So a couple of readers pointed out that something was wrong with the math that suggested I just might manage an apartment in San Francisco for myself, if and when M’hijito makes his escape from Phoenix. Dead right: the problem was that the figure I was using for the 4% and 5% drawdowns, which I had lifted from another column, actually represented the drawdowns plus Social Security. Having blithely forgotten that small detail, I added Social Security in on top of those, for a net income whose optimism exceeded rosey.
Remove the extra Social Security contribution and you get figures that look like these:
Even if I could find a comfortable place for $2,000 a month—a highly unlikely proposition—nothing even vaguely like enough to live on would remain after the inescapable costs. Realistically, I’m finding that I can’t get by with much less than $700 for monthly discretionary expenses, because there’s always some repair bill or unexpected cost to be paid. Even if I put nothing into the monthly diddle-it-away fund (from which I buy clothing, an item that I really can’t do without…especially in San Francisco ;-)), there’s simply not enough left after rent, health insurance, long-term care insurance, and utilities.
And the fact is that even in the make-believe scenario, my figures didn’t take into account the higher tax rates, nor did they anticipate the inevitability that rents will increase when the economy improves and demand for housing increases. Right now, rents are low in the City, but as soon as commerce heats up and more people migrate to San Francisco, landlords raise their rent rates accordingly.
As for moving to some other venue in California: really, there’s no place else in that state that I want to live. San Francisco has a special allure—it’s a one-of-a-kind city. But the whole state is overrun with people, most of them living in Southern California-style ticky-tacky. I already live in Southern California East; why would I want to spend more to live in the same conditions there?
I guess if M’hijito moves back to San Francisco, I’ll just decamp to Prescott, which at least is a little cooler than the Valley. It used to be a little more urbane, too, in a funny way, a little more resident-friendly—but that’s less so today.
LOL! Check out the comments, below, especially from Deflating Dreams. 😀 English-major math strikes again! Gotta race to meetings just now, but will be back with an update.
Could I afford to live in San Francisco? Offhand, you’d think the answer would be no way, eh?
Well.
M’hijito is angling to get himself into a master’s program that would train him to be a physician’s assistant. Pay for such work is passing decent…good enough to get him back to San Francisco, where he craves to live. If he takes off for the Bay Area again, there won’t be so much reason for me to hang around this big old expensive house in a city not likely to shake off its economic depression any time in the near future.
Yeah, I know: California’s economy is in bad trouble, too. But Arizona’s nasty little secret is that we’re even worse off than California, second only to Michigan in unemployment. and thanks to the demagogues in the legislature, we’ve shot ourselves in the economic foot with SB 1070. That actually isn’t the half of it, to tell the truth. Arizona, I’m afraid, is about worn out as a place to live, certainly for anyone who aspires to the middle class.
I’d be sorry to leave the choir…but frankly, San Francisco has plenty of high Episcopal churches; surely one of them has a decent choir. And I really would regret leaving my best friends behind. But still, it’s something to think about. Blood being thicker than water, after all.
Let’s suppose I could sell my house and clear two hundred grand on it. Remains to be seen: prices are below pre-bubble prices here, but it’s a nice house in the quietest part of the neighborhood, and just this minute no obviously run-down houses directly abut it.
And let’s suppose M’hijito and I can unload the downtown house with a loss of no more than $52,000. I dispose of all but the most basic of my possessions, so it takes about $3,000 to move me up to the City. I’m left with net cash and retirement savings of $653,810. Not counting the remaining $10,000 of RASL supposedly coming my way, or the $14,000 emergency fund in the bank.
A 4 percent annual drawdown from this nest egg would come to $41,153; 5 percent would yield $47,690. My financial advisor says I have more than enough to last the rest of my life, even at a 6 percent drawdown, though that’s something I view with skepticism. So let’s work with 4 percent and 5 percent; add $15,000 of Social Security to those and you get a gross income ranging from $56,153 to $62,690. Subtract 23 percent for taxes, and you get a net of $42,237 to $48,270.
That just might provide enough to pay rent and buy food. Let’s check it out…
For the 4 percent drawdown, I posit a rent of $2,000 a month, which would get me into a studio or maybe a one-bedroom apartment in San Francisco proper. If we subtract that rent from net monthly income and then deduct the expenses I can’t get out of—Medicare Part D, Medigap, and long-term care insurance—and then we subtract the estimated costs of utilities, does enough remain to live on?
That’s fifty bucks more than than I allow myself now!
Realistically, one isn’t likely to find a good apartment in San Francisco for much less than $2,500. That would require a larger drawdown from savings. At 5 percent with a $2,500 rent payment:
Think of that! I could probably do it. The place where I want to live includes basic cable service, so I might be able to engineer the DSL and phone through that. And given that most months I don’t spend $800, it’s not outside the realm of possibility that there’s enough play to cover unexpected expenses.
And that’s without any side income: no teaching gigs, no freelance assignments, no blog income.
It will take M’hijito two or three years to pick up the undergraduate requirements for a science degree and then get through the master’s. By then I will have established myself as the master of online courses at Paradise Valley Community College. If they’ll let me keep on teaching online no matter where I live, just that little bit of extra change would keep me quite comfortable in San Francisco.
And I know exactly where I want to live: in a historic national park. Yes. The San Francisco Presidio, an old military base, has been converted into a sprawling residential area, run by the National Parks Service. I would kill to live at the Presidio! O… M… G… I’ve loved that place since I was 12 years old!
The section called the Quarry has single-story two-bedroom apartments, wheelchair-accessible, for $2,425. The interiors are a bit on the military side, but with some adept decorating you could make it pleasant enough.
On Ruckman Avenue, you can rent in one of these places, with hardwood floors, remodeled kitchen, enclosed sunporches or verandas… A one-bedroom is $1,795, but the site says the apartments have basements, which presumably would give you room for office space or storage.
To die for. The Sanches neighborhood has two-bedroom apartments for $2,350. They look like regular old apartment buildings. But the price is right, and so is the size.
I dunno. I’d probably sacrifice size for charm, given a choice. The area where I’d really like to live is Baker Beach: $1,795 for a two-bedroom; and even a three-bedroom for $2,100. It’s directly across the street from the ocean, and the interiors are much nicer than any of the other affordable places. Unfortunately, they won’t let me keep Cassie in that part of the park, so that’s out.
Interestingly, you can get an employee’s discount if you work for any of the businesses on the grounds. So presumably once you got there, you could get in line to be considered for any openings that you could weasel your way into, thereby cutting the rent nicely.
In theory, if you lived in San Francisco you could probably dispense with the car. But I think out in the Presidio, you probably would need one. The Dog Chariot is a little big to maneuver in the City…but one could replace it with a Smart Car. The price is about what I’d get for my aging Sienna.
Boyoboy.
Get that degree, son, while I still have enough life in me to enjoy San Francisco!
Daddy passed for white. Mommy with her Huguenot ancestry and her DAR grandmother was as European as they come. So I reckon I can pass, too.
Last night my long-neglected White Trash roots sprouted a sucker: tinfoil window covering.
Beautiful! An exquisite decorator touch. Eat your heart out, Martha! And Sarah, y’all come on over for coffee now, hear?
How do you like it? Ain’t it purty?
Yep. Tinfoil and Scotch tape: Early Hillwilliam. Sooo…. What’s going on here?
What’s going on is I’m getting might’ tired of waking up at 4:30 in the morning after five hours (at best!) of sleep. Especially when I keep reading those studies that claim old bats who sleep less than seven hours each night are at elevated risk of heart attack. These four-hour nights have been going on way, way too long. They leave me sick with exhaustion, and even if I get a decent night’s sleep it takes two nights of rest to start to feel normal. Two full nights’ sleep in a row is a rarity scarce as hen’s teeth.
Meditating on this state of affairs, it occurred to me that the problem has to do with the light that seeps in through the curtains every morning. For years, I’ve awakened at dawn. The first pearly predawn light works just like an alarm clock. The curtains on the bedroom Arcadia door, at the outset pretty skimpy, are made of beige coarsely woven fabric. Even though they’re lined, they don’t block much light, and since they barely cover the window, plenty of light pours in around the edges.
What if I could block early-morning light from getting into the bedroom? Maybe I could build curtains of outdoor fabric and hang them on the outside of the doors, adding a light- and heat-blocking layer on the exterior side of the perennially overheated glass. Combined with darker drapes on the inside, that might do the trick.
Actually, the curtain-rod hangers in there accommodate two rods, so I could in theory hang two pairs of curtains on the interior. The proposed exterior drapes would then create not one, not two, but three layers of fabric. Hm.
Well, before I go to the trouble and expense of making three sets of drapery and drilling holes in the exterior masonry to hang tacky-looking curtain rods, I figure I’d better find out whether this theory works. Hence, a little experiment.
Research question:Would a dawn-sensitive subject sleep a full seven hours if no light could penetrate the sleeping chamber?
Research methodology:Plaster the windows with tinfoil and then try to sleep through the night.
Preliminary results:Well, the subject did sleep seven hours last night. Nodded off around quarter to eleven and woke up at quarter to six.
Discussion:This, of course, doesn’t prove a thing. Now and again, I do sleep seven hours, and last night in spite of an hour-long afternoon siesta, I was dead tired. But there’s nothing (other than aesthetic queasiness) to keep me from leaving the tinfoil décor up for a few more nights.
So, the plan now is to wait and see. If, over the next week or so, I find I can sleep all night long in a room plunged into inky darkness, then by all means I’ll put up fuller, darker drapes on the inside. And maybe even build some exterior drapes, though it escapes me how these would be secured in the gale-force winds of monsoon season.
In between times, pass the moonshine. And why don’t y’all join me and Sarah here at the manse for some grits and coffee?
What do you reckon they’re doing with them hanging plants? My daddy would never in a million years have put up with them things, pullin’ the eaves down. Not unless they’re plastic, so’s you don’t have to water ’em.
So Thursday M’hijito came over and helped wrestle the latest extravagant purchase out of the car, having agreed to do so in exchange for the opportunity to partake of the first meal cooked on the thing. He hauled the big charcoal grill off the pad I want to use for cooking and over to the ad hoc flagstone patio(?) I built some time back, and then positioned the new gas grill in the desired spot.
Naturally, it was raining. Monsoon season is finally here, driving temperatures into the 80s and 90s for the evenings…and driving a lot of wind, dust, and rain, too.
But so happy was I that he was coming over for dinner that I went a little overboard with the meal planning. At the better Costco outlet up on the I-17, I came across this incredible steak:
The cost was not unreasonable—about what I would expect to pay for a thick choice ribeye in the grocery store—and so I didn’t notice that it was prime until M’hijito arrived and pointed that out. Wow!
On the way home through the muggy heat (by midday it’s 105 or so, and still very wet), I stopped by the Safeway to pick up some frozen veggies for future reference, and there picked up some garlic, a yellow onion, and a bunch of little green onions. When I got here, I was so whipped I forgot about the fresh produce in the plastic grocery bag and, anxious to sit down, rest, and cool off, just dropped the whole thing in the freezer.
By the time M’hijito got here, the produce was frozen.
Rather than throw it out, I chopped it up and used it before it could turn to mush (which it was rapidly doing as it defrosted!). The result:
A tomato sauce containing a couple big cloves of garlic and the entire bunch of green onions…
Slowly, sweetly caramelized yellow onion to go over the steak…
…And an exuberantly garlicky lemon vinaigrette that we used for cooking. M’hijito carved out the stems and seeds of a couple of red peppers and then poured some of the vinaigrette into the interior. These went onto the grill along with a small eggplant (also basted with the garlic vinaigrette) and a couple cobs of corn.
OMG, what an awe-inspiring dinner this made. The frozen garlic and green onions dissolved into the gently simmered tomatoes, which we used to smother the sliced eggplant, and the onion cooked down to make an intense kind of compote for the grilled ribeye. Eat your heart out, Ruth’s Chris Steak House! With the moderately priced Merlot I picked up at Costco and a very nice salad, we couldn’t have had a more wonderful feast in the fanciest eaterie in town.
So this bodes well for the plan to eat better. Yesterday evening, still craving red meat, I defrosted a smaller, lesser piece of beef and grilled that along with some more corn. Some leftover salad filled out the menu. I still have some shellfish that can go on the grill, and there may even be a piece or two of salmon or mahi-mahi in the freezer, along with a lifetime supply of chicken thighs.
Thanks to the rainstorms, we had another amazing sunset. You really can’t get the full effect in this snapshot—the entire western sky was suffused with neon peach light. The lower the sun dropped, the brighter the light grew, until finally at the end the heavens slipped through coral red into darkness.
It was a great way to launch the new ’cue. And so, to get on with life. A happy Sunday to you all.
It’s true, sometimes—these days, often—the inner character of my state’s leaders shows forth in their faces, and too many of my fellow citizens reflect that inner character like dark mirrors, still…before humans came here this was a beautiful place, and despite the worst that the European variant of humanity has managed to inflict, it still is beautiful.
Last night Cassie the Corgi and I went for a stroll in the early evening, as the monsoon storms struggled to overcome the heat island effect of our fair city, whose beauty rivals that of the state’s governor. All around us mountains of clouds reached toward the stratosphere, the setting sun lighting them like absurd neon paintings. Truly. If you tried to paint it, no one would believe you. Here’s what we saw, only much, much bigger and much more spectacular.
The Yarnell Frog at the base of Yarnell Hill, where the road begins its steep two-lane climb up the rim.
Yesterday my friend KJG and I decided to pile our dogs in the car and drive up to Yarnell, the quaint old mining town and wide spot in the road that I covet as a weekend getaway. Perched on the edge of the Mogollon Rim, it’s up out of the Valley’s heat, which at this time of year becomes oppressive with monsoon humidity.
Naturally, we picked the only day of the summer when it decided to rain in the morning. But that was fine: we welcome rain. It cuts the heat.
When we got up there, we went straight to the shady, peaceful Shrine of St. Joseph, retreat center with a religious diorama sculptured into the granite boulders at the top end of the town’s most picturesque road. This provided a place to park so we could stretch our legs and walk the dogs through the adjacent residential area.
Interestingly, the house that I think is absolutely the prettiest little dwelling in town is for sale. Here it is in more halcyon times. Isn’t that the sweetest and best little stone cottage? Probably assembled and mortared, rock by rock, by some miner back in the late 1800s.
It’s abandoned and gone to seed now, but still standing. If I wanted it, it’s there for the asking. In today’s market, the bank or whoever owns it would probably give it away.
Before long we got rained on and had to run uphill to return to the car. Soaked to the skin, we started back down toward the main drag, passing the coveted cottage. A Salt River Project lineman was parked in front—we had waved at him as we were walking around and so stopped to say hello. A Wickenburg resident, he also coveted the little house as a weekend cabin.
I asked him what he thought of the electric service; he said it looked OK to him, probably safe. The panel was relatively new, he said, and the air conditioning system on the roof was new. He remarked that it was a gas pack.
There’s no natural gas service in Yarnell. “Gas” is trucked-in propane.
“So that means the thing runs on propane?” said I.
“Hm,” said he. “Propane’s pretty expensive.” You can tell a native Arizonan by his gift for understatement.
The cottage has only two bedrooms; one of them, KJG noted, is about large enough to accommodate a camper’s cot. I suppose a single person could convert it to a walk-in closet, though.
The big problem with the house, though—other than the fact that it is a house, a white elephant to be renovated, maintained, cleaned, and gardened—is a large structural crack running from the roofline down to the ground. Whoever installed electric service (no doubt as a retrofit) cut a small nook into the stonework near an opening to the low crawl space beneath the structure, evidently to accommodate an outdoor electrical outlet. Though they spanned the opening with a short steel lintel, evidently this did not suffice to bear the weight above it.
So whoever buys the little house will purchase not only a great deal of charm but an expensive repair job. Assuming a repair can be made at all.
Moving on, we dried out over hot coffee (surprisingly good!) and home-made sweets at the Cornerstone Bakery, a favorite of locals up on the main drag. Residents like to pass the time in the charmingly decorated old shop, where everyone knows the proprietors and the proprietors know everyone. I had a peach strudel wrapped in what tasted like real puff pastry and KJG said her cinnamon roll was the best she’d ever tasted.
Strung mid-town along route 89A are clusters of antique shops, galleries, and gift stores. I happened to know that the next-door Yarnell Emporium carries some interesting hand-designed T-shirts, among many other things. Although my clothes were no longer soaked thr0ugh, I craved a dry shirt and so steered us in that direction. On the way, though, we were waylaid by Behind the Door, a sweet little consignment gallery occupying an old house. Proprietor Carrie Brandenburg carries everything from original oils, acrylics, and watercolors to hippy-dippy bead jewelry of the kind I make myself.
There are some pretty interesting pieces in this store, among them a clever found-art sculpture, a lamp (of sorts) fashioned from old bicycle handlebars. Being the sort with a taste for the near-representational, I enjoyed the only slightly abstract pictured images here, of pueblos and more recent Southwestern architecture. Click on the photo for a larger view.
We weren’t in the market for big-ticket items, though—or even for mid-ticket items. However, there was no chance either of us could get out of there without at least one of the attractively priced artsy-craftsy jewelry pieces. I picked up these; I couldn’t have made them myself for the amount the crafter asked, and they’re ideal for casual everyday wear.
KJG was in the market for yard art a cut or two or three above the painted plaster campesino slumbering beneath his umbrella in the shade of a saguaro. So she was delighted when we made our way to Yarnell Emporium, which among many other things specializes in some very entertaining and often charming outdoor decor. Just now owner Ed Williams is carrying a lot of metal designs.
I coveted the sunflowers:
KJG, having raised goats at one point in her misspent youth, was drawn to this little guy:
Frugality being the better part of valor, he’s not peeking out from under the shrubbery in her yard this morning. Alas. Inside the shop we spotted a monumental cast bell hung in a circular frame, very Asian in appearance. That was more like what she had in mind. At $500+, the price was pretty good compared to what you’d pay for it in a design shop or at an artist’s foundry in the city. She took it under advisement and is considering how it might fit in her and DH’s carefully landscaped backyard.
We hit it off with the sales rep, who had no one else to socialize with. Kathleen proved to be a discreet but effective shopper’s assistant. Before long we’d stocked up on hats, shirts, skirts…oh my! KJG found a wide-brimmed hat that looked terrific on her; so taken by it was she that she bought another one for her mother. The shop has a nice collection of broomstick skirts, a fashion long out of date but one that I happen to yearn for because it nicely disguises certain unstylish curves on my body. Fabric colors, which appear to be custom-dyed, are too gorgeous:
The little jacket on the right has turquoise-lined plackets that, when you have it on, open out like a shawl. The effect is surprisingly elegant—it’ll be perfect for church as well as for teaching this winter. Got the whole outfit for 30 percent off.
In the course of chatting, Kathleen unveiled a small revelation: the Emporium’s proprietor, Ed Williams, renovated an upstairs apartment and is renting it to the tourists.
“That so?” said we.
“So!” said she.
Since no other customers were braving the rain, she kindly gave us a tour. What we found was an amazing little gem, a beautifully decorated one-bedroom apartment hidden away on the second floor of the rustic store Ed has built on the ground floor. It has, among other things, a luxuriant leather sofa, a beautifully decorated bedroom, and a full kitchen with brand-new, top-of-the-line appliances. Rustic, this is not. And one of the things you should know about Yarnell: it occupies one of the most spectacular venues you can imagine. Step out on the apartment’s balcony, and you have a view of mountains and wide-open spaces in all directions.
Apparently he only wants about $70 night for this place.
Well. Hallelujah sisters and brothers! I might be able to afford that, especially if the Landlord will allow me to bring Cassie the Corgi. May not manage it during this financially nightmarish summer, but I certainly could do it after classes start. And if my scheme for next summer works, I probably could go up there a couple of times a month.
We learned something else from the locals: The ranch my ex- and I used to own with a bunch of his law partners is now being operated as a bed and breakfast. Nothing would do, of course, but what we had to drive up there and see what was what. That exploration led to an interesting adventure, which I’ll soon tell you about in a new Entrpreneurs post.
