My Home

 

At 84 years old, this is where I will end my days.

My peaceful, almost one acre paradise here in southern coastal Delaware. 

Great neighborhood, wonderful neighbors, privacy, quiet, low taxes, mild climate and mortgage free. 

Don't tell anyone.

Visit To My Cardiologist

Bill at our late friend Bob Mc's home outside Georgetown December 23, 2014 - we both miss Bob so much!

 This week I had my annual visit to my cardiologist.

The visit went well. 

My blood pressure was 124 over 68!

For at least a year now my blood pressure was measuring in the high 140's and low 150's. That was worrying for me because for most of my life my blood pressure has always been in the safe range. 

One time it was measured at 184 at the VA right after I went by a picture of Trump at the VA Outpatient Clinic on the way to get my blood pressure taken.

During my last visit to the VA my primary care doctor increased my blood pressure medication (Losartan) to 10mg. That seemed to do the trick. 

I still have my extra heartbeat which is the reason I began seeing a cardiologist about fifteen years ago. He says I still have that problem which is caused by one of my worn out heart valves (caused by age my cardiologist tells me). That extra heartbeat is my body compensating so I can keep ticking away.

Have a great day everyone!

The Dreamboats Band in Palm Springs, California

Pat and I used to visit Palm Springs every February for Modernism Week. Sadly this annual holiday came to an end with both COVID and me taking care of Bill after he had his two strokes. 

Now that Bill is gone and I no longer have a part-time job I don't think I can renew our annual holiday. The last time I went, two years ago, I almost didn't make it back. I was lost at the Dallas-Fort Worth airport, trying to make my connection. If it wasn't for a black airport employee pushing an old fat white man in a wheelchair, seeing my dilemma, I would probably still be wandering around that massive Texas airport. He, the airport employee, after seeing me, motioned for me to follow him as he pushed his wheel chair guy to the airport monorail to make my connection. Once I got on the plane I made a note to myself, "Never again. I think this is my last trip." As I've been saying lately in this forum friends, I don't move around well at all these days. The stress just isn't worth it. But enough with my constant whining about my deteriorating mobility. I even bore myself.

Back when I did have my mobility, I liked to dance. I don't dance well (think the "Elaine Dance" and you come close to the way I dance) but I do enjoy dancing. In one of the exhibitions there was a Canadian band called "The Dreamboats." Here is a video I took of them playing the old Chuck Berry hit, "Johnny B. Goode. Watching and listening to this video brings back many fond memories of our visits to Palm Springs. Maybe some day I can manage to go back.

Enjoy the video!

The Road I Chose

In a few months I will be eighty-five years old. Something I never would have believed if you had asked me twenty years ago when I retired from a full-time job. 

But here I am, approaching my nineties. To tell you the truth folks, I don’t want to be ninety years old. I’ve lived a good life. A good long life. 

Lots of interesting things have happened and continue to happen in my life Just last year I remarried again after my partner then husband of fifty-nine years died. He was ninety-five years old. He also had a good life (with me for much of it) but the last three years of his life was misery for him. He was blind, couldn’t swallow food and needed full-time care. We were both fortunate enough that I was healthy enough to keep him at our home which he loved so much. My promise to him as it was with my Mother, was to never put them in a facility. The “facilities” are actually warehouses of death that just drain one’s lifetime accumulation of wealth. Not that they aren’t solutions for some from children who don’t want to care for their parents to the widow who doesn’t want to spend her final years alone in a big house. I know all this first hand and I know the solution I wanted for my Mother and for my late husband. Now it is my turn.

Since Bill (my former husband) died two and a half years ago my health has gone down hill. Maybe when I was caring for Bill I pulled on my adrenaline reserves. I don’t know how I was able to care for him by myself (with help from the VA and Delaware Hospice) but I managed to keep him home until the last three days of his life. His health finally got to the point where he was unconscious and kept sliding on the floor. The instructions the hospice workers gave me for injecting pain relief morphine into Bill was just too much for me. I had finally reached my limit and I could no longer take care of Bill by myself. Delaware Hospice saw my dilemma and removed him on a Wednesday night. Bill lasted two and a half days at the Delaware Hospice center in Milford. I spent the first night with him and the next two days. I wanted to be with Bill when he died but I didn’t want to drive at night so, except for the first night which I stayed with him, I left at the end of the day before darkness fell. Early Saturday morning (a little after one AM) I received a call from Delaware Hospice. I knew. 

They informed me that Bill had died at 12:20 AM. 

My life hasn’t been the same since. 

At first I was in shock that this man who had been so much a part of my life (we met when I was twenty-two years old and he thirty-five years old). Of course I knew he was going to die, we often talked about it. But this was a man who I lived with almost my entire adult life. Now I was alone. It took about three days for the shock of his death to sink in. Knowing that I would never see him again in this life. 

I’ve experienced death before in my life and one time experienced grief. I probably should be ashamed to admit this but the most grief I ever experienced until Bill died was when my little sixteen year old five pound orange Pomeranian dog “Horace” died. We were best buddies. Of all the dogs that have been in my life, Horace was the one who chose me. When he died, I cried for the first time in my life. “So this is what grief is like?” I thought. Oh how little did I know. After the initial shock of Bill’s death wore off, then The Grief set in. Now two and a half years later it is still here and will be until my last dying breath. Even though I got married to a wonderful man last November, a good friend who I’ve known for thirteen years, it’s not the same. He lives in Canada. We’re working on getting his green card. And when he does get his green card he won’t live with me full-time. Part time at best. I will continue to live in my home of the past twenty years here in Delaware. There is so much of Bill in this house which I will continue to call “Casa Tipton-Kelly”, that the only way I will leave is on a gurney with a white sheet pulled over my head. Bill left this house on a gurney but that white sheet wasn’t pulled over his head. Mine will be different. 

Bill and I both loved the woods. Our house in Pennsylvania was on 6.875 acres of wooded hillside land. We had to move because in retirement we could no longer afford to pay the high Pennsylvania taxes. Like many others retirees from the high tax states of New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania; we moved to Delaware which is much more retiree friendly. In the past twenty years I tried to replicate our .97 acres of flat coastal land into our own personal wooded oasis. I have been somewhat successful. Bill always enjoyed walking out in our backyard, even during his final months when he was blind (macular degeneration) and couldn’t fully see all the wooded fauna that I had personally planted over the past twenty years since we moved into our newly build home. We had no mortgage on our home. Only one tax, which was in three digits. No other taxes. To his dying day Bill missed our home in Pennsylvania but I had no other choice. I had to move to Delaware if we were to survive. Most of our new neighbors in our newly build development made the same decision. We all had that reason for living in Delaware in common. 

Bill is in Heaven now. Occasionally he stops by via a burned out Christmas light that I had strung up in our living room year round. Bill’s form of macular degeneration was that he couldn’t see out of the center of his eyes. He could only see peripheral vision. He could see colors. He loved the colors of those Christmas lights. That’s why I left them up year round and I will continue to do so until I am no longer in this/our house. 

During the last year of Bill’s life we had talked about “what was on the other side.” I told him “If there is something there, try to contact me.” And indeed he did. A few days after he died, while I was in our kitchen my peripheral vision saw something blinking. Our house has an open concept kitchen that looks out over the living room. 

Again, I saw something blinking! I looked up and there it was! That burned out light I was thinking of replacing. “Why is that light blinking when the other burned out lights don’t blink?” I thought. After a few more rapid blinks then I got the message. Of course, it was Bill! So appropriate too because Bill’s occupation while he was alive was as an electrician. Since that first night of contact over two years ago, Bill has come back many times. Often when I need him during a stressful period or just sometimes when I’m lonely. He is there. I believe. I don’t have to convince anyone else what is happening. I know what is real for me and that is all that matters.

Now that I am at the end of my learning experience during this lifetime, I have no fear of death. Of course I am a little concerned how I get there. I don’t want a prolonged or painful death where I am a burden to anyone. That’s why I have decided to take advantage of Delaware’s new right to die law that became in effect this past January 1st. My doctor gives me six months or less to live, I’m making my final plans. I don’t know what I’m going to die of. My prostate cancer has returned for which I’m not seeking treatment. I have a heart condition. I have trouble walking. 

I take one day at a time though. No more medical treatments to prolong my life. I’m done with treatments. I live each day here in the comfort of my home with all my memories of Bill. My new husband visits me four times a year for two weeks at a time. 

These days I tire easily. I take a lot of naps. However, I’m still able to keep up my home. I cook for myself. I tend my almost once acre oasis. I pay my bills. I enjoy my privacy. My neighbors are wonderful. Best neighbors I’ve ever had in my lifetime. 

One day I will no longer be here. I write this on my Substack account because I feel a need to leave a little of something behind once I leave. Maybe there is or will be someone like me out “there” who will find my experience of dealing with the end of my life interesting. If not, that’s alright too. Writing for me has been by whole life a form of therapy for me. 

That said, I’m done with his stream of consciousness. 

Have a wonderful day everyone!

Walking Those Streets

I lived in center city Philadelphia from 1969 to 1980. I loved walking to work during the day. Walking to the gay bars at night. Only problem was avoiding getting mugged. So I had a path. Thus I only got mugged once. Now I live in Delaware, near Rehoboth Beach. This is one street (Baltimore Avenue) where I can walk the street and not worry about getting mugged. Taxes are lower too. However, I still love Philly! Often visit. I think the streets are safer now too.

Living Out Of My Car?

Every day I thank the Heavens above that I have a home that is bought and paid for.

This is something I worked my whole life for. To own my own home, mortgage free.

It took many years and there were a few scary times when I almost lost everything, but I’m here now.

My home is in southern coastal Delaware, near Rehoboth Beach. 

Ironically I was a Beach Person in my younger days (I’m 84 now) but these days, in the twilight of my life, I never go to the beach. First for the obvious reasons, I don’t need anymore skin cancer pop ups for my dermatologist to burn off, but the main reason is that going to the beach just isn’t my in my interests these days. What is in my interests is living comfortable in my home until I meet my Maker in the Great Sky above.

Recently I discovered a Substack post of a guy who looked a lot like Pat, my current husband. He’s living out of his car. Something I could never do. He has a good reason to live out of his car, he doesn’t want to pay the exorbitantly high cost of housing himself in today’s economy. I can’t say I blame him. If I was just starting out today I couldn’t afford housing either. My first rental I was paying eight dollars a week for a one room efficiency apartment in Pittsburgh, PA. Before that I had free housing in the U.S. Army at Fort George G. Meade, Maryland. But I could never live out of my car. Mainly because I value my privacy too much. Another good reason is that now I am eighty-four years old I have physical limitations. I don’t walk steady. I need a lot of rest (heart problems). I don’t do stress sell in my old age dotage. This guy’s Substack I’m reading, he’s young (relatively 65 or so) and doesn’t require “things” like I do. He’s a minimalist. I’m not. I like my “things”. They invoke fond memories for me of my life with my previous partner/husband whom I was with for fifty-nine years. 

My current husband, who is a minimalist and a Canadian, could probably live out of his car if he had a bigger one. He has a Fiat now. He lives in a small house that isn’t more than five hundred square feet and has minimal “things.” If he gets a new T-shirt a new pair of pants, he donates his old T-shirts and pants to Sallie Mae (as he calls the Salvation Army.) I admire him but I could never live that way. I have oodles of shirts and pants and out clothing which I will probably never wear in whatever remains of my life but I’m keeping them. I even have about forty neck ties from my former banking job. I keep them under my care in my two walk in closets until I depart this earth. My current husband will gladly and quickly dispose of those items. No problem there.

Pictured above is an older photo of me with my Subaru Forester taken a few years ago.  I now own a Hyundai Venue which is even small that my Subaru Forester.  It would be a tight fit for me to move and sleep in the back of my Venue. No thank you.

Every night I lay my old, tired body in my queen sized bed on my air foam mattress and enter my Dreamworld where, hopefully, one day I will be reunited in spirit with my former husband who was and is my soulmate. 

When I go to sleep at night all is quiet around me. No noisy neighbors. No mortgage other worry about. Only thing I have to worry about is that I don’t fall when I get up multiple times in the night to take a pee in my bathroom. 

I’m a Happy Camper. Right here in my own home. 

Happy Anniversary Pat!

 

Pat and me at the Purple Parrot in Rehoboth Beach, DE

Thirteen years ago I met this goofy little Canadian in the Hotel Blue parking lot in Lewes Delaware.

Today he is my husband.

He always makes me smile.

I am the luckiest man in the world.

Happy anniversary Pat!

New Tripod

 

A selfie I took this morning on my back deck with my new tripod.

Finally! After all these years I finally got a tripod that accommodates my iPhone. 

For years I've been asking Bill to take photos of me. Then when he lost his vision to macular degeneration I had to figure out another way to take pictures of me. When I was with Pat I would ask him, which he would often accommodate me, but I know it wasn't his thing. It wasn't really Bill's thing either. Both of these men, lovely men who I loved and love dearly, weren't as interested in taking photos as I was and still am.

The rare time I would attempt to take a selfie or a video (I took some of me and Bill a few months before he died), I would prop my iPhone up on the kitchen counter or some other surface. I have several older tripods but they don't accommodate iPhones.  They have that screw in the bottom for SLR cameras. I have an SLR camera but haven't used it in years. Paid over a thousand dollars for it too! Does anyone use SLR cameras anymore? Even the ones that take videos, which mine does?

So folks, expect a lot more current pictures of me and even videos. I'm sure some of you are very tired of seeing my old photos posted over and over again to this blog. Now you'll get to see me in all my rapidly deteriorating physical state, especially my posture problem (called humpback) where I can no longer stand up straight. My condition is called "age-related hyperkyphosis or a "dowagers hump" which is usually caused by a combination of bone leaking, muscle loss, spinal wear and tear and every day postural habits. I'm in good company. Below is 96 year old Clint Eastwood.

That's it for today folks. 

Ron Opens A Substack Account

 

Photo taken this morning with my new tripod with remote control!

Well folks, here we go again. I just completed opening a Substack account. Click here:

I started this process about a week ago. At times it was frustrating going through the procedure only to encounter another hurdle. But after a long and frustrating morning, I think I accomplished my goal.

Here is the link to my Substack account.

Now of course the obvious question is:

"Ron, why are you opening a Substack account?"

Good question and I have an easy answer. To earn extra money to supplement my household income.

Now the next obvious question is:

"Ron, what would be different in your new Substack postings than I already read now in your Blogger postings?"

Again, another good question! And I have an easy answer:

Not much really.......at first. Maybe, as I get more comfortable with the Substack format, which I like very much, I'll have extra content that I'm unable to have on this Blogger format. 

Last  question:

"Ron, will you keep your Retired in Delaware blogger account?"

Answer: Absolutely! I've been blogging for twenty-one years now. I'm comfortable here and here I will stay until exit Casa Tipton-Kelly on a gurney. 

Update On Pat's Home in Hamilton, Ontario, Canada

 

Pat's home in downtown Hamilton, Ontario, Canada March 27, 2024 (the one on the left with a yellow door)

Remember a few years back when I wrote about Pat's problem neighbor?

Pat lives in downtown Hamilton, Ontario, Canada on Hess Street. 

He moved there three years ago after selling his penthouse condo at the former Royal Connaught Hotel (at a big loss) when the housing market in Canada was collapsing. 

He was lucky to find this gem of a small house that was built in 1910. He fell in love with it right away, being the minimalist that he is. 

The location (downtown, right next to Hess Village) was perfect. 

The size (under six hundred square feet) was also perfect. Pat is the opposite of me. I like a big house (mine is over 5200 square feet). 

However, there was one big problem that Pat didn't discover until after he moved in. 

Pat's house is on the left (yellow door). 

The problem is the middle house. It's inhabited by squatters. Druggie squatters. 

Well, not actually squatters. The woman who occupies it is the granddaughter of a man who died intestate. He owned several properties in Hamilton, all in disrepair. She doesn't own the house. She (Kim). , with her druggie boyfriend (Ray, also the father of her children, Pat thinks they are married),  moved in three years ago. 

After they moved in Pat and his neighbors began to see a steady flow of "customers." 

Yes, this is a real picture of some of Pat's neighbor's visitors. I wonder what the draw is?

Drug customers.

Sex (yes) customers.

"Houston, we have a problem here."

I could write a small book about all the going ons the past three years but I don't have the time here to do that. But what I can say that this has been a nightmare for Pat and his neighbors, especially the woman (Samantha) who lives in the other small house connected on the right. The druggie squatters live (if it can be called living) in the middle house.

Ray, Pat and Sam's neighbor and what the inside of their "home" looks like. Sam snuck this picture.

When they first moved in they didn't have running water or electricity. They were probably stealing Pat or Sam's facilities. Pat and Sam ended that. 

More "merchandise" from Pat's neighbors - right on the front lawn

Then the druggies were keeping Pat and Sam up all night (at that time Sam was the full-time caregiver of her dying husband, who has since died) with hammering on the walls (they must of been doing redecorating), loud arguments (always from the woman who was screaming at her partner and father of her four children who aren't there thank God), and the worst of all the constant stream of unsavory characters coming and going at all hours. The only quiet times were in the morning. Pat and Sam suspect they're vampires.

Now for the past three years Pat and Sam have complained and complained to the city authorities. Made calls to the police. Contacted and paid lawyers to see what they can do about having their druggie neighbors evicted because they haven't paid taxes (of course) for the past three years. 

About two months ago Ray disappeared. Pat and Sam think he's in jail. Arrested for either selling drugs (which they obviously were doing out of this house) and/or selling stolen goods (lots of furniture and clothing and other items pass through their doors). 

This picture taken last month of Kim sitting on her front stoop with a friend. Pat tells friends who visit him that he lives on Skid Row. I actually feel sorry for her. What a waste of a life. 

Since Ray disappeared from the scene it's been relatively quiet. Except for two occasions when someone else was over there and left the radio on all night blasting. Both Pat and Sam called the authorities but they couldn't do anything (break in). Eventually that stopped but someone else is there. Pat and Sam don't know who but this whole thing seems to be coming to a head. Yesterday Sam took picture of Kim trying to remove a padlock from the front door. 

You know what folks? I'm getting depressed with writing this post about Pat's neighbors. What a terrible waste of life. This woman is the mother to four children. I understand she's just trying to live her life the best she can with her addiction. It's just a shame that her life is impacting on so many others. Not just Pat and his neighbor Samantha but the other neighbors on the street. 

Now that someone (we think the city) has padlocked the residence, maybe something will finally have to be done. This situation is a complicated because the property did belong to her father (or grandfather). But she hasn't paid taxes for at least three years and she is a disturbance to the neighborhood. 

When I see something like this I realize how fortunate I am to live where I live. Back in the eighties, when I had an apartment in center city Philadelphia that I leased for a year while our house out in the country was being completed (believe it or not we sold our house in Philly too fast, before our other house was completed and I needed a place to live and go to work), I tried to help two different drug addicted guys. It just didn't work out. One almost burned down my apartment when he fell asleep with a lit cigarette. When I mentioned this to a friend he told me the reason this guy was homeless was because where he was staying he did catch the place on fire by falling asleep with a lit cigarette and they threw him out. I had to do the same thing. I won't even get into what I had to deal with the other guy I was trying to help. Both of them were gay so that was the link. All I remember it was a nightmare trying to help these guys who had the addiction. I failed. 

I'll leave with this image of Kim having an episode out in the street in front of Pat's house. So sad. 

Now you know why I haven't been posting about Pat's problem neighbor. 

I'm going out now to get some fresh air. 

The Pain Never Goes Away

 

Bill's 88th birthday picture September 26, 2016

Bill died almost three years ago.

There is not one day that goes by that I don't think of him and miss him.

After fifty-nine and a half years together, almost my whole adult life (since I was twenty-two years old), it's not hard to understand.

I thought with time I would get used to not having Bill in my life. How foolish I was to think that.

I now realize that until my dying day, I will have to endure the pain and grief of not having him in my life.

The last three years of Bill's life I was his full-time caregiver. In many way, even though it was very difficult for the both of us, those were our best years together. 

The love we had for each other even grew stronger.

When Bill died that early Saturday morning, the first thing I felt was relief. 

Relief that his suffering had ended. Little did I realize my suffering was just beginning. 

Initially I was in shock even though I had expected that call from Delaware Hospice which Bill had entered the previous Wednesday evening.

Then I had a feeling which I didn't expect at all. I felt like I had lost control over caring for Bill. 

Who would care for him now?

The last forty years of our lives together, since he retired early at fifty-five years of age, I had taken care of running our household. I saw that the bills were paid. I was the interface with the outside world that Bill didn't like to deal with. I ran interference for him. Now I could no longer do that. 

Bill always depended on me. Now who would take care of him? Of course the answer is God. Or that Supreme Being in the Afterlife that we will all eventually get to meet. 

I still had mixed feelings about losing control over caring for Bill. After all I had dealt with the Veterans Administration all these years and if I could get through THAT, I could do just about anything (smile). 

So here we go folks. Ron bemoaning the fact that I still miss Bill. I try to tell myself that I'm not the only one in this situation but that doesn't help. The hurt of not having Bill in my life will stay with me for all the rest of my days on this earth. This is a fact that I just have to accept. In the meantime, I count down the days until Bill and I reunite again in Heaven.

And by the way, this doesn't mean I don't love Pat. I do but it is a different kind of love. Not the kind Bill and I had. I will always remember what Bill said to me about a week and a half before he died. He called me aside and said "Something different has happened." I think he meant he knew he was going to die soon. Then he said something that just melted me. He said "When I die, I want you and Pat to be very happy." That was Bill, always thinking of me. 

Few people had the kind of love that Bill and I had for almost sixty years. For that I am so grateful. 

There, now I feel better that I spilled out my feelings again. Back to normal tomorrow but I will always continue to miss Bill. Until the day I die. Then, if there is a Heaven, our spirits will be reunited forever.

That is the way it is meant to be, will me and Bill.

Summer 1962

 

1962 Chesapeak City, Maryland
Pictured from left to right, bottom row Dessie, me and Dave M.
Top row Ed C. and George B. All gone now except for me and Dave

Sixty four years ago I was in the Army stationed at Fort George G. Meade, Maryland. I worked for the National Security Agency. 

I was able to go home almost every weekend. I also had leave time. "Leave Time" is Army talk for vacation time. 

During my time at Ft. Meade one of my very good friends was a guy from Georgia named Dessie Stroud. Of course he couldn't go home on weekends like I did. Occasionally he would go home with me just to break the routine of hanging around the Army base on the weekends. 

One stretch of time I think he took some leave and spent a few days at my friend Bill B's family cottage near Chesapeak City, Maryland. Bill had a boat. A speed boat. It was fun to drive around the Chesapeak Bay in. 

One weekend two of our high school friends and one of Bill B's friends took over "The Cottage" for the weekend. Oh we had a grand time. I remember that long weekend well. Dave M. had one of those old VW buses. We drove around town like the carefree twenty year olds we were. Interestingly enough, I haven't been back to that cottage since. Actually my friend Bill B.'s family sold that cottage but he has another one which he has invited me too often. It's now that far from where I live in Delaware. I would like to go on a speed boat ride again before I check out. I think Pat would like that too. 

I'll put this one on my Bucket List.

P.S.

One of those guys was my very first crush/boyfriend. I'll never tell. 

My Backyard Oasis

 With all the chaos that is going in the world today I am so thankful for my almost once acre backyard oasis that I built by hand for the last twenty years.

Today, as I listen to the summertime visitors speed down to Rehoboth Beach and further shore destinations, I am so appreciative that I have a place to escape to peace and quiet. 

I took this three minute video to share with my faithful blog followers and anyone else who happens to stumble over my blog and wonder "What the hell is this?"

Now I'll post this and go out and feed my pond goldfish. They await me.

Have a great and peaceful day everyone!