Wilmington Flower Market Visit

      

It's been decades since I've been to the Wilmington Flower Market that takes place Thursday through Saturday every Mother's Day weekend.  It used to be an annual outing with my kids, usually Saturday after  shabbos services.  They offered a central free parking location with a shuttle bus.  I could get some tomato saplings which would go into my backyard garden the next day or two.  The children would run around, maybe go on a carnival ride, maybe get treated to ice cream or cotton candy.  Then we'd take the shuttle back to our car.  That was decades ago.  I don't really know why I stopped going.

The local newspaper always had a feature section on the flower market.  They had committees, entirely women.  Many were socially prominent, descendants of the DuPont's or married into the family with its familiar subnames. Many were wives of medical colleagues, registering in my mind as social climbers, though to be fair, quite a number chaired committees and the event was always expertly executed. And really nothing at all snooty about those docs.   No Jewish names, but I just assumed Jews had not yet achieved full acceptance in the generational social tiers, irrespective of their economic attainments and professional stature.  Doubt if that contributed to my loss of interest in attending.

Even it's location hints that you had to be somebody to live nearby.  Art Museum and adjacent mansions two blocks away, Mt Salem Church built originally to service workmen of the expanding enterprises in the 19th century, with its maintained cemetery across the street.  The most exclusive private school around, the place where heirs became literate for generations, around the corner.  Even my section chief, a  man of heritage who married into relatively new money and mastered the skills of social climbing, lived in one of the smaller elegant homes, built before we had McMansions.  He even invited me over once.  

The market itself comprises tents in a preserved area called Rockford Park, known for its stone tower.  No shuttle buses this Thursday afternoon, it's opening day.  They offered parking for $10, helped by police signs to prohibit parking along the closest city streets, and neighbors protecting their own parking spots by wheeling their garbage receptacles beyond the curb.  With some driving, I found a legal space, walked about three blocks past the cemetery, mostly uphill, then a little more uphill to reach the park with its tents.

This event raises quite a lot of money for local children's charities, so I am willing to be a sport.  Vendors from banks to artisans purchase display space.  There's a section for food trucks, the largest collection of them I've seen in any single place in Delaware.  A section for movable carnival rides.  And the tents that display the plants for sale, vegetables in one place, herbs in another, and larger ornamentals needing bigger pots separately near the hanging plants.  

Despite being faithful to my treadmill sessions, age has reduced my ability to walk uphill.  Still, I only sat at a picnic table for a few minutes, taking my time as I admired the contents of the various displays, from food to rides to containers suitable for transplant into my Square Foot Garden.  Not really hungry.  Garden pretty much already planted.  I know the proceeds are for an admirable cause, but I purchased nothing.  

Walking the perimeter counts as laudable outdoor time, steps recorded on my smartwatch.  Returning to my car, with the apprehension that the police would find some reason to place a violation notice under my left windshield wiper, I took my time walking more downhill and over a different route than the one taken to Rockford Park, past what seemed to be the toniest homes in the Highlands neighborhood.  I had parked legally after all.  

Pleasant hour or so, but I understand the multi-decades gap since my last sampling of this iconic local institution.

Medicare Coverage

As an employee or the spouse of one I had to do next to nothing other than choose my plan.  If DuPont, my wife's employer covered me, my wife chose the plan and DuPont paid part and deducted the rest from the paycheck.  No checks or credit cards needed.  As I became eligible for coverage as a medical network physician, if my share was available for less that $100 a month of my contribution, which it technically was but not a plan I would want, DuPont required spouses to purchase their coverage from their own.  I signed up for a pretty decent plan, one notch from the most expensive and maintained it through retirement.  No money changed hands, no bills came my way.  The employer paid most, my share came off my pay stub, which I rarely looked at.  While I became eligible for Medicare while still working, the company plan was much more suitable but once I retired, I joined most seniors in the Medicare whirl.  There is a base premium, not excessive, a surcharge assigned to my earnings history.  Doctors get paid well so this came to real money.  I needed a supplement plan, opting for a Plan F which also comes to real money.  And a Part D for medicines.  While my current potions are all generic, generating no bill beyond the monthly premium, I spent decades prescribing needed but financially ruinous stuff so without insurance beyond what Medicare offers, an uncovered Donut Hole would far exceed an annual premium in very little time.

As a result, my out of pocket costs, which had remained hidden for most of my working years and paid for by organizations whose revenues would amount to billions, became my responsibility, partly defrayed by the Medicare deductions from each of he last 40 years of paychecks, but with a check writing dollar amount far in excess of what I've had in the past.  Good health into my Medicare years being my good fortune, I've not used any benefits since retiring other than my prescription refills.  For now, the G-Men and their insurance company delegates are coming out ahead.  But for the first time I can see how all that medical care that I generated directly and indirectly adds up, and it's a lot.  Not that I want to become ill to get my moneysworth.

A system that size can also become unwieldy.  My Medicare statement arrived in the mail four days before the due date.  My supplement and prescription statements for the coming year still have not arrived with only ten days to go.  I called everyone, authorized credit card payment as the path of least resistance, even though the supplement carrier's records show my statement mailed a week ago.

Considering the massive nature of this enterprise, it works rather well but monumentally complex and therefore prone to snafu.  I wouldn't be surprised if each Member of Congress had to hire a staffer just to resolve Medicare inquiries from baffled voters.  And the more complex it is, the more you have to pay the maybe 10,000 people in America who actually understand it at a professional level, be they government employees, financial mavens, or attorneys.  And that's before any provider has even asked to be paid for what he or she did.

Premiums now up to date once my credit authorization gets picked up by the Postal Service tomorrow and somebody at the receiving end processes my credit card authorization.  Much too cumbersome though.