The monthly statements from our meager retirement accounts remain unopened in a pile on my desk. I don't want to know what kind of a hit they've taken.

Even before the economic meltdown, our prospects for retirement were not looking good.

Due to our spendthrift grasshopper lifestyle — as opposed to the wise ants out there who saved their pennies from the outset — there isn't much of a nest egg. Not much at all. I figure we're good for two or three years, and that's it.

Like a lot of folks, we were counting on the equity in our house to provide for retirement, but we sort of taxed that to finance our daughter's college education, and home values have declined. There's certainly no guarantee of pensions or Social Security.

I believe in the boom-and-bust cycle and that waiting it out is the best strategy. But when you're approaching 60, you begin to wonder if there's enough time for the boom to swing back around and revive your retirement hopes.

That's if we are actually able to "retire." Even if I keep my job, I figure I'll be working here well into my 60s. And after that, I'll be one of those senior citizens McDonald's likes to brag about employing. Eh, no shame.

My parents lived in poverty during the Great Depression in the Midwest. My mom's family kept a cow for milk and chickens for eggs, selling any surplus to scrape up a few extra nickels. My dad came home from the war and went to college on the G.I. Bill, later working his way up to become a highly paid executive for an international construction and engineering firm.

Growing up, I wouldn't say we were rich, but we lived very comfortably, and my brother and I never lacked for new clothes, stereos, bikes, surfboards and college educations.

I started my adult working life self-supporting and living in humble circumstances, but suffered nowhere near the hardships my parents endured. And in the back of my mind, I always knew they would provide a financial fallback if I stumbled. Fortunately, it never came to that.

Over the past 25 years, my husband and I managed to progress from a tin shack in the boonies to building a lovely home near the beach. But now my employer wants to cut my salary by a third and I'm counting my years of service to see where I stand on the seniority ladder and whether it's enough to protect me from layoffs. Looks like we've shifted into reverse.

Perhaps it was inevitable that the upward mobility spawned in the postwar era couldn't be sustained for more than a generation or two. My parents were much better off than theirs, and I grew up amid plenty, but I can't say the outlook is as rosy for my children.

There won't be any fallback for them.

We just informed our daughter that we would no longer be able to pay (borrow) for her last year of college. We are tapped out. And we still have a son in high school.

The Girl's already been working hard to cover a good chunk of her expenses. Nothing wrong with that, and in the long run it will serve her well, but it was heartbreaking to admit that we will not to be able to give her the same support I received from my parents and that she will have to start her adult working life in debt.

And, no, it doesn't make me feel better knowing there are lots of other folks in worse shape than us. That only makes the whole situation seem all the more dismal.

Reach Christie Wilson at cwilson@honoluluadvertiser.com.