On moving day, I remember telling my husband that it would take men in white jackets to haul me out of this house, and even then I’d put up one heck of a fuss. But you know what? A lot of eldercare water has flowed under the bridge since then, and it’s given me plenty to think about.

Both of our mothers became young widows. In fact, neither my mom nor my mother-in-law still had husbands in their lives by the time they were my current age. And even though they managed to live in their own homes for many years after losing our dads, both they and the houses seemed to be in ever-increasing rates of decline.

For one thing, the houses—-purchased to shelter multiple children, as ours is meant to do—-were just too large. Our mothers ended up sequestering themselves into one or two favored rooms and using the rest of the house like a paid storage unit—-not good. There were closed bedroom doors that could not be opened (if you valued your safety!) unless it was to fling the latest trashbag filled with junk mail on top of the heap.

There were basements and attics and garages so stuffed with stuff that our mothers finally took to using their existence as an unveiled threat: “You just wait. Someday, you’ll have to sort all this out. I don’t intend to do one thing except add to it, so there.” Yikes!!

These family homes were shut down many years ago now, when we had no choice but to move our mothers into care facilities. I still remember the months spent sorting and purging and dividing the valuables and giving away, selling, and trashing the rest. A truly exhausting (and yes, I’ll go ahead and say it, thankless) job. Our mothers never understood what we went through, and that’s fine.

What isn’t quite fine with me anymore is expecting my kids to bear a similar burden, when we could right now put a plan in place to begin the process of downsizing.

These days, as I contemplate a future with less money available in retirement that we’d projected even a few years ago, it’s starting to make so much sense to me to consider trading down from this relatively large house to a small house, patio home, or even 2-bedroom apartment. As much as I would not have believed at age 40 that I could be thinking like this at age 57, I no longer feel a need to age in place—-at least not in this particular place.

What if, by eliminating the need for exterior maintenance (a 3-acre lot requires significant upkeep and and long gravel driveway must be plowed after big snowfalls) and interior repairs and updating, we actually found a way to free up more time, energy, and money for pursuits we now find much more compelling?

I’ve decided that the last thing I want for the rest of my life is to end up trapped by a house that I’m not able or willing to maintain. What if getting out earlier (while we’re fully able to made independent decisions and do a lot of the heavy lifting), rather than sticking it out till the bitter end, turns out to be the best answer to an age-old question?

I, for one, am giving it some serious thought.

It’s really true about the blessed abundance of unfettered holding and rocking and spoiling with undivided attention and then handing little Theo back to baffled parents, who think you must have done something evil to their darling because all of a sudden the kid wants more of the same. A lot more, only there’s just not as much where that came from when the kiddos are back with their own parents.

Parents, after all, have lives, as well they should. Grandparents do, too, of course. It’s just that they’ve got their priorities straight when it comes to Precious Ava being Number One, to the point that she is not only allowed but also encouraged to interrupt any and every adult pursuit, to fulfill her own desires.

Parents think you must have overdosed their baby on sugar or FD&C Red Dye Number Two or whatever the food-additive contaminant of choice is these days. Otherwise, why would Sierra be demanding time and displaying the boundless energy, at the age of two months, of a child with ADHD?

All this is well and good and is part of the natural order of things, especially as they relate to relationships between the generations. The real problems don’t arise when grandparents behave as they are expected to (for all young parents anticipate that their elders will behave egregiously in these matters…..), but rather when grandparents are not on site locally to effectively create such a familial uproar.

Imagine, if you can, the grief in extended families when it becomes necessary for either the younger generation or the older to move far away, leaving the grandchildren impoverished of their grandparents’ over-indulgence and likewise of their parents’ indignation.

Heart-wrenching, isn’t it?

Well, luckily for grandparents of a certain age, technology now exists that, if used liberally, can almost make it seem like you’re seeing your grand on a daily basis. Between Skype and the smart-phone app called FaceTime, you can talk to your grand while they view your moving lips and funny faces, and they can do the same for you. You can tell that kid he’s the cutest and smartest thing you’ve ever seen, and he’ll believe you as if you were face-to-face, inches apart.

If that’s not enough (and it isn’t…..) there’s facebook, YouTube, and Flickr.

Your kids can create beautiful albums of photos for your grandchild’s milestones, such as her first week birthday, 8th day of life, 11th day, etc. For your latest fix, all you do is show up on Flickr or their chosen photo-sharing site and breathe in that sweet new baby smell, without even having to imagine the smell that might explode in the nappies.

On facebook, you’ll be delighted to read status updates on the baby’s first tooth, on how rambunctious Taylor is getting along in pre-school, and on Lacy’s percentage of height to weight as noted by her pediatrician.

And then there’s YouTube. If your kids are willing to record their progeny’s exploits, you will be overwhelmed to share in the first time Morgan says Mama or the first time Molly rolls over. It’s an experience that can only be had one other way, and that’s in person.

Which brings me to my final point. When you just can’t take it any more, and MUST see those children, don’t hesitate to log on to Southwest Airlines and book flights. SW won’t charge you if you have to change the flights, and as of last week, will even credit the difference to your SW account if a flight you’ve reserved has its price decreased at a later date.

Between a few technological goodies and plain old-fashioned flight, there’s no good reason you should be separated from your grandkids for longer than you can stand.

Remember, in spite of the unfounded complaints of your kids, it’s in everyone’s best interests for this love-fest to continue for many years to come.

It started out in booklet form, which I still consider way more convenient than the computer program, but maybe that’s just me. Anyway, this program lists the supposed fair market resale value of your used clothing and household items, so that you can come up with an IRS-approved valuation of your donations for tax-deduction purposes.

I’ve been frankly shocked by the generous values I’ve been able to assign to my non-cash charitable donations, which usually end up being carted to my local Goodwill Store. In fact, the money I’ve saved on our income tax bill each of the past five years has amounted to something of a part-time job for me. It’s made me feel a bit proud of myself to think of how I’ve (legally!) prevented Uncle Sam from getting his hands on even more of our money.

This year, though, was different. For one thing, no kids lived with us for even part of the year. Which means, of course, they weren’t here to move out, thereby not leaving half of all their stuff for us to dispose of. In addition, in the fall of 2007, after our youngest son moved into a house with his buddies, we did a major dejunking of every square inch of our property. What we didn’t sell, we gave away and took the tax deduction.

And finally, we resolved to STOP buying more stuff. Honestly, when you get to be a Late Boomer, if you’re anything like us, you’ve got as much stuff as you’ll ever need. I remember my grandmother telling us, when she was about my age, “Don’t buy me anything else I’ll have to dust.” Amen, Grandma!

So last week, I sat down to valuate my giveaway pile, and let me tell you, I was sorely disappointed. I compared the total value of all my non-cash donations to what I’ve given in previous years and wondered how on earth I could have come up with so little to give.

Was I being a cheapskate, ignoring the serious needs of the less fortunate? Was I becoming bizarrely sentimental about stuff I should obviously be getting rid of? Or could it be that my husband and I had actually succeeded in halting the flow of material possessions into our home?

Bingo! We have a winner!

Of course, that left me with the little problem of how to replace that lost tax deduction. Why, if I didn’t help out around here by continually shopping, storing, sorting, bagging up, and getting rid of stuff, I might have to get another real job!

Here’s the deal: Until the government cracks down on what they’ll surely end up calling loopholes in the tax code, there are other ways to get deductions. For me and my house, that means bigger contributions to our tax-deferred retirement accounts, fully funding our tax-advantaged health savings accounts, and writing a larger check to our favorite charity.

If the feds decided today to lose the non-cash donation deduction, I guess I could live with that. Especially since I’m finally not hauling home any more stuff.

Can you believe everything that’s happened out there in the world since I started this simple site earlier this year? Honestly, I thought I’d just provide a forum in which those of us nearing or entering retirement could encourage each other along the path. Especially those of us who have failed to plan or execute our plans in such a way as to make our later years relatively painless.

But now? Now we’re all in pain, unless I’m mistaken. Even the folks who had it all together have now gotten it undone. Something’s gotta give, boomers, because now it actually SEEMS as late as it IS.

If we’re headed for an extended bad time of it, economically speaking and in other ways, too, we might as well face facts and come up with strategies to lessen the blows. I, for one, didn’t know how fast I could break a Starbucks addiction. But, baby, it’s gone.

In fact, my husband and I have cut back in a hundred small ways, and in a few big ones. I spend part of each day examining not only the news, but our own habits, bills, and expenses. I’ve made lists of small repairs that need to be made to the cars and house, the types of expenditures that will keep us from spending more later. When Doug, aka Mr. Fix-It, has a few minutes away from his desk, he knows he can always look at the list and accomplish an item on it with very little time or effort. And a sense of accomplishment that will prove useful both now and going forward.

I’m also working on taking inventory of everything we own—-right down to gadgets like a non-electric can opener, craft items (who knew I owned a decorative wood-engraving tool?) and car stuff like windshield wiper fluid and cans of de-icer. Not only is this inventory important for insurance purposes, but it prevents us from purchasing something we’ve already got (somewhere!) and affords us the opportunity to be much better stewards of our possessions.

We’ve been blessed in so many ways! I refuse to throw a pity party over our dismal investments, when we’ve got a beautiful family and love enough to go around.

Our lives haven’t changed too much yet, in spite of the devolving situation the world economies find themselves in. But the truth is that all of our lives could end up changing a lot, and for the long term. And the best thing we can do now in order to prepare for that possibility is to begin valuing the things that really matter.

After I’ve taken inventory of my material blessings, I know I’ll come back around to the only appreciating assets I’ve ever really had: faith, family, and friends.

It’s where we all started, and it’s where we’ll end up, too.

Time was when you called your doctor during a medical emergency, and while you were on the way to the hospital in an ambulance, he was driving to meet you in the ER. Once there, you would be attended to by the ER team, but your own doctor would be standing by, making decisions in your best interest.

In recent years, though, the trend has been for hospitals to employ doctors they call “hospitalists.” These doctors are typically not in private practice outside the hospital, and neither do they work for the ER. They see you after you’ve been admitted, if you are so fortunate to not be sent home during what is truly an emergency situation.

My own mother has been sent home from the hospital several times because her primary doctor was not authorized to admit her. This past winter, we finally got wise. She presented in the ER with a UTI (urinary tract infection) and a fever. She was also delirious and could not take a single step unassisted. The ER doc prescribed an antiobiotic, gave her a bag of IV fluids and SENT HER HOME. Several hours later, her fever spiked to 104, she had a grand mal seizure, and—-because of the downward spiral that ensued from there—she nearly died.

Do you think they admitted her the SECOND time she presented on the same night? Oh, yeah. By then, they knew their butts would be in a sling (a little medical pun) if they neglected her care again. (By the way, a huge mistake we made that night was not to involve the hospital social worker on duty. She can be instrumental in helping you get satisfaction from your ER experience, but she can’t work miracles.)

Here’s the point: As soon as we got my mother stabilized, we found a doctor who admits to her hospital of choice AND who is a gerontologist. Not only does she love him, but we’ve already had a chance to put our new strategy into play. Mom became very ill again two weeks ago, and had no trouble at all getting admitted for the required care. She still went through the ER, but by the time we arrived the doctors there had instructions from the admitting doc about what was to happen.

Since then, I’ve asked a few questions just to make sure my own doc still has admitting privileges to the hospital next door to his office, and he does.

Of all the times a patient should not have to suffer neglect, it’s during a bona fide emergency.

Make sure you and your loved ones never get sent home from an ER inappropriately. The time to safeguard your own care is now.

Not only are Boomers not going to live forever—-facelifts and butt lifts and fantastic vitamin formulations notwithstanding—-a whole bunch of us are going to “do time” in a long-term care facility before we kick. They still don’t have a cure for Alzheimer’s, you know (although those brain teasers we’ve been working on are bound to help), and the US is looking down the barrel at 80 million Boomers retiring over a 20-year period.

With life-expectancies stretching into the 80s and 90s, a much larger percentage of our generation could end up facing dementia than in previous generations, if only by virtue of the fact that we’re living longer. I don’t know about you, but I hesitate to ask my children and grandchildren to fork it over for the costs of my long-term care. And I certainly don’t plan on them caring for me themselves.

So what’s a Boomer to do? I suggest we waste no time investigating the long-term care policies on the market today. And I do mean TODAY. 2008 is already half over, people! If six months can fly by that quickly, do you believe time is somehow going to start moving more slowly? I didn’t think so.

Of course, the sooner you apply for long-term care insurance, the lower your premiums will be. If you’re in your 50s when you take care of it, it’s truly not terribly expensive. But if you wait until you have to be admitted to the hospital for something like, I don’t know, a bit of a dizzy spell, the origin of which manages to elude diagnosis?

Never mind that you recover and never have another episode. Even if you’re in your mid-50s, you WILL be turned down for long-term care insurance, and kindly invited to never apply again.

There are times in life to strike while the iron is hot. The time to act on attempting to meet your own future needs is while it’s inexpensive and before you’re disqualified by some transient health concern.

You can totally ignore this advice if you believe the government (aka the next generation of taxpayers) will pay for all your nursing home expenses (and in case you believe that they pay for our elders now, they don’t!).

Or if you believe that your children are just dying to change your diapers.

Although we are self-employed, I can vouch for the fact that any automatic savings plan you can put into place will work wonders for your future.

So, as Vice-President and possibly even Chief Financial Officer (hmmm…I might have to check the corporation’s bylaws on that one!) of our company, I’ve taken it upon myself to automate tons of stuff. I’ve done this on the personal side of our finances, as well.

Since our health insurance is a high-deductible policy, we’ve opened Health Savings Accounts, into which we automatically deposit the maximum allowed by law each month. There is talk of Medicare being completely broke in 11 years, you know—-corresponding with the exact year Doug would like to retire. Something tells us it’s a very good idea to have a hunk of money set aside to cover our future medical expenses.

Right now, I think we’ve accumulated enough for one of us to break a bone. And it would have to be a non-complicated break, at that. No surgery required. Just a pink or green cast for six weeks and enough money left over to buy a Sharpie marker for autographs. Can’t pay for physical therapy after the cast comes off, either. But if we keep socking away money—-and we will, because it’s automatic—-maybe by next year, we can pay for a printout of recommended exercises.

Our other automatic savings are adding up online, in accounts divided into funds for emergencies, car replacement, and travel.

This travel fund is hugely important to us. We’ve been to Ireland and Scotland twice, and boy, do we want to go back again. So, even though we contribute a nice amount every month automatically, I’ve thought of a way to trick ourselves into beefing it up even more.

Both of our mothers are in assisted living facilities. They both require lots of supplies, which their kids end up purchasing. But guess what we forget to do? Ask them to reimburse us. Sometimes we’re out hundreds of dollars at a time. But, see, The Moms are good for it. We somehow don’t feel right in getting our money back—-and we should.

So Doug and I have made a deal. If we complete a transaction with our mothers, no matter how large or small, by getting reimbursed, that money is transferred directly into the travel fund. Sure, we could be more responsible and put it into retirement, but we really don’t want to be people who waited too long to travel, especially since it’s one of our passions.

I bought my mother $80 worth of Depends the other day, and immediately wrote myself a check for reimbursement. Our travel fund now looks that much better.

Makes me wish I’d bought her a boatload of groceries, or maybe a new car.

I estimate we only go to the theater maybe three times per year, like when some action flick’s showing on the big screen that just won’t translate to our 25” TV with the degree of joy my husband wishes to experience.

So, yeah. We did see the new Indiana Jones movie, which was plenty of fun. But here’s the deal: We saw it at 11:00 a.m. That’s in the morning, people! I know some of you stand in line for midnight showings of new movies, but we…don’t. We’ve found that once you’re inside the theater, where it’s all dark and cozy and nearly empty before noon, you really forget that it’s not nighttime. In fact, when you come out of the theater, you’re shocked to see the sun shining and the flowers growing and to find that your wallet still has some cash intact.

That’s right. At the theater closest to us, movies that start before noon are half price. $5 per ticket is still more that I want to spend, which is why we do it so occasionally, but $10? No way. We also refuse to purchase tickets online, since that privilege adds $1 to each ticket. Why not arrive a few minutes early (which we want to do anyway to get our favorite seats where we can put our feet up on the railing) and relax?

Every once in a while, Doug thinks he has to have popcorn, and even though I argue with him, he gets it anyway. But bottled water? No way. If you ask, they’ll give you cups of tap water, even though they do look at you like you’re cretins. And who knows? Maybe we are. All I know is that unless I’m in a foreign country and at risk of acquiring a nasty intestinal bug, I will not pay to drink water from bottles.

About that popcorn thing? Have you ever figured the per-ounce price for that classic film-munchie? Smart Money’s article “9 Ways to Save on Movie Tickets” did the math:

Look, there’s a pretty swanky steak joint in the same parking lot with the movie theater. By the time the show ends around one, we’re hungry. All that adventure burns a lot of calories! And by one, the lunch crowd is clearing out of the restaurant, but the lunch prices are still in effect.

If you’d rather eat popcorn than steak, I’d like to hear about it. As for me and my hubby, we’re happy with early movies and late lunches—as long as the price is right.

I get that he’s generous and gave away tons of his money to others in need. I know he has previous wives to support and a current one whose clothing design business he invested in heavily before it went belly up. And word was he might lose his McMahonsion to foreclosure, since he owed nearly $700,000 in back payments.

What I don’t get is how an 85-year-old man can say his financial woes are due to the fact that he broke his neck and couldn’t work in recent months. Tell me the truth: do you honestly see yourself working for a living in your mid-eighties? I’m not saying it’s a bad idea—-heck, it might be a great idea, if you’re doing something you love.

But how on earth could you count on being physically and mentally capable of working at that advanced an age? Wouldn’t you want to, say, have a paid-off house by then, just in case?

U.S. News & World Report, in an article aptly titled “Getting Ready for a Surprise Retirement,” says:

But what if the world doesn’t turn out to be perfect? What if something happens that makes it so you can’t continue to work?

Look, I love the stories of the geezers who walk to work every morning, put in twelve hours six days per week because they want to, and then die happily during a coffee break. It makes me happy to think of people well past the age we’ve come to think of as “retirement age,” still useful and fulfilled, doing exactly what they love and what they planned to do.

I’m just sayin’, you might wanna have Plan B in place.

And if you’re positive you’ll be working until you’re 85, I’ve got a McMahonsion to sell you.

Our mothers, though, have lived to be 78 and 86, long enough for Doug and me to become just a wee bit frightened of Alzheimer’s. You’d be scared, too, if you were us.

But even 35 years ago, when my father’s sister retired from a long and successful career, he told me she was in big trouble. “She’s a genius, but the second she quit working, she refused to read a newspaper or a book, or to do a crossword puzzle or play Scrabble. She’s going to end up with Alzheimer’s.”

Sure enough, she did. Within a couple of years of her retirement, she was failing fast. Soon, she was in a nursing home, and didn’t survive long.

I think of my aunt often when I read current news about keeping the brain active and in training in order to avoid Alzheimer’s. Even something as simple as using your non-dominant hand to perform simple tasks, or closing your eyes while using the keyboard, or purposely taking a different path to the office can cause new connections to be made in the brain.

It shouldn’t surprise ambitious Boomers that now there’s a growing demand for brain fitness training.

I gotta say, I still regret giving in to the calculator. I know they were around when I was in high school, but we were forbidden to use them then. If you couldn’t do the problem, you couldn’t do it. And you know what? Now that I use a calculator to do my checkbook, I sure don’t add and subtract as easily as I used to. I’ve kind of lost something in translation.

That seems a shame, doesn’t it? I’m going to start some of the brain exercises on the Internet. And I’m going to get on the ball writing my second novel. If that doesn’t keep those old neurons firing, nothing will.