Category Archives: Life

Trying Out Car‑Free Living in Massachusetts

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Public transit bus on a quiet road surrounded by trees.

Trying Out Car‑Free Living in Massachusetts

For most of my adult life, having a car was just… normal. It sat in the driveway, ready for short errands, grocery runs, and the occasional appointment. But over the past year, the math stopped making sense. Between rising medical co‑pays, insurance rates that seem to go up just because they can, and Massachusetts’ infamous excise tax, I found myself paying more to own the car than I ever spent to drive it.

I was only putting a couple thousand miles a year on the odometer. A few trips to the store. A doctor’s appointment here and there. Nothing that justified the monthly insurance bill, the gas, the maintenance, the taxes, and the general “just in case” expense of keeping a vehicle I barely used.

And now that I’m retired, we can scratch the commuting part right off the list. Suddenly the car feels far less necessary. What used to be a “must‑have” has turned into an expensive convenience.

So I made a decision:
I turned in my car.

Not lost it.
Not had it taken away.
I chose to let it go.

And once I said it out loud, the reactions came pouring in.

Friends, neighbors, and even a few casual acquaintances had opinions — strong ones. Some thought it was smart. Others thought I was out of my mind. Joe told me about a woman he knows who ditched her car years ago and now uses Uber for everything. According to her, she saves a fortune and never has to worry about repairs, inspections, or surprise breakdowns. That story stuck with me.

So here I am, trying out car‑free living in Massachusetts to see how it goes.

Getting Around Without a Car

Massachusetts isn’t exactly known for smooth, seamless public transit, but it does have options — you just have to know where to look.
Don’t believe me? Just read my earlier post,
“Boston Transit – First in the Nation, Last to Arrive”
and you’ll see exactly what I mean.

Cabs, Uber, and Lyft

These are the obvious choices. They’re not cheap, but they’re reliable, and for short trips they’re still far less expensive than owning a car I barely used.

Dial‑A‑Ride

This one has already become a favorite. For $3.00 round‑trip, Dial‑A‑Ride will take me to the store and pick me up again. They send a text when the driver is on the way, and another when they’re one minute out. There’s a 15‑minute pickup window, but you can text “ETA” and get an instant update telling you exactly where you fall in that window. It’s surprisingly efficient and takes a lot of the guesswork out of waiting.

GATRA Bus System

The bus literally picks up on my corner and goes straight to Hannaford. Right now, the buses are free until June 30. After that, we’ll see if the politicians decide to renew the program. I’m hopeful, but I’m also realistic.

Delivery Services

Between Hannaford To Go, DoorDash, and Instacart, Uber eats, etc.  I can get groceries and essentials without needing to leave the house. It’s not something I want to rely on all the time, but it’s a great backup.

What About Travel?

Honestly, the only time I’d really need a car is if I start traveling again. And if that happens, I won’t be driving around Massachusetts — I’ll be renting a car somewhere far away, preferably somewhere warm, sunny, and blissfully free of excise taxes.

If I’m in a tropical paradise, I’m not bringing a Massachusetts car with me. I’ll rent one at the airport like everyone else.

And for the occasional local need, there’s the new kid on the block: Flexcar. It’s expensive, yes, but it doesn’t lock you into a long‑term lease or a car payment. Insurance is included, so there are no surprise bills. It’s a “use it when you need it” option, and that flexibility is worth something.

My First Dial‑A‑Ride Experience

I’ll admit, I was nervous the first time I scheduled a Dial‑A‑Ride trip. It felt strange to plan ahead for something I used to do on autopilot. But the process was easier than I expected. I called, booked the time, and waited.

The van pulled up right on schedule. The driver was friendly, the ride was smooth, and for the first time since turning in my car, I felt a little spark of confidence. Maybe this really can work.

 

So What’s Next?

Car‑free doesn’t mean light‑traveling. Some days I’m my own pack mule.

I’m not declaring myself permanently car‑free. This is an experiment — a practical, budget‑friendly, sanity‑preserving experiment. I’m learning as I go, adjusting where I need to, and discovering that life without a car isn’t the catastrophe some people imagine.

It’s different.
It takes planning.
But it’s doable.

And who knows?

Maybe this will be the start of a whole new chapter.

 

 

 

 

The Invasive Creatures of Suburbia

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The mongoose may be cute but he is an invasice species in Hawaii

Every Place Has Its Own “Wildlife”

Every place has its invasive species.
Florida has pythons.
Hawaii has the mongoose.
Australia… well, Australia has everything and then some.

And if you’re lucky enough not to share your ZIP code with an actual invasive species, you still have the local wildlife: deer tiptoeing through the gardens, skunks waddling with bad intentions, coyotes trotting around like they’re late for a meeting, maybe even a badger or two if the universe is feeling spicy. Then there are the cute ones — chipmunks stuffing their faces, squirrels plotting whatever squirrels plot, and of course the rogue turkey who thinks he owns the cul‑de‑sac.

I have all of that.
But I also have something… extra.

Meet My Personal Invasive Species

I have Toolman Tim on steroids.

While other invasive species creep in quietly, mine announces himself with the subtlety of a jet engine. If he’s home, something is running. Always. Leaf blower, lawn mower, wood chipper, snow blower, chainsaw — I’m convinced he has a generator just to power the rest of his equipment.

He takes immaculate care of his home, I’ll give him that. His lawn looks like it’s auditioning for a golf tournament. His shrubs are trimmed with military precision. His driveway is so clean you could perform surgery on it.

But the noise.
The noise.

Summer Dreams vs. Suburban Reality

Summer arrives and I think, Ah, fresh air, maybe I’ll open the slider and sit on the deck.

Banner and Balboa hear the slider open and immediately assume the world is ending. Instead of watching the world go by like normal cats, they scatter like I’ve just announced a fireworks show in the living room.

Meanwhile, my neighbor hears the same warm breeze and thinks, What if I ran every motorized object I own… in alphabetical order?

Our landscapers come once a week, roaring through like a NASCAR pit crew. If my neighbor and the landscapers ever coordinated schedules, we’d get one big burst of chaos and then peace. But no. They operate like they’re on alternating shifts, ensuring continuous, rolling noise pollution from dawn to dusk. It’s like living next to a construction site that never actually builds anything — just revs, blows, grinds, and growls for the sheer joy of it.

I swear the birds have started wearing tiny earplugs.
Banner and Balboa would too if they had opposable thumbs.

 

A Little Loud, But Harmless

And yet, I can’t be mad. He’s not rude. He’s not messy. He’s not blasting music at 2 a.m. He’s just… enthusiastic. Overly. Mechanically. Enthusiastically.

Still, if the state ever updates its list of invasive species, I might submit a nomination. Because while the deer nibble, the squirrels plot, and the turkey struts around like he pays the mortgage, my neighbor is the only creature in the ecosystem who seems powered entirely by gasoline and adrenaline.

Sunflower and butterfly 2018

Some people attract birds.
Some attract butterflies.
Apparently, I attract the suburban equivalent of Tim “More Power!” Taylor — and trust me, he lives by that motto every single day.

 

 

Banner, My Little Helper

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Banner the cat gets ready to start his day with a cup of Joe.

A Day in the Life (With Cats, of Course)

My days are pretty full. A “typical” day — if such a thing exists — might include some housework. Believe it or not, I love cleaning my kitchen. I spend so much time in there that making it sparkle feels like restoring my natural habitat.

Then come the smaller chores: taking out the trash, scooping the kitty litter, doing laundry. Somewhere in there I carve out an hour or two with my resident lap cat, Balboa, to read a chapter or two from whatever book currently has its claws in me.

And of course, I always make time to write. Sometimes it’s a full post, sometimes it’s just a snippet to be polished later. In between all that, I pay bills, run errands, and do the weekly grocery run.

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The Chores I Don’t Love

What I do not enjoy are those little unplanned chores — the ones that ambush you. The smoke alarm starts chirping at 3 a.m. because the battery is dying. The toilet won’t stop running because it needs a new flapper (yes, I replace those too).

But the absolute worst offender?

Changing a light bulb.

The moment I drag out my ladder, all those ridiculous light‑bulb jokes start running through my head.
How many software engineers does it take to screw in a light bulb? None — it’s a hardware problem.
You know the type. How many have you heard?

My Ongoing Feud With the Ladder

So why does such a simple task bother me? One word: ladder. I can trip over my own feet with both of them firmly on the ground. When I use my step stool to reach the top shelf in the kitchen, I hold my breath. It’s only one step, but still…

The older I get, the more convinced I am that the ladder is out to get me. I even upgraded — tossed the old wooden one and bought a heavy‑duty rubber model that could probably support a small elephant. It’s sturdy, reliable, and still absolutely terrifies me.

Enter Banner: Supervisor of All Heights

But not my little helper.

Banner is fascinated. The moment I lock the ladder open, he’s right under my feet. Hmmm… could this be part of why I fear falling? Once the ladder is set, I’m ready to climb — in theory. In reality, I suddenly discover dozens of “urgent” tasks at ground level. Procrastination is an art form, and I am a master.

Banner, however, is not. He inspects each step with great seriousness, climbing all the way to the top. Once there, he surveys the kitchen like a tiny orange foreman. It is now his personal domain, and he is the supervisor of all that happens here. If only he had hands and opposable thumbs.

The Light Bulb Gets Changed… Just Not by Me

Did the light bulb get changed?
Yes. Yes, it did — but not by me or Banner.

My much younger, very kind neighbor came to rescue the old lady in distress. In minutes, the old bulbs were out, the new ones were in, and the crisis was over. As he stepped off the ladder he said, “Nice ladder — where’d you get that? And can I pet the cat?”

And just like that, the job was done.

AARP Says 30 Days to declutter… My Kitchen Strongly Disagrees

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The Kitchen Declutter project begins. Doesn't look too bad if you don't open the cabinet doors

Making Peace With a Slow Declutter

I knew I’d never complete the AARP decluttering challenge in the 30 days they promised. So far, the only room that moved at their suggested pace was the bathroom. The kitchen? That beast took me two full weeks. It’s technically “finished” now only because I’m assigning the cupboards that open into the dining room to the dining room. They really belong to the kitchen, but at this point I’ll take any help I can get.

The Cookbook Situation (Yes, It’s a Situation)

I’ve sold a few things on Facebook Marketplace and listed all my old cookbooks there as well. Right now, they’re just piled up waiting for a buyer. I have this funny quirk: I cannot throw out books. I may end up giving these cookbooks away, but tossing them in the trash? Absolutely not. It would feel like throwing out my own child.

The Hall Closet/Pantry: My Biggest Victory So Far

The biggest project so far was the hall closet/pantry. I’ve reorganized it as much as I can for now. I’m still debating a few items, so I’m letting things settle to see if the current setup works for me. I bought new canisters for flour, sugar, and other staples so I can actually see what I have — no more half‑open bags lurking in the shadows. These should keep everything fresher, too.

Remember what that closet looked like when I started? Look at it now. I’m genuinely proud.

Before. Is it a closet or a pantry. I don’t think it knows

After- A pantry reorganized and cleaned out

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Banner and Balboa’s “Help”

Banner and Balboa gave the newly organized pantry — which has always been off‑limits — their full approval. Of course, that may be because they managed to sneak in and “help” while the door was open. They’ve both protested now that the door is closed again. I’ll admit I’m not as worried if they manage to get in these days, since I no longer have nails and tools scattered all over the floor.

The Spice Cabinet: A Whole Other Adventure

The other big project wasn’t the mugs so much as the spices. Whew. What a mess. I did some serious purging because most of the one‑offs were expired anyway — things I bought for one recipe and never made again. Here’s the before and after of the spices. Much better.

Before, A crowded and confused spice cabinet. A bit disorganized but functional

 

 

After. Still full but all organized by spice and type

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Next Up: The Bedroom and Closets

The next part of the decluttering project heads to the bedroom, closets, and personal spaces. My bedroom is a mixed bag. I’ve already cleaned out one nightstand, but I have a huge cabinet that holds my winter coats and photography paraphernalia. One closet is pretty organized but full — it holds all my luggage, and it gets pulled out often because the HVAC unit is in the back and needs yearly service.

The second closet is… a nightmare. I’ve had good intentions, but I always get overwhelmed. I’m not sure how far I’ll get. I can feel my momentum and enthusiasm slowly dying, but I can say this: a start has been made. If I can maintain what I’ve already done, I can always pick the project back up.

But I say this firmly: No, AARP. This is not a 30‑day project unless you’re doing a superficial clean‑out.

And Now… The Grand Finale

Press onward, intrepid declutterer — the closet awaits, and it isn’t going to clean itself.
Behold… the beast I’m tackling next.

 

 

 

Certified Innocent (According to Them)

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Life with cats is nothing of not entertaining.

The Innocence Project

It’s time for an installment of the The Banner & Balboa Show: Starring Two Cats and One Exhausted Human

The Quirky Lives of Banner and Balboa: A Household Run by Cats

Every cat owner knows the truth: you don’t live with cats — you simply coexist with tiny, furry agents of chaos who believe your home is their personal amusement park. And honestly? They’re not wrong.

Scrolling through Facebook the other day, I saw a meme that said:
“You’re not a cat owner until you hear something crash at 3 a.m. and decide it’s a problem for tomorrow.”
And I thought… yes. Yes, that is the entire biography of my household.

Because if there’s one thing Banner and Balboa excel at, it’s quirks. Endless, baffling, hilarious quirks.

The Morning Indy 500

Every morning, without fail, the boys kick off their day with what I can only describe as the Feline Grand Prix.

The track layout changes daily, but the highlights include:

  • Up the cat tree
  • Over the TV stand
  • A dramatic leap over the cat fountain
  • A full‑speed sprint down the hall
  • A victory lap into the bedroom
  • And then… repeat.
    And repeat.
    And repeat.

Coffee doesn’t wake me up.
The thunder of tiny paws does.

Banner: The Social Butterfly With a Heated Seat Obsession

Banner is the friendliest cat on the planet. He would greet a burglar with a head‑butt and a purr. Delivery drivers? His best friends. Random dog walking by? He’s already planning a meet‑and‑greet. I swear, if I ever lose him, he’ll be in someone’s yard introducing himself like he’s running for office.

But his real quirk?
The stove.

The moment the oven turns on, Banner materializes like a summoned demon and plants himself directly on the stovetop. Not near it. Not beside it. On it. Because apparently nothing warms his royal backside quite like preheating to 350°.

I’ve tried explaining the concept of “danger” to him. He disagrees.

Balboa: The Dramatic Artist, Professional Nap Innovator

Balboa, meanwhile, is a creature of comfort and questionable decisions.

One afternoon, I walked into the kitchen and found him curled up — peacefully, smugly — inside a glass bowl. A bowl meant for salad. A bowl that was absolutely not meant to contain a 14‑pound panther‑cat. But there he was, looking like a furry croissant, proud of his new life choice.

He also believes the bed belongs entirely to him. If I get up in the night, he immediately stretches out to full length like he’s claiming territory for the crown. Returning to bed becomes a negotiation.

The 3 A.M. Symphony

Every cat owner knows the sound.

That unmistakable, horrifying, adrenaline‑spiking noise:
Huuuuurk… huuuurk… HUUURK.

Forget alarm clocks. The sound of a cat about to puke will launch you out of bed with Olympic speed. Too bad it always happens at 3 a.m., when your brain is still buffering.

And of course, once you’re up, Banner and Balboa assume it’s breakfast time. Or playtime. Or “let’s stare at the wall for no reason” time.

Doors? Cabinets? Mere Suggestions.

Need a bit of light? Banner will turn it on for you. He’s mastered the art of flipping the switch with his teeth, leaving behind tiny bite marks as his signature. Nothing like walking into a room at 3 a.m. to find the lights blazing and Banner looking very pleased with his electrical handiwork.

Light Switch with Banner’s tooth mark

Both boys have mastered the art of opening things that should remain closed.

Cabinet doors? Easy.
Bedroom doors? Child’s play.
Privacy? A myth.

When Balboa was little, he used to squeeze under the counter next to the dishwasher like a tiny mouse. Now that he’s too big to fit, he simply opens the cabinet under the sink and climbs in that way.

Banner, meanwhile, sits outside the opening like he’s watching a nature documentary. He can stare at that hole for hours, waiting for Balboa to reappear like a groundhog predicting spring.

Life With Cats: A Comedy, A Mystery, A Warm Fuzzy Mess

Living with Banner and Balboa means:

  • Never eating alone
  • Never sleeping alone
  • Never having a moment of silence
  • And never, ever being bored

Their quirks are ridiculous, inconvenient, and occasionally hazardous to my sanity — but they’re also the reason the house feels alive.

Because at the end of the day, nothing beats a warm purr, a head‑butt, or the sight of a cat proudly sitting in a bowl he absolutely does not fit in.

Life with cats isn’t perfect.
But it’s perfectly theirs.