"DOES MONEY BUY happiness?" That’s one of the questions in HumbleDollar’s Forum section. I hesitate to say that happiness is a commodity we can buy. But studies—and many people’s personal experiences—suggest a lack of money can bring on unhappiness. A recent paper, “Financial Stress and Depression in Adults” by researchers at the University of Birmingham in England, supports this conclusion. The researchers reviewed 40 studies examining the relationship between depression and financial stress, 32 of which were conducted in high-income countries like the U.S., Japan and the U.K. Perhaps it should come as no surprise that research has found that financial hardship—defined as difficulty affording the basic requirements of daily life—can lead to depression. A lack of money to buy food, make rent or pay for medical services could challenge anyone’s happiness. Such a dire situation can force folks to sell assets or ask for assistance so they can purchase necessities. Lest we think this phenomenon is confined to “the other half,” remember the increasing number of adult children in the U.S. who live with their parents because they can’t afford to live independently. The study also found that absolute income didn’t reliably predict the risk of depression. Rather, it was relative income that was a stronger indicator. Our feelings about our finances are tied to how we measure up against our neighbors, according to the research. We are happier hanging out with people who have the same amount of stuff or the same buying power that we have. Debt is a similarly nuanced measure of the risk of depression. Two of the studies examined indicated that debt can lead to better mental well-being if it eases financial stress or assists us in attaining a coveted status. When we borrow to buy a home or business—and pass a background check of our finances—we can experience added feelings of well-being. [xyz-ihs snippet="Mobile-Subscribe"] Secured debt, such as a mortgage, didn’t cause stress—unless the borrower was behind on payments or if the debt exceeded 80% of the home’s value. But unsecured debt, such as an outstanding credit card balance, is a significant marker for depression. Once again, these findings are relative. Total debt is not as reliable at predicting depression as the ratio of debt to income or debt to assets. People who go from no debt or low debt to substantial debt have a corresponding rise in their risk for depression. On the brighter side, if we pay down our debts, our risk of depression falls. The implication: Money may not buy happiness, but it can help ward off depression if it’s used to pay off excessive debt. Having little savings to fall back on can also produce foreboding about our financial future, according to the study. We could lower our stress by choosing not to live at the outer limit of our income or by adding more money to our emergency fund. To answer the question posed at the start, it seems that we can’t buy happiness with a fistful of dollars or a stack of credit cards. The thrill of a new purchase is short-lived. But money spent to reduce our financial worries, such as by paying off credit card debt, may help stave off the unhappiness that can lead to depression. Ed Marsh is a physical therapist who lives and works in a small community near Atlanta. He likes to spend time with his church, with his family and in his garden thinking about retirement. His favorite question to ask a young person is, "Are you saving for retirement?" Check out Ed's earlier articles. [xyz-ihs snippet="Donate"]

When my wife asked for a hint for the Father’s Day present I was hankering to get, I was stumped for a day or so. I don’t need a new tie or wallet, or the new garden tool that I sometimes suggest. My eventual answer didn’t surprise her, but she was amused. I’ve asked my daughter to answer two questions: What’s the origin of Father’s Day in our country, and does she think it’s worth observing? I already know the answer to the first question. The idea was born in the mind of a young woman who admired her father, but didn’t gain traction until championed by men’s wear retailers hoping to profit from the gift-giving. I figure the story will entertain my daughter, since she’s savvy to the commercial aspect of holidays, and loves to pick out the logical fallacies in an advertiser’s argument. But I’m curious to know how these feelings influence her answer to my second question. For me, the answer is yes, and I’m certain I’ll always honor the memory of my own father on Father’s Day. My father liked to work. As a young man, he poured many hours into his automotive service business, and later his jobs as a school administrator and county school superintendent. Never content with the limits of a regular business day, he also enlisted early morning, evening and Saturday hours to work out a new bus route, write a grant proposal or even build a new set of shelves for an office or classroom. I was usually recruited to help with the handy-man projects, even at a young age. The skills I learned during our labor have served me for a lifetime, though I was hardly a cheerful apprentice at the time. For him, on the other hand, work was a pleasure. But he worked at having fun, as well. He liked to hunt, and he was good at it, because he studied the game and practiced until he mastered it. As a boy, I benefited from his love of his hobby. We spent hours together during the season, and forged memories shared only by us. Decades later, I was shocked the day he told me a brain tumor was the cause of his recent headaches. He was about the age I am now. In typical fashion, the morning after a surgery to remove the tumor, he was out of bed and ready to go home and back to work. He returned to his job to complete his last four-year term as county school superintendent at age 66. In the early years of his retirement, he embarked on a flurry of building projects. First up was remodeling his own house, then my brother’s. And there were community jobs as well, such as constructing an outdoor pavilion attached to the old railroad depot for the local historical society and charitable handy-man work through his church. At age 71, he agreed to devote his time to a multi-year project to help me rebuild the house I now live in. His age gave him an edge, for he was schooled in the construction of old houses. In the beginning, it was a chore to keep pace with him. I worked full-time as a physical therapist, with off hours spent on the house, but he worked even when I was away. He was driven by the ticking clock and wanted to help me while he still could. His mind was tireless and he pushed his body beyond the point of exhaustion. A vivid memory illustrates his restless devotion: One weekend, as we sat in his truck gazing at the sagging joists and half-rotted decking of the dilapidated dock on my pond, he slyly asked what business I once plied. I sheepishly admitted I used to be a dock builder, and agreed my present dock was shameful. The following weekend, I was surprised to discover the dock had been repaired. My father had used his sleepless time in the wee hours to do the work by the headlights of his truck. My father’s brain cancer returned a dozen years after he was first diagnosed. That time, he received computer-guided radiation that killed the tumor, but also some of the surrounding brain tissue. Initially, his cognition was noticeably affected, but he improved, to slowly decline in the ensuing years. My father lived more than a decade after his second treatment, but he was not the same man. My overriding memories, however, are of the man who gave the last part of his best self doing all he could to help his family, until he could do no more. I hope my daughter will cherish a similar memory of me.

During my teen years, I loathed the feeling of pockets empty of money. I was happy to forgo most spending on food, entertainment or the other sundry treats that entice kids to part with their treasure. Instead, I liked to keep my pockets full–or nearly so. Later, as my wife and I began our life together, we owned the adult equivalent of empty pockets—depleted savings and retirement accounts with a zero balance. On top of that, student debt dragged our net worth into negative territory. To counterbalance our bare cupboards, however, we had brand-new physical therapy jobs and decades of potential earnings ahead of us. Fast forward to last weekend, when I asked my wife to sit and join me for more than a bird’s-eye view of our finances. We don’t keep a microscope trained on our money. Even though we track the general trend of our investments, we seldom know their total value to the penny for a given day. I can’t remember the last time we tallied up our net worth. Still, it seemed a good time for a closer look. I’d heard rumors of trouble in the financial markets, and we had recently pulled money from our 529 account to pay toward our daughter’s first semester at college. I wasn’t fretting, but I felt the need for a more careful inspection of our finances. What did we see? A money picture that stands in stark contrast to the first years of our marriage.  The debt we so blithely signed for to pay for college was erased years ago, along with our other debt. As for our daughter, she’ll finish school debt-free. And those once-barren retirement accounts now harbor decades of savings, multiplied by compounded growth. Our holdings are mostly stock-index-mutual funds, but several years of expenses in conservative investments give us peace of mind that we can handle an unforeseen crisis that might force an early retirement. Meanwhile, our fixed costs are low, so they siphon off just a modest portion of our current paychecks. Even with a shift to part-time work hours, necessities would be covered, while still leaving money for a little thrifty fun. But we’re not averse to a bit of a dip into savings if the spending bug bites harder. I walked away from surveying our finances feeling profoundly grateful that our potential income has grown into actual wealth, and that we weren’t derailed by job loss, health problems or any of a dozen other calamities along the way. Furthermore, I realize my parsimonious habits are softening a little. The necessity to scrimp is being replaced by the liberty to splurge if the urge strikes us.  Despite that option, I don’t anticipate taking off on a spending spree any time soon. At the moment, I’m content with the satisfying feel of full pockets.

I WROTE RECENTLY about my wife’s lifelong love of traveling, and of my resolve to get in step with her as she resumes her rambles. To that end, earlier this summer, I drove our family to Charleston, South Carolina, to attend the retirement ceremony for my cousin Chris, and to see a bit of the city, to boot. As our departure time approached, we learned that the original schedule for retirement day had been altered. Chris advised my wife that he understood if we wanted to change our plans. She assured him she wouldn't miss an event that got her stay-at-home family—my daughter and me—to travel somewhere, anywhere, and especially to Charleston. She’s enamored of the city, but for years has been unsuccessful at enticing me to accompany her there for a tour. Chris’s big day was just the lure to get me out of the house and into the car. After a morning drive from our home near Atlanta, we began our Charleston excursion with a tour of the U.S.S. Yorktown, a World War II-era aircraft carrier resting permanently at Patriots Point. We explored the ship from engine room to captain’s chair, including a stroll on the flight deck to investigate the variety of aircraft on display. Along the way, we tried to imagine the sailors and naval aviators at work in dangerous locations far removed from the quiet of Charleston Harbor. The next day was devoted to helping Chris and his friend Matt say so long to the United States Air Force in a dual retirement ceremony. Their lives have been intertwined for years. They graduated college together and were commissioned as Air Force officers on the same day. After spending much of their 22 years of active and reserve service together, they were now sharing their retirement date. They even fly for the same commercial airline. Retirement day for the two friends began with a final flight down the South Carolina coast, accompanied by a hand-picked crew of Air Force comrades. Back on the ground at Joint Base Charleston, family and friends stood on the flightline to watch the men maneuver their C-17 for a last flyover as military pilots. After they landed and following the traditional drenching of the pilots with ice water, all were invited aboard to see this remarkable aircraft. [xyz-ihs snippet="Mobile-Subscribe"] Inside the plane, faces were beaming, including those of the retiring pilots. I knew Chris was looking forward to retirement from the Air Force, but he told me his feelings were “bittersweet.” Later, at the actual ceremony, I caught a glimpse of what he meant. As their service records were recounted, it dawned on me that these men were part of history. They’d risked their lives to save the lives of others while participating in a long list of military and humanitarian missions. Some of the missions were secret, but one made the headlines. In August 2021, the reservists of Charleston’s 701st Airlift Squadron of C-17s played a big role in the U.S. effort to move Afghan refugees out of harm's way. Tens of thousands of lives were saved, and one life breathed her first breath aboard an airplane in flight from Kabul to Qatar. My family had the opportunity to speak with Leah, the C-17 loadmaster who helped deliver the baby girl. As she recounted the evacuation, my thoughts again turned to the serious nature of the jobs that military men and women take in stride as part of their workday. Even in civilian life, tough work is often easier when the load is shared among friends. Demanding jobs that help others can also bring great satisfaction. Research shows that camaraderie and sense of purpose are the two aspects of the work world that retirees miss the most. Research also shows this is especially true for military veterans, who are particularly vulnerable to feelings of loss after separating from organizations where collaboration, teamwork and trust sometimes mean life or death. I hope Chris’s and Matt’s tenure as reservists, with one foot in the Air Force and the other in the mundane world the rest of us occupy, helps ease their transition. On our final morning in Charleston, the Marsh family sallied forth from the visitor center on a four-mile jaunt that looped down King Street to White Point Gardens, then around the Battery and Rainbow Row.  Along the way, the ladies window-shopped Louis Vuitton, Gucci and other high-end stores, while I reminded them that the best sights were still ahead. The real draw for us all was the distinctive Charleston architecture, with beautiful gardens nestled between homes that date from as early as the mid-18th century. To prepare for the drive home after our stroll, we had planned to lunch at highly recommended Hyman’s Seafood, but opted instead for tasty Thai food served directly across Meeting Street from the iconic restaurant. No matter. I’ll add great Charleston seafood to my list of reasons to revisit this charming city. Ed Marsh is a physical therapist who lives and works in a small community near Atlanta. He likes to spend time with his church, with his family and in his garden thinking about retirement. His favorite question to ask a young person is, "Are you saving for retirement?" Check out Ed's earlier articles. [xyz-ihs snippet="Donate"]

MY FIRST PET WAS a timid pup called Precious, a moniker inspired by the cartoon character of the same name. My four-year-old self felt an affinity for the runt of the litter, so I quickly picked him out. That sweet, little dog had a nature true to his name. I don’t remember his fate but, in those days, pets ranged free in our little town, and I fear he may have met with some mishap. My second pooch arrived when I was age six, while sitting in my barber’s chair submitting to a haircut. A family friend home from college popped her head through the doorway and asked if I wanted a free puppy. Of course, I did. My mother acquiesced, and we brought him home that day. I christened him Butch, because I thought it sounded tough. Maybe I should have tried something gentler. A few months later, Butch nipped a little girl’s heel and was promptly returned to the original owner. In the years since, other dogs have wobbled or walked into my life, dogs whose only price was the promise of a good home. A few were big dogs with big hearts. A couple were little dogs with even bigger hearts. Each asked for scant more than a kind word and occasional scratch behind the ears, but returned all the love they could lavish. None of these dogs claimed any particular ancestry, and none was especially good looking. Even our present family pet, a Labrador retriever named Lottie, would never win “best of show.” All shared one attractive quality, however: They were free. Apparently, free puppies aren’t as popular as they once were, at least not in some circles. One breeder here in Georgia advertises registered Rhodesian ridgeback puppies for $2,500. Another offers Shetland sheepdogs for the same price. American Staffordshire terriers fetch “just” $2,000, though the money that’s saved may be lost to higher home-insurance premiums. To be sure, those puppies sport top pedigrees. Yet even the mixed bloods seem expensive to me. A mini sheepadoodle runs about $900, while $1,000 buys the choice of a bichapoo or a teddy bear. To come home with a cute, cuddly cavapoo, you’ll leave behind $1,795. Are expensive pets truly better than their cut-rate cousins? Does a homely little mongrel offer any less love than a high society hound? A dog knows nothing of pedigrees, and cares even less. She just wants a pack to run with, and any family will fill that bill. She’s not fussy, so what makes the owners so choosy? Now, I know sometimes breeding matters. Personality alone won’t win the Iditarod, and it’s pointless to hunt quail without a dog bred for the task. A loyal companion can come from humble beginnings, though, and blossom into your best friend. I don’t claim an expensive dog can’t have an expansive heart, but I also don’t think I have to scrape up a big stash of scratch to bring a new furry friend into my life. Take Lottie. She was a rescue dog of sorts. My daughter picked her from a large litter living in a flea-infested kennel. Lottie escaped to a good home, but her litter mates weren’t so lucky. All died of parvovirus a short while later. Lottie's eager personality made it easy to overlook her early faults, like incessant chewing when no one was looking. As a youngster, she was a constant companion when something interesting was afoot, like swimming in the pond or checking on the beaver dam down at the creek. Today, she’s older and slower, but her quick tongue remains difficult to dodge when I sit on the steps to lace up my work boots. I’m cognizant HumbleDollar is populated by dog lovers, and even a professional dog trainer, so I’m treading lightly. I wouldn’t accuse anyone here of strutting around with a status symbol on a leash, and I also wouldn’t criticize folks for doing so. If a flashy dog brings a thrill, by all means indulge. Money should be enjoyed. Even if someone signals a more subtle message through dog ownership, I won’t howl about it. As for me, however, I’m not out to put on the dog. Nor do I feel called to save all the world’s at-risk pets. It’s not my campaign. I do like to save money, though, so a free puppy appeals to my frugality. The family pet is one item that I shop for on price every time. I’m aware I’m striking a self-righteous stance, and I won’t blame anyone for taking me to task for my finger-wagging. But before giving vent to rising indignation, let me tell you of one exception to my tight-fisted tendencies. That exception was Hanna, named after the tropical storm that drove her to seek shelter on our front porch. My wife and I arrived home from work to find her greeting us with a shy wag of her tail and a hesitant step forward. After getting acquainted, we fed her well and got her bedded down for the night, while we wondered what to do with this mystery dog. What we did was go all in, with the purchase of a collar, dog shampoo and food before we arrived home from work the next evening. Hanna came to us fully grown, and also fully clipped, though we didn’t realize it at the time. Later, her long coat revealed what was probably one of the designer dogs I poked fun at earlier in this article. We kept scouting for “lost dog” postings, but they never appeared. We didn’t think we had time in our schedules for either a pet or a pupil. My wife and I are not skilled dog trainers, but discovered we didn’t need to be. As a student, Hanna made up for our deficits with a quick mind that anticipated our wants and quickly secured a spot in our lives. Hanna’s been gone for a dozen years, but we still miss her. Despite my lifelong policy of bargain-basement pets, I’d gladly pay a premium price to have her back in our family. Ed Marsh is a physical therapist who lives and works in a small community near Atlanta. He likes to spend time with his church, with his family and in his garden thinking about retirement. His favorite question to ask a young person is, "Are you saving for retirement?" Check out Ed's earlier articles. [xyz-ihs snippet="Donate"]

What creates a family tradition? Why is a certain vacation spot more special than another with the same basic attributes? Why must the family Christmas celebration repeat the annual ritual to seem authentic? Chances are, these events evoke memories of happy times, perhaps shared with loved ones who are long-gone. Traditions often become fixed in our minds as children, when we’re still learning how things ought to be done. We’re entering the season of traditions. In the physical therapy clinic during this time, I routinely ask patients about their own cherished customs. Food is a favorite topic, particularly foods that must make it to the table at the family feast. I especially appreciate responses from patients I know are just a generation or two removed from an immigrant ancestor. I’ll often find someone in the family still preparing grandmother’s signature dish–or wishing they had the recipe. It’s a tangible memory that fills their heart, as well as their stomach. This week, many of us are anticipating some special food as we gather for Thanksgiving dinner. Will we be disappointed? It may depend on who does the cooking. My wife seemed satisfied with her forage among the food offered at her first Thanksgiving with my family–until she had a chance to speak to me alone. “Where are the mashed potatoes?” It seems for her, the meal is incomplete without them. But mashed potatoes were not part of our tradition. Not that we truly had a rigid tradition regarding food. Then, as now, I’ll tuck into whatever is served. I welcome new foods. But given my druthers, a short list of simple fare must also be present. The first is an oven-baked turkey. I won’t turn down your fried or smoked fowl, and I’ll even eat your ham without complaint, but I favor my wife’s browned-in-the-bag bird. I also like her dressing creation, a hybrid of her mother’s stuffing and my mother’s Southern cornbread dressing The Thanksgiving spread should also be colorful, with a couple of green vegetables and a dollop of cranberries to balance the richness of the other foods. And please remember the sweet potatoes. My wife was introduced to my mother’s sweet potato casserole topped with brown sugar and pecans at the meal referred to earlier. Which brings me to my first Thanksgiving with my in-laws, during a trip to California. After a few days’ hiking among redwoods, over black-sand beaches and with elk in northern California, my wife and I headed toward her parents’ home in Paso Robles. Along the way, we stopped for a bag of Gravenstein apples for her mother’s homemade pie. As we entered the market, I noticed a bin of sweet potatoes, and suggested we purchase a few. “My family won’t eat them” was her response. I don’t remember my reply, but we arrived in Paso Robles with sweet potatoes. That evening, after checking her mother's menu and deciding it was lacking, my wife asked me to place a call back East to secure the topping recipe. The next day, my mother’s casserole graced the Thanksgiving buffet alongside the mashed potatoes. I tried to hide a smug smile when I noticed the empty dish as I came around for seconds. My wife’s niece borrowed the recipe, thus establishing a new, transplanted tradition, observed over the past 25 years. What about you? What’s your family tradition at this time of year? Is it food, or something else that makes your holiday complete?