An uneventful week … perfect

It was an uneventful week of retirement, and that is exactly how I like it.

Dale seems to be recovered from a brutal case of Achilles bursitis. He has been sidelined for awhile, and now it looks like we can plan some outdoor activities together. The weather here in northern California is gorgeous. This is what we pay for.

I’ve recovered from a freak accident involving the upper back weight machine, whereupon you sit on a bicycle-like seat facing the weights and squeeze your shoulder blades as you pull the weights toward you. If you should so happen to be taking boatloads of Advil for another injury and exert too much energy, it might result it some pretty spectacular bruising in the area of the body getting all friendly with the bicycle seat.

Now I know why Lance Armstrong didn’t know he had testicular cancer.

Our solar power system on our house is finally up and running. This is the last year of the 30 percent rebate on our federal taxes. We’ll use the rebate and savings on our utility bill to fund a new heating and cooling unit next year. Ours is 20 years old.

The solar contractor was excellent, but PG&E dragged their feet. They presumably had fires and electrical outages to worry about … one of the downsides of living in northern California.

PG&E emailed a welcome packet, which I suppose we’ll have to read. I’m not much for details when it comes to science. If I should ask Dale a simple question, I get a 20-minute response and references to books and documentaries. I would have been fine with something along the lines of, “Sun make magic with roof panels.”

When I think about our daily activities, I expect someone to scold us for being privileged. We’re not extravagant, mostly focusing on simple pleasures, but I do recognize not living from paycheck to paycheck is a luxury. Still, I imagine an announcer from an old scare-tactic documentary such as Reefer Madness.

“They don’t work! They eat cheese! They wear jammies until noon! They run out of mayonnaise! They’re living the retirement lifestyle!”

So, yes, we ran out of mayonnaise. Dale was making BLTs and scraping the bottom of the jar. He went to the pantry for more, and there wasn’t any. I followed up with another search. Surely, there’s a backup jar hiding somewhere between crushed tomatoes and peanut butter.

Running out of mayo is unheard of in our house. It would be like running out of cheddar cheese. Just doesn’t happen. Dale takes great pride in maintaining a robust pantry. Anything gets low, and you know there’s another one in backup.

I have a responsibility to add items to the list, so it’s not his fault. Surely, somewhere between tuna melts and tuna melts, I should have seen this coming.  

Part of the problem is we don’t keep a master list. Dale hates lists. Especially if it says to-do and has his name on it. I was in search of a compromise and after a period of reflection that included counting my blessings for having such problems, an idea bubbled to the surface.

Here’s the deal. Dale hates having a personal list, but he’s not opposed to lists in general. What’s not to like about a house list, as in not his and not mine? We have a small collection of refrigerator magnets, and I used them to affix the list to the fridge, a neutral setting. Now there’s a consolidated location for documenting items that are getting low.

I slowly walked Dale over to the list, like introducing a cat to another cat for the first time. He might have sniffed and scratched a little, but he likes it! And he bought replacement mayo.

Today is a beer run. No list required.