Category: Health & Wellness

Retirement jobs

Galettes Complètes

I’ve read lots of retirees get a job because they miss their old identity, they’re bored or need the money. Have you thought about going back to work? Once I accepted that I’m quite fine with being a nobody, I found myself grateful to be holding steady with my current portfolio of retirement jobs.

Retirement job #1:

Cooking. I’m continuing to work my way through The Savory Baker. This week’s masterpiece was Galettes Complètes, buckwheat crepes stuffed with ham, egg and Gruyère cheese. I said if these turned out to be any good, I would buy a real crepe pan.

We had them for breakfast today, and it seems I have some shopping to do! I made the crepes yesterday and had everything ready to go this morning. Although my presentation was slightly off (they are supposed to be squares), the crepes were absolutely delicious. I had a hard time getting the folds to stay flat and used toothpicks.

The cookbook is from the folks at Cook’s Illustrated, but I’ve also saved a New York Times recipe for future consideration.

Retirement job #2

Exercising. I like to stay active because it’s fun and keeps my body in decent shape, but also because it means I can continue to eat well. As a person who struggled with weight earlier in life and tried all the crazy diets on the planet, it sure is nice to not worry about every little bite that goes in my mouth. My Fitbit says I burn about 2,000 calories a day.

Retirement job #3

Travel. I’ve started planning some trips! We traveled a lot when we were younger and don’t have a big wanderlust, but we can certainly improve on our current record, which is approaching zero. Admittedly, I took it kind of easy throughout our two-year staycation.

With Covid seemingly on the decline, we were thinking, let’s get through March and then start scooting around California. Lots to see and do here, and we won’t have to suffer the indignities of air travel.

In other Covid-related news, Dale and I have at least temporarily stopped wearing masks at the grocery store. Such adventurers we are.

Retirement job #4

Chores. Taking care of the house is a job I share with Peter Pan my husband, who has to be reminded from time to time he is a homeowner with responsibilities. I mean, neither one of us is excited about it, but this is real grown-up stuff.

Our water usage went up, and it turned out to be a leak in the skimmer of the pool. That got fixed last week. Next is trying to replace two segments of fence and a gate. We got a proposal, which looked good to us, but I had to float it by our neighbor, who shares one of the fence segments with us. Her portion would be about $600, and she squawked.

I’m super-annoyed, but I’m trying to be patient and understanding. She claims to have some guy who can do it cheaper, but that’s what she told me a year and a half ago. I want to get this ball rolling, as I am eager to outsource the yardwork and figured it would be easier once the fence is done.

My sciatica is almost non-existent at this point, yay, and I’ve decided yard work and its potential for added stress on my back is one variable I don’t want to mess with. Time to throw some money at it.

While I have several other retirement jobs, including art, I feel busy but not too busy, and aside from world events outside of my control, life is good. Way better than working, that’s for sure. I don’t read much of the serious news. I asked Dale to let me know if we get nuked so I can say goodbye.

Speaking of goodbyes, I had to delete the Wordle link from my phone. I’d wake up at 1:30 a.m. and think, I could go back to sleep or I could play Wordle. I’m all about bad choices and found myself playing in the wee hours of the morning. It’s still available through the New York Times, but my new rule is I have to be up and sitting at my computer to play.

Finally, last week marked 23 years since I was diagnosed with stage 3 primary peritoneal cancer, which is virtually the same as ovarian. Although most people seem to think ovarian cancer is a death sentence, I have been disease-free since my initial treatment. I did get breast cancer later, but the only relationship is that both cancers were caused by the BRCA mutation.

By the way, no one else in my extended family has had either ovarian or breast cancer, so testing positive for the BRCA mutation was a shocker. My oncologist believes I inherited it from my father.

Here’s to hoping March comes out like a lamb.

Crazy old lady plogger

One of my regular walking routes passes by three schools – elementary, middle and high school. I try to avoid walking when the students are out and about, not that it isn’t entertaining. The fashion show alone is worth the price of admission. All I can think is, my mother would have killed me.

Anyway, I woke up from my customary daze one day and realized there was a lot of trash along the route. It occurred to me I could pick it up, with proper outfitting, of course. At first, I was like, ick, why should I clean up after the little bastards? But then my higher self emerged, and I started thinking about supplies.

Picking up litter while exercising is sometimes called plogging, an activity that started in Sweden. Sometimes people wear rubber gloves and pick up trash with their hands. It has been said bending and stooping is good for you, but I can assure you, it is not good for me.

I purchased grabbers on Amazon for $13.99. The first time I went out, I took a plastic trash bag, but it was awkward to hold and difficult to keep open wide for depositing the litter. An Internet search led me to Bigmouth Bagger, which features an over-the-shoulder litter bag holder made by a retiree in Virginia. Cost was $37.05. Free shipping, and it came quickly.

Other accessories include:

Aside from looking stylish, I very much enjoy plogging and am happy to do something positive for my community. So far, I’ve been sticking to the paved trails. I see trash in the median, which is gnarly, but I seem to fill up a bag just fine without going down in there.

There may come a day when I’d do the ditch, but I’d need backup to watch for traffic, snakes, etc. And certainly bullet-proof pants. Not my fancy Athleta tights. Then again, I may never go in there.

I carry a 13-gallon bag, which is mostly full when I’m done. The new rig from Bigmouth Bagger makes it easy and comfortable. Totally worth the money.

There are some items I just won’t mess with. Bottles with visible amounts of liquid in them. I can’t really tell if the lid is sealed, and I don’t want to deal with the potential mess. Anything big, heavy or sloppy will have to wait for a more stalwart plogger.

Music makes the time pass quickly. I’ve also made some new friends who stop to thank me or express an interest in plogging as well. Litter sucks, and people seem to appreciate efforts to clean it up.

What do you suppose is the number one litter of choice?

You guessed it. Masks. Miscellaneous plastic, odd bits of paper and Styrofoam, candy wrappers and empty plastic bottles round out the list.

Just so you know, the grabber is multi-purpose. I use it to wave back at people and more importantly, to spin it around in time to the music. That might be why they call me the crazy old lady plogger.

You don’t think they really call me that, do you?

Go with the flow

When I look back at my working life, I usually reflect on the negatives. I’m not purposefully a glass half-full kind of person, but it does seem that’s my default. Lately, I’ve been thinking about the positives, and there were a few surprises.

I was reading a golf psychology book, as I am wont to do, and there was a reference to the old nursery rhyme:

Row, row, row your boat

Gently down the stream

Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily

Life is but a dream

I’m not the first to realize this could be a beautifully simple guide to happiness. As I reflected on the meaning behind these lyrics, it occurred to me I sometimes row hard in the other direction because that’s the way I want to go, damn it.

But wait! Is there a benefit to rowing with the current? Going with the flow? Imagine.

Here’s where we come back to my work experience. I was stuck in a nice but dead-end job and couldn’t seem to find a way out. When I wasn’t working, I spent all my time on the job search. I had a few memorable interviews but no offers.

Only one person at work knew I was on the hunt. I actually didn’t know her well but somehow decided she was the one to trust. That’s a little telling, isn’t it?

Anyway, one day I whined I couldn’t get a job. She said, “That’s because it wasn’t your job. When it’s your job, the doors will open.”

Indeed. After interviewing for a job in Minnesota because by that time I would go anywhere, the hiring manager called to tell me I didn’t get it, but they thought I would be a good fit for their company. He offered to shop my resume around, and that led to an interview in Texas.

When they offered me the job, Dale and I stopped to think it through. What if it didn’t come with relocation? The next day they emailed me a document outlining the relo assistance, and it was amazing. Then Dale said, what about my job? Within days, he was laid off and got a nice exit package. And that’s how it all rolled out.

I went from a local utility in South Carolina to a large multinational Fortune 100 company, and while I was quite competent in my field, this was the big show. Easier for some than others. Having been raised by wolves, I had limited social acumen and not a lot of workplace savvy.

But I needed this job, and I was hellbent on figuring it all out. In addition to some great mentoring, the company offered lots of training, especially on the soft skills such as ethics, diversity and interpersonal communications, and I absorbed all of it.

Yes, some might say it was all about being politically correct, but at least we weren’t punching out flight attendants. I have developed new appreciation for having both feet planted solidly on the high ground. Only recently did it occur to me some of those nuances of behavior I learned at work are worth preserving in retirement.

Kind of like the monster’s transformation in Young Frankenstein, it turns out I liked having a calmer brain and a more sophisticated way of expressing myself. Communicating to make someone else more comfortable. Listening rather than telling. Remembering to say and instead of but. You do it enough, and you sort of become the person you were trying to be.

Even though I’ve previously harbored resentment over some of my work experiences, I can now see how the flow took me to a place where I could explore this better version my myself. The wolves had their charms but didn’t exactly give us a good head start.

That’s what I’ve been up to lately. Still learning. Sciatica is nearly gone. I’m walking a lot, playing golf and swimming. Lots of deep breathing – in through the nose, out through the mouth. I’m as surprised as anyone I could spend quality blogging time on all this touchy-feely stuff, but pain changes you.

And strangely enough, it’s not all bad if you go with the flow.

My first walking playlist

My favorite advice columnist these days is Carolyn Hax, who writes for the Washington Post. She’s not a therapist, but her responses are so intelligent and so insightful, I’d pay for some couch time with this journalist.

In a recent column, she urged a writer to respond to another person’s nasty comment with her honest feelings … something along the lines of, “What an unkind thing to say.” She said don’t let anything stand unchallenged. Invite difficult people out into the open.

Carolyn ends the column with this: “The truth is your power. Remaining calm is your superpower.”

Indeed!

After a shaky start earlier in my career, I became quite good at keeping things bottled up at work, where we used to say only the whale that surfaces gets harpooned. Or never complain, never explain. While I did speak up and was good at keeping calm in a crisis, figuring out what to say and when to say it was practically a full-time job.

Carefully choreographed restraint was useful in the workplace, but it’s not particularly helpful for the rest of our lives, when theoretically we are free to let it all hang out. But as it turns out, managing interpersonal communication is a key life skill we need more than ever in retirement.

I say that because I believe the default is to make us invisible. Have you noticed that? No longer young and jobby, sometimes it feels like no one sees or hears us anymore. At first, I was like, fine. Who cares? I’ll just keep a low profile and go about my merry way.

It worked for a while, but eventually it takes a toll. As I’ve written in previous posts, I believe my sciatica is at least partially exacerbated by repressed emotions. At first, I thought it was the big stuff, childhood drama and all that, but now I think it’s everyday communication or lack thereof.

In my last post, I wrote about my experience on the golf course, where I finally said in a very kind and truthful way how I felt about some behaviors I found unsettling. I feel great! Carolyn is right about owning your truth and staying calm.

It’s an art form. I’ve been practicing, asking more questions and being less judgmental yet stating quite clearly where I stand. As my communication skills improve, so does my back. Pain is complicated, and I understand not everyone will have the same experience, but it seems like it’s working for me. Perhaps there’s a nugget or two in this continuing saga that might help you.

My first Walking Playlist

I’m loving Spotify and have been goofing around with playlists. Yesterday, I walked for an hour to this playlist, and it was so much fun I couldn’t not share it. I didn’t use beats per minute or anything professional like that, so my advice is to keep your normal pace and not let the music drive you to do more than you safely can.

Walking is not required. Think of it as an eclectic collection of music that brings a smile to your face and makes you want to move. Maybe a little sing-a-long if you are so inclined. Below are the songs if you use a different streaming service. For an hour’s walk, I turn around somewhere in the middle of La Bamba.

  • Billie Jean – Michael Jackson
  • Yes Sir, I Can Boogie – Baccara
  • Streets of Bakersfield – Dwight Yoakam
  • Shake Your Hips – Joan Osborne
  • Everyday People – Sly & The Family Stone
  • The Holy Grail – John Fogerty
  • Bear Cat – Rufus Thomas
  • London Calling – The Clash
  • Dumas Walker – The Kentucky Headhunters
  • La Bamba – Flaco Jimenez & Steve Jordan
  • Refugee – Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers
  • All The Lilacs in Ohio – John Hiatt & The Jerry Douglas Band
  • Stayin’ Alive – Bee Gees
  • Is Anybody Goin’ to San Antone – Texas Tornados
  • I Love to Love – Tina Charles
  • Highway 61 Revisited – Bob Dylan
  • Papa Was a Rollin’ Stone – The Band of Heathens & Ray Wylie Hubbard

Catching up to technology

I’ve surrendered to the privacy pirates and am enthralled with my new technology toys for music. I signed up for Spotify, paying for premium at $9.99 a month. The choice of music is amazing, and it’s fun to find old tunes you know and love as well as new stuff you’d like to explore but don’t want to buy.

Amazon is another excellent choice, but I tried Spotify first and decided to stick with it.

Next were wireless earbuds. I went with Carole’s recommendation of Samsung Galaxy Buds Live, and they’re great. I accidentally ordered the version bundled with a wireless charger pad. Although I planned to return the wireless charger, I’m sold! I just put the buds in their case and set that on the pad, and the fiesta begins. I can also use the pad to charge my cell phone.

All in all, it would seem I’ve at least partially caught up to this era. My tights from Athleta arrived, and they fit well and are quite stylish. Newly outfitted, I do feel more with it and am even more inspired to walk.

More on the Mind-body connection

My sciatica has improved, although it’s definitely not gone. Even after all the discussion we had here about some of the reservations we share regarding the mind-body connection, I still think it’s worth digging into my emotions to see if any negativity is contributing my physical problems. While I know this doesn’t apply to everyone, I have a history of stress-related illness.

As I said earlier, I’ve dealt with all my family drama, but this week I realized I still have some baggage from work.

Although I had a fine run, I was treated rather badly the last couple of years on the job. It’s a long story, but to extend my career with the company, I was pretty much forced to take a job working for a high-level bully and screamer. Everyone knew, but he delivered results, so they looked the other way.  

There’s more to the story than just him, and it would take another 10 pages to explain how it all went down. I try to think, oh, it was OK, but really, it wasn’t. I was well-compensated, and in the end, I came out way better off financially. The money definitely made retirement possible, but the whole thing still makes me angry.

I took to my journal and wrote all about it. I won’t frighten you with the inner workings of my mind, but putting my deepest feelings on paper helped me understand the role these emotions have on my every day life.

One thing I decided was to reframe how I experience golf. It might not seem like golf could be connected to work. I suspect some of you may be struggling with the same issue. We were so accustomed to performing for the king, that we feel we have to prove ourselves in some other way after we retire.  Whatever it is that drives us, we’d better be good at it.

For me, that was golf. I’ve been playing poorly, but I decided it didn’t matter. I am going to just focus on enjoying the challenges and pleasures of the game. I signed up for this week’s league play with the women.

It was chilly when we started about 9 a.m. but warmed up quickly and was turning into a beautiful day. I was playing OK. Not as well as I normally play, but I was fine and actually enjoying myself. As we walked off the 9th hole, our new leader was standing by with her timer and said we were 10 minutes behind schedule. I kind of wondered if it would come to this, as she sent sort of a snarky note in advance warning us about pace of play.

Much to my surprise, I said in a very calm and kind voice, “I’m done.” Then I explained that I really like her, she is one of my favorite people in the club and I don’t hold this against her in any way, but I have decided that golf under those conditions does not work for me personally. We’re supposed to be having fun out here, and we weren’t slowing anyone down. I added that I play all the time out there with men, and no one ever fucks with them about pace of play.

And then I walked away.

Later, I sent a note to one of my playing partners apologizing for the abrupt departure. She understood, and said they had to wait on the group in front of them on number 10. They took a picture of themselves waiting and texted it to the leader with a note, “So much for 10 minutes.”

Ha! I liked their style and felt a little bad I didn’t hang in there. On the other hand, I believe I did what I needed to do. If you’ve been reading this blog for a bit, you may recall this is not the first time I’ve addressed this achievement fixation and how it impacts life. Not to mention golf! It’s a tricky balance, but I think I’m getting closer to the sweet spot.

Leftover chicken

And that leaves me to chicken. We love roasted chicken and always freeze the carcass to make stock. Dale pulled off all the meat yesterday, so I made a list of food we make with leftovers:

  • Chicken enchiladas
  • Chicken tacos
  • Chicken Divan
  • Chicken Tortilla Soup
  • Chicken in Phyllo with Hazelnuts and Feta
  • Chicken Tetrazzini
  • Chicken Curry with Coconut Milk and Spinach
  • Mini Chicken Pot Pies
  • Chicken Quesadillas

Dale got to vote, and the winner is Mini Chicken Pot Pies. I make three. We split one and freeze the other two. For some bizarre reason, we like chicken pies with French fries. And a salad. We don’t always eat like 10-year-old boys.

I’d better get going. I like to make everything ahead of time and refrigerate until it’s time to cook.

Walking inspiration

My sciatica seems to be calming down, and I’m beginning to feel almost normal. I haven’t played golf due to the weather, but I’m continuing to walk. I wanted inspiration … something to think about besides every little muscle or nerve twitch, so I dug out my ancient iPod and charged it up.

I stopped using the iPod during my days as the self-appointed Safety Scout. For some reason, I was trying to reduce risk in my life, and wearing headphones on a walk seemed fraught with peril. That was back when E. coli was the worst thing you could drag home from the grocery store, and Omicron was just a letter of the Greek alphabet.

We’ve had a couple of years to rethink risk. I’ve concluded wearing headphones on a walk isn’t the scariest thing out there. I made some walking playlists years ago, and lo and behold, they’re still on the device and working properly. It was fun to walk and listen to some of my favorite music. I may even branch out to audio books and podcasts.

A sampler from the playlist:

  • Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum – Bob Dylan
  • Big Ball in Cowtown – Bob Wills
  • Train of Love – Doc Watson
  • Refugee – Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers
  • Beer Run – Todd Snider
  • Jobel-Liebe – Margret Almer
  • Rehab – Amy Winehouse
  • Waitress in the Sky – the Replacements
  • Love Shack – the B-52s
  • Used to be a Cop – Drive-by Truckers

All dated but still great as far as I’m concerned. Margret Almer is a yodeler. I love a good yodel.

I honestly can’t remember how old the iPod is. Maybe circa 2006? I’ll keep using it until it doesn’t work anymore, although I suppose I should have a backup plan in place. Your recommendations are most welcome.

There will be a bit of a learning curve, as I haven’t downloaded music in years. I’m not even sure I know how anymore. Do you still go to Apple? But updating my portable music tools and adding some new tunes might be a good little activity for me.

Also in the spirit of cheering one’s self up, I decided I would walk better in the cold if I looked cuter. Today I wore leggings, a fleece top and a puffy vest … as opposed to baggy track pants with long underwear for extra padding. A black and gray knit beanie kept my ears toasty.

I’ve decided I need a more colorful beanie. I also decided I need another pair of leggings. I ordered these from Athleta. They’re a little thicker than my normal pants, so they should help keep me warm without being too bulky. Some days I feel like the Michelin man out there.

We usually have Dale’s homemade pizza on Friday night and decided to stick with our plan even though it’s New Year’s Eve. Tonight’s toppings will be Italian cold cuts and sliced green olives. The olives add a nice brininess to balance the richness of the meat.

Today we went to the local Asian supermarket, 99 Ranch, which is a spectacular place. We bought two live Dungeness crabs. Dale steamed them and picked out all the meat for crab rolls tomorrow. We’re off to a good start.

Happy New Year!

Grumpy times

It has been a weird couple of weeks. They’re calling this back thing sciatica resulting from a herniated disc. I’m calling it bullshit, but that’s me. Anyway, I can’t sit for very long, so that’s why I haven’t posted much lately.

The weather is miserable by my wussy California standards. We need the snow up in the mountains and the rain down here in the valleys and foothills, so this deluge is a great thing but rather miserable. I’m more of a drought kind of gal.

Continuing with the grumpy theme, I may as well report it has also been quite cold compared to the typical weather we see this time of year. I think the high today is 42 degrees. It may as well be zero.

The golf course is unplayable in terms of mud and lakes where there aren’t supposed to be any. Plus, I have to be desperate to play golf when it’s in the 40s. Even my 85-year-old diehard golf buddy who plays no matter what canceled for the week. Somehow, that made me feel better. But here I am, stuck in the house with my loving life partner, trying not to get mad about something or everything.

I can’t quite make myself go to the club and swim, even though the pool is heated. However, I have been walking every day. Seriously bundled up but walking nonetheless. Which reminds me of this song by Jesse Dayton: MAY HAVE TO DO IT (DON’T HAVE TO LIKE IT). Check it out. It’s a good song for these unprecedented times.

I got my first Social Security payment this month. That was fun. I do like to be on the receiving end of money. Forfeiting? Not so much. A guy I used to work with called to tell me about the sweet exit package he got for being forced to retire. I did not get that package.

However, two days earlier I heard that a big jerk I had to deal with had some sort of crisis and is no longer with the company. And justice finally caught up with an ex-boss who helped inspire me to exit the scene at a high rate of speed.

While I didn’t hang in there long enough to see it all go down, the fact that I worked with some particularly toxic people and walked away with a wonderful retirement sort of makes me feel like last man standing. I’m just not standing over there anymore.

I’m torn about physical therapy. I still believe in the Dr. Sarno approach, which assumes most pain is repressed anger and rage, and we must work hard to bring those feelings to the surface to make the pain subside. He thinks you should bypass anything that focuses on the body instead of the brain. Most of what I’ve read says time heals most sciatica. Not a lot of evidence that interventions help.

So, there’s that. Then there’s COVID. The therapist I saw last week had a droopy mask and when I suggested he get a better fit, he said, “That’s OK. I’m good.”

Yay for you, buddy. What about me???

Until Omicron passes, going back to the physical therapy place seems like high risk. Loose masks, people huffing and puffing, etc. I may go one more time to see if they can do some actual therapy instead of putting me through a battery of tests to see what hurts. Let me make this easy for you. Everything.

That leaves me with an upcoming haircut. I’ve been loving my new hair and want to keep it up. I know my stylist is fully vaccinated, boosted, masked and careful. Others will be wearing masks as well, and I’m thinking I could probably get in and out pretty fast.

Fucking COVID. While I did have some drama in my childhood and beyond, with the help of professional counseling, I worked through most of those issues the first time I had cancer. I’ve had a few other ah-ha moments of late, and I am grateful for that bit of introspection, but I think this stress is related to the pandemic.

I know I have it easy compared to many, and I am beyond grateful for all my good fortune. Like everyone else, I miss my old life, but I have this sense something has fundamentally changed, and there’s no going back.

Anyway, this is as long as I’ve been able to sit in quite some time, so maybe I am getting better. I did express anger, didn’t I? Still can’t quite summon the rage. There’s plenty of that going around. Honestly, I don’t think rage needs me. Maybe I can get away with just being a little pissed off.

Managing chronic pain

According to the neurosurgeon, most of my back problems are typical age-related degeneration. I have one disc bulge that is squeezing the spine (if I’m even saying that correctly). Basically, the result is spinal stenosis. He said that’s why I have pain in my lower buttocks. Hey, but ask Dale. He already knew I was a pain in the ass.

The neurosurgeon said I was way better off than most people with this degree of stenosis. He attributed my good fortune to physical fitness and encouraged me to keep doing whatever I’m doing. I was happy to hear I can still walk, swim and play golf, and even happier to hear him say it’s unlikely I’d ever need surgery. That’s good, because after multiple cancer surgeries, I have already fulfilled my surgical obligations.

In the meantime, I’ve been working on the mind-body connection. I started with Healing Back Pain by John Sarno. He believed repressed emotions cause most chronic pain, but other than understanding that concept and accepting it, he didn’t offer much in the way of advice.

Dr. Sarno was seen as a bit of a quack in his day, but there’s new research that vindicates him. It seems lots of medical professionals now believe chronic pain starts and ends in the brain – you just have to work a bit at reprogramming your physical responses to emotions such as anger, fear, shame and guilt.

After reading some of the newer articles like this one, I signed up for a program at Curable. There are all sorts of brain exercises and training modules to help navigate through chronic pain. Within a couple of weeks, I was virtually pain-free.

Then out of the blue, it cranked up again. There’s an emergency section of the app for when you have a flare-up, and it walks you through some ideas to help get you back on track. I thought I had dealt with all my emotional baggage and couldn’t imagine what was left.

After doing the module this morning, I’ve discovered a few more unresolved issues. Nothing big – she says – just the granddaddy of them all. Who am I? Why am I here? How much time to I have on this Earth, and what should I do with it?

I never really thought about those sorts of things when I was busy earning a living. It was just grind, grind, grind, and in retrospect, there’s something to be said for that mode of existence. In retirement, I have the pleasure of waking up in the middle of the night to engage in existential discussions with myself. But at least I can sleep in.

As long as I’m moving, I’m fine. Sitting is the worst. What else do I do when I sit? Why, write, of course. Since I haven’t written anything in a couple of weeks, I’m wondering if there’s a connection.

As I try to get rid of this butt ache, which is really, I think, an aching for knowledge, wisdom, value or purpose, choose one or all of the above, it would seem I have some work to do. I’ve decided that’s OK.

I try not to think of life as a game to win or lose. Things seem to work better for me when I forget about being MVP and just show up for practice.

P.S. If you’re looking for some great reading featuring a strong (and I mean badass) female protagonist, I highly recommend the Jane Whitefield series by Thomas Perry. Jane is a Native American who helps people disappear when bad guys are after them. Vanishing Act is first in the series. And joy of joys, there are nine of them!

I coulda been somebody!

While I don’t miss work, I confess early into my retirement I missed feeling important. Being a director for a large corporation was demanding. Once you got to that level, the company wanted everything you had but taunted us with money and perks to keep people like me crawling back for more.

After a while, you start to think you’re somebody.

Then you join the long list of retirees who used to have big jobs, and you realize no one cares about your glory days. I needed a new mindset, and as I was looking for answers, I stumbled upon this quote in an online forum:    

“We were never the somebody we thought. And we are never the nobody we fear.”

For me, that kind of says it all.

Double shot

Yesterday, I got my flu shot and COVID booster at the same time – one in each arm. I didn’t have any problems with the COVID vaccines first time around, but I have a history of fever and chills after getting the flu shot. I used to pre-medicate with Tylenol several days in advance, and that put an end to the chilly willies.

However, I’ve since read you’re not supposed to do that, since they don’t really know how it affects the vaccines. So, I toughed it out, and sure enough, I got fever and chills. Quite the miserable night, but it passed pretty quickly. Both arms are still sore, but I managed to play a little golf today.

COVID has completely stressed me out. I know – take a number, but I believe I’ve been unnecessarily paranoid. Now that I’m boosted and the case rates are going down here in California, I’m going to try hard to lighten up. We still haven’t been to a restaurant, even for outside dining.

Part of the problem is we’re kind of spoiled by our own home cooking, and most restaurants just aren’t that good. Still, a diversion would be nice. The weather is lovely, so maybe we can get our butts out the door and try someone else’s food.

Great British Baking Show

Speaking of food, I am finally getting into the Great British Baking Show. I can’t imagine what took me so long, but I love it. The baking is fantastic, of course, but as a Britophile, I also like the cast of characters.

I’m still watching the first season, so I have lots of shows in the queue. One of the first things I want to try is Mary Berry’s treacle tart.

A fluted tart pan with a removable bottom has been on my wish list for quite some time, and mine arrived today. Don’t you love it when a plan comes together? However, I don’t want to get in the trap of making sweets all the time, so I want to try a savory tart first. Or even a quiche. I’ve always made quiche in a regular pie pan, but the tart version just looks so inviting.

Cucko for coconut

We are still raving about the coconut layer cake I made for my birthday. Individual pieces are stowed safely in the freezer, but it seems someone has been eating them.

Dale said it is the best cake he’s ever had, and I have to agree. I called it the Thrilla in Manila. I mean, I know that’s a famous boxing match, but I just think it’s fun to say. And it could describe cake, right?

He said, no. It’s the Thrilla with Vanilla!

Sometimes it takes very little to amuse us.

Smoke gets in your eyes

The Caldor fire is about 40 miles to the east of us and moving further east, which is good for us but not good for Tahoe. The winds shifted yesterday, and while the fire is still moving in the other direction, our air quality has taken a turn for the worse.

I’m learning to accept the realities of living in a state that burns, but it’s hard when there is so much beauty to behold, and you can’t even go outside. The fires are life-threatening for some, but for us they are mostly inconvenient and just plain scary.

The smoke stresses me. I took the top picture first thing this morning, and it was creepy not to even see the hills above our house. The wind shifted yet again, and later you could see the hills. The Sago palm is in both pictures, but you can only see it in the bottom one. I immediately felt better when the air started to clear. I think it’s a primal reaction.

Fortunately, there is plenty to keep me amused inside. We’re out of cookies, and we can’t have that. I’m whipping up a batch of our go-to cookies with peanut butter, chocolate chips and sea salt. I’ll probably play some Wii golf on our vintage system.

I used to talk bad to the Wii when things didn’t go my way, but I found out there’s no modern substitute that replicates the motions of golf, so I made nice with the damned thing to ensure it doesn’t talk to the other appliances and quit on us.

Playing Wii golf helps me with the mental side of real golf. I practice visualization, staying calm no matter what and lowering expectations. I’ve written before about my fear of competition, but I forced myself to play in the women’s club championship this year. While I didn’t play my best golf, I held steady and finished tied for sixth overall.

Playing and not choking was a big step forward for me. I’m sure others in my group were feeling sorry for me, as I did mess up a few holes and can certainly score better under ideal conditions, but I couldn’t be happier that I pretty much held it together over three rounds – the format was best two out of three.  

Have you thought about what you fear and whether you should push yourself in that direction?

Learning to manage my expectations with golf is helping me manage fear and loathing in a more general sense. As I said earlier in the week, it’s all about showing up. I stress about the attempted recall of California’s governor, Afghanistan, drought, fires, smoke and COVID, but I’m also choosing to read less about it, and that helps.

When all else fails, stick your head in the sand.

Dale and I talked about what it’s like to live here now, and we’re not ready to bail. I can’t think of a place that doesn’t have some sort of natural disaster looming. It seems to me we’re all going to have to accept climate change is here, and it’s going to alter our lifestyles. So, we adjust and keep going.

We live in a suburban area, and while anything is possible, we figure a forest fire is unlikely to impact us directly. There’s a lot of asphalt between us and the woods. I’ve taken to looking out the window in the morning to a) see if there are any dead bodies in the pool; and b) see if there are any fire balls rolling down the hills.

Even if the fire did start charging down the hill toward us, we would have time to evacuate. That’s how I settle my mind. If the house goes, the house goes.

Then you’ve got excessive heat, power outages. One thing we are considering is a standby generator. If we’re going to live in a fortress, we may as well fortify the fortress so as to live in the style to which we have become accustomed.

We’ve been debating the advantages and disadvantages of a portable rig versus a unit that hooks up to our natural gas supply. The portable rigs are less expensive but not exactly cheap, and then you have to deal with extension cords and all that. I’m thinking, we’re getting older, and we’d be better off with a built-in standby system.

We haven’t called for quotes yet, but our climate is such that we could live without air conditioning or heat for a couple of days. A small unit that powers the refrigerators and maybe a few creature comforts might be all we need.

If all goes well and we continue to take good care of ourselves, I believe we could last another 25 years or so, even with all the bad craziness. However, I’ve decided if I’m here for the finish, I’m going out with a giant bowl of Lucky Charms. Perhaps with a chaser of Frosted Flakes.