Category: Health & Wellness

On dying happy

Maybe you don’t know this, and I hope you have no reason to, but mastectomies can leave you looking rather mangled. In my case, I went for the aesthetic flat closure instead of reconstruction. No regrets, because either way, you will not look the same. Why do they call it aesthetic when it’s anything but?

Because lumpy was already taken.

Actually, I rather like my lumpy flat closure and find it freeing to be done with bras and all that. Still, I have a mess o’ scars, and my armpits ended up sort of puffy. Late last year, they seemed puffier than normal, so I thought it would be prudent to have them checked out.

As I was sharing my observations with the doctor, I said the whole thing could be my imagination. I can stare into the mirror and easily see signs of imminent death. She said you don’t have to explain yourself to me. You’ve had some bad stuff happen. It changes you.

I know you cancer survivors get it. The slightest thing can take the wind out of your sails. So, I’ve been a little worried about it. However, I am pleased to report both sides have been thoroughly evaluated, and it appears I have a simple case of puffy pits. I’m assuming it’s related to bulging belly and flabby ass.

The good news is I dodged the bullet yet again. I always say I’m one of the luckiest unlucky people I know!

But, jeez, you hear things. A friend’s husband stood up, got dizzy and fell, which resulted in a traumatic brain injury. She said he is recovering fully, although it’s a long haul. They have a new appreciation for the simple pleasures of life.

Another friend of mine was playing golf with her partner, and he had a heart attack and died. Boom, just like that. She said, well, he died doing something he loved.

Hmmm. I don’t know. Does that make it better? Maybe. Just maybe.

I was vacuuming the stairs last week and almost took a tumble. Perhaps they would say, well, she was cleaning the house. She died doing something she hated. That does sort of suck.

And so I try to make peace with the fact that death will come for us all, but I do hope it’s later rather than sooner. I’m definitely in the die happy camp and humbly suggest the trick is to stack the deck and live happy. Do more and more of the things you love and less and less of the things you hate. Relish the simple pleasures.

I’ve said it before. Dust ages well undisturbed.  

The repair crew

Nice easy walks and gentle swims … you’d think I was fully recovered from overdoing it a bit in January. However, just when I thought all my body parts were working in harmony, out of the clear blue of the western sky comes excruciating knee pain that brought all my good efforts to a halt.

After a few days of rest, heat, ice, Tylenol and Advil, it seems to be fine. I did a short test walk yesterday and a slightly longer test walk today, and so far, so good. But still, I’ve been exercising regularly for 50 years, and it shocks me how quickly things can go wrong.

When I complained to my husband about the pain, he said, “Ah, yes. The repair crew.”

Sometimes the guy is genius. When something hurts, and I start to feel sorry for myself, I think, calm down. It’s just the repair crew, and I am in need of repairs. They’re trying to fix this mess. Certainly, there are many ways to cope with pain, and I suspect most of us will dabble in those dark arts more and more as we age.

Growing older is not easy, but let’s consider ourselves lucky if we can get through it in reasonably good cheer and enjoy the time that is given to us.

Interestingly, I just finished a fantastic book that explores the possibilities of navigating adversity with dignity, grace and humor … so maybe some of it rubbed off on me. Historical fiction at its finest, “A Gentleman in Moscow” by Amor Towles tells the story of Count Alexander Rostov, a Russian aristocrat living under house arrest in a luxury hotel for 30 years.

One of my favorite passages (and there are many) is when a friend talks to him about wanting to leave Russia and experience the conveniences of modern life. Count Rostov replies:

I’ll tell you what is convenient. To sleep until noon and have someone bring you your breakfast on a tray. To cancel an appointment at the very last minute. To keep a carriage waiting at the door of one party, so that on a moment’s notice it can whisk you away to another. To sidestep marriage in your youth and put off having children altogether. These are the greatest of conveniences, Anushka — and at one time, I had them all. But in the end, it has been the inconveniences that have mattered to me most.

I loved this book. It’s literary without being too fancy-pants. Just a fantastic story in a spectacular setting with great characters and thoughts and ideas that might haunt (or inspire) you for decades. If you should be so fortunate.

In other news, rain, rain and more rain. And so one’s thoughts turn to food. Dale roasted a chicken earlier in the week. I’m making stock out of the carcass, and he’s making chicken tortilla soup with the leftover meat. His soup is tomato-based, and then we top it with fried tortilla strips, crumbled queso fresco, chunks of avocado, chopped cilantro and a squirt of fresh lime.

Tomorrow I’m making venison meatloaf, sour cream and chive mashed potatoes and asparagus. I haven’t decided if I’ll roast or steam the asparagus.

I also took my sourdough starter out of the fridge to get him ready for bread. I just need to feed him for a couple of days, and then he’s good to go. I started him at the beginning of the pandemic and named him Gollum because I wasn’t sure this would work out, and I was reminded of Gandalf’s line from the movie, Lord of the Rings.

My heart tells me that Gollum has some part to play, for good or ill, before this is over.

Luckily, Gollum has performed admirably. I was thinking of some sort of stew to go with the bread. Although, meatloaf sandwiches don’t make me mad.

That’s good, that’s bad

It has been an annoying few weeks, and I’ve put writing on the bottom of the list. Today, I thought, if you want life to go back to normal, then why not do the normal stuff you do … such as write? I’m telling you, friends, the brain is a dangerous thing.

Speaking of dangerous things, I’m told by my sister, who is not a doctor but plays one on the Internet, that Advil isn’t good for us older adults. We do use with caution, but still, Dale calls them blue buddies. I mentioned this to one of my golf partners, and she said, “Advil is my favorite drug, and I’ve tried most of them.”

So, it has been a mix of Tylenol and Advil, but even then, sparingly. Ice. I won’t go into all the gory details, but I messed up my knees trying to be the athlete I was in my 30s. I’m in less pain than I was even a week ago, so that’s good.

The same golf friend, who was a teacher, often quotes a children’s book called, That’s Good, That’s Bad. It comes up a lot in golf. Let’s see how it works here.

I messed up my thumb pushing my golf cart up a hill. I was distracted for a moment, and the cart rolled back toward me, sort of squishing my thumb. The result was an ugly cyst-like thing. That’s bad.

The cyst hurts occasionally but not all that much. That’s good.

I finally got an appointment with a hand specialist, and he said it’s an arthritic cyst that can pop up at any time for no good reason. Or it can be the result of an accident such as mine. He said it could go away on its own. That’s good.

But it might not. He could surgically remove it, but there’s a good chance it will come back since the underlying cause – our friend arthritis – hasn’t gone away. He recommended I do nothing, but if and when I get tired of looking at it, to go for the surgery. That’s bad.

I’ve been using cannabis cream on the cyst, and it looks smaller to me. Virtually no pain. That’s good.

I was diagnosed with osteoporosis two years ago but didn’t go back for another bone scan until this month. I wasn’t going to go at all, because after a lot of reading, I’m deeply suspicious the whole thing is a racket dreamed up by the people who make the scanning machines and the drug companies. That’s bad.

But I’ve been taking vitamins A and K for two years, and I wanted to see if it made a difference. That’s good.

My numbers were overall quite stable. That’s good.

However, my primary care physician said I might want to consider medication. That’s bad.

There’s a lot of nasty stuff associated with bone density drugs, so my hope is to avoid them. But then I thought, maybe it’s time to hear what experts have to say about the latest and greatest in bone density treatment. My doctor referred me to an endocrinologist, and I made an appointment for January 18. That’s good.

Except when I arrived, they said my appointment was for July 18. That’s bad.

The receptionist was quite sympathetic, and I said don’t worry about it, I wasn’t all that excited to be here anyway. She laughed. That’s good.

Then there’s the curious case of Donna’s favorite sock. I recently purchased three pairs of wool socks that are really great for keeping my feet warm during cold-weather walks and long rounds of golf. That’s good.

Late one afternoon, I was getting ready to take a shower and took off my workout clothes, draping them over the hamper. They were still reasonably clean – passing the sniff test with flying colors – and I figured I could wear them again the next day. I left the socks on the floor by the hamper. In the morning, one of my socks was gone. That’s bad.

At first, I sort of blew it off. Like, oh, I must have misplaced that sock. But then I started a legitimate search and rescue. I went through every item I have worn in that past month to see if it got stuck in a sleeve or leg. I checked the washing machine and the dryer. I checked Dale’s stuff. I’ve gone through all my drawers, to no avail. That’s bad.

I thought, well, it would be atypical, but maybe our cat Riley had a sudden hankering for a tasty sock. I checked under all the beds, his treehouse, anywhere he might have stashed it. I warned Riley he was in big kitty trouble if he messed with my sock. But it appears he’s innocent. That’s good.

Dale suggested poltergeists are responsible. This would be the first sign of them, and I’ve actually Googled this, but it’s not looking like poltergeists steal socks. That’s good.

That’s the end of my little rant. My knees are on the mend. My thumb is fine. My bones are hanging tough and on hold until July. I’ll live to write another day. That’s good.

But my sock is gone. That’s bad.

Biscuits, Bacon and Bloodies

Cheers! We started the day with what we call Triple B. Biscuits, Bacon and Bloodies. Not a bad way to ring in the new year.

Great breakfast notwithstanding, I’m kind of a pessimist at heart. Sometimes it feels like we’re on the downhill stretch speeding toward Armageddon, but I’m keeping one foot pressed on the pedal of hope. In 2024, I’d like to see peace, kindness, clean air, normal Republicans. That sort of thing.

In a sign of good tidings, my cat curled up in a rarely exhibited but favorite pose, a position I call Hot Crossed Paws. It’s like seeing Jesus on toast. There he is on the kitty couch, in all his splendor. Riley, king of cats.

I had a bit of a health scare just before Christmas. My left armpit had been hurting, and since I had a mastectomy for breast cancer in 2015, I immediately thought of lymph nodes. Let’s just go with the worst-case scenario, shall we?

The ultrasound revealed normal nodes, so that was a relief. I mentioned it to my massage therapist, who said it was my pectoral muscles. She worked on them a little more than usual, and I almost immediately began to feel better.

Then I remembered I had the same symptoms shortly after my mastectomy. I still had the exercises in a little binder, so I dug those out and started doing them again. Like magic, it’s all getting better.

During that same massage, she said my left hip flexor was stiffer than normal, and I mentioned I recently had a small sciatica flareup. She asked if I was still swimming, and that’s where I hemmed and hawed a bit.

The short answer is yes, but only sporadically since it got cold. The pool is outdoors but heated. However, I am a slow swimmer and a wuss. She suggested I get back to swimming regularly, that she could see and feel the difference in my flexibility. So, back to the pool I went, and she was right! It makes a huge difference. I’ve been wearing a rash guard, which adds an extra layer of warmth and will hopefully guard against unseemly rashes.

Although I don’t make resolutions, I am more committed than ever to keeping my body reasonably fit and flexible. From all I’ve heard, it’s not going to get any easier as I age, but I am not going down without a fight. Food is always a top priority in my life, but I would say it’s food and fitness for 2024. That looks almost like a resolution if you squint.

As for reading, I started the J.D. Robb series featuring New York City detective Eve Dallas. The novels are set in the near-future, which makes for an interesting twist. I like them so far, and there are more than 50, if you can believe that, so I shouldn’t run out of material anytime soon. My only real beef is her love interest – he’s filthy rich, and it’s a little too Pretty Woman for me. Still, the sex is fairly graphic, in a good way, and it’s not often you find that in a murder mystery!

I’m still enjoying my PBS Masterpiece subscription. I finished Miss Scarlet & the Duke. I believe a new season launches this month. I also started watching the Frankie Drake Mysteries, which takes place in 1920s Toronto. I wasn’t too thrilled with it at first, but then along came Moses, her black boxing instructor. The relationship seems a bit risqué for the times, and of course, that’s what I like about it. All things prurient. That should be a show on PBS.

Speaking of which, I ended up liking All Creatures Great and Small. It’s nice bedtime TV. No gruesome murders. Fuzzy animals. The people who care for them. There’s something to be said for the absence of malice.

Softening with age?

This head cold or whatever it was kicked my butt. I wondered if I got false negatives on the Covid tests, but I guess it doesn’t matter now. I’m recovered, except for some lingering sinus issues. That’s probably related to seasonal allergies, which everyone is complaining about. I’ve taken to the neti pot, and that helps clear the congestion.

Dale caught my cold, and all that congestion made his snoring worse. One night it was so bad I almost called 911. But then I thought, oh, just put the pillow over his face and be done with it. I’m pleased to report he survived the night and has a bright future. The things I do for this man!

I finally felt good enough to go back to swimming. It had been a few weeks, and I felt stiffness in my left arm. I thought, kick a little harder and take the pressure off the arm. So, now I have muscle cramps in my leg. No good deed goes unpunished. It’s better today, so I assume this, too, shall pass. I’ll probably do a short walk just to keep it moving.

That’s kind of my philosophy about all these age-related aches and pains – just keep moving. Although I love to read, I start to feel sluggish when I lie around for hours at a time. I always feel better when I get outside and do something. Of course, I’d play golf if I was on death’s doorstep. And, in fact, have. I played regularly when I was on chemo for stage 3 ovarian cancer. I didn’t want to fall behind just in case I lived.

I subscribed to PBS Masterpiece. I’ve always liked my crime dark and hard-boiled, but I must be softening with age. Like a ripe Camembert. Probably more like an old cucumber.

There’s a lot of great content on PBS Masterpiece! I liked Miss Scarlet & the Duke, a Victorian mystery about London’s first female detective. I’m told All Creatures Great and Small is excellent, so that may be next on the list.

My sister’s goal is to watch every single Hallmark movie aired between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I might be softening up, but that is her dream, not mine. I do like Elf and Christmas in South Park, so I’m not a complete grinch.

As for reading, I’ll go out on a limb here and share I am absolutely loving The Thursday Murder Club series by Richard Osman. The books features friends in their 70s and 80s who meet at their retirement home and commence to solve murders.  They all have unique backgrounds that come into play.

I’ve read some bad reviews, but I find the novels laugh-out-loud funny and yet quite sensitive about aging and all things associated. I’ve read two, and there are only four, so the good times will end soon.

Do you dream about work? I had a weird one last night. Six years, and I still can’t get that business out of my head. But it’s not all bad. When I was working, I put all the money I could into various savings plans, and two of them are set up to make annual distributions for five years. This was year two, so I got my little cash infusion, and I forgave them for the bad dreams.

Who knows what got into me, but I put my name in the hat to be a volunteer at the library. As soon as I did it, I started thinking about all the negatives. Like Covid, shooters, children. I want nothing to do with any of them. I think it’s just shelving books, but still.

Dinged up and loving it

This week was our golf group’s Halloween tournament. I made cookies and bagged them up so everyone could grab and go. The cookies were a big hit, which is good, because I’m not the most social person on the planet, and maybe I got some good will points.

The cookie biz is a fun hobby if you’ve got a place to off-load them. I started after the first time I had cancer in 1999. As I was recovering, I thought, I need to try something that isn’t golf and isn’t work. I saw Martha Stewart baking and decorating these beautiful cookies, and I said, that’s it!

These days, I have tubs of cookie cutters, sanding sugars, piping bags and other supplies. In some ways, it’s similar to my woodburning hobby. Neither one is hard to do, but they’re both time-consuming. But that’s what I like … gets me out of my own head.

I was on the way to play golf one day last week, when a truck pulled out in front of me presumably because he couldn’t stand being behind another truck for another second. Something about that transaction resulted in the spewing of rocks, which hit the windshield of my brand-new car.

As my mother used to say, I can’t have nice things.

Anyway, the result was two tiny dings. My insurance company paid to repair them – no deductible applied. The dings are sealed and safe and barely noticeable, but I still see them, of course. Honestly, as a recovering perfectionist, they don’t bother me. It’s just a car. I wasn’t injured. We all get dinged up in the end.

I’m surprised and happy I didn’t go all psycho because my pretty car got a boo-boo. I have come a long way. I attribute my progress to retirement. Aging. At some point, you just can’t hang onto that stuff.

Speaking of aging and dings, a close friend of mine is getting her face done. You know, injectables and all that. She has done it before with fantastic results. I was happy for her then, and I’m happy for her now. She’s had her share of life’s unwanted gifts, and a subtle tightening of the face lifted her spirits immeasurably.

But I do wonder if I’m going to be the only one left who looks my age. I squandered some time the other day looking at before and after pictures, and it’s impressive stuff. I even looked pictures of women with gray hair who decided to go back to dying it.

It seems to me if you have the money and the will, you can easily look 10 years younger. It was tempting for a minute or two, but I actually like how I’ve aged – gray hair, dings and all. I care more about keeping my body in reasonably good shape so I can continue to enjoy outdoor activities. I played golf earlier this week with a 92-year-old man who walked the course at a brisk pace.

My role model!

All in all, I’m exceedingly grateful my back is cooperating. A bad back is a big ding. I rarely have pain, but if I do, all I take is Advil or Tylenol. But then I’m quite faithful to my daily stretching regime. One of the women in my golf group has a similar diagnosis as mine (herniated disc, spinal stenosis). She said it never occurred to her to stretch. She said that’s what pain killers are for.

I told her about John Sarno’s book, Healing Back Pain. I’ve written about this before. He believed a lot of pain is the result of repressed anger and other emotions. After reading the book, I worked through some lifelong issues. I believe releasing all that baggage, along with my stretches, helped me recover from what was sometimes debilitating back pain.

For me, the key was forgiveness. But it took me a while to figure out the most important person to forgive was myself.

My golf acquaintance seemed receptive to the concept of the mind-body connection. I saw her yesterday and said, “How’s your back?” She said, fine, I just popped a (insert name of pill here).

I guess everyone has to find their way own through the valley of dings.

Enjoying the career afterlife

Although I absolutely love retirement, of course I understand there are some significant setbacks that can prevent us from having a wonderful time as we age. Sickness, pain, loss, loneliness, financial distress. Those can be very difficult to overcome.

Then there’s ego. You’re not all that and a bag of chips anymore. You don’t look the same. You miss being somebody. Sure, I went through a little of that, but it’s actually chump change and easy to leave behind. My advice? Let it go. Enjoy your career afterlife and save your strength for the big guns.

Lately, my career afterlife has been even more enjoyable than usual. I attribute a lot of that to my back no longer giving me fits. The official diagnosis was herniated disc at L4-L5, sciatica and spinal stenosis. The neurosurgeon said I was more active than most people with these problems and to consider myself lucky. Hopefully, I wouldn’t need surgery.

Everybody’s different, but I started reading about piriformis syndrome. Symptoms are similar to what I was experiencing. I found these exercises and for about six months now, I’ve been doing them daily.  Unbelievable. I feel like a new person. I still experience a little pain from time to time, but it’s no big deal.

On the entertainment front, I’ve been reading more than watching, although I did enjoy the latest season of The Lincoln Lawyer on Netflix. I seem to recall reading the first book in the series, and now I may go back and read them all.

Today was kind of a bonus day at the library. I went to get the next Easy Rawlins novel, and another book in my queue popped up. The book, Sing her Down by Ivy Pochoda, is described as a gritty feminist Western thriller. Sounds right up my alley.

Then, in the Lucky Day display at the library, I saw All That is Hidden, a new Molly Murphy mystery by Rhys Bowen. This is number 19, and I’ve read them all in order (as I am wont to do).  Molly is a detective in turn-of-the-century New York City. I usually go for the darker stuff, but I do like historical fiction, and these are highly entertaining.

Food-wise, we continue on our path of delicious eating. I made sourdough bread last week, but it didn’t last long. Toast in the morning, sandwiches for dinner one night and then served on the side for dunking with miso fish chowder from the freezer. Here’s a link to the recipe for the chowder if you subscribe to the NY Times cooking section. Dale’s from Maine, and he loved it!

I made the soup a few weeks ago and used frozen cod and added some shrimp. Instead of bottled clam juice, I pulled some homemade lobster stock out of the freezer. I made the stock with picked out lobster shells after Dale made lobster rolls a month or so ago.

The white miso was a game-changer. Now, I’m on the lookout for any recipe with white miso. Where has this been all my life?

Saturday I made quiche with bacon and Gruyère cheese. We both thought I used a little too much bacon, but it was still quite yummy. I used to make quiche in a deeper pie pan, but I’ve switched to the tart shell with the removable bottom, and we like that better. I prefer the tart pan because I pre-bake the crust for a bit, and you never have to worry about a soggy bottom.

Dale did a whole roast chicken yesterday, and I’m going to use the leftovers for Tom Kha Gai later this week. There are a million recipes for this Thai chicken coconut soup. I’ve been using this one for years.  I’ve made it both ways – raw chicken thighs or leftover roast chicken, and they’re both great.

I’ve been itching to make it because the recipe calls for makrut lime leaves, which are difficult to find. One day I happened to be in Whole Foods, and there they were! I bought what they had and froze them.

For the rest of the ingredients, we went to 99 Ranch, which is a fantastic Asian supermarket chain. They usually carry my favorite Chaokoh coconut milk, but they were out last time we were there, so I ordered it on Amazon. Thankfully, I saw it was back in stock today.  

I browsed the fresh noodle aisle while we were at 99 Ranch. Very interesting!! I’ve tried cooking Udon before but didn’t have good results. Maybe ramen?

A change of pace

My bum wrists are acting up, so I’m taking a break from golf, even though golf has never been the culprit. Just experimenting a bit to see what makes them feel better. I have a doctor’s appointment in June, so the question is will I last that long without even hitting a few balls?

So far, reading a heavy book hurts more than golf. I’m switching to my Kindle until these wrists are under control.

On the bright side, not playing golf gives me so much time back. It’s like, where did all these hours come from? I’m somewhat a slave to routine, but I’m finding the change of pace is good for the soul. Doing different things makes me think about different things and helps me gain a little perspective in how I spend my precious retirement hours.

I’m walking a lot. This is another experiment to find the best balance of distance and frequency. So far, I think I’m better off keeping the distance to three or four miles but walking every day. I never have pain when I walk, but if I overdo it, the leg on my sciatica side hurts at night and messes with my sleep.

I can sort of see the beginning of the end of my dream to do a long-distance walk. I don’t think my body will hold up. But I can still do a lot, so I’m not complaining.

The NY Times recently featured a recipe for chocolate overnight oatmeal. I made it their way first and then tweaked it to my liking. The taste of chia seeds was fine, but I didn’t like the texture. Same for dates. I adore dates, but they were gummy in this oatmeal.

The chocolate is another variable. I used cocoa powder the first time, and it was delish, but then I saw a bag of cacao powder hanging around the pantry and decided to use that. They are equally yummy. I believe the only difference between the two is the degree of processing.

For one serving, here’s my modification:

In a mason jar, add ½ cup old-fashioned oats, ¾ cup milk, 1 tablespoon of cocoa or cacao powder, 2 tablespoons of maple syrup and ½ teaspoon of vanilla extract. Cover tightly, shake well and refrigerate overnight. I like to add 1 tablespoon of grated coconut.

I had low expectations, but I love this oatmeal.

Speaking of low expectations, I was pleased Trump was found liable in the E. Jean Carroll case. For some people, it was a long shot, but I’ll share a conversation I had after playing golf with my women’s league a few weeks ago.

Our group is a mix politically, as everything is, so we try to be careful about delicate conversations. I was talking with K. about how we wanted Trump held accountable when another woman sat down, overhearing the tail end of the discussion. She was incredulous. After all this time? How could this so-called victim remember anything? Come on!

K. was quiet and then looked up. She said, “I was sexually assaulted 30 years ago, and I remember it like it was yesterday.”

Well, there you go. Mouths open, mouths closed.

By the way, this is irrelevant and possibly offensive, but I liked E. Jean’s hair and the way she dressed. Although I am not nearly as chic, I had a similar style when I was working. Pleated skirts, tights. Heeled Mary Jane’s. Fitted jackets. She made me want to wear skirts again. And bangs! I don’t think I’ll go there, but they looked great on her.

Readin’ in the rain

I will always remember the fall of 2017 because I had just retired and read all of Michael Connelly’s Harry Bosch books in order. Such a simple pleasure but hunkering down at home to read after a lifetime of work felt like a precious gift.

That was before the pandemic, before we discovered the dark side of hunkering down. But this staying at home thing … I still sort of like it. To commemorate the miserable rain-soaked winter of 2023, I am burning through all 19 of John Lescroart’s Dismas Hardy books in order. I would describe them as legal suspense with family intrigue, hardboiled criminal investigations and some courtroom drama.

Oh, and the setting is San Francisco.

Early on, I tried to take breaks and read other books in between, but I finally gave up and committed to the blitz. I’ll start number 16 later today and have the rest on hand, courtesy of our local library. I should be done before the rain clears later this week. No one can stop me now.

I’ll be sad when it’s over, the book marathon not the rain, but at least I can diversify my reading material again. However, I do think my compulsive nature rather enjoys the singular focus of one good series at a time. I’ve become immersed in this fictional world, and it’s been a pleasurable escape from the real one. I may just do this again with a new series.

Number 35

On the local art scene, I finally finished number 35. I’m not sure why, but this piece was a bit of a slog. I was so happy to spray on that last coat of lacquer and immediately went to work on number 36. I’m already way more excited about him than I was poor number 35, who never felt the love.

So, today marks 24 years since I was diagnosed with stage 3 primary peritoneal cancer, which is virtually the same as ovarian. I am in a small group of long-term survivors who have been free of disease since their initial treatment. I don’t know why I’ve been so lucky, but I share this information from time to time because somebody somewhere needs to know good outcomes are possible.

Riding out the storm

The weather here in California is still quite something. We discovered a leaky window that will have to be fixed, but we’re OK. A little sick of each other. Sending messages back and forth through the cat.

I’ve been hunkered down in the house riding out the storm. I finished Sea of Tranquility. I liked it, but sometimes that time travel stuff blows my mind. For the record, I also have trouble understanding how the James Webb Space Telescope sees galaxies billions of years old.  You can explain it to me all day long, but my head is still going to explode.

A good legal thriller is Scott Turow’s Suspect. Pinky, the protagonist, is a funny and smart screw-up trying to make it as a private investigator working for a lawyer. She’s also bisexual, and that’s an interesting aspect of the story.

You kind of have to wonder how a guy creates a character like that, but I guess that’s what writers do. Still, how does he know it’s authentic? Or maybe in fiction, there is no authenticity. Just characters as the writer envisions them. He’s an excellent writer, and I thought the character was great, but I’m assuming someone out there will say he got it wrong.

Anyway, I’ve been on the lookout for a new crime series to read. My original plan was to follow up on the Three Pines TV show and read the Louise Penny books. But they are quite popular right now, so I started Dead Irish, the first book in the Dismas Hardy series by John Lescroart. Dismas is a Vietnam veteran, lawyer and bartender in San Francisco. I love it so far and put the next one on my library reserve list.

The good news is there are 19 of them in all!

On the medical front, I saw the doctor about my blood pressure and took my machine with me because the readings were so odd. My BP was fine on her machine and quite elevated on mine. She tried several times and finally asked me how old it was. I dunno, eight, 10 years?

As it happens, these things are not designed to last that long. Some articles I read said two to three years max. She advised me to get a new one, which I did, and my readings are all now consistent with hers. That was a big sigh of relief.

This is my public service announcement (without guitar). Please see if your blood pressure monitor needs to retire, too.

Finally, I will share that I still dream about work quite a bit, even after five years. This week’s nightly drama was about clothes and dressing appropriately for the office. I can’t remember details from the dream, but there was some level of bullshit about not wearing the right outfit.

No big surprise, really. I did struggle with the corporate “dress for success” model and squandered a lot of money trying to fit in. I didn’t land on a good look for me until later in my career, but it was enough to get me to the finish line.

I ended up keeping just a few great pieces, and I even though I told you years ago I was donating them, I couldn’t quite make myself do it. Still hanging in my closet, waiting for the miracle …which would be like me, dressing up for anything anymore.

Men probably don’t do this, but women seriously check each other out at work. What you wear is more than a corporate uniform. It’s also a peer-to-peer evaluation system, a hierarchy of sorts and one I’m glad to see in the rear view mirror.

Another retirement bonus! Nobody cares what I wear anymore, maybe not even me.