Money
Considerations for Solo Households
More than a quarter of U.S. households meet the definition of “one-person” households, according to the U.S. Census Bureau.1 Living alone and having sole responsibility over your household bills can be an advantage: there’s no need to compromise on priorities. Yet against the backdrop of rising inflation and interest rates, managing life’s expenses on one income can come with challenges.
If you live alone, here are key considerations to help you balance funding your short- and long-term financial goals:
#1 – Be prepared for the “single tax” burden Your basic living costs –food, shelter, utilities, transportation, and taxes – are your sole responsibility instead of being split with a partner or friend. Economists call this extra economic burden the “single tax.” In addition for paying more
for the basics, single people have to account for losing their total income if they are laid off from a job or facing a prolonged illness. The loss of a job may also mean the loss of health and disability insurance benefits. If this is the case, take action right away to ensure you don’t experience a lapse in coverage.
#2 – Be cautious about sharing expenses
If you plan to save by splitting some costs with others make sure the rules of how usage and payments are clear and agreed to by all. Such arrangements carry risks for a relationship. Costsharing is a great budgeting tool, but good communication is vital for a positive outcome.
#3 – Recognize the importance of a fallback fund
It’s always smart to have money set aside for a rainy day – an emergency expense that suddenly arises, or an opportunity that requires extra money outside of your available monthly budget. A good rule of thumb is to park three-tosix months’ worth of living expenses in an account with easy access to cash to cover such expenses. If you work independently or your job is subject to layoffs, it may be wise to set aside sixto-nine months’ worth of living expenses to be prepared for any extended downtime from work.
#4 – Don’t overlook your long-term goals
With the challenges of meeting day-to-day expenses, it’s easy to put future plans on the back burner. But you should try to set aside a portion of your income in a
retirement plan. Start with a small percentage, then try to work it up to 10% or more. Take full advantage of your workplace retirement plan, particularly if your employer matches your contributions. Also consider contributions to a Roth IRA, which offers the potential for tax-free withdrawals in retirement.
Work with your advisor
Depending on your circumstances, your financial stability can be more tenuous and challenging if you live alone. A financial advisor can be a helpful partner, offering guidance and lending an ear as you discuss your key concerns and goals.
1 U.S. Census Bureau, “Home Alone: More Than A Quarter of All Households Have One Person,” June 8, 2023.
Duane J Lusson, CFP, ChFC, CLU, MSFS, is a Private Wealth Advisor with Ameriprise Financial Services, Inc. in Ottumwa, Iowa. He specializes in fee-based financial planning and asset management strategies and has been in practice for 30 years. To contact him, call 641-684-4200 or stop by his office at 527 W. Second in Ottumwa, Iowa.
Ameriprise Financial cannot guarantee future financial results
Ameriprise Financial, Inc. and its affiliates do not offer tax or legal advice. Consumers should consult with their tax advisor or attorney regarding their specific situation.
Investment products are not insured by the FDIC, NCUA or any federal agency, are not deposits or obligations of, or guaranteed by any financial institution, and involve investment risks including possible loss of principal and fluctuation in value. Investment advisory products and services are made available through Ameriprise Financial Services, LLC, a registered investment adviser.
Pay Attention
As we start another season of hunting, it is important to remember to hunt safely. Each type of hunting offers its own unique challenges and safety concerns. The risks inherent in pheasant hunting are different than those of deer hunting, but all have one thing in common. The biggest risk comes from those sudden lapses in concentration. Mistakes happen when people are not paying attention. Falling asleep and falling out of a tree stand or not paying attention to what is behind your intended target while deer hunting can both result in disaster.
Hunting elk in Colorado a few years ago, I had one of those problems sometimes referred to as a stupid attack. Walking out of
camp, I chose a welltraveled elk path leading up the side of a mountain. The morning was sunny and cool, a great day to be hiking and enjoying the beautiful mountain scenery. I was paying more attention to the views and elk tracks than where I was going. I stopped frequently to watch a pine squirrel or check out a wildflower and started off again in a random direction. The thought of getting lost never occurred to me. I could see the sun and with my watch, I could tell my directions. By mid-afternoon, clouds started moving in, and I decided I should start back toward camp. I had no idea how far I had traveled. With the clouds blocking the sun, I could no longer determine which direction to travel. I knew I had to go back down the mountain, but down the wrong side could leave me miles from camp. I dug in my backpack and found my compass. I knew I had walked with the sun on my face most of the morning. This time of year, the sun rises due east and arcs across
the southern sky. If I aimed north and west by my compass, I should at least be in the general direction of camp. Several times, as I walked unfamiliar territory, I lamented my stupid attack. I knew better than to not pay attention to where I was. A person always needs to check landmarks, both ahead and behind them. As the sun began to set, I knew what would lie in store if I did not find camp before dark. I would have to stop, set up a shelter of sorts, and spend the night in the cool mountain air. Nobody would look for me until morning, as it is both pointless and dangerous to walk around in the dark in the vast mountain wilderness. Chances of finding someone in the dark are much less than the chance of falling off a cliff. I chose to walk for another half hour, making a concerted effort to continue a straight line. Since I had not spent much time looking behind myself during the morning walk, nothing looked familiar as darkness began to set in. I was beginning to look for a place
to spend the night when I found the road we came in on when we drove to our campsite. With great relief, I turned on the road and followed it a half mile or so to camp. It was dark when I saw the campfire and the rest of my hunting party. They were relaxing around the fire, planning the next day’s rescue operation. Getting lost not only endangers the person that is lost, but it also inconveniences the other members of the hunting party as they feel obligated to stop hunting and look
for the lost person. This does not impress one’s fellow hunters. There are many things that can go wrong during hunting season. Problems can vary from the mildly annoying to the extremely dangerous, but most result from not paying attention. Have a safe hunting season and remember to stay alert to the many dangers inherent in our sport.
F-Mart
Just before you round the curve heading east on US Highway 276, or is it state Highway 11, which would be a north/south highway? Already, I digress. Just before that curve, you’ll see a sign marking the city limit of Cleveland. Not far past the Cleveland sign, you’ll come to a business at the intersection of said highway and County Road 97. The business sign caught my attention numerous times.
It was one of those Pepsi Cola signs where the red, white, and blue Pepsi logo takes the top twothirds of the sign, and the establishment’s name gets the bottom third. In this case, the bottom third had the business’ name and slogan: F-MART Best Hotdogs is Town. My curiosity grew each time we passed the sign.
When thinking of Cleveland and hotdogs, my thoughts turned to Cpl. Max Klinger from the television sitcom M*A*S*H. Klinger always bragged about Tony Packo’s Café having the best hotdogs in town. But wait – Klinger was from Toledo, not Cleveland. Oh well. Cleveland, Toledo, what’s the difference? They’re both in Ohio.
You’d have to have a darn good hotdog to have the best in a town the size of Cleveland. But hold on. We weren’t in Ohio. We were in Cleveland, South Carolina. Still, I don’t think it’s right to claim the best hotdogs in town without proof. The only way to get proof was to stop in for a dog.
Melissa and I traveled Highway 276 daily, or was it Highway 11? I told Melissa, “I want to stop at F-Mart for a hotdog.” But she didn’t want to. “Why can’t I stop at F-Mart for a hotdog while we’re in town?”
“What town?” Melissa asked. “The F-Mart and a couple houses are the only thing here. And, what is F-Mart, anyway?”
F-Mart is a unique name for a convenience store. I too wondered what the F stood for? My mind began to wander. It could be frank, as in hotdogs; friendly, frequent, or fast. It could be almost anything.
The small tan building had bars on the windows. The building was positioned diagonally on the corner, so
no matter what direction you were going on whatever highway, you saw the F-Mart sign on the pole and the hotdog sign on the building, too. “Come on, Melissa. Let’s stop.” But she still didn’t want to. I tried harder to entice her, “F-Mart has hotdogs.”
“Tom, everyone in South Carolina has hotdogs,” she said. “And boiled peanuts, too.” I couldn’t deny that. I think I saw a sign for a dress shop offering hotdogs and boiled peanuts, but I digress. We weren’t talking about just any hotdogs.
“F-Mart has the best hotdogs in town,” I argued, “it says so right on their sign!”
She replied, “And why do you suppose they have bars on all the windows?”
“You’d have bars on your windows, too, if you had the best hotdogs in town,” I said. “You know people will try to break in to steal their secret recipe for boiling wieners.” She wasn’t budging. “Think about it; what if that recipe got into the hands of their competitors? It’d be byebye, F-Mart. And then what? Economic devastation for Cleveland!”
“Keep driving, mister,” Melissa said, pointing at the road ahead. My plea fell on deaf ears.
The thing about a building set diagonal to the road is you see both signs while going in the same direction; one through the windshield and the other in the review mirror as you drive on by. But I wasn’t giving up yet. Later that same day on the same road, my wife said she wanted something cold and bubbly to drink. “Maybe a ginger ale,” she said.
I abruptly flipped on the left signal, hit the brakes, and whipped into the nearest convenience store parking lot – which just happened to be F-Mart. “Are you crazy,” she asked. But I jumped out of the car and scurried through
the front door before answering.
Inside F-Mart, I was pleasantly surprised. I expected a C-store, but it was more like an old-fashioned café. There were a few shelves of merchandise around the walls, but mostly Formica tabletops and chairs filled the room. Some people were seated to eat, while others stood in line to place an order or get their food. The place was hopping.
I glanced at the menu on the wall. “A hotdog with wiener, $2.60 A chili dog, no wiener $2.30. I’ll have to come back to figure that out,” I said. “But any place with a bologna sandwich on their menu is a place I need to check out!” I wanted to grab a hotdog, but I figured I better come back for that.
I looked in the cooler. Fortunately, F-Mart had Ginger-Ale. I grabbed a bottle and headed to the checkout. Behind the counter was a different setup than any C-store I’d seen. No cigarettes, no candy racks, no lottery machine. Instead, one lady took orders while others dressed hotdogs just how people wanted them. I set my bottle on the countertop. “Will that be all,” the cashier asked me. No, I had a couple of questions.
“Your sign out front says the best hotdogs in town,” I said. “Where’s the town?”
“If y’all blink,” she said, “you’ll miss the whole exciting thing.”
“Is it true?” I queried, “Do you really have the best hotdogs in town?”
“We sure do,” she
proudly boasted. “They’re the best hotdogs in Cleveland and Marietta.”
I was confused. “They’re the best hotdogs in Cleveland or Marietta?”
“Both,” she said. “We claim both towns.”
Not being from the area, I asked, “What’s the difference between Cleveland and Marietta?”
The lady pointed out the window, “See that curve in the road? That’s the difference.” That was good enough for me. More questions could only lead to trouble. I paid for my soda and went to the car.
Melissa still didn’t look thrilled about my high-speed turn into the parking lot. “Look, honey. I bought a ginger ale for you.” I described the inside of the building. “It’s pretty cool, the kind of place I think your mom and dad would appreciate. I think we should bring your parents here for hotdogs.”
The next day, Melissa and I took her parents Phil, and Carol, to the Hagood Mill, a historic grist mill preserved near Pickens. I’m always amazed how little water from a small creek it takes to turn that big water wheel to operate a mill like that. There are also a couple of old log cabin homes and other outbuildings to explore. And live chickens. Because the mill was used to grind grits, cornmeal, and wheat, chickens naturally fed on any spilled grains. Watching one hen
(Just the Other Day cont’d from pg 4) with her three chicks was entertaining. The young had to jump up, to pluck kernels of corn from a standing corn stalk.
Another building housed some very old Cherokee petroglyphs, unearthed during excavation of an 1820’s-era highway. It would be a fun day.
After visiting the mill, we planned to treat her parents to a cookout of grilled steaks, burgers, and all the sides, at the log cabin we rented. We had picked up local grass-fed ribeye steaks from Square G Farm at the Greer Farmer’s Market. I also made an apple pie for Phil, an early birthday surprise. The problem was in the timing.
We didn’t want to eat a late lunch, spoiling our appetites before dinner. On the other hand, it’d been hours since breakfast; we couldn’t make it to dinner without something to eat. Bound and determined, I offered a solution: “We could get hotdogs to tide us over.” Phil spoke up to say a hotdog sounded good. The timing for dinner may have been off a bit, but my timing was perfect.
Getting the best hotdog in town was like playing chess; be patient, make the right move at the right time, and checkmate! Finally, the F-Mart hotdog would be mine. Once her dad said he’d like a hotdog, Melissa was a pushover. “Hey,” I pointed out. “F-Mart happens to be just ahead. I’ve heard they have the best hotdog in town.”
“Well, that sounds good,” Phil said. “Carol, would you like to split a hotdog?” Avoiding eye contact with the passenger in the
right front seat, I used my turn signal plenty early, making a graceful left-hand turn into the F-Mart driveway.
Phil and Carol split a chili dog. Melissa had ketchup, mustard, relish, and jalapenos. “I’ll have a chili dog with cheese and onion and an unsweet iced tea, please.” Only one thing can make the best hotdog in town even better.
When I was ready to pay for our order, Carol handed the cashier a twenty-dollar bill. “I want to buy lunch,” she said. Sweet!
Man, my chili cheese dog really was delicious; I could have eaten another, but we held off on fries, as this was only a snack. Melissa, Phil, and Carol all agreed these were indeed the best hotdogs in Cleveland. On the way out I stopped by the register, “Ma’am?
What does the F in FMart stand for?”
“The previous owner’s name was Forrest,” she said. “They had the best hotdogs in town until the new owner took over. Now we’ve got ‘em.” We shared a good laugh about that.
The day was perfect. We had a great time at the Hagood Mill, followed by dinner from our grill, and Phil was delighted with his apple pie. After dessert, the four of us sat around a campfire and listened to the tree frogs and other soothing night sounds of the south.
Although we passed F-Mart several more times during our visit (and I asked every time), Melissa and I made only one more stop for the best hotdogs in town, this time with fries.
Just a bit further east on US Highway 276, or is it State Highway 11 north? Again, I digress. There’s a place called Marci Jo’s Old Mountain Store, also on the outskirts of the Cleveland, South Carolina metropolis. On their sign, it says, ‘Hotdogs.’
How can I be sure F-Mart has the best hotdogs in town until I’ve tried Marci Jo’s? This is going to require another trip south for research purposes. Leave it to a dang Yankee from Minnesota to go stirring trouble in the order of the hotdog world down south.
