They used to trim my holly trees every year but I stopped about six years ago, just got too expensive trimming and shaping twenty-one holly trees. I let the trees go. Unfortunately with this blizzard and the heavy snow that stayed on the branches, there was a lot of damage that had to be cleaned up. So I bit the bullet (more expense) and had the job done. Probably the last time in this lifetime for me.
Bill comes by almost every night via his favorite method, that burned out Christmas light which is in my direct line of eyesight when I'm in my kitchen.
Before Bill died, we often had the discussion, that if there was an afterlife, that he would try and contact me to let me know.
We didn't know how he would contact me but by the way of the Christmas lights made sense. First, Bill loved those Christmas lights which we kept up year round since his lost his eyesight through macular degeneration. He only had peripheral vision and, even though he couldn't make eye contact with me he could see my shadow and also the colors of the Christmas lights that I had strung up around our sun room, where he spent most of his day, and our living room.
Bill's first appearance with that blinking Christmas light was about three days after he died. In the two years since he often comes by for a couple weeks at a time then he's gone. I always feel lonely when that light is off but when he comes back I feel his presence again and also by mental telepathy in which he often says "I'm always with you."
Yes folks, there is an afterlife. I have proof.
 |
| One of my holly trees that was broken. There are about eight more. |
This morning I took a walk around Casa Tipton-Kelly to survey the damage this blizzard wrought upon me. Unfortunately it's more than I anticipated.
I just left "Alfredo", my local landscaper who fortunately hasn't been scooped up by ICE. He'll clean up the mess for thousand dollars. There goes my budget again for this month. Each month I try to cut my expenses but alas, something always seems to happen to blow a hole in my frugal ways. I'm going to look on the good side though, I can pay the bill and no damage was done to my house. My neighbor had a tree fall on his car. My car is in my garage. Lucky me.
Well, I'll always remember the second anniversary of Bill's passing. We had a blizzard last night.
Thanks Bill!
I woke up this morning to nineteen inches of snow.
Snow is very unusual here in southern coastal Delaware. I've been here twenty years and this is only the second time we've had an appreciable amount of snow. Bill would have loved this.
I think this was a present from Bill.
Thanks Bill!
YAY!
The Supreme Court just voted down Trump's illegal tariffs.
The vote was 6-3. Of course the usual suspects; Clarence Thomas, Joseph Alito and Bret Kavanaugh voted for Trump and against the American people. The only three Supreme Court justices who are corrupt having accepted vacations and other benefits (Kavanaugh's mortgage loan was paid off), no surprise.
Maybe, just maybe prices in the grocery store will go down now. Probably unlikely though because once prices go up, they rarely go down. We shall see but it is a relief that for once, on this rare occasion the Supreme Court actually voted for the American people instead of the tyrant in the White House.
 |
| Casa Tipton-Kelly |
Good morning folks.
I was going to apologize for not posting sooner or more often but these days my routine has changed. So no apologies.
Yesterday I finally completed preparing my taxes for 2025. Something I dread doing. Not because I owe a lot of money or anything like that but because I just hate all the rigmarole one has to go through just to check in with the government once a year to make sure one is paying one's fair share.
I've always prepared my own taxes. I've never used a service such as H.R. Block or any other service. I use Turbo Tax software. No way could I do my taxes manually like I used to fifty years ago.
This year I was concerned if I would owe taxes. The past several years I haven't had to pay any taxes because my income is so modest. Actually, I haven't paid taxes since Bill and I got married in 2013 and I could claim him as my dependent. That was one of the main benefits of getting married, to take advantage of all the protections and monetary benefits that straight couples have enjoyed for my whole lifetime and since the U.S. government began taxing it's citizens.
Well, the good news is that I do have to pay taxes but it is a very small amount. That's a relief. I was worried that I would be burdened with a my previous thousand dollar plus tax bill that I had to pay every year before Bill and I got married.
To tell you the truth I would be in a world of hurt if I had to pay rent or a mortgage. My big advantage now is that my home is mortgage free. God knows it cost enough to keep Casa Tipton-Kelly going even without the extra expense of a monthly mortgage payment.
Have a great day everyone!
I finally figured out how to get a clip from one of my old 8mm films that I had converted and posted to my You Tube account.
Here is the first clip. It is of me and Bill and our home in Pennsylvania. This film was taken in 1996. A totally different time and place from where I am now.
The blond Pomeranian was Bill's dog. The orange one was mine. Dogs choose their humans you know. Horace was the only dog I ever had that chose me.
Our home in Pennsylvania was on 7.875 acres of wooded land in East Brandywine Township, Pennsylvania. Oh how I miss those innocent days. I am so thankful that I was mindful enough to take film so I ca relieve those memories. Of course when I die I will again relive this life that I had back then. Both Bill and our Poms will be waiting for us on the other side of the Rainbow Bridge.
I guess I'm an "influencer" now.
Check out my post yesterday afternoon on Threads about me, an 84 year old man being a Bad Bunny fan now after seeing his Super Bowl halftime show on Sunday.
Over 75,000 "likes" so far and still counting!
Today I met an old friend I haven't seen in over fifty years in person at a local senior center.
Instead of selecting a local restaurant to meet, I thought it would be a good idea to meet at this senior center that I pass every time I go to my local supermarket.
BIG MISTAKE.
What was I thinking?
I chose the senior center because I knew he belonged to a senior center in Lewes. I preferred not to go to that senior center because it's located off of Route One and I prefer to avoid Route One traffic whenever I can. I also didn't want to go to a local restaurant since that would reset in me paying upwards of forty dollars for lunch and I'm trying to be more careful with my spending. Lunch at the senior center only cost $3.50. Well, guess what? I had lunch and it was...............awful. AWFUL. Overcooked string beans, a little plastic cup of canned chopped apple, and two spoons of beef macaroni casserole. The beef macaroni casserole was edible at least but I hate macaroni pasta. UGH.
The biggest miscalculation on my part was that the senior center is not for me. Why? Because I'm a snob, that's why. I passed a table of four old men who were vacantly staring out into space. No conversation. Actually there was very little conversation at any of the tables. Even the ones where the ladies were sitting. And here I come in, a New Face and immediately attract all kinds of attention. Attention I didn't need.
Then of all the strange things, there was a DJ playing oldies music, too loud. I couldn't even have a conversation with my friend. I couldn't hear him and he could hear me. What was the deal with the DJ playing too loud music for lunch? I guess because this was an adult day care center and there was very little conversation with the people in the room so the music was to make it seem not quite so dead. Well folks, I ain't dead yet. I probably won't be going back even though I now have a membership. Strange, very strange. Just another reason why I'll never go into assisted living. I would rather be dead. That's just a slow death in one of those facilities. Good for some people or families I'm sure, but doesn't work for me. I'm just too independent and yes, a snob.
By the way, my meeting with my friend continued here at my home. We caught up on a lot from the past fifty some years. Next time we meet will be at his home. No more senior centers for me, at least.
Not my thing.
 |
| My BJ's bounty delivered yesterday at my front door |
The cold snap continues!
It was so cold yesterday that I decided for the first time to take advantage of a food delivery service.
Once a month I drive the fifteen miles to BJ's Wholesale in Millsboro. BJ's is our version of Costco, a much scaled down version but an economical way to buy in bulk.
In past years the drive to BJ's was also an excuse to take Bill for a long ride through the southern Delaware countryside, one of the few times he said we could be totally together. Even though we lived together all those years (59), around the house I was either outside gardening or in my home office updating my blog or other computer related activities. Since Bill died, that fifteen mile trip is now just another risk to getting into an accident because of the ever increasing traffic and the constant road construction in southern Delaware. Year round, almost all roads, are under construction. That's a subject for another blog posting.
The past two weeks, ever since it snowed, we have been in a freezer box. The frozen snow is still on the ground, covered in ice just waiting for someone (me) to slip and fall on it. Perhaps my biggest fear these days, falling and putting myself out of independent living. I was running low on hummus and tissues, two items I go through rather frequently. I really didn't want to make the trek to Millsboro, where BJ's is located fifteen miles away. Their parking lot is huge and I usually park quite a distance away from the entrance. I also stop in PetsMart to see what kitties are up for adoption. I'm not going to adopt a cat but I do like to visit. I just couldn't picture myself hobbling around in all that windy cold air yesterday with wind chill factors down to zero degrees. So I took advantage of BJ's offer to have my items delivered. Well, I'm here to tell you it worked out great! Not only did I save on gas and more exposure to having an automobile accident (crazy drivers down here in Lower Slower), the charge was minimal. A $9.99 service fee for the shopping, a calculated tip for the driver ("Melissa" in my delivery yesterday - I gave her an extra five dollars just because she had to endure an icy walk on my walkway to my front door), and the delivery charge was free because I spent over $100. Now I'm stocked up on hummus (I get the big party tubs, those expensive little containers at my nearby supermarket only last a few days for me), and toilet tissue.
Nice to know that I can fall back on home delivery should I become disabled and not be able to drive anymore. My local supermarket also offers the same service. That home delivery service really took off during COVID. Also, where I live her in southern Delaware has a large population of older seniors like me, many of whom can't drive anymore. Those seniors like me was to spend the rest of our days on this earth in our own home rather than some facility that drains us of our lifetime accumulation of capital and then ships us off to some state run warehouse for death. Not the route I want or will go.
These days one of my primary goals is to continue to live in my own home independently. Yesterday was further evidence that I will be able to accomplish that goal.
 |
| Peirce College Broad and Pine Streets, Philadelphia I took this picture November 4, 2016 during one of me and Pat's visits to Philadelphia. |
Sixty years ago, shortly after I began my employment at Girard Bank in Philadelphia, I began night school to take advantage of the GI Bill and start my college education. If you'll remember, I wasn't one of those "fortunate sons" that Creedence Clearwater sang about. My family circumstances weren't such that I could attend college after graduation from high school. Hell, I couldn't even get a job so what do low income white folk like me do? We join the service. Army in my case. No bone spurs here. Actually I failed my first Army physical and had to have an operation (I was born with a hernia) before I could try to enlist again. I had the operation, contacted a staph infection, spent most of the rest of my graduation year in and out of hospitals and three surgeries until I was able to join the Army in January of 1960.
Three years later I departed the Army. I would have stayed in but at that time if the Army found out you were gay you were discharged with a "less than honorable discharge" which meant that you couldn't receive the benefits that were offered upon joining (health care for life). I had a good job in the Army at the National Security Agency at Fort Meade and could have easily transitioned to a civilian status but still, since the National Security Agency was a government agency and former President Eisenhower's edit of "no fags in the Army" was still in effect, based on that if someone found out you were gay like the Russians they could blackmail you into turning over state secrets. Of course this is circular logic because if it wasn't against the law to be gay then one couldn't be blackmailed. And another thing, there was never one case of any homosexual being blackmailed by Russians or any other potential enemy of the United States but such was the ridiculousness of the "laws" back then. But I digress.
I left the Army in January of 1963 and proceeded to have several jobs before I landed at Girard Bank in Philadelphia. While at the bank I was encouraged by my boss to take American Institute of Banking courses at a nearby college, Peirce Junior College (now know as "Peirce University") which was just up Broad Street several blocks from Girard Bank which was located right across from the Philadelphia City Hall. I signed up for those courses which I would attend a couple nights a week after my workday. One late afternoon while I was walking up Broad Street after work I encountered a coworker from the bank where we both worked. We didn't work in the same department but the same bank. His name was Rich (no last name to protect his privacy). We became friends and would meet each other after work and walk together up Broad Street to Pine Street to attend Peirce, a college founded after the Civil War. No campus this college, just an old, magnificent building from the 19th century. 
Me in front of Peirce College, November 14 2016
During one of our walks together Rich asked me what college courses I was majoring in. I told him I was only attending the AIB courses. He said "Why don't you take college courses? You're going to the same building and the Army will pay for it?" He made a good point. No one in my immediate family family had a college degree and I was the first one to even graduate from high school. Both of my parents had quit high school including one of my two younger brothers. So I applied for the GI Bill and was accepted. The United States government sent me a monthly check, which was substantially more than I was paying Peirce. So actually for me attending college was like a part-time job after work.
Thus I began attending night school, three nights a week, for the next four years. After I completed my courses (I majored in Business Economics), and attained my Associates Degree, I decided I had enough college. No more term papers for me. Ironically my term paper was "The Emerging Republican Majority." At that time the Democrats were in charge of the House of Representatives for forty years. I never thought in my lifetime would I ever see the Republicans in charge. Oh yes, I was a registered Republican at that time. I've since corrected that mistake when George Bush and Dick Cheney tried to take away my veteran's benefits in 2000 to give another huge tax cuts to their rich and powerful friends. That my friends is a subject for another whole blog posting if not a book. But again I digress.
My friend Rich went on to complete his education at the University of Pennsylvania, the Wharton School of Economics. You know, the one Trump brags about attending and graduating with "honors" even though no one can seem to find those records. Yes, that one.
At that time I was young and full of hormones and I wanted to have fun. Rich was in a different situation. He had a wife and three young children, one of whom was autistic. He had different priorities than I had. He also went on to great success after he got his four year degree from the University of Pennsylvania.
Over the years we kept in touch by Christmas cards. That's a habit of mine, people I like I send Christmas cards even though our lives have taken us in different directions.
Fast forward to the year 2013. Rich called me on the phone, the first time we talked since the late Sixties. He told me he had prostate cancer. Just so happened that was the year I was also diagnosed with prostate cancer.
He was trying to decide what treatment to take to control his cancer as I was also trying to decide. He took a different route than I took. He decided to have his prostate removed. I didn't want to do that because of the chance of being incontinent and loss of sexual drive.
Fast forward to about six years ago. His prostate cancer returned. When I talked to him then he hadn't decided what treatment he was going to get. Then I lost touch with him. This was about the time that Bill fell and was unconscious with a brain hemorrhage and ended up at Thomas Jefferson Hospital in Philadelphia in the ICU unit then rehab for a couple more weeks. The following three years I was his full-time caregiver until he died two years ago this month.
Now that it seems that my prostate cancer has returned I wanted to call Rich to find out what treatment he got. By the way, Rich and his wife have since moved down here to Delaware for the same reason I moved, to escape the high Pennsylvania school/real estate taxes.
Yesterday I talked to him. He decided to get the same treatments my urologist was recommending for me, radiation and hormone therapy. Rich said they "screwed up" with his radiation. The radiation destroyed his urethra. He had to have a flesh replacement from his cheek to rebuild his urethra. Even so, he needs a pump to get urine out of his bladder. So folks, do you think I want to take that chance? No way. He said the hormone therapy worked out better for him except for the hot flashes. I don't want to go that route either.
My mind is made up now and I'm comfortable with my decision. No further treatments for this eighty-four year old. Why would I do that? I can understand why others would choose different treatments and I respect that. They want to live for their family. I don't have family. I have Pat. We live apart. I have no children nor grandchildren. Most of my friends have already died. I have a small circle of friends that I've acquired through this blog. I have good neighbors but that's it. They live their lives and I live my life. I'll take as many years of normal living I have left but I am not going to take extra ordinary lengths to extend my life with all those deleterious possible side effects of further medical treatments. Just not worth it to me and the quality I life I want for my remaining years.
I will make my wishes known to my urologist and my primary care doctor at the VA. If I get to the point where they determine I am terminal (after all, we're all "terminal" aren't we?), set a date and I'll make arrangements on my on terms for a graceful exit from this life.
I am totally comfortable with my decision. I've had a wonderful life and I will go out under my own control which takes a great burden off of my mind. I never had a problem with dying or death, it's all part of life. The only problem I ever had was how we get there. In our culture it's often brutal. We show more compassion to our pets at their death. Now with Delaware's Right To Die Law, if I get a prognosis of six months or less to live, I can choose the time and place of my departure from this fabulous life I have had the past eighty-four years. Then to Heaven to be reunited with Bill
 |
| Washington Avenue, Downingtown PA 1954.My family lived on the second floor front if that three story apartment building in the left. The rent was $22.50 a month. We kids used to play on the sidewalk in front of that building. That was our playground. No complaints, everybody was poor so we didn't know what we were missing. This picture was taken about eight years after the Bucking Bronco fun times. |
 |
| I took this picture of the apartment building I used to live in on the second floor fronting 2002. Fifty some years later it was still in the White Trash section of town. Nothing much had changed except the rent payments. |
 |
| I've posted this picture many times before on my blog. This is me holding something up in my finger. Pictured with me is my late brother John (to my left) and my brother Isaac (in the front) and our playmates Johnny Johnson, Patty Robinson, and Sissy. One thing about living in town, I had a lot of playmates. I was about nine years old when this picture was taken. My family lived in that apartment building for ten years, from the time I was two years old until I was twelve years old. I wish I had more pictures from this time period but we were just too poor. My Mother had a Kodak Brownie camera and took some pictures. I didn't get my first camera until I was twelve years old and had already moved from this apartment building. |
1) First time you knew you were different.
My Uncle Bruce, who was a teenager when he used to babysit me, had a friend called Earl. They were both about thirteen or fourteen years of age. I was about four. I lived in the poor white trash section of town. Only one demographic group was lower than my hillbilly white trash and that they were "the coloreds" (as we used to call blacks back in the Forties and early Fifties). My family lived I'm a second floor apartment building on Washington Avenue. "The Coloreds" lived an alley behind us called Cox Alley. Even though we were all poor as shit I had a lot of playmates. Both little boys and girls. We always looked forward to my Uncle Bruce coming by (I think he lived with us for a while because he was still going to school, both his parents had died (my paternal grandparents) and both he and his younger brother my Uncle Sam (we used to sleep I'm the same bed for a couple years until he graduated from high school, I was eight years old and he sixteen years old). Anyway, long story short, when my Uncle Bruce came around Earl wasn't far behind. I don't know how it started but Earl would get down on all fours and play "Bucking Bronco", trying to buck us off of his back. We kids would take turns jumping on his back, while he was down on the ground on all fours, and he would try and buck us off. We all had so much fun with this. But then at one point I noticed I was "enjoying" my turn a little bit more than my friends Patty, Pee Wee, Johnny, Sissy, and Franny. I didn't know what it was (I was only four years old) but I did know that what I was "enjoying" was "different." Oh did I know. But this was my little secret.
Interesting to look back on it now but I think the "enjoyment" part was early sexual arousal. Hard to believe at four years old but I definitely knew I was getting a lot more out of "Bucking Bronco Earl" than my playmates.
Many years later, probably about fifty years later, I was attending my Uncle Bruce's funeral. One of the men who offered a eulogy looked very familiar. While he was giving his eulogy, and while I was looking at him, trying to remember where I knew him from, we made eye contact. When we did, he immediately broke eye contact. After his eulogy I tried to find him in the crowd but I couldn't. I think he purposely avoided me. Which was a shame because I did so want to thank him for those bronco rides. But then I remembered him. He was "Earl", my uncle Bruce's friend. Now I don't know if my Uncle Bruce was gay but I do know that my father had ten brothers. Uncle Bruce was the only one who never had children. He was married once, for a short period of time. I even babysit his step daughter once when I was seventeen years old. Sharon was her name. She was a little brat. I do remember that. I was never a brat. I was a Good Little Boy. In fact one time my Uncle Bruce was baby sitting me in an earlier place were we lived, I crawled out on the second floor window, rolled down the porch roof, and fell on my head on the driveway below. My Mother said I was unconscious when they took me to the hospital. I think I was about a year old, just a baby. My Uncle Bruce was very upset of course because he was supposed to be babysitting me. I don't remember (of course) or why I crawled out of the window but I've always been curious. Anyway, at the hospital they told my Mother I probably had a brain cushion. They weren't sure I survived or even regain consciousness. But I did and here I am today. Just one of my many nine lives.
 |
| My Uncle Sam Tipton (far left) and my Uncles Bruce (standing with Navy hat to the right) and my Uncle "Tip" Tipton (kneeling with a dog. The little boy and girl are their Baker kids friends. All three of my uncles were orphaned when their parents died in 1939 and 1944. My Uncle Sam and Uncle Bruce lived with us for awhile until they finished school. I don't know where Uncle Tip lived but the Tipton family took care of its own. |
 |
| My Uncle Bruce Tipton. Like all Tipton's, he joined the service after school. This is what low income whites did in the last century, provide fodder for whatever war was going on at that time. No family paid college education for the Tiptons to major in Liberal Arts and Political Science. |
NOTE:
Never, not one time, during my childhood was I ever sexually molested. Nothing even close. Which somewhat surprises me because you hear all these stories about kids being molested. Thank God I didn't have one of those childhoods. But I was a cute kid. OH well.
Another NOTE here. I got this idea for a blog posting from my friend Spo of Spo Reflections. His post was much longer than mine. Since I'm wordy, I can only post one subject at a time.
My next post will be "The moment you knew you had to monitor yourself, someone picked up on your mannerism to shame you."
 |
| Picture taken from my back deck yesterday afternoon |
The temperature now is twenty-two degrees. The forecast for today is a "high" of thirty-seven degrees. This is a regular heat wave here folks! Maybe this frozen snow will finally begin to melt.
One good thing about living in the southern most county in Delaware (yes, I officially live in "the South"), it that on those rare occasions that it does snow, the snow is usually gone in a day or two. Not this time folks, our rock free sandy loam soil has been covered with frozen snow for two weeks now. This is the longest I can remember since I've been living here (twenty years).
Right about now I should be packing for my annual trip to Palm Springs and Modernism Week. No trip this year. As I said neither Pat nor I can afford that luxury this year. And talk about cold, whatever cold temperatures I'm having down here in Delaware, Pat's having at least ten to fifteen degrees colder. This is a winter both of us will remember well.
Next year, Palm Springs. If I'm able to that is. We're planning on driving out. Yes, across the United States. Something I've always wanted to do. Now is the time to do it because I'm running out of time. I remember years ago a woman who I used to work with at the bank said she was visiting Ireland, where her ancestors came from. She was older and she said "Ron, I want to visit while I can still walk." I thought that was an exaggeration on her part but now I know what she meant. I'm barely able to walk. Another reason I don't want to be running through airports trying to make a connection.
Have a great day everyone!
 |
| Me and Stuart, I'm in the back right with my hand to my mouth and Stuart is standing straight up in front of me. The year was 1951 in our third grade elementary school class. |
Just got off my weekly Zoom call with my former classmate (from first grade in 1947) and friend Stuart. He lives in Boca Raton, Florida. We've been Zooming weekly on Sunday for about the last four years now. This week he's undergoing surgery for a pacemaker implant. Of course we're both the same age (84) so there is a possibility that he may not survive this surgery.
At our age we often talk about our impending date with the Grim Reaper. We don't know the exact date but one thing we're sure of is that it will happen. We're both comfortable with that knowledge. As I've said many times before in this medium, I'm not afraid of dying just how I get there. I don't want a long, lingering, painful death where I am a burden to anybody. I also don't want a slow death in a warehouse also known as a "facility" for a nursing home. It ain't happening with us folks. And now that Delaware has a right to die law, if I get a termination date of my death say due to the return of my prostate cancer, I'm choosing the date I make my departure from this earthly existence. Both of us are very comfortable with our decisions.
In the meantime, we mean to live each day to its fullest. No more taking anything for granted.
Lemon cake with lemon buttercream icing Legend has it the late doomed French Queen Marie Antoinette said in response to the French peasan...
