Meeting Dorcas

Three days ago—last Saturday morning—I finally met Son 1's new girlfriend. I'll call her Dorcas. I spent a little over an hour visiting, and she was very pleasant. Wife was also there, and was significantly less pleasant. I wish I had been surprised by that.

The context is that I was driving to Big City to visit Mother, Brother, and SIL. You remember that I didn't go there for Christmas Eve, because the weather was too fierce. But Saturday was calm and beautiful; so we rescheduled Christmas for Saturday. And Son 1 agreed that I could stop by around 10 o'clock in the morning.

I arrived just about on time, clutching a little cooking I had brought them as a gift. Son 1 let me in, and then resumed his place on the sofa with Dorcas. Wife was on the other side of the room, so I found a chair that let me see everyone. For a few minutes we discussed their new kitten. Then I asked Dorcas what she does for a living.

This is a stock photo, or maybe it is created by AI. It is certainly not really Dorcas.
But it's supposed to be a research engineer, which is good enough.

It turns out she works in technology. She is some kind of engineer. Well, she's an engineer half-time, and a doctoral student half-time. Her research is related to the corporate work she's doing. I suppose I shouldn't go into a lot of detail, because it's a new field and it might be possible to identify her through it. But she has published three articles (in collaboration, of course) and already holds a number of patents (ditto). This was actually pretty interesting, and for a few minutes I tried to draw her out.

It also turns out that there are some unexpected crossover points where her work might have implications for the stuff I used to do ... and therefore for the stuff I write about in the professional blog under my real name. So I asked her some more about these points, and ended up asking if she could send me any kind of non-classified document from which I could learn more (and maybe write about it). She sent me one URL. I have yet to explore it deeply. But I was pleased to get even the one.

Of course the conversation bounced around in a very non-linear fashion. Son 1 contributed to it. I tried to tell some funny stories from my own career. I didn't learn a lot about Dorcas's personality, except that she is fond of Son 1 and is willing to tolerate his family.

Then Wife entered the conversation by booming,* "I notice nobody has asked me any questions about Henry II!" Back when Wife was in graduate school, she was a medievalist, and was starting to study the tax policy of Henry II of England. This was before she failed her Qualifying Exams, which means it was before she was given her terminal Master's and booted out of graduate school for the second time. (I describe the first time she left graduate school in this post here.)

Gosh, dear, what can you tell us about Henry II?

So Wife spent several minutes haranguing** us about Henry II and his tax policy. It had nothing to do with the previous conversation, and plainly nobody else was interested. She even made several remarks acknowledging that nobody else was interested, in a tone that was (I think) supposed to be wry and self-deprecating, but came across as merely self-pitying. (And in any event none of these remarks stopped her from prolonging her lecture.) 

After maybe 75 or 80 minutes (total, not just of Wife's lecture), I said I had to be on my way. Before Wife could make (yet another!) remark about how I was getting out because I was bored with Henry II, Son 1 quickly joined in to say, "Yes, you've got other family members to visit!" And I replied, "Yes, and I want to get there in time for dinner!" So we all said goodbye. I got hugs from Wife and Son 1, and even from Dorcas (though when I arrived she had greeted me by shaking my hand, as I expected).

My impression is that it wasn't an unsuccessful first meeting ... well, except for Wife, but I claim no responsibility on that front. But of course I can't read minds: not Son 1's, and not Dorcas's. So I don't know when I'll see them next. I hope it's not long delayed. So far as I could make a judgement, I liked her.

_____

The rest of the weekend, I spent at Mother's. I got there  somewhere between 1:00 and 1:30. We ate dinner pretty much on schedule at 2:00. Since Brother and SIL put together the whole meal, I have to qualify or retract any earlier remarks suggesting that the two of them are always late or behind schedule (see also, for example here or here).

There was a lot of food. It was all elegant and tasty. Then there was a dessert. (This was the only part Mother made.) It, too, was elegant and tasty.

Finally we opened Christmas presents. I felt a lot of anxiety about this, because all I'd done was a little cooking for everyone. Fortunately Brother and SIL hadn't gotten me much: just a couple of books about food. (Seriously!) Mother got my a gift certificate at a gourmet food store, and insisted that she was always thrilled to get the kind of cooking that I delivered.

Late into the evening, Brother and SIL went home. I slept over. Mother and I spent most of Sunday talking aimlessly, though part of the time was about Father's death and how unprepared she was. I suggested that the best way to avoid a repetition is to talk about what has to be done, so that Brother and I are prepared.

Monday, I drove home after breakfast, but I wasn't good for much the rest of the day.

And here we are in Tuesday.  

__________

* I think that Wife's hearing is getting worse. Her voice is a lot duller, flatter and louder than it used to be.  

** As I was saying ....     

      

Christmas in Carrick

And here's a less-depressing Christmas song. It's nothing like what I'm doing right now, but it is one of my favorites from Golden Bough. Maybe that's because of all the food and drink they sing about!

The album calls this song "Christmas Comes But Once a Year," but a little googling led me to find the original title as I give it in the post's heading.

Here are the lyrics:

"And what have you done?"

So this is Christmas
And what have you done?
Another year over
And a new one just begun

I'm pretty sure I first heard this song on Christmas Day. It was sometime in the mid-1970's, at my parents' house, and Brother had been given an album which included it. At any rate, that's the image that pops into my head whenever I hear it ... the living room, the tree, the lights, and the stereo system. (Gosh, remember stereo systems?)

The other thing that I always hear is that question: "And what have you done?" Does everyone else find that challenge depressing, or is it just me? On the whole I think my answer is, "Not much." It makes me see why people are so eager to make New Year's Resolutions. Of course, I don't even do that: after watching Father go on so many diets that he swore with great fanfare would make him thin, ... and then watching him go off them again after two weeks with no visible change of girth, ... I figure it is better simply to fail quietly than to fail after calling a lot of attention to yourself. (No, it never really occurred to me to treat success as one of the options. Why do you ask?)

I'm not sure I have much more to say about this. But I'm sitting home alone, watching out my window as the weather lurches dramatically from stormy to calm and back to stormy again. It's Christmas, but without any of the usual Christmas-stuff going on. So here: have a song. 

Incidentally, I had a thought this morning. When John and Yoko sang this song, their slogan (referring to the Vietnam War) was, "War is over if you want it." That sentiment probably sounded idealistic to many, but in fact the events proved it to be remarkably practical. Because in general there is always one quick and certain way to end any war: Let the other guys win! And as long as your commitment to peace is stronger than your commitment to victory, that avenue is open and available. Sure enough, it worked in Vietnam.

Here are the lyrics:

Fun with health insurance, part 3

You all remember how I got put on Medicaid for a couple of years, even though the program was meant for the desperately poor. I explain that in part 1 and part 2.

Well, that finally came to an end, and it seems like I didn't bother to post about it. But starting in 2024, I began to buy regular health insurance through my state's ACA website, because I was finally ruled ineligible for Medicaid.

In some sense it is silly for me to buy anything of the kind, because I haven't actually seen a doctor since 2022. My old doctor retired while I was in Scotland during the spring of 2023; I thought about visiting the new doctor who bought his practice, but at the time I was still covered under Medicaid. I figured he probably didn't take Medicaid, and I didn't feel like explaining how it happened.

Since then? Well, my ACA plan assigned me to a doctor, but I've never made an appointment. I don't feel a strong need to. Maybe she could do something about my earwax, of course. But my annual physicals were never terribly informative. My old doctor would try to put me on statins, I would refuse, and then we'd spend a few months when I tried to bring down my blood pressure using diet and exercise. Not an obviously useful way for either of us to spend our time.

Then this fall, Congress declined to extend the ACA subsidies for most income classes. I went online and found that my premium would more than quadruple! In concrete numbers, my new premium would be more than $1000 per month higher than my old one! Of course I was hardly unique in this. You must have heard the story plenty of times by now. Maybe it happened to you.

I started searching online for other alternatives. Could I go without insurance altogether? Could I buy catastrophic-only insurance? And finally I called the insurance company who has been supporting me since I got off Medicaid.

In the course of the conversation, my agent asked: 

"How much do you make every month?"

I told him.

Then he asked: 

"And that's an IRA distribution, right? In other words, the exact amount is in your control?"

"Yes."

"Because here's something interesting. If you brought home $1000/month less than you bring home today, you'd still be eligible for subsidies. In fact, your premiums would be cheaper than they are today."

Say what?

I hung up the phone and went to check whether I could get by on the reduced income every month. Could I do it for at least a year? (After a year I'll be eligible for Medicare, and all the calculations change.) Looking at my expenses over the last few years, I learned two things.

• First, I normally spend more per month than the hypothetical number my insurance agent had suggested.
• Second, I normally spend less per month than I am pulling out of my IRA, with the result that I have been building up my savings account. If I take enough money out of my savings to make up the shortfall in my withdrawals—and if, naturally, nothing unexpected happens—I'll still be in comfortable shape by the end of the year.

Sounds like a plan.

So that's what I'm going to do. It's crazy, but it is what the system requires. For one year I will throttle back my income even farther than I have already done, and I'll make up the difference with savings. And these machinations will cut more than $1000/month (or $12,000/year) off my mandatory health insurance bill.

In case you wonder why some people think the current system is crazy ... well, I guess this is part of why.

    

Christmas Eve

I usually write some kind of post for Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. Looking back at the history of this blog, it seems like I have to go all the way back to 2017 before I find a year with nothing in that vein. But somehow this year seems like one of the least "Christmas-y" years in a while.

Normally at this point I am at Mother's house, in the extended banlieue of Big City, a couple of hours from where I live. But the weather has thrown up some ... challenges ... so that we decided collectively (on Tuesday) to wait for the weekend. I tried to joke, "If the Wise Men took several days to get to Bethlehem, we should be able to postpone our get-together by a few days as well." Meanwhile, Son 2 and Beryl explained to us all that they'll have to Christmas-in-place this year because of some unusual expenses (like buying a car). I sent an email to Son 1 and Wife suggesting that maybe I could drop by in a couple of days, and have gotten no reply.

So here I sit, at home in front of my computer, writing to you lot instead. 

• My apartment isn't decorated because I don't own a lot of Christmas decorations, and because there doesn't seem to be any point to decorate when it's just me. 
• I'm not listening to Christmas music, because I almost never listen to music anyway. (Although I did connect to a live-streamed Christmas concert by Golden Bough on Saturday.) 
• I've done vanishingly little Christmas shopping: something for Debbie, and for Son 2 + Beryl, since those had to be sent by mail (and therefore could be ordered online). 
• For Mother, Brother + SIL, Son 1 + Wife—in other words, for people I'm likely to see in person—I've done a little cooking. 

I'm really not in the Christmas spirit. 

      

Analysis through movies

The other day I was wasting time on Twitter, and I ran across someone who claimed, "Tell me your favorite Christmas movie and I’ll tell you your trauma."

I'd recently re-read this post from last year, so I felt I was game for the challenge. I replied, "Can you do this with favorite non-Christmas movies? Favorite Christmas movie: 'It's a Wonderful Life.' Favorite movie all-around: probably 'Lawrence of Arabia'."

The next morning, he had replied back: "you are deeply concerned about the impact you have on other people’s lives and often fear that you’re not doing enough."

Umm ... OK, I guess. Actually that's not too far off. Good to know. 

What you deserve

A few days ago I saw a short video on Twitter. It never uses the word deserve. But somehow that's the way I remember it. As if it had been about What you think you deserve in life.

Here's the YouTube version:

So naturally I started thinking: Is it true? Could someone judge—based solely on seeing that I married Wife—how much I love myself? Could someone assess what I think I deserve in life?

Yeah, probably. It's not a good look.

The next day, I got an email from Debbie inviting me to join some software tool called Giftster. Apparently it's a tool that lets you publish wish lists for all sorts of holiday gifts. She invited me to join a group that includes her and her family. 

Well, I haven't done it yet. Partly I hate the idea of having to set up yet another user ID and password for yet another tool that I'll probably never use. Or rather, I guess I'll use it twice a year: a few weeks before Debbie's birthday, and a few weeks before Christmas. But of course there's no way I would ever put any preferences of my own into such a tool! I've written about that before: Dorophobia!

And then suddenly all kinds of connections started to cascade down around my head. I've written about this topic before, in different flavors and through different lenses, all too many times.

With respect to romantic relationships: "Harems" and "Encouraging non-exclusivity? Why?" and "Punishment for my sins?" Also this post about a quote from Tolstoy applies too, if you think about D's principle (elucidated here) that (on the whole) spouses are of comparable attractiveness. Why should they be? Well if each spouse is competing with a large pool of others for the most attractive possible partner, that's just how it sorts out: those with the greatest drawing power (the most attractive) will get the most attractive mates, and likewise down the ladder. But if someone (like me) doesn't look for the most attractive mates—either because he doesn't think he deserves them, or for some more idiotic reason—then the pattern breaks down.

With respect to family: "My apartment" and "The empty table."  

At work: "On being the boss."  

And just at the level of general discussion: "Seventeenth date 3, Depression, dignity, arrogance" and "You don't count" and "What is money for?, 2: fear of beauty."

 

And there are probably more, that I didn't think to look for.

It's not a good look. Maybe I need to think about it, or take it seriously.