April 2019 – Retirement Confidential

A lesson from the obits

During my career, I got totally wrapped up in the idea I was my job, that my value on the planet was based on what I did for a living. Even today, I see former colleagues pursue their ambitions as though it’s all that matters.

Retirement strips you of old expectations, and you begin to see who you are without the pressures, demands and distractions of the workplace. Some are uncomfortable giving up their professional identities. But when the gloss of the job is gone, maybe you become the person you really are, the person you were supposed to be all along.

Work is good, and hard work is honorable. Why not be proud of our professional achievements? I am. But that’s not all there is. To me, it’s never clearer than when I pause to read the obituaries. That’s often when you see how a person’s life is characterized. Sure, there are famous people and unique individuals who found a passion that drove their careers, and you might read their obits in The New York Times.

But for the rest of us ordinary folk, what you did for a living is sometimes secondary. The real meat of a creative life tribute are the passions that shaped a rich and wonderful life.

The deceased person’s children often write the really good ones, and that’s when you see why they were interesting and more importantly, why they were loved and cherished. I’ve edited this a bit so as not to intrude on a family’s grief, but here’s an excerpt from a recent obit in my local paper:

As a school teacher, we were all lucky to have him home for summer break. We spent hours on the river in a kayak he built by hand, as he pointed out birds and plants along the way. He was a father to so many of our friends, and our home was the hub of the neighborhood. He was a frugal chef, and his mystery meat Stroganoff was legendary. He was a little league coach, umpire and soccer referee. He taught himself to play the mandolin and had a black belt in Judo. He was never afraid to try anything.

What a revelation! I’ve enjoyed – and continue to enjoy – an interesting life. I try to be a good person … fun, honest, compassionate and civilized. But I never measured myself by that standard, because I thought only work counted.

Now I know work is just a small part of who we are, and simply living life with good intent is accomplishment enough.

Artichokes & easy homemade mayo

Preparing and enjoying delicious food is probably our number one priority in life. We’re both retired, we’re both avid cooks and we both have hearty appetites. Damn, we eat well. The biggest disappointments usually involve restaurants!

The artichokes were in abundance at the farmers market this morning. We brought home these big boys for dinner tonight. I trimmed them up, doused with lemon juice and steamed the artichokes upside down for about 35 minutes. When they are cool, I’ll pry apart that middle section and scoop out the choke (the inedible part).

UPDATE: For such large artichokes, 35 minutes wasn’t enough time. They were delicious but slightly under. Next time I’ll cook them for 45 minutes or try the Instant Pot.

If you are unfamiliar with artichokes, you pull off a leaf and scrape the “meat” off with your teeth. When all the leaves are gone, you’re left with the heart, which is a disc-shaped bit of artichoke flesh that might be the best part.

Most of us like to dip the leaves and the heart in some sort of sauce. We like homemade mayonnaise. I’ve been making mayonnaise for years with many failures. It seems like the whisk of the food processor isn’t wide enough to fully emulsify the ingredients. I annotated the recipe below after one miserable experience.

Enter one of our favorite food guys, Kenji. I’ve adapted his recipe just a smidgen, and it’s amazing. So easy. But as always, you need the right tool, which in this case is an immersion blender that comes with its own blending cup. I suppose there are other ways to do it, but the blender head needs to fit snugly in the cup.

A big artichoke is filling enough to spoil dinner, but light enough I still want more. This is kind of decadent, but Dale is making shrimp cocktails to go with! Maybe some wine? I usually pick out the wine. With apologies to Tolkien, Dale started calling me the Silmarillion because we can never pronounce Sommelier.

A white or dry rosé? I’m just a Silmarillion with no real wine expertise. I make it up as I go.

Easy Mayonnaise

Homemade mayonnaise is an unparalleled treat. This is the easiest way to make it that I know of. It’s hard to mess it up. You will need an immersion blender with the blending cup that comes with it. I’ve adapted this recipe from Two-Minute Mayonnaise by J. Kenji Lopez-Alt at Serious Eats.

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Ingredients

1 Whole Egg
1 Tbsp Fresh Lemon Juice
1 Tsp Dijon Mustard
1 Clove Garlic (Minced)
1/2-1 Cup Vegetable Oil
1/3-1/2 Cup Olive Oil
Kosher Salt

Instructions

Put the egg, lemon juice and mustard in the bottom of the blending cup. Add the garlic (optional) and pour the oil on top. Let it sit for 15 seconds or so.
Using the attachment with the mixing blade (not the whisk), place the head of the immersion blender at the bottom of the cup. Turn the speed on high. Do not pulse or move the head. As the mayonnaise forms, slowly tilt and lift the head of the immersion blender until all the oil is emulsified.
If you want basic mayonnaise, use one full cup of the vegetable oil. Add salt to taste, and you’re done. You can do the same with all olive oil, although some people find it bitter.
If you want to experiment with a stronger flavor, you can mix oils to your taste and make the mayonnaise per the instructions.
If you are worried about bitterness, make the mayonnaise using 1/2 cup of vegetable oil and transfer the emulsified mayonnaise to a bowl. Slowly whisk in 1/3 to 1/2 cup of olive oil. Go slow and stop when you like the taste. Add salt to taste.
Store in a sealed container in the refrigerator for up to two weeks.

Rambling Thursday #2

I saw this sign on the back of a truck when I was driving home from golf. Stopped for a red light anyway, so I snapped a picture through the windshield.

Food

Whipped from walking 18 holes of golf two days in a row, I am happy to stay home and hang around the house today. Dale made breakfast tacos with his Mexican-style chorizo made from scratch, scrambled eggs and homemade salsa verde. Delicious! When my mother found out he could cook, she said, “Keep him.”

Contrary to my last post, it’s clear Dale is quite motivated. Just depends on what it is. I hope everyone knows I write about our spats in the spirit of fun. Even if we were angry at the time, the stories make us laugh. If I were really mad at him, I certainly wouldn’t whine about it in public. I’d take a more devious approach.

I’ve been making the Jim Lahey no-knead bread with great success and wanted a “heartier” loaf, so I combined a couple of recipes from Jim and others I found online. We had oats, barley, sesame seeds and sunflower seeds, so I was good there. Jim’s recipe called for flax seeds. I didn’t have any, so I used hemp seeds, which is a so-called superfood I use for soup and in my granola.

The last ingredient needed was millet, which I didn’t have. I was rummaging through the shelves, when I found an almost empty bag of farro, a grain I’ve used in soup. I figured it would work as a substitute, but in hindsight, I’m not so sure.

I haven’t made the soup in awhile, but as I recall, farro took a long time to cook. The bread was delicious although a bit crunchy. As in maybe tooth-cracking crunchy. I attribute that to the farro. Dale named the bread Colon Blow, so obviously, I’ll be working to refine the recipe. He said next time leave out the rocks and marbles.

Measles

I’ve been reading about the measles outbreak and began to wonder about my own immunity. I researched it, and it turns out if you actually had measles, you are immune for life. With certain vaccinations, you may need a booster.

Good news, as I had measles when I was a child. I asked Dale if he had measles, and he said yes, remember, I had shingles? It appears one doesn’t get shingles if one hasn’t had measles. But I had no recollection of him having shingles.

You? Shingles? When? He said when we lived in Columbia, S.C. Remember that patch on my arm? I’m like, what, those baby shingles? You’re counting that? All he said was, “Yeah, well, I’m sorry I didn’t die.” Then we laughed.

We’ve both since had the shingles vaccine, but Shingrix is a new one they are recommending even if you’ve had the first one. It’s not cheap. But apparently even baby shingles are terrible.

Correction: In the comments section, a reader let me know there is a relationship between shingles and chicken pox … not measles.

DIY Pedi

I did not get my first pedicure until I was at least 40. It cracks me up now, how this is so routine in today’s beauty culture. I feel like an old lady bragging about walking to school barefoot in the snow, but these young girls have no idea what it was like to live with poorly groomed feet.

Gave up getting my toes painted when I was swimming a lot. Chlorine took its toll. I still got regular pedicures, but I had them buffed shiny. They usually charge an extra $5 because it’s so hard to use arm muscles, I guess. But the results are worth it. Bonus … you can get out of there faster because you don’t have to wait for your toes to dry.

Because I go minimalist, I don’t need a pedicure often. I’ve been going about every six weeks to about $30 a pop. Yes, it’s chump change, but it’s pretty much wasted chump change, since they aren’t doing anything I can’t do myself. I rather embrace the role of frugal retiree.

This week I got out my tools and went to work. No pictures for your protection, but they look pretty good to me. I may go to the salon for a special occasion, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be sticking with the DIY Pedi.

A Fan

I love unusual names with a certain ring to them. There’s no set of criteria, other than it just pops out at me as a great name. I’ll see one, and say, “I’d change my name to that.” It’s an ongoing joke at our house.

One of my all-time favorites is Fan Bingbing. Who wouldn’t change their name to that? I’m pleased to report the Chinese actress has reappeared after a year’s absence.

Chores and wars

My husband and I have very different ideas about how chores should be done around the house. Before I retired, we didn’t argue about it much, mostly because I was gone a lot and didn’t have the energy to fight. Now that I’ve been retired for more than a year, I’m tanned, rested and ready.

Let’s just say we have had a few unpleasant disagreements over housework, yard work and home maintenance. I’m kind of a worker bee, and he is anything but. During one of our altercations, I accused him of being lazy, and he came back with, “I’m not lazy! I’m unmotivated.”

It came to a head this week because I said we are finally going to fill those small holes in the drywall leftover from a previous owner. He’s like, whatever, dude. Let me know when it’s over.

Simple project, right? I filled the holes with Spackle, and let it dry. I didn’t sand it smooth, because our paint is textured. I tried to dab it on in the same fashion as the texture. In a motivational peak, Dale found some paint in the garage labeled, “Downstairs.” I gave it a big stir and used a paper towel to dab over the Spackle.

I did the first hole, and it looked great, except it was the wrong color. Upon closer inspection, it would seem there are two colors on the downstairs walls. One lighter and one slightly darker. I used the darker paint on the lighter wall.

Of course, I did.

Suddenly, Dale goes all Sherwin-Williams on me and says we’ll have to paint the whole room. I said, no, really, these are small holes, and if we can get something close, I’m sure it will look fine. He said you’re always such a perfectionist. It won’t be good enough for you.

Then I said, “I am not frozen in time. People change and evolve, and I am less of a perfectionist than I used to be. Look at that caulking around the kitchen floor tile! Have you heard me complain? I just squint and look the other way.”

He seemed doubtful but pried off a tiny chip of paint from a corner of the wall where the movers dinged it, and he wrapped that in plastic. And off he went to the store. This might be when I said his favorite part of chores is to put on a clean shirt and go bye-bye in the car.

Dale returned to reveal that in order to match the paint, they need a chip the size of a quarter. Again, he starts up with this thing about painting the whole room. I said that’s crazy talk! Just do the best you can. I’m sure it will be fine. He went back to the store and returned with a quart of paint.

I dabbed it on with a small wad of scrunched up paper towel, and it looks about perfect to me. Because I had all that crap out anyway, I went around the downstairs – the lighter color rooms and the darker color rooms – and filled and painted to my heart’s content. The previous owners were hole-crazy. In some places, it looks pretty damned fabulous, but in others, it’s just fabulous.

I’m attributing my new tolerance for imperfection to art, where I continue to have fun under-performing. But some of it is age and expected longevity, I think. I want to be a responsible homeowner and enjoy a nice house, but I really don’t worry anymore about resale. Whatever happens, happens.

By the time we leave this home, we’ll probably be dead or moving to assisted living. Somebody younger and more anal-retentive can take over. In the meantime, I believe Dale is feeling a wee bit guilty and is now on board with my yard work strategy. Details to follow.

Rambling Thursday

You may have noticed in my posts I try to focus on a theme and tell some sort of a story rather can describe my week or day or whatever. I think of this blog as a column, the old-fashioned kind we used to read in newspapers.

However, there are times when I am inclined to ramble, and change is good. Introducing “Rambling Thursday.”

I’m not selling coasters on Etsy. I can’t think of a way to earn enough money to make it worth my while. I enjoy the art. As I’ve said many times before, I hope those days of trading time for money are gone. If I had to, I would, but our finances look good for the long-term.

AND – if I had to work, it would be a jobby job. Something to make ends meet. No purpose, no passion. Pray there would be no meetings, no team building, no performance appraisals, no sociopaths. None of those “if you can dream it, you can have it” bosses.

What a demanding list of priorities! I’m clearly unsuitable for work. I have some highly amusing stories about the insanity of the workplace, but I probably won’t tell them for a while. I’m not sure how to do it without getting sued. Plus, thinking about it gives me bad dreams.

Death by PowerPoint

I had the dreaded work dream this week. This time I had an armful of binders, and I kept dropping them (dropping stuff is a recurrent theme). The binders are probably related to a job when I was kind of like chief of staff to an executive. He had to present quarterly results to corporate, and one of my tasks was to build the presentation. And then travel to headquarters for the big event.

For whatever reason, we couldn’t just do this thing electronically. I had 17 binders to schlep. If I could fly with the executive on the company plane, it was easier. But sometimes that didn’t work out, so I flew commercial. I’d check a small bag with my clothes and fill a carry-on bag with the binders. God forbid they should get lost.

Sometimes the finance folks made last-minute changes, and I’d get new charts when I landed. I had just enough time to print new charts and “slip sheets.” Then I had to transport said binders to the conference room at exactly the right moment. Not too early, not too late. It sounds like entry-level work, but I was actually a director. I had a suitcase with wheels, but still, a 50-something gray-haired woman rolling that through HQ drew unwanted attention.

Coasters, I can’t quit you

I’m maybe taking a break from crafting coasters, as I don’t have a solid plan for what to do with them. There are a few ideas rolling around in my head. I thought, what if I change the theme and focus on cats? I love cats as much as I love beer. Easy switch. I could then donate the coasters to a cat shelter, and they could sell them to raise funds. Aren’t I the decent human being? If there was a beer shelter, I’d be golden.

I contacted the local cat shelter, but I haven’t heard back. I may never – I mean, they don’t know me. I realize I should probably volunteer and get to know them before suggesting this idea, but I don’t want to volunteer at a cat shelter, so there’s that. I’ve been working on cat designs just in case.

Whilst researching crafting opportunities, I spent a good deal of time reading about other charitable efforts. Most involve sewing and needle crafts for homeless shelters, hospitals, etc. Sewing is not my thing, but one never knows. My sister is a talented fabric artist, and we have genetic proof we really are sisters, so maybe there’s something inside me yet revealed.

The purpose of ripe strawberries

The strawberries are finally here! I’m such a fruit snob and always struggle with what fruits to eat over the winter months. While there are plenty of choices, this year I ate frozen blueberries with my homemade granola and yogurt. The berries were delicious and predictable. Oh, the disappointment of unripe fruit.

To keep strawberries fresh, I learned a little trick from a vendor at the farmers market. Line a rectangular tub with a paper towel. Lay the unwashed strawberries in a single layer over the bottom and cover with another paper towel. Store in the fruit/vegetable bin in the refrigerator. Mine last the entire week.

The joy of ripe strawberries! Such a simple pleasure, but lately I’ve come to believe that’s what it’s all about. Advice columnist Carolyn Hax recently wrote a column about purpose, suggesting it’s OK to not have one. She talks about the pleasure of coffee and the satisfaction of completing a chore.

These are tiny pleasures. Connecting one to another to another across a day might not feel grandly productive, but the constellation it creates is pleasant enough to behold.

I’ve been slouching toward purposelessness since I retired, but sometimes I’ve wondered whether I was moving in the right direction. Realizing others are seeking the same path helped validate my own experiences. Such a relief to realize we don’t have to beat ourselves up forever.

My purposeless life is brimming with pleasurable hobbies and satisfying activities. I made a list, which is in no particular order because that would be too purposeful.

Golf – Practice & Play
Cook
Arts & Crafts
Walk & Lift Weights
Read
Write
Yard work
Housework
Home Maintenance & Repair

I estimated the number of hours a week ideally dedicated to these activities. It added up to exactly 40! So there you have it. Being purposeless is a full-time job.

Did I mention I hate meetings?

I’m still making coasters. It’s fun and relaxing. I added four new ones to the gallery – my first attempt at a more artistic approach. Color! I’m not saying they are good, but I like them. While I’ve been gifting coasters to friends and family, I’ve also been thinking about selling them on Etsy.

Still on the fence about the whole thing. Leaning strongly toward no. While money is always nice, I don’t really need the little bit of cash I might make on Etsy. Maybe I would break even on art supplies – that might be cool. But my career was all about trading time for money, and I want this chapter of my life to be about choosing creative opportunities that are right for me.

But … I’ve been a bit of an entrepreneur over the years, and I’ve sold stuff before. And I did it when I had a demanding job. I started a golf shirt company. I guess it was 2000 or 2001 that I came up with the idea of a women’s golf shirt with an embroidered logo.

Although I didn’t do a formal business plan, I did a lot of research and consulted with a group of retired executives who advise entrepreneurs. There were so many things to do and learn. Getting a business license, establishing an online store, setting up a payment system, buying blank shirts, getting the logo professionally designed, digitizing the design for embroidery, finding vendors, shipping, taxes – I still can’t believe I did all that while I was working.

I didn’t expect to make big bucks, but I always felt words were my strength, so I found an intellectual property attorney and trademarked the logo, some other slogans and the company name, which shall all remain nameless because of what happened next.

My eBay store had been humming along for several years, and just as I was about to break even, someone offered to “buy” one of my trademarks.

You don’t actually buy trademarks. The owner “assigns” them for a fee. It’s pretty much the same thing. The first offer was for $5,000. I was open to the idea of giving up the trademark, but I had that much invested already, so I said no. We eventually settled on $50,000!

Rather than just accept my good fortune and move on, I started up another company selling golf shirts and then t-shirts after that. Inventory was a challenge. By the time I quit, thrift shops and landfills were enjoying my unsold goods. A few dozen coasters would be nothing compared to our den with stacked up piles of shirts in various sizes.

As I’ve been pondering the Etsy dilemma, I’ve learned a couple of things. Once I started thinking about business and marketing, my creative focus changed and not in a good way. It was no longer about creating as a form of expression but trying to make something that sells. I suspect I could work through that and get to a nice balance.

However, the other thing I learned is I truly have evolved in my retirement. I’m taking control of my life … questioning old assumptions and actually thinking through what makes me happy and how I want to spend my time – not doing things just because someone else thought it was a good idea or it might be profitable. These are small signs, but I see both as positive movement:

After golf yesterday, I thanked the women I was playing with for the game and then said I wasn’t coming in for the social hour. One of the other players said, “But it’s the meeting!” Exactly! The league has periodic member meetings, and I guess they like us to participate. I hate meetings. I said yeah, well, I did meetings for 35 years. I’m done.

A guy on LinkedIn contacted me about being interviewed for some research related to my former profession – and I said no thanks. Then he offered money, $250 for an hour of “consulting.” The money got my attention. I’m totally up for a consulting gig, but this particular opportunity didn’t appeal to me right now. I decided it was OK to say no. Doesn’t mean I won’t say yes next time.

What is it they used to say? If you stand for nothing, you fall for everything?

A cookie to kill for?

Although I have occasional sugar indulgences, I actually don’t eat many sweets and mostly stick to savory dishes in the kitchen. However, Dale was craving these cookies, so what’s a girl to do?

We watch a lot of cooking shows on TV, and you often hear people say, “It’s to die for.” Dale says you shouldn’t have to die for good food. Better to say, “It’s to kill for.” Although neither one of us is a killer, these cookies might inspire greedy but non-violent behavior.

What I love about these cookies is they are so pure. I think of them as the health food of cookies. No flour, no oil, no butter. Mostly just chocolate, nuts, egg whites and sugar. The egg whites form a slightly crispy crust, and the inside is deliciously gooey.

You can use plain old Hershey’s Cocoa, which is perfectly yummy, but I like to mix it about half and half with cacao powder. I think it makes for a richer tasting cookie. The original recipe calls for crushing the chocolate much as you would the walnuts, but I have had no luck at all in the chocolate chopping department. Whole chips work fine.

I tell friends who crave sweets to always go for the absolute best. Don’t eat chocolate pudding from the cafeteria (I’m talking to you, Monica) or some stupid cookie from a package. Focus on eating the real deal, and usually the real deal is hard to find or hard to make, so you don’t have it as often and you end up appreciating it more.

This advice applies to a lot of foods, including french fries. Make them from scratch, and you won’t get fat eating french fries. Which reminds me of Dale’s secret fantasy. No, nothing like that. If he had an unlimited supply of money, he would have an outdoor deep fryer and a cleaning service to keep the oil fresh. That’s my guy!

This recipe is inspired by the original from Jacque Torres. A special thanks to Linda at Retired Introvert, who turned me onto this recipe plug-in.