots have to be watered every day and because I could afford to be lazy while I had a job, I would carry the hose to the pots and set the timer for ten or fifteen minutes…every single morning. The container garden was a fail, but the water bill was cause for celebration down at the city water & sewer department: $214 in July 2009! That’s about $90 over my water budget.

The $214 water bill, as it develops, produced nothing that summer, but it did buy a fantastic bumper crop of glorious oranges. By last February the trees were loaded with big, juicy fruit as sweet as candy.

Last July’s water bill was a far more  modest $96.10. I shut off the drip watering system, dragged the hose to the landscape plants, let the xeric planting in front go without, and most certainly did not indulge in container gardening. Or much of any other kind of gardening, come to think of it.

The result: Tiny little parched fruit on the orange trees. This spring’s crop, what there is of it, is hardly usable.

The fruit took a beating from the hail storm. About a third of the oranges dropped off the trees; maybe half the surviving fruit was all bruised up, left with brown scars on the orange skins. The fruit that managed to cling to the branches is stunted—no larger than a tennis ball, and many pieces smaller than that. While most of the surviving pieces are reasonably juicy, they’re not very sweet. Some are almost flavorless.

Obviously, orange trees need a lot of water to thrive. And since I adore those oranges, I want them to thrive.

The highest electric bill of last summer was $239.08, which was $14 over budget. It was hotter than the hubs of Hades in my house—truly uncomfortable, enough to start me thinking about moving away from Arizona. Supposedly the new hyper-efficient air conditioning will hold the power bills down a bit this year.

Right. I’ll believe that when I see it. The first power bill with that unit in place came to $85.64; the January 2010 bill was $104.34. Difference was only twenty bucks…but then, we didn’t have a hard frost last winter. Until the summer bills come in, we can safely assume the new Goodman will cost about as much to operate as the old Goettl unit did.

So, I figure that to cool the house to a reasonably comfortable state (say, no hotter than 76 or 78 degrees) and to irrigate those citrus trees adequately will take about an extra $300 per month.

Okay. That’s $900 for the three hottest months of the year.

Now. I need a pair of shoes, and I wish to shed the Costco jeans and start wearing some decent clothes. That’ll be $150 for one new pair of pain-frees and let’s say $200 per shopping spree in the midsummer and post-Christmas 2011 sales: $150 + $400 = $550 to upgrade the wardrobe.

The house needs a lot of work. To repair the foundation crack on the west side, repaint the sun-blasted gables, touch up eroded exterior paint, paint the office door (a job that never did get done!), spray-paint the grungy interior of the garage, and build a French drain to direct ponding rainwater water away from the patio will cost about $500.

I need a new pair of progressive shades in the frame style I favor, which I’ve already ordered. Price tag: $720.

And this last week I made a surprising discovery: going to concerts makes me feel happy. Yes. Very happy. Music tameth the neurotic beast. A week of attending Bach concerts every second day left me feeling an unaccustomed calm, unruffled by the usual minor aggravations. As you can imagine, I wish to continue this.

Season tickets to chamber music are $200 for eight concerts, which works out to a fairly reasonable $25 per performance. When you buy them one at a time, it’s $30 apiece. The Downtown Chamber Series is only $10, but they don’t do many performances. The Phoenix Chorale is doing four performances this season plus several special events; prices are $5 less for us old bats, and you can attend their rehearsals for free. The Louise Kerr Cultural Center has a jazz series; price is about the same. The Desert Botanical Garden has its “Music in the Garden” series, mostly jazz. Plus the community college and the university music departments mount performances all the time, at very reasonable prices. So there’s a lot going on. Five hundred dollars would buy two series and entry to a number of miscellaneous events.

Soooo…. What would this spend it or bust budget look like?

Holy mackerel! I can’t even think up enough ways to spend the extra money!

Whence this spectacular new lucre? Well, it’s happening because I finally gave up trying to avoid drawing down retirement savings. The nest egg recovered pretty well in 2010, to everyone’s amazement. Really, I don’t think the boys down at Stellar believed, in their heart of hearts, that the market would come back the way it has. On their advice, I tried my level best to get by on just Social Security and the piddling $14,160 that Social Security allowed me to earn from teaching last year. That was difficult; it just wasn’t enough for me to live on.

With happy days here again (except for the 17 percent of Americans who remain unemployed or underemployed, myself among them), we’ve changed the strategy. Right now I’m spending down the post-tax savings I had accrued before GDU laid me off, to the tune of about $1,100 a month. This should last until September, at which point I’ll start a 3 percent drawdown from retirement savings. That plus Social Security amounts to just enough to meet my base monthly needs. So, everything I earn teaching can be used to meet expenses beyond bare survival.

My initial thought was that the teaching income—virtually all of it—would go to pay the mortgage on the downtown house. And that would have been so under the onerous earnings limitation imposed by Social Security in 2010.

However, in 2011, I’m free at last of the earnings limit.  That allows me to take on two extra courses, about the max the community colleges will hire me to teach. Net income from two extra courses is almost $3,800.

If a miracle happens and the magazine-writing course makes, then I would net about $5,570 more than needed to pay the mortgage.

It’s a miracle!

Now, if I saved the money instead of spending it on myself, in three years I’d have enough to buy a brand-new car in cash, despite the low trade-in value of a decade-old gas-guzzling minivan.

But I figure…what the hell. Since I can’t dream up enough ways to diddle it all away, unspent cash is going to accrue in savings willy-nilly. My car has 100,000 miles on it. The mechanic par extraordinaire thinks it will run to 150,000 miles. That’s five more years. By then, we should have much better choices of fuel-efficient vehicles, and some of them will be a year or two old, available at post-depreciation prices. Hang onto the Dog Chariot until it’s ready to fall apart, and I’ll only have to buy one more car during my remaining lifetime. How to go about paying for this new vehicle is a problem that will have to solve itself when the time comes.

As for how we’ll cover the cost of the mortgage when I can no longer work—about four years from now, by my estimate—fifteen or twenty grand in savings would delay but not solve that problem. The mortgage also is something we’ll have to deal with in due time.

Image: Mitsubishi Electric Car. Tony Hisgett. Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license.

Darn It! How to repair a hole in your sock

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Have you ever noticed how whenever you realize you really like a piece of clothing or household object, it immediately wears out and you can’t, under any circumstances, find another one like it? Especially if the object is a sock. Who would think styles in socks were so fleeting?

Women’s socks no longer seem to come in colors—they’re all black, gray, or white. So when a favorite blue pair developed a couple of holes, I remembered a frugal way to extend their lives, something I learned when I was a little kid and pretty much forgot: darn ’em!

Darning is a crude form of reweaving, and it’s pretty easy. Simply create a “warp”—a structure on which to weave horizontal threads—by stringing thread or yarn across the hole. Then run your “weft” over and under the warp threads. The process is simplified by placing an “egg”—a wooden ovoid or globe—inside the sock to stabilize the fabric around the hole.

Well, naturally I didn’t happen to have a wooden egg sitting around the house. I used a rubber ball instead.

Turn the sock inside out, and then place the ball (or whatever you choose to use as an “egg”) inside the sock and smooth the fabric across it, like so:

It’s a good idea to stitch around the hole to create a sort of frame, although it’s not always necessary. Don’t tie a knot in the thread, because a knot will irritate your foot. Just make a running stitch to secure the thread.

Starting on one side of the hole, run thread back and forth across the hole to fill the space. The more threads you can fit across the hole, obviously, the finer and firmer your repair will be. This is a job that can require some patience. 😉

Here’s what I came up with:

Not great, but good enough for government work. The sock’s weave is kind of loose—not that loose, though. Oh well.

Anyway, whenever the basis of the weaving process is ready, the next step is to run thread through it at right angles to the “warp” threads. Basically what you’re trying to do is imitate or rebuild the original woven fabric by weaving new thread over the hole. After a while, you have something that looks like this (significantly better, with any luck…):

Not hardly gorgeous…but what the heck! Whoever’s looking at the bottom of your socks prob’ly deserves what he gets.

A finer, more careful weave probably would last longer, but this will hold for a while. It’s been a long while since I darned a piece of fabric, so I felt OK to get the thing more or less together.

With better skill, it’s possible to repair fabric with a stitch that looks very much like the original weave. Some reweavers can unstring pieces of the fabric’s thread from a hem or hidden spot and use it to make a truly invisible patch, restoring a torn or cigarette-burned piece so that you can’t see the fix at all. The Swiss darning at right imitates the original fabric’s twill-like texture. Really fine reweaving is called Belgian darning.

In my callow youth, I  had a Siamese cat that loved to eat wool. Leave a wool garment, any wool garment, laying around, and the cat would chew a hole in it before you could blink twice. One day I lent a beautiful and very expensive white wool sweater to my mother-in-law. When she was done with it, she tossed it on the bed. By the time I discovered it, the cat had eaten out a hole an inch across.

Luckily, the buttons were hand-made, rings with the sweater’s wool yarn woven around them, and a couple of extras were included. By unraveling the spare buttons, the reweaver was able to retrieve enough yarn to fill the hole. To this day—thirty-five or forty years later—I still have that sweater and still wear it every winter. I can’t even find where the hole was.

Darning: it’s a frugal way to extend the life of an expensive or a beloved piece of clothing.