Estate planning 101

by Susan Utley

Photo credit: thedigeratilife.com

Last week my husband attended a retirement seminar and returned home from work with a wealth of information on IRAs, health insurance options, and estate planning. That last item led to a discussion about who to trust to protect our assets if something should happen to both of us. The conversation involved such things as power of attorney, executors of the estate, and what should or should not be left behind to our beneficiaries. My husband’s focus was not with material possessions like who should inherit his watch or his twelve-piece collection of Holiday Budweiser steins, but with the importance of spending every dollar we earn and leaving nothing behind but a pile of credit card bills. I, on the other hand, had more pressing concerns.

While I gazed through the glass doors of my china cabinet, I realized that not only would my sister be the proud owner of my coveted set of Depression era Iris & Herringbone dishes, but she would also inherit the thick layer of dust I have allowed to accumulate on top of the serving pieces. I also considered how delighted my daughter would be to receive my Department 56 Snow Babies on the Farm collection. That is until she discovered the dust bunnies lurking under my bed where the Snow Babies are stored.

It was then that I realized in horror that it would be my mother who would inherit the ring around the toilet in the spare bathroom and the contents of my sock drawer which contains multiple pairs of socks adorned with my favorite cartoon characters. This thought prompted a new concern. As my blood pressure rose and my heart began to race, I looked down at the outfit I decided to throw on when I got home from work: a shredded Dallas Cowboys sweatshirt, pink capri sweatpants, and Scooby Doo knee-high socks. It occurred to me that if I dropped dead to the floor from a massive heart attack, my obituary would most certainly read, “It is suspected she suffered from a case of early onset dementia.”

At that moment it became clear to me that the only people we could truly trust with our estate was ourselves and each other.  Following a quick change of clothes, I retreated to my writing studio to delete from my hard drive the story I wrote last month about a highly dysfunctional family living in Virginia who shoots raccoons from the deck with paintball guns...in the nude. Whoever advised, “write what you know” certainly did not consider posthumous publication and the resulting public humiliation.

So while my husband spends his time focusing on the financial end of things by running up our credit card debt at Costco.com, I will attend to the more important issues of dusting my china, scrubbing toilets, and vacuuming under my bed. As for my sock drawer, I have decided to hold onto my Scooby socks as my husband assures me that if we are ever in a car accident, he will remove them from my feet before the paramedics arrive. Now that, my friend, is trust.

Keeping Your Cool

by Susan Warren Utley


I burned my boobs shooting a .45 caliber Glock pistol the other day. Not your typical shooting injury I know, but excruciatingly painful none-the-less. After firing several rounds and hitting my bad guy target square in the forehead, a brass casing ejected and headed straight for the cleavage. Gun safety is always my first and foremost priority in any given situation. So even as I danced around holding the pistol in one hand and desperately trying to wrap my fingers around the hot shell casing searing into my flesh, I kept my finger off the trigger and the firearm pointed downrange. My husband stood by watching, unwilling to approach the crazy screaming woman with one hand shoved down her shirt and the other holding a loaded Glock. Later when he realized what had happened, he applauded me for my superb gun safety skills and for “keeping cool in a heated situation.” That was after he stopped laughing of course.

One thing I can say about this whole experience is that while my husband has never been a one to find tattoos attractive, the shape of a .45 caliber shell casing between my breasts doesn’t seem to bother him so much.



Wife, mother, writer, procrastinator. Find more from Susan at Creative Procrastination.

It's all fun and games until...

by Susan Utley

A few weeks ago, my husband and I sat by the river talking about the good old days when we were kids. It was one of those “remember when” conversations that old people have. Here’s how it went:

“Remember when we never wore shoes in the summertime?”
“Not one of us stepped on a rusty nail.”
“Ever wear a bicycle helmet when you were a kid?”
“Did they even sell helmets back then?”
“Remember lawn darts?”
“Oh my gosh! Lawn darts! I loved that game!”
“They’re illegal now.”
“Yeah, just because some kids couldn’t play by the rules and got impaled by a lawn dart.”
“I never knew anyone who got impaled by a lawn dart.”
“We should get some.”

So that’s how it all began. This is the journal documenting the procurement and demise of one set of vintage lawn darts.

Day One
The search for lawn darts is on! My first google search reveals vintage set on Craigslist for $175.00. That’s a little more than I wanted to spend. Seems lawn darts are scarce.

Day Two
Today I modified my search terms and discovered plans to make my own set of lawn darts using a potato and a penny nail. Emailed plans to my clever and talented father, who also happens to own welding tools, to see if he can make me a set of lawn darts, minus the potato of course.

Day Three
Father replied in the affirmative but will require plastic fins. A new google search reveals website selling replacement parts for lawn darts. While it is illegal to sell assembled lawn darts, one can purchase all parts necessary to build their own set. Cost to build set of four: $400 plus shipping. Cost of little plastic fins: $50 each. Back to Google.

Day Four
Received email from father. He found set of vintage lawn darts on Craigslist for twenty bucks and rushed over to meet the man for the “exchange.” Noticed nasty scar on forehead. When father asked why he was selling so cheap, the man said he found them while cleaning out the attic. They were meeting in a trailer park. Ah well, father says lawn darts in the mail tomorrow. Only $12 for shipping! So excited!

Day Seven
Still waiting for lawn darts to arrive in mail. Getting anxious as I am certain mail lady has discovered valuable contents and swiped my package. Calling father to see if he insured illegal lawn darts.

Day Nine
Lawn darts have arrived complete with original “Jarts” brand packaging and Official Rules! Raining today. Can’t wait for the sun to come out!

Day Ten
Sun is shining! Took Jarts to river and sat down to read the rules. Safety, blah, blah, blah, warning, blah, blah, blah, okay here we go: Place plastic rings 25’ apart. That seems kind of close. Threw first lawn dart and overshot by about fifteen feet. Placed rings further apart in order to get more height. Made up own scoring system as official rules too complicated. Husband won first round of lawn darts! 21 to 6! I love this game!

Day Eleven
Targets are a bit small when placed further apart so went to Walmart and bought two hula hoops for $12. Played second round of lawn darts at river. Husband won again 21 to 10. I’m getting better! Husband says I need to work on my stance.

Day Twelve
Husband says I’m leading with the wrong foot and need to adjust my grip. Husband won again 21 to 16. I’m showing signs of improvement!

Day Thirteen
Getting tired of walking back and forth to pick up lawn darts. Suggested rule change: each player stands at opposite end of lawn dart playing field (in safe zone of course!) Husband skeptical so went to Walmart to buy bicycle helmets. $24.99 each. Mine has pink flames.

Day Fourteen
Following my opening toss, husband refused to play with new rule change. Back to walking. Dropped lawn dart on husband’s foot. Took husband to emergency room and claimed accident with rake. Husband received tetanus booster and paid $50 co-pay. No stitches! Note to self: the wearing of shoes is probably a good idea when playing games with pointy tipped objects. By the way, husband winning 16 to 5 at time of accident.

Day Fifteen
Decided to practice while husband at work. Nosey neighbor kid came over to tell me lawn darts are illegal. Gave him ten bucks to keep his mouth shut then challenged him to a round. I won! I won! I won! Plus, I got my ten bucks back! Invited him back to play again tomorrow. He said he didn’t have any money so I told him I would consider all wagers.

Day Sixteen
Husband won again 21 to 4. If he tells me one more time how to grip the dart…I’m starting to hate this game.

Day Seventeen
While practicing the finer points of “the grip,” accidentally released lawn dart in backwards direction hitting husband in shin. Spent another afternoon in the emergency room. When doctor inquired as to cause of accident, I said he tripped over hose and fell on the rake again. Husband said, “She hit me with a lawn dart.” Doctor not amused. Got three stitches and paid $50 co-pay. Tried to make husband feel better by saying at least he didn’t have to get a tetanus shot. Husband not up for playing today.

Day Eighteen
Looked out window to see husband in driveway talking to neighbor boy and neighbor boy’s father. Boy he looks mad. Husband gave the little snitch his $10 back plus vintage Star Wars Boba Fett action figure. Husband looks annoyed but stitches healing nicely. Maybe he’ll want to go play a round of darts?

Day Nineteen
Husband posted ad on Craiglist:
“Found vintage set of lawn darts while cleaning out attic. $20.00”