Number 22, a gift for my sister, who just retired. Congratulations, Cheryl!
I woke up the other morning thinking, “I should get a job.” I used to like people. Maybe I could learn to like them again.
Yes! I could quit using cannabis, pass a drug test and get back in the workstream. I’ve read there’s a shortage of employees. Except I haven’t read anything about trying to lure back the 50 and 60-somethings they drove out in favor of snappy young talent. So, there’s that.
Oh, and then dealing with all those problematic young people. They are in charge now, and I liked it better the other way around.
I suppose I’d be the new troublemaker, asking for all sorts of special accommodations. You know I can’t sit in a regular chair for hours on end. And such ridiculous expectations. Forty hours a week, seriously? I could maybe squeeze in some Spider Solitaire, but when would I have time to swim, cook, walk, play golf, take naps, stretch or work on my art?
Clearly, a desk job is out of the question. Not good for my health.
Then I thought, I could be a budtender! I could get some training online and apply for a job at a dispensary. I imagined myself, silver hair flowing, adorned in turquoise jewelry, imparting sage cannabis wisdom.
Except being a budtender is a fancy name for working retail. Horrible hours and crummy pay. Sometimes they want you to work at night! What about dinner????? Not to mention whiny customers, and that’s kind of a deal-breaker for me. Any filters I may have had in the past are gone. It’s like retirement truth serum. Now I just say what I think, and I assure you, it won’t be good for sales.
The truth is, I love retirement. Time and freedom is a hard-earned gift, and I have no interest in going backward. My guess is the job idea is more about the ongoing isolation of COVID. Maybe a subconscious yearning for pre-pandemic life?
Except it will be post-pandemic life. Something new, different, maybe better in some ways. I mean, why not? An uncertain future, for sure, but with any luck we’ll still be here to explore it.
Number 21 — my latest creation of wood-burned art embellished with color.
Repurposing career clothes
Although I did experiment here and here with repurposing some of my career wardrobe, I quickly lost interest. I don’t dress that way anymore, basically living out of one laundry basket full of casual and athletic wear.
And yet … I’ve decided to keep what’s left – a jacket, a suit, a few skirts and a pair of slacks. At least for a little while longer. Reasons, in no particular order:
I’ve pared it down to just a few pieces anyway, so it’s no big deal to keep them hanging in the closet.
The pandemic has probably changed career fashion forever. I don’t think my style will be popular with anyone but me.
All the charities I checked want larger sizes, and I don’t want to bother with consignment.
They fit well and look good on me. Sometimes lacking other options, you have to wear your confidence.
It’s more fun to dress up when it’s not 100 degrees. Fall is just around the corner.
These are not normal times, and you never know what will happen. Post-pandemic renaissance? Apocalypse? I might need nice clothes.
The joy of movement
I visited the physical therapist, and all in all, it went well. I have some nits to pick about the process, but I heard what I wanted to hear. Basically, she said I have good mobility and should continue to do everything I want to do in terms of golf, swimming, stretching, walking and weights. With regard to osteoporosis, she said to avoid jumping and jarring movements but otherwise keep moving. Her team can help me with strength and balance.
They stretched out my problematic left buttocks area and decorated it with Kinesio tape, which presumably helps with muscle pain and inflammation. I must say it seems to be working! They put the tape on while I’m face down in the “child’s pose.” Of course, I can’t put the tape on myself, so I had Dale take a picture of me in case we need to replicate. He took the picture, but I’m not sure he’s on board with taping me. It’s not like I’m asking him to shoot an apple off my head.
I played golf twice, and I could definitely feel the burn, but I think it was just the normal aches and pains of returning to exercise after a 10-day rest. I tried to take it easy, forget about the score and feel the joy of movement. I will try swimming today.
Note to fellow retirees – be gentle but move as much as you can as often as you can. Mobility goes away quickly and is difficult to recover.
The limitations of movement
Movement is one of the reasons I don’t outsource housework. I do most of it, but Dale does make significant contributions to our efforts. The balance inside the home isn’t really an issue, but I did talk with him about adding some additional chores to his list. He’s always cooperative, but it annoys me that I have to spell it out for him.
Yardwork is a different story. This is where the limitations of movement are hitting home. I tend to be a workhorse, and as I always joke, Dale likes to put on a clean shirt and go bye-bye in the car. For the record, he does laugh when I say that!
Our neighborhood association maintains the front yard. We don’t have a huge backyard, and the pool takes up most of it. Dale has always said it wasn’t worth the money to hire someone to mow and blow such a small area. Especially since I ended up doing it most of the time. But there’s also pruning – and in previous years, that also fell to me.
Newly armed with spunk and MRI results, I said that time is gone. Beyond mow and blow, count me out. Shortly after my proclamation, he actually mowed and edged. I didn’t even know he knew how to use the edger. In the spirit of cooperation, I got out the blower and cleaned up. See how nice it is when we work together?
Message received. It went in one ear, stayed there and didn’t go out the other.
That means I’m shopping for some sort of landscape service. Although it’s not a big financial commitment, my first thought was I’ll start collecting Social Security later this year, and I could just pay for it from that account.
But my second thought was no way – why is it my responsibility? I know he truly doesn’t care who pays for it, he’s like yeah, whatever you want, but I remember all those bags of yard waste from last year, and my less kind self wants to see him cough up some cash. Reparations, if you will.
Oh, shit, this is bad
Lest we get too judgy in our aging years, Dale announced this morning he couldn’t find his keys, which include both house, car and mailbox. We looked everywhere, including the neighborhood mailbox, because he has left them there before.
Alas, no keys.
My smug self was thinking I would keep the mailbox key separate so as to avoid such a situation. But that’s me. Then I went down the path of we’re getting older, him especially, and this is likely to happen more often. Lost things. Kitchen fires. Who knows? From there, I plummeted to, “He’s got dementia. Oh, shit, this is bad.”
We went to a few doors asking if anyone picked up keys from the mailbox. Nothing. One neighbor was like, oh, shit, this is bad, and I said, indeed, I’m trying not to be judgmental. Another neighbor said to check with the Homeowner’s Association – people sometimes turn in lost items. Dale tried calling, and a recording said they were closed. I said, “Well, let’s just drive over there and see. I’ve got my keys.”
I reached into my purse and pulled out my keys. Except they were not my keys.
Wait! These look like your keys!
They are my keys!
We both burst out laughing. Apparently, he’d left them on the counter downstairs after picking up the mail, and when I was scooping stuff up after I came home from golf, clearly exhausted from exemplary play, I thought they were mine and dropped them into my purse.
One would assume he’s now thinking, looks like Donna has dementia. Oh, shit, this is bad.
Although I don’t bounce like I used to, I am recovered from whatever I did to myself when I fell in the bathroom. Now I’m back to whatever I’ve had for the past 10 years or so. In the absence of fractures or other potential mishaps, chronic pain never felt so good.
That means I’m back on the golf tour this week. I also want to get back to swimming and light weights. I visit the physical therapist Monday and will see what she thinks. For the most part, golf has not made my lower back pain worse, but I’m not so sure about the other two. Still, I refuse to lay flat on my back if I have a choice, so that’s that. Onward and upward.
I’m more conscious about calcium since the osteoporosis business. I do eat dairy and lots of other calcium-rich foods, but I decided to add canned sardines to my rotation. Dale has been eating them for years. I like them, especially on a Triscuit!
Do you eat sardines? I would love to hear more ideas – how to enjoy them best, any particular brands or seasonings you like. I’m not afraid to throw some money at a premium product. Although Dale is even more of a food snob than I am, sardines are sort of his bachelor food, and he just buys whatever he sees first.
I do believe back pain is sometimes connected to our emotions, so I’ve been trying to deal with my anger about the pandemic. I tell myself, yes, I am angry it was politicized. It did not have to go down this way. I’m angry with the people who won’t get vaccinated. I’m angry we’re going back to masks again. I’m angry that it looks like this thing will drag on forever.
But that anger does not make my back hurt! My back is strong. I can do anything I want.
At least that’s what I’m telling myself.
I finally read Victim 2117, the latest in Jussi Adler-Olsen’s Department Q series featuring Carl Mørck. I started it a couple of times but didn’t get too far. Sometimes it takes me a while to get into his books, but when I do, I love them. This one was excellent – quite the dramatic backstory of Carl’s sidekick, Assad.
As I was Googling the book so I could copy and paste the slashed o in Mørck, I discovered there are Department Q movies! Has anyone seen them? Looks like some are available on Amazon. I’ve been re-watching Outlander. I had already burned through the final season of Bosch and needed a complete distraction.
We had to cancel our trip to Lassen Volcanic National Park due to fires in the area. If it’s not one thing, it’s two. Or three. Or four.
For a little while, it felt like we had turned a corner on the virus and life was becoming whatever passes for normal these days. But it looks bad out there. In our zip code, 77 percent have been fully vaccinated, and 84 percent have at least one dose. Yet our positivity and case rates are higher than you’d expect.
Most of those testing positive in our area are between the ages of 18-49. While we’ve all been reading about breakthrough cases, I would assume most aren’t vaccinated. I can’t fix that, so I tell myself to just roll with whatever I have to roll with.
And so, we turn to happy thoughts. Dinner. We have leftover grilled tri-tip and fresh corn and tomatoes from the farmer’s market. I’m making a loaf of sourdough bread, so we’ll cobble together a meal out of that. Dale is making happy hour nachos with fresh jalapeños from his garden. Cheese is medicinal.
We have a nice stash of limes, so I might make a margarita. Have you heard of ranch water? It’s a drink. I have not had one, but I was reading about them. It sounds like a fizzy margarita. Same basic ingredients topped with seltzer water. I guess the fizz of choice is Topo Chico, which I’ve also never had.
I might have to go back to the happy hour laboratory and return to you with a complete report. It’s all about sacrifice.
I like good news and have happily shared my experience of surviving cancer as an inspiration to others. I’m far more reluctant to share unpleasant news, but I’ve decided it’s important to tell the whole story, not just the bits and pieces that flatter my self-image.
As a reminder, I had primary peritoneal cancer (like ovarian) and breast cancer. Both cancers were estrogen-sensitive. I had a total hysterectomy and have not had supplemental estrogen since I was 43 – about 22 years. While I knew this would put me at higher risk for low bone density, I hoped my healthy and active lifestyle would prevail.
Alas, it was not enough. According to my recent bone density test, I have osteoporosis. For me, that diagnosis comes with a lot of baggage. I don’t see myself as frail or fragile, and I don’t want to live like the slightest twitch will result in a fracture.
On top of that, I’ve done a good bit of reading and suspect osteoporosis is over-diagnosed. How a Bone Disease Grew to Fit the Prescription is an NPR article is from 2009. It’s a fascinating read about the origins of bone density testing and the role pharmaceutical companies played in shaping the definition of disease.
There was a meeting of osteoporosis “experts” in Italy, and one of their challenges was to decide what was normal aging and what wasn’t. It was hot, and they couldn’t reach consensus. Someone finally drew a line on a graph, and they said everyone on this side of the line has a disease. Then they split it up into two diseases – osteopenia and osteoporosis, depending on where you landed on the graph.
Doctors soon began pushing bisphosphonate drugs to treat low bone density. I’ve read about these medications, and I’m not primed to sign up. In addition to unpleasant short-term side effects, there are serious long-term risks and not a lot of evidence to suggest they actually reduce fractures.
My results put me just inside the line for osteoporosis. However, results come with two scores. Your “T” score compares you to an average healthy 30-year-old. Like many older women, my “T” score sucked. But you also get a “Z” score that compares you to someone of your age and gender. My “Z” score looked pretty good to me.
I mentioned this when I met with the doctor. I said, “If I’m reading this correctly, I’m in the 90th percentile for someone of my age and gender. And presumably, most of those women had estrogen, so I must be doing something right.” She said yes, but we don’t use the “Z” score to diagnose osteoporosis. I said, yes, that’s part of the racket. We both laughed.
She agreed with my proposal to wait a year and get retested before doing anything dramatic. She said compression fractures in the spine do happen to people with osteoporosis, and that’s always a risk. The doctor agreed the medications also have risks and downsides.
I asked for a referral to physical therapy so I could get some targeted exercises to help me strengthen my spine and hips. At the same time, I mentioned my back had been bothering me, and I needed to get that sorted out. She sent me for an X-ray.
The X-ray suggested the possibility of a compression fracture! I was devastated. Was I wrong about everything? Should I just bite the bullet and start the bone drugs? Will I have to quit golf forever? She sent me for an MRI.
Just to complicate things, after the X-ray but before the MRI, I slipped and fell in the bathroom. I’m OK, but my back hurts more than it did. I figured if I didn’t have a fracture before, I certainly have one now.
Imagine my surprise when the MRI revealed a messed up back with bulging discs and age-related degeneration similar to the messed up back I had when I got an MRI seven years ago. And no fractures! Even after the fall.
All in all, I’m relieved and feeling pretty good about my prospects. I’m eager to start physical therapy. And although I might regret it later, I’m still holding out on prescription meds for osteoporosis. I’ve done more reading on vitamins and have added K and A to my regime. Please know I am not an expert, nor am I suggesting these choices for anyone else because I could be completely wrong.
I think of osteoporosis as an unintended consequence of my cancer treatment, and I’m annoyed, but I’m still grateful it wasn’t a recurrence and look forward to many more years of mediocre golf.
My latest piece of art made from a scrap of wood. You can’t see it in the picture, but there’s metallic paint in the grid at the bottom, and it looks really cool as you walk by the wall where I hung it.
The condo collapse in Miami is just heartbreaking, and while condos seem like a desirable accommodation for retirees, it leaves me wondering if I would ever live in one. I’m confident there are many upsides to condo living, but I’m not liking the whole shared ownership thing.
Who is ultimately responsible? I suppose we will find out when the lawsuits roll out. I’m reminded of an old Gallagher joke: They needed a con, and they needed some dough.
Speaking of cons, I was pleased to see the Trump Organization and its CFO indicted for tax fraud. Of course, I’m just one of the little people who dutifully pays her taxes, but it’s good to see cheaters held accountable. Everyone suffers when people don’t pay their share.
I had a good laugh over Trump’s comments at the Florida rally about not paying taxes on fringe benefits and asking whether you had to. “Does anyone know the answer to that stuff?” he asked. Um, yes, we do know, and presumably, he does, too. If your employer gives you a $100 gift card, they take taxes out, and you declare it as income. At least that’s the way it works for the little people.
Waiting for him to fall feels a little like all those old guys waiting for the Cubs to win the World Series. You hope it happens before you die.
Speaking of death, or avoidance thereof, last week was my annual oncology check-up, which I passed with flying colors.
Cancer number one was Stage 3, Grade 3 Primary Peritoneal Cancer (PPC) in 1999. This cancer is considered virtually identical to ovarian cancer, except it grows in the lining of the abdomen. To make things easy, I usually just say I had ovarian cancer.
Ovarian cancer is hard to detect. The CA-125 blood test is one tool, but it is not accurate, so it’s not used for routine screening. Coupled with a transvaginal ultrasound, it can be used as a screening tool for high-risk patients. I wasn’t considered high-risk when I was experiencing symptoms, and no one ever did a CA-125 on me prior to my diagnosis.
My CA-125 was elevated, which would have been a trigger for more tests. Presumably, they would have found my cancer a year or so earlier. But life can be interesting. By waiting another year, I landed with an exceptional doctor who successfully treated me for a disease than often kills its victims within a couple of years.
After two surgeries and six months of chemotherapy, I have been disease-free for 22 years and counting. The CA-125 has proven to be a good tool to monitor ovarian cancer once you’ve already had it. Ideally, it should be in the single digits. Mine has been 6 for many years now, and it was once again 6. Every time I see it, I tear up with gratefulness and relief.
This is my commercial interruption for ovarian cancer screening. If you are at increased risk, ask your doctor about a transvaginal ultrasound and CA-125. If a doctor suspects you have ovarian cancer or you need surgery related to ovarian cancer, see a board-certified gynecological oncologist. This is not a job for your favorite OB/GYN.
One of the reasons survival is not as good as it should be is because women aren’t being treated by the right specialist.
Cancer number two was non-invasive Ductal Carcinoma in Situ (DCIS). Some people don’t even think this qualifies as cancer, but my oncologist assures me it is. Lumpectomy and radiation is the typical treatment. However, I am BRCA 1 positive (like Angelina Jolie), and the risk of the cancer returning in a more virulent form is much higher for me.
My treatment was a mastectomy, which was presumably curative. Once a year, the oncologist examines my chest and lymph nodes, but that’s it.
While this week was a wee bit hot temperature-wise, nothing on the weather horizon looked dastardly. And yet … we lost power for 14 hours and internet for almost two days. I worried about refrigerated and frozen stuff, but in all honesty, living without the internet was harder.
The internet was still down when I decided to get a pedicure. Did I mention they have internet? I was able to catch up on my email, do the NY Times puzzles and otherwise get my fix of news – all for the Classic Pedicure at $35. I pay an extra $5 on top of that for a shiny buff as opposed to color. And then there’s what I call pandemic tipping. Just give a little more if you can.
I don’t get color on my toes because swimming in chlorinated water erodes the polish rather quickly. That’s what I said, anyway. I’ve recently concluded it’s also because I prefer the purity of no color. I think of it as Beauty Base Zero from The Hunger Games. That raw base before you add layers of makeup or whatever, except I like a blank canvas as the end state.
The toes thing is top of mind because I may not continue with swimming. I’ve been estrogen-free since my first cancer diagnosis in 1999, and that puts me at higher risk for low bone density and osteoporosis. Swimming is not a weight-bearing exercise, so it doesn’t help in that department. However, I figured it was good for my back and I enjoy it, so I’ve continued with swimming.
The back is another story. I had an MRI a few years ago, and it showed a variety of age-related degeneration, mostly in the lumbar area. One doctor said I’d need surgery eventually, and another said just about everyone’s back looks like that once you reach a certain age. My back rarely hurts, so I’ve chosen to ignore it.
Except it has been acting up lately, and I wonder if swimming is contributing to the problem. I suppose it could be something about my swim stroke that is off, but can I fix that at this age? For an exercise that doesn’t help with bone density? I’ve stopped swimming for a few weeks to see what happens. It does seem to be improving, but I can’t say for sure swimming is the problem.
I’m hoping some targeted exercises will fix me right up, so I made an appointment with my primary care physician so I could get an appointment with a specialist so I can get an appointment for an MRI so I can get an appointment for physical therapy.
In the meantime, I’m just muscling my way through it. Sometimes it feels like everything is going to shit. Golf and walking are fine (so far). Plenty of stretching, but even then, you have to be careful not to fix one thing only to mess up something else. I’m also careful not to take too much Advil, but I am eternally grateful for blue buddies.
Since the internet came back up, I’ve gorged myself on news and decided I didn’t miss much. Angry people everywhere. Jerks misbehaving on airplanes, the former guy raising his ugly head, Marjorie what’s-her-name saying or doing anything, guns, shootings. Not to mention a pandemic, which I regret to inform you is not over yet.
As all the spokespeople on TV are now keen to say, these are unprecedented times. The same people who are sending thoughts and prayers after some whack job shoots up a workplace.
More and more, I find refuge in my bubble of golf, art, food. I’m making fish tacos tonight and just finished a batch of homemade tortillas. In the picture, the tortillas are still a little blonde, but they’ll get a good char when I make the tacos.
As I was finishing up, Dale moaned, “God, I love that smell.”
An old John Deere wagon overlooking the Zinfandel vineyard.
Understanding your limitations
When it comes to competition, some people rise to the occasion and perform their best. Others don’t. I’m among those who typically choke if you tell me there’s a prize involved.
I play in a weekly golf league, but most of the time it’s low stakes and quite manageable for someone like me, who does not embrace competitive sports. When I’m relaxed, I’m a pretty good golfer, but every now and then my league hosts a more formal tournament, and I can barely get through it.
The tournament ended yesterday, and I feel a huge sense of relief. I’m free again! Now, I can just play the game. Of course, more evolved humans can do that anyway, but I have some sort of blockage. When I first retired, I tried like the dickens to enjoy organized golf events, but for the most part, I prefer life in the slow lane.
To spare myself the drama, I may just opt out in the future. Let others scramble for the title while I enjoy a relaxing game of no-stakes golf with people who like to play their best but don’t care about winning or losing.
I view this as a retirement success story. Seek to understand your strengths and limitations and course correct as you go. Eliminate what isn’t useful or pleasant.
Camping
Speaking of the slow lane, Dale and I enjoy tent camping, but more than a year of hibernation put the kibosh on that. Now that we’re fully vaccinated and the range of possibilities is broadening, we decided to go for it. The only thing is, it’s really, really difficult to get a camping reservation in California during normal times, and now everyone has discovered the great outdoors. Places like Yosemite and Lake Tahoe are almost impossible.
Some people are willing to drive five hours for a first-come, first-served campsite. That would not be us. And that is why I spent the better part of a week tackling the reservation system, which includes ReserveAmerica.com, Recreation.gov, ReserveCalifornia.com and a cornucopia of sites managed by individual counties.
I should have started this in January, but I was pretty busy not doing much of anything. Despite being late to need, I finally got one reservation for a Sonoma County beach campground toward the end of June. In July, we’ll be going to Lassen Volcanic National Park. We may have the worst sites in the campgrounds. I don’t know, and I don’t care. We have reservations!
While I may sound like a tough outdoors girl what with tent camping and all, I do not leave the tent at night. We have a great tent with a little screened room attached to the sleeping area, and this is where I store my Luggable Loo. Because even tough girls have to pee.
My low-tech fitness tracker
My low-tech fitness tracker.
Although I avoid competitive sports, I love exercise in general and consider fitness part of my retirement lifestyle. The problem is I found myself doing too much of some things and not enough of others. With some activities, you need to do them at least twice a week to gain any benefit.
I finally made up these little cards to help me see what’s on track and what isn’t. I just started it this week, so we’ll see how well it works. I mean, it’s Thursday, and I can already see some big gaps!
I’m only documenting fitness-related stuff I need to do regularly to maintain some level of proficiency. Some activities are scheduled in advance, and the rest are as the mood strikes me. I don’t like a strict regimen.
My goal for golf practice is only once per week, but for everything else, I’m shooting for 2-3 times per week. The “R” under swimming means I have a lane reservation. I mark the box with an X after I’ve completed the activity. Weights are usually the first thing to slip, so this cheat sheet helps me stay committed.
Wine Tasting
Today was a lazy day, so Dale and I went to a winery. We live adjacent to Amador County, which produces amazing wines just as delicious as those from Napa and Sonoma. And a lot less expensive! They charge $5 for a tasting and deduct that if you purchase bottles, which we almost always do.
This area specializes in the lighter reds – Zinfandel, Barbera, Sangiovese, Primitivo, Tempranillo, Petit Syrah and a variety of house blends. The venues are typically gorgeous, and it makes us all the more grateful to live here.
While we were tasting, Dale spotted the old John Deere wagon facing the Zinfandel vineyard. Kind of cool.
The person who poured our wine asked what we had planned for the rest of the day. I said, oh, not much. Dinner?
I love retirement and the slowness of it all, so we’ll have to see whether my fitness tracker helps or hurts. Surely, we can accomplish a few things without becoming a slave to the schedule. Right?
The CDC now says vaccinated people in the U.S. can go maskless indoors or out. States and retailers are still determining how that plays out on a local level, but it comes down to this. You don’t know who’s vaccinated and who’s not, so what we have here is the honor system.
Good luck with that.
Mostly everything I know is wrong, but if I’ve learned anything over the past few years it’s this. A big chunk of my fellow Americans, perhaps as many as 70 million of them, are delusional. I do not have confidence people will do the right thing.
In the words of the dB’s, “You better wake up, wake up, wake up. That time is gone.”
How to process? On one hand, I am fully vaccinated and well-protected against getting sick or dying from the virus. However, I am more risk averse than some. We still haven’t been out to eat. But let’s assume I’m reasonably safe and can go anywhere, do anything.
The vaccine works, so I should be good. If unvaccinated people want to cheat the system and go maskless, what’s it to me? Let them mingle and infect each other. Darwinism at work.
But part of me thinks, OK, if enough of them get sick, that gives the virus more time to grow and prosper. More opportunities for variants to emerge. Possibly less protection for the rest of us and probably more time in the pandemic zone.
One has to assume the CDC has thought through all this and is willing to take a chance. Maybe this is the “one big thing” it will take to get more people vaccinated. Or it’s a ruse so we can pretend this is over and party like it’s 1999. And here’s a crazy thought: What if this really is the science, and we just have to believe?
Dale and I will stay the course, wearing masks to shop indoors but loosening up on other activities, because, after all, that vaccine counts for something. Life goes on. We made a pact we will go out to eat this week, but we’ll dine outside. We’re thinking about a road trip.
As a 22-year ovarian cancer survivor and six-year breast cancer survivor, I take illness and death seriously. But I also recognize you can’t allow yourself to wallow in the unknown, which we all understand you can’t control anyway.
Enjoying life – and enjoying retirement – means we have to accept risk and reality and find our safe and happy place somewhere in the middle.
I started swimming again now that I’m fully vaccinated. A little stiff in my behind, but I take that as a sign it’s good exercise, so I’m glad I’ve resumed. I still don’t use the locker room, instead sliding off my wet swimsuit from under the canopy of a swim poncho. I’m sure the whole thing looks pretty weird to someone who might be observing.
By the way, those are swim shorts drying on the rack. Best invention ever.
This is a busy week on the tour, as Dale calls my golf schedule. I’m playing Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday! I usually don’t do that, but the weather is getting nice, and that makes the game so much more fun.
I’m still only playing courses I can easily walk. I prefer to walk anyway, but the cart policies aren’t consistent. Sometimes they have one person per cart, but other times they run out and hang a piece of plastic between the seats. No, thank you.
Most of my playing partners are also older and fully vaccinated, so I’m more comfortable chatting a bit during the game. And there might even be a beer outside afterward!
Scratch-made or store-bought?
When I start to goof off more, there’s a direct hit to our food supply. We routinely make a lot of “staples” from scratch, and all that takes time. Some foods are what I call situational. Depending on the day, the dish or whatever – we might make them from scratch, but we might use store-bought as well.
The situational list … sometimes scratch-made and sometimes store-bought … is long. The list includes chicken stock, beef stock, tortillas, bread, English muffins, naan, pasta, salad dressing, mayonnaise and barbeque sauce. Additionally, Dale makes pizza from scratch nearly every Friday, but occasionally we will order out.
I was rather surprised by the list of so-called staples we always make at home and never purchase from a store. We don’t do it to save money. It’s mostly about the purity of ingredients and taste. We pretty much ate this way pre-retirement, but it’s a whole lot easier to manage the cooking schedule without that pesky job getting in the way of progress.
And there’s always the art of compromise. I used to make my own yogurt, but my failure rate was high, and I was wasting ingredients. I buy yogurt now, but I select plain to avoid the added sugar. We always use dried beans for refried beans and most other dishes, but we sometimes use canned beans for quick-cooking soups, stews or casseroles.
In the spirit of sharing, here’s the never store-bought list:
Cookies
I’m sure someone is saying, oh, really? You never buy cookies? We don’t. We really don’t. Waste o’ calories, in my opinion. I have three go-to cookie recipes, and I keep a rotation of them in the freezer.
Salsa
Dale makes three kinds of salsa – green chile, jalapeño and scorpion pepper. As you might guess, store-bought isn’t zingy enough for us.
Spaghetti Sauce
We do buy canned tomatoes, but they are used to make sauces from scratch. A simple sauté of carrots, onions, garlic and tomatoes makes a wonderful pasta sauce.
Enchilada Sauce
Dale makes chile sauce from dried Ancho peppers, garlic, onion, etc. We freeze it in small tubs and use it mostly for huevos rancheros and enchiladas.
Breakfast Cereal
Although I love the taste of packaged cereal, it’s mostly packaged junk. I refuse to eat it and make my own granola instead.
Soup
I always have several pint containers of homemade soup in the freezer.
Pie Crust
Mine is not always perfect, but it’s always delicious, and I can’t imagine buying it pre-made from the store. This includes pastry crust, as well as graham cracker crust.
Guacamole
Easiest thing ever to make. I only learned this year to put a just-ripe-enough avocado in the refrigerator, where it hangs on way longer than you could imagine.
Hummus
I like to cook a pound of dried chickpeas and freeze them in small containers (in their liquid) to use in dishes like hummus and chana masala. I’ve eaten and enjoyed store-bought hummus, but I have never purchased it myself.
Pesto
Another easy pasta sauce. All you need is a bunch of fresh basil, pine nuts, garlic, parmesan cheese and olive oil. Whiz in the food processor.
Croutons
We keep leftover French bread in the freezer. Defrost, cut in cubes, toss with butter or olive oil, season with salt and bake in the oven until crisp. I make them on demand when we have Caesar salads, so I’ve never tried re-freezing them or storing them long-term.
Scones
I always have homemade scones in the freezer. Current supply includes cranberry and raspberry.
Rotisserie Chicken
I don’t recall ever buying one. Dale roasts a whole chicken in the oven. I prefer it to fried chicken. I also love the leftovers. I just froze four servings of chicken enchiladas made from leftover roast chicken, homemade tortillas and homemade enchilada sauce.
We passed our post-vaccination 10-day waiting period and are now vaxed to the max. My first foray into the “fully vaccinated” zone was quite lovely, although my next attempt fell short. Here’s what happened.
Although I’ve played golf throughout the pandemic, I’ve been quite cautious and have avoided certain events where it was assumed we would get together afterward. I was not comfortable getting too close to people, indoors or outdoors.
One group I play with is particularly social, and I have avoided them for the past year. But I found myself missing the fun and signed up to play in an event now that I’m somewhat immune. It was cold in the morning, but by the time we finished, it was sunny and delightfully warm.
The course had an outdoor patio, where everyone gathered. Some were socially distant, some were not. I purchased a beer and sat down near the hub of activity but far enough away to feel at ease. I took off my mask, and there in the soothing sun I sat, sipping and chatting and feeling pretty damned happy.
I think this was the first face-to-face conversation I’ve had with anyone other than Dale in over a year. Such a simple pleasure!
On the way home, the radio played in order:
The End (The Doors)
Truckin’ (Grateful Dead)
White Rabbit (Jefferson Airplane)
Great music kind of put me in the mood to party. We’ll have to wait and see how that unfolds. I’m not sure I remember how to party. But I do feel optimistic that Dale and I can enjoy a wider variety of activities without putting ourselves at undue risk. However, I’ll go out on a limb and share my prediction.
By and large, Americans are done with lockdowns, and they’ve told themselves this is over. Many are going to behave with wild abandon and COVID, in some form or fashion, will be persistent for another year. And yet there’s a chance enough people have either had the virus or the vaccine, and we’ll turn this ship around. We can only hope.
My next thought was a return to swimming. My three-year-old swimsuits are a bit saggy from wear and tear, so I thought it would be fun to go to Target and see what they have. I masked up and headed out. I have been to Target only once during the pandemic, and that was to buy kitty litter, which I later learned could be delivered to my door.
I collected a handful of cute suits and made a beeline for the fitting room. It looked like a crime scene, as in all taped up and not open for business. I stood there for a few minutes, just staring at the empty space, kind of in shock. The possibility of the fitting rooms being closed had never occurred to me. I turned around and drove home.
As it turns out, my sister-in-law had the same experience, and she said even if you buy a swimsuit to try on at home, you can’t return it. So, I’m back to Amazon. Free shipping both ways.
Next in the queue are haircut, dentist and dermatologist. We have some home improvements on the list, but we’re going to wait a bit and see how the virus behaves before we commit to having anyone in our home.
Oh, and last week marked 22 years since I was diagnosed with Stage 3 ovarian cancer. I’m in a small club of lucky long-term survivors, and no matter what happens, pandemic or no pandemic, I will be forever grateful for my good fortune.
You can read more about my experience in this post from a couple of years ago.
