Sunday, January 20, 2019


Every year at this time my bank sends out a form letter - I have long ago stopped expecting" any kind of personal communication from a bank - notifying me of the status of a very small IRA account I have had for a number of years.

By law, as you know, when you reach the age of 70 and  ½ years you must  begin taking what is called a minimum distribution from your IRA.  The wording of  this announcement is catchy, "Based on the IRS life expectancy table and your plan balance as of 12/31/18 your minimum distribution is $ - - - - "

Having a quick mind, as I am sure you all know, I did a little calculating dividing the amount of the IRA by the projected distribution and .came up with a number that was what the IRS figures is how long I will live.  Well, you know the IRS, they are precise.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but I'll be 88 this year - the year of the IRS calculation about my life expectancy.  And according to the IRS I am scheduled to live 12.7 more years.  The last guy I knew who boasted that he was going to live until 100 died when he was in his late 80s.  If you've been paying attention, you know that's about where I am.
Well . . . . The bank is careful not to say something like, "Hey Jerry - you got 12.7 more years to go!  Ye Ha!"  But if you read between the lines, well, the handwriting is on the wall and that's enough about the wall.

Some years ago there was a popular song sung by Frank Sinatra, Sarah Vaughan and Frankie Laine and probably a few others and the last verse went like this:
Gonna dance, gonna fly,
I'll take a chance riding high,
Before my number's up,
I'm gonna fill my cup,
I'm gonna live, live, live, until I die!

. . . and so shall we all.