David Gartland

ONE OF MY FIRST employers allowed me to buy savings bonds through withholding from my weekly salary. It seemed like magic. Ever since, automatic payroll deductions have been an important part of my financial life.
My payroll deductions expanded to include my health insurance and my 401(k) contributions. It just felt good to me, kind of like the practice of regularly giving 10% of your income to the church.
On the other hand, payroll deductions are also how we pay taxes,

IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD, there are signs saying “we buy junk houses” and “we buy ugly houses.” These businesses target undesirable homes—those that have fallen on hard times and can’t be easily sold.
Maybe the homeowners couldn’t afford the upkeep or got tired of caring for the place. Whatever the reason, the result is houses that look sad and have lost market value. Contrarian buyers see the houses not for what they are, but for what they could be.

FORD MOTOR COMPANY introduced the world to the convertible hard top in 1957 with a car called the Skyliner. It was a marvel of engineering.
To retract, the Skyliner hard top first tilted up and away from the front windshield. Then the top folded in half overhead. The trunk lid opened wide. The folded hard top swung into the trunk, which then closed. All by flipping a single dashboard switch. You can see it in operation in this commercial featuring Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz.

WHEN I WAS a teenager in the 1960s, the popular expression was, “Do your own thing.” We baby boomers were supposed to reject our parents’ ways of thinking and do what we thought better. These better things included growing our hair long, wearing blue jeans, having beards, not wearing bras and making love, not war.
I liked this “do your own thing” way of thinking. But I also discovered that doing your own thing,

WHEN I ATTENDED Sunday school as a child, I was taught that God is always watching over me. It was a frightening notion, but one I grew accustomed to. My mother would often remind me to “watch your Ps and Qs,” though I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. Nonetheless, I understood the importance of behaving properly.
Today, it seems we have a different form of surveillance. As George Orwell so aptly depicted in his book 1984,

THERE ARE TWO TYPES of mistake I make: those that are unintentional and those where I should have known what would happen.
After an unintentional mistake, I’m perplexed by what went wrong. I might say to myself “I’ll never do that again” or perhaps “what the heck just happened?” These are genuine mistakes, and I try to learn from them.
By contrast, stupid mistakes are those that I should have known would occur. No matter how many college degrees we have or how many years on the job,

HUMANS HAVE ALWAYS celebrated the good times in their lives. These can be massive occasions, such as New Year’s Eve in New York City’s Times Square, or small and personal, such as birthdays. Celebrating is good. But what happens when it’s not?
Adults tend to celebrate with alcohol. For people like me, who lean toward shyness, alcohol can allow us to let loose. It feels good. We smile. People smile back. All is good.

I SPENT MANY HOURS reading articles and books about retirement before I actually retired. I knew I’d retire eventually because of how often I found myself out of work. Studying retirement became one more thing I needed to do so I could be successful.
Under the category of retirement, grandparenting was a frequent subject. This is understandable since many retirees are or soon become grandparents.
My situation is different. My special-needs son will not get married or have kids.

WHEN I STARTED learning about investing, I stumbled upon a book at my library that immediately grabbed my attention: The Lazy Person’s Guide to Investing by Paul B. Farrell. A portfolio championed by the book consisted of just two mutual funds—one stock index fund and one bond index fund, with 50% of your portfolio invested in each.
With only two choices to make, decision-making becomes far more straightforward. Farrell’s suggested 50-50 split simplifies the process even further.

ONE DAY, AS I WAS walking through the mathematics building at the community college I attended, I saw a poster that screamed, “Math Majors?”
That got my attention. The poster introduced me to a career possibility: becoming an actuary. My job path was set. Or so I thought.
The actuarial career path consists of passing either five or 10 standardized tests. Complete five, and you become an associate. Complete 10, and you’re a fellow.

WE RECEIVED A PHOTO Christmas card from a guy I used to work with. The picture was taken at his daughter’s wedding, with my old colleague standing next to his wife, son and daughter-in-law. Picture perfect.
The only problem: His story isn’t picture perfect. When he and I first met, we worked in the same division at an insurance company. Right before the division was closed down, I transferred to a different department. Eventually,

IT’S THAT TIME OF year when people think about giving. For my wife, this is what she lives for. She loves buying presents. She’s a very giving person and puts a great deal of thought into the gifts she buys.
She’ll buy gifts all year round, even when the event—such as Christmas—is months away. Problem is, she frequently forgets where she’s stored the presents she’s bought. They’ll eventually be found, but in many cases long past the date when she wanted to give them.

MY LIFE’S GOAL WAS to make money. I make no apologies for this. I’m not particularly gifted in this pursuit, but I did persevere.
I take satisfaction that I stuck to my goal despite all obstacles. There were many trips, falls, mistakes and failures along the way. I had to work hard and seek a new job each time my old employment ended. I set out to do something—and I did it.
That all changed when I retired.

IN THE EARLY 1980s, I was a bachelor in Brooklyn. Unskilled at cooking, I didn’t eat at home unless my food came out of a cereal box or snack bag. For regular meals, I depended on a small neighborhood diner.
It was open for breakfast, lunch and dinner seven days a week. On weekends, it was my main source of food. Like so many diners I’ve visited since, it offered complete meals—soup, main course and dessert—for one price.

FATHERHOOD WASN’T one of my life goals. I didn’t feel like I had a wonderful childhood, so I didn’t think I had much to offer my offspring that would help them to lead a wonderful life. If children happened, okay, but it was never a goal.
My first marriage ended because I placed money over fatherhood. I thought not having kids would speed my path to wealth. My wife disagreed—and walked out.
When I met my current wife,