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.

We all remember stories from our parents’ generation. The stay-at-home wife made her peace with the idea of her husband being “under her feet” (that’s the expression my grandmother used) all day, well before her man got the gold watch and the glass of punch.

But then, way too often, the retiring man would spend his last day at the office, wake up the next morning, and not have a single idea of what he might want to do with his time. Or maybe he’d decided that a life of golf would suit him, and found out within a couple of weeks that he needed something...else. Something...more.

Sometimes, these gentlemen would find their minds and bodies in a rather rapid decline, if they didn’t find worthy and fulfilling occupations. Now it’s the Boomers’ turn.

ABCNews is reporting that unless our generation of retirees has interests in place, depression can easily set in. And in the absence of the social network provided by work mates, we’d better have some great friends.

Social worker Sherry Parrish says:

So. Maybe you’ve got a so-called retirement plan in place. But if it’s just about the money, it’s not gonna’ cut it. Do you have a plan for your time and for your mind? Do you have friends and interests and maybe even a cause?

Something to think about, eh?

The night before, Mom wanted to treat my family and the two Irish girls we’d sponsored for much of the summer to dinner at a wonderful Japanese restaurant here in Kansas City. She knew we’d be taking the girls to the airport that next morning for their flight back to the auld sod, and she’d decided to do something special for them. They loved it, and so did I.

Little did I know, though, that a very fun memory would mark the beginning of her woes and the start of my season of heavy lifting.

By December of 2001, she’d been hospitalized in order to put her on an insulin regimen, since oral meds were no longer controlling her diabetes. By early spring of 2002, she’d begun having serious seizures. She could no longer drive her car, since in Missouri you must be seizure-free for six months to maintain that privilege.

She was alone in the big house she’d raised us in, the house she’d lived as a widow in for 17 years, and suddenly she was having debilitating panic attacks, during which she made all of us come to the house because of her feeling that she was dying right that very second.

In a few days, we’ll mark the six-year anniversary of moving her out of the family home into assisted living. If you haven’t closed down your family-of-origin home yet, let me just say it’s quite an ordeal. Since we shut down the big house, Mom’s moved several more times. Three different trips to nursing homes and then back again, plus a four-month stay in an independent-living apartment and then back to assisted living.

If I’m counting correctly, that’s nine moves for Mom in six years. And yes, the moves into nursing homes count. You may not have to take a lot of furniture, but you do take some. Plus c-pap machines for those with sleep apnea, clothing, shoes, special blankets, pillows, framed pictures, etc. It’s at least a carload each time.

Then there’s the heavy lifting for Doug’s mom. We shut down her home of 30 years also, sometime after we did Mom’s. She kept getting lost five minutes from her house. And even though she wore a button around her neck, she couldn’t remember to push it when she fell. The last time it happened, she was stuck on the kitchen floor for perhaps as long as two days, thinking she was in a “fine hotel with a very hard bed.” Finally, her dog must have pushed the button.

When we started in on her house, we found she’d kept every Price Chopper ad dating from 1970, all thrown in paper grocery bags and tossed into Doug’s old bedroom. They were mixed in with property tax statements and petty cash. We had ourselves quite a little situation, the solving of which took months.In the past 4.5 years, we’ve moved my mother-in-law (if memory serves) three complete times.

Twelve moves in six years. All for the welfare of two little ladies. I wouldn’t have it any other way, don’t get me wrong. It’s an honor to be able to help our mothers when they need us.

Still, when I look in the mirror, I see where the U-Hauls have carved paths into my face. The intersection of “Home and Nursing Home” never had a street sign until now, where the roads cross like a religious symbol on my forehead.

And sometimes, when the phone rings in the middle of the night and I rush to meet an ambulance at the hospital, the siren competes with the sound of my own creaking knees.

Doug and I are both self-employed. He owns and operates a web design firm, for which I work part-time. I am also an aspiring author, having (finally!) completed my first novel.

He loves what he does, and he’s brilliant at it. He never was very thrilled with “working for the man” until the man turned out to be him. I, too, have spent most of my lifetime resisting the lure of the cubicle. I’m hoping to have a late booming career as an author, a hope my agent believes is not misplaced.

But our freewheeling work lives don’t come without a price.

We have, of course, no pensions. And no vacation days, or sick days. Doug has long-term disability, which would kick in if he was totally disabled for more than 90 days. For the first 90, we’re on our own.

And then there are those fantastic “matching funds” we hear so much about. We don’t have those, either. No matter how things turn out for us when it comes time to finally retire for good, we will have provided all the dough. Doh!

Philosophically, we have no problem working long past the age of 65, especially if our work continues to be satisfying. In that, we aren’t alone. As MSNBC reports:

The only difficulty we have imagining working well into our senior years is that we haven’t had this lifestyle modeled for us. Both of our fathers were dead by age 62, and our mothers moved into assisted living at much younger ages than we hoped they would.

So I’m wondering: Have you seen gainful employment successfully modeled among the elderly people in your lives?

And if you think you’ll be healthy enough to work far beyond the age of 65, what exactly makes you think so?