Health & Wellness – Page 7 – Retirement Confidential

Sleep medicine

I haven’t been sleeping well, but it’s looking like all I needed was a medicinal dose of Trump’s tax returns. After the big reveal in the New York Times yesterday, I got mad, but then I got happy, and then I went to bed and slept like a rock.

As Gloria Steinem said, “The truth will set you free. But first it will piss you off.”

We celebrated truth and potentially justice this morning with Dale’s amazing breakfast sandwiches: pan-seared sausage patties with melted cheddar cheese on toasted English muffins. I like a little Dijon mustard on mine. Dale goes for the yellow.

Just so you know, Dale did ask first if I was up for these tasty treats, because on occasion I have accused him of trying to kill me. But that’s all in the past. You know, those dark days when clean arteries were a higher priority. Today, there was no hesitation in my response, which was, hell, yes.

The patties were sizzling when I noticed the trash smelled funny, so I said I’d take it out. Dale said, oh, no, that’s OK, I’ll get it. I’m like, not a problem. Happy to do it. I took out the stinky trash, and he put in a clean bag.

More coffee?

Please!

Your breakfast is ready!

Thank you!

Here, you can have the front section of the newspaper.

Oh, look, more about those pesky taxes.

You look cute this morning …

Maybe I slept so long I woke up in the wrong household. This place is peaceful. The people are rested and happy. Optimistic. Is this what life could be like in the future?

I have blamed the news for keeping me up at night, but in this case, a bit of investigative journalism was the best sleep medicine I’ve had since, oh, I don’t know. 2016? November, I think.

Vaccine-related unpleasantness

There’s a bit of vaccine-related unpleasantness going around. Trump, who is not a doctor but plays one on TV, is at odds with medical experts about the COVID vaccine. When will it be ready, who will get it and will it work? Is a mask just as effective? Should we just stay home and wait to die?

I’ve had my own encounter with vaccine-related unpleasantness, but it’s just a coincidence. Usually I get fever and chills the night after my annual flu shot. When whoever was administering the shot asked if I had ever had an adverse reaction, I would say yes and explain. A few years ago, a nurse said that’s not an adverse reaction or a side effect.

The nurse failed to pony up a name for it, but she suggested I premedicate with Tylenol 48 hours prior, and since then, I have not had what we’ll call vaccine-related unpleasantness.

Until this week. One thing I learned through my flu shot ordeal is to keep my mouth shut. Never complain, never explain. This year, I premedicated as usual, but seeing as how I am now 65, I got the jumbotron dose.

I guess because of all the vitamin T percolating through my system, the fever and chills took longer to kick in, and it wasn’t as bad. Just a few hours of unpleasantness.

Still, kind of a drag for something that supposedly doesn’t exist. Gee, that sounds like COVID. Again, just a coincidence.

People who MENSTRUATE

I started Troubled Blood, the new Cormoran Strike novel by J.K. Rowling writing under the pseudonym Robert Galbraith. This is the fifth, and I’ve read them in order, as any good anally retentive reader would do.

While I like it a lot so far, I am wondering about the title, considering the current media buzz regarding the author, and well, blood.

It would seem Rowling is in a bit of a row with the trans community. She doesn’t believe you get to decide whether you are male or female. Something about the definition of a woman being “people who menstruate.” Seriously, this is not a fight worth picking.

As for me, I believe menstruation sucks and am glad to be done with it. Periods and disabling cramps brought me no joy. I never pulled out a bloody tampon and blissfully sighed, “Thank God, I’m a woman.”

I certainly don’t want monthly bleeding to be my legacy.

Here lies Donna, a proud woman who bled like a pig.

Art

The image above is my latest piece of woodburning art. I find great pleasure and a certain sense of peace in transforming trash wood into something unique.

Just keep going

I hope this doesn’t come across as preachy, but I was feeling sorry for myself and thinking about how much all this sucks, when I took a moment to reflect on my first cancer experience. Like many others with cancer on their resume, I gained perspective the hard way. Perhaps there’s a nugget here that will resonate with you.

The year was 1999. I was 43 years old. I had outpatient surgery in March – an attempt to figure out what was wrong with me. That’s when they discovered I had an unusual form of ovarian cancer that forms in the lining of the abdomen.

Lots of doctor appointments, lots of tests, lots of unknowns and lots of fear. The big surgery was in April. I learned it was Stage 3, Grade 3. The survival statistics were terrible – about a 30 percent chance of living five years.

I went home to recover and prepare for chemotherapy.

The treatment was basically six months of intravenous chemotherapy, which I think I finished toward the end of August. I fared pretty well through the ordeal, but it was no pleasure cruise. Then I had to recover enough from the chemotherapy to face another surgery in October. Although all signs indicated the cancer was gone, it has a high recurrence rate, and the doctor wanted to do what is called a second-look.

They go in and biopsy the crap out of everything. If all is clear, you’re done with chemo. If they find microscopic cancer, you get more chemo. I had no evidence of disease and have been fine ever since, except for breast cancer in 2015.

For the first two years after treatment in 1999, I went to the doctor every two months for a check-up. That included a pelvic exam, blood tests and sometimes a CT scan of the abdomen. After two years, I graduated to every six months, and that went on for three years. After five years, I started going once a year, which I still do, although now it’s just a blood test and a howdy-do.

After every appointment ending with an all-clear, I’d think, another two months to live! Another six months to live! Another year to live! It was kind of a joke, but life was what happened between appointments.

I wanted to share this because it made me feel better about life’s most recent curve balls. We’re what? Six months in? I know it’s not the same. My illness didn’t impact the world or the economy or anyone’s job. As I was recovering, I could go to restaurants and parties and otherwise lead a normal life. I was lucky.

Still, statistically speaking, the odds were against me. I could cocoon myself in a bubble, but the very real threat of getting sick and dying was with me for years, no matter what I did. I learned to live with ambiguity, and I just kept going. I’m certainly not alone. Somebody reading this or someone you know is living with a life-threatening illness or a deep personal tragedy, and yet they just keep going.

Maybe that’s it in terms of the message here. Just keep going. And this might be a cop-out, but I try not to think too much about the big picture. It’s too big. There are smarter and stronger people who can take on the world, but when the shit hits the fan, I do better by focusing on small things that make me happy.

It’s like I’ve been saying all along. Simple pleasures. I don’t know any other way to get through this.

No place like home?

Crazy hair

Dale hasn’t had a decent haircut in months, but then neither have I. He feared he was starting to look like Ted Kaczynski (the Unabomber). The closest comparison for me would be Saruman. Quite the pair we are. It sounds like the beginning of a joke. The Unabomber and Saruman walk into a bar …

I’ve gone after Dale’s hair a couple of times with the beard trimmer, but it was not the right tool for the job. I finally caved and purchased a real hair trimmer on Amazon.

Wow – what an amazing tool! I cut his hair this morning, and it looks fantastic. He normally likes a #3 at the barber shop, but I started out with a #4 to be on the safe side. At just under $50, we’ll recoup our investment in no time.

The comparison to Ted is interesting. When we lived in Texas, we visited Big Bend National Park and took a side trip to Terlingua, a quirky ghost town. According to local lore, Ted’s brother, David, the normal one, lived in a hand-dug hole in the ground for a couple of years while he built his cabin nearby.

I’m not sure what David is up to these days, but Ted is in prison, and it looks like he’s getting regular haircuts.

let her eat cake

Dale’s off to order my birthday cake. My birthday is Sunday, but I requested a Saturday pick-up. Extra points if you can guess why. My sister got it in 2.5 seconds …

So, I can eat it for breakfast Sunday morning! Duh.

I have a picture of last year’s cake and asked if he wanted me to text it to him so he’d have a visual aid. He’s like, I think I got this. White cake, white buttercream frosting, puffy 3-D roses, as in not flat, but absolutely no red. You’d be amazed how a simple cake order can go wrong, but all that’s in the past.

Rewarding Disloyalty

Michael Cohen’s book, Disloyal, comes out today. I don’t expect many new revelations, but I’m getting it just the same. Partly because I want to reward Cohen for being disloyal to Trump and partly because I keep thinking there’s a tipping point, and maybe just one more book or one more article will do the job and boot the man out of our lives forever.

Where to go when the volcano blows

I had a brief driveway conversation with my neighbor, who also despises Trump. Fully masked and well over six feet apart, we were wondering where we can go if he is reelected. I don’t think Canada or New Zealand will take us. Too old, not enough money.

Then we started talking about the pandemic, the fires. I said Dale has started to call me a fair-weather Californian. I love this state, but I do confess … lately I’ve been wondering if it’s worth it. Dale pointed out no place feels worth it right now, and of course, he’s right. And no matter where you go, there’s some sort of natural disaster looming. Nothing is perfect.

We’re actually in a pretty good place in terms of risk. Out of the city but not in the woods. Reasonable cost of living by California standards. Lower risk of flooding and earthquakes than many areas around here.

My neighbor said a house down the street sold for a high asking price in one day. I asked who was buying. She said Bay Area people who can now work from home – they can get a lot of house for their money here in the outer reaches of the Sacramento suburbs as opposed to San Francisco.

It sounds tempting to sell, but where would we go? This is our home, and we’re here for the long haul. I put a lot of time into researching retirement locations, and even with all that’s going on, Dale and I are both happy with where we live.

In closing, I’ll leave you with my new email signature. You heard it here first!

Stay safe, and vote once.

Hoarding unflavored gelatin

Unflavored Gelatin Shortage?

Toilet paper, hand sanitizer, disinfectant wipes and other commodities that were off the radar for awhile seem to be back in stock, but have you looked for unflavored gelatin? I couldn’t find it online or in any store I visited. I did a Google search and found some food message boards with people asking if anyone else has noticed a shortage of unflavored gelatin.

I use unflavored gelatin to make marshmallows or occasionally something like a salmon mousse. I like to have some in the pantry, and I was completely out. After a couple of weeks, our local store had a box – but it was a 32-pack.

Bought it. It felt sort of like hoarding, but marshmallows can’t be silenced.

Although I don’t know what the issue is, in some ways, the 32-pack seems like a pretty slick marketing move.

Convince people there’s a shortage. No more of the little orange boxes to be found. Then introduce the jumbo supply of unflavored gelatin, and your sales immediately increase. I’m no marketing expert, but even I can see the flaws in this theory. The jumbo box is actually a lifetime supply, so when the surge is over, it’s over.

All that to say, I see marshmallows in my future.

Cannabis Kitty

In other serious matters, my cat has discovered marijuana. I have a small plant growing indoors, and all of the sudden, he was like, gee, I wonder what that is? Riley likes to sit on the window ledge and chomp on the leaves. He does not seem worse for the wear.

I researched it, and it seems lots of cats like to chew on the leaves. But they aren’t getting high, because the THC has not been activated by heat, and the leaves are pretty benign to begin with. I’m trying not to stress about it.

Welcome to Medicare

I’m officially on Medicare! I will turn 65 later this month, but Medicare went into effect today. I mentioned it to Dale when I got in the car with him to run an errand, and I said, “Don’t make me have to use it.” We have serious differences about how to drive and how to park.

But we do agree politically, so at least it’s not like living in the Conway family (of Kellyanne and George fame). I think I’d have to run away from home.

Anyway, the premiums are either deducted from your Social Security or paid quarterly. Unless something changes, I don’t plan on taking Social Security until my full retirement age, which is 66 and two months. I made my first quarterly payment.

I didn’t know this at first, and you might not either, but some of us pay more for Medicare than others, because they base it on your income taxes. My company paid out some long-term incentives that increased our income for two years after I retired, resulting in a higher Medicare premium.

Our income is back to retirement normal now, so the system should catch up and reduce our premiums within a couple of years. We file jointly, and Dale’s are higher, too, but he doesn’t notice, since it’s deducted from his Social Security.

This will also be the first year of getting the super-sized flu shot for those 65 and older. Yet another exciting milestone! I guess I’ll wait until late September or early October so it will last the whole season.

Cognitive tests for dummies

Cognitive tests

I’m no fan, but I’d like to thank President Trump for talking about the results of his cognitive test. Now I know you have to count backward from 100 by 7s, and I know I must avoid taking this test or I can say bye-bye car keys. The truth is, I can’t count forward to 100 by 7s.

Let’s call it a learning disability, but I struggle with math. In school, I barely got through algebra, and geometry was next in line to feast on the remains of my carcass. High school geometry was like going to class where everyone was speaking in tongues. I remember sitting there, dizzy with confusion, thinking, “Oh, fuck.”

I got into college anyway. That’s why God invented the journalism major.

Even today, I often use my fingers for simple addition. Dale calls it the digital calculator. As for cognitive tests, he suggested I apply for an accommodation. While other people have service animals, I would ask to bring my service calculator.

Although my earlier idea for a service cat didn’t work out, I’m willing to give the calculator a try. I’m already thinking about a name. A little vest.

COVID update

The COVID-19 numbers in our county are going up. Dale and I huddled this morning to reassess our situation and discuss course corrections. After a robust discussion, we concluded we’re already being quite prudent and are not making any changes at this time. That means we will continue to go to the grocery store as needed, and I will continue to play golf.

In a lot of ways, this is easier for us, because the closest family member is several hundred miles away, and we haven’t made any close friends since we moved here when I retired. This is pretty much how we lived before the pandemic.

We decided to stock up on a few essentials – mostly paper goods – but to otherwise avoid purchasing a lot of extra food. We have two refrigerators and a well-stocked chest freezer, so we feel good about our options. We’re also flexible about what we eat – if they are out of one thing, then we’ll have something else.

Pandemic hobbies for foodies

When I think about food, I am so grateful neither one of us is a picky eater. I can’t imagine how people arrive at conclusions about common foods they will and won’t eat. But then I’m in recovery. I was picky as a child but eventually grew out of it. Although I like some liver, about the only thing I won’t eat are entrails and internal organs. Just because it grosses me out.

We cook a lot of Mexican food, so we stock a hearty supply of dried beans – pinto and black. I recently concluded we are in a rut, relying on the standards we’ve made for years … tacos, burritos, tostadas. In wild pandemic craziness, I reorganized the cookbooks, and for the most part, lumped like-cuisines together. Oversized books have a special shelf and are in no particular order.

I found 14 cookbooks dedicated to Mexican food! I started going through them to learn more about the full scope of the food from Mexico and to see what we might have overlooked the first time around. It’s a fun pandemic hobby … if you’re a foodie. The first book I tackled was “The Cuisines of Mexico” by Diana Kennedy. It was published in 1972.

She writes about certain foods being nearly impossible to find in the U.S. – tomatillos, fresh tortillas. She even said Monterey Jack cheese was hard to find in some parts of the country. I remember buying cilantro for the first time at a Korean market in the early 70s, and it came in a pot. Of course, now it’s everywhere. When we lived in Germany the first time, we bought tortillas in a can. We are so fortunate these days to have such a wide variety of foods readily available.

There’s a new documentary out about Diana Kennedy, who is 97. I haven’t seen it yet, but in the reviews, some question her legacy – a privileged white woman who became a so-called expert on Mexican cuisine? Others beat her up for being so puritanical about her version of authenticity. Still, she gets grudging respect as someone who did her research and earned her stripes.

I owe her one for teaching me to make tortillas. It’s the gift that keeps on giving.

How to be happy inside

A scrap of wood I burned … adding color afterward.

There are four things that get me out of the house these days – golf, walking, swimming in an outdoor pool and grocery shopping. I approach all with caution to reduce my risk. I see the first three as low-risk, at least the way I do it. The grocery store can be riskier, but I feel good about our approach.

We don’t do big weekly shopping excursions. Dale goes to the military commissary once or twice a month for the basics, and we supplement that with what I call “precision strikes” at the local grocery store. We might go for three or four things. We know what we want and where it is, entering the store like masked commandos to seek our targets, avoiding other customers like the plague (or COVID-19).

We are in and out in 10 or 15 minutes. Hand san after. Wash hands thoroughly when we get home. Throw masks into the washing machine. While everything carries risk, we feel reasonably safe going to the store. As for restaurants, movies, salons – anywhere you have to hang around inside for an extended length of time – we’re just not going there.

We never did it much anyway. Both of us have multiple interests that keep us amused at home. If our current approach to managing risk keeps us safe and healthy, we could easily ride this out for as long as it takes.

Those of you who are more sociable are probably having a harder time. I understand. And although I try hard to avoid preaching about anything from my bloggy pulpit, I do encourage everyone to broaden their range of solitary interests. Learn to create. For me, it has been life-changing.

In the past, most of my hobbies were sports-related. I guess they still are, but since I retired, I filled in the gaps with other creative pursuits … art, cooking and growing cannabis.

I’ve never even dabbled at visual arts, but I took a mask-making class and then started experimenting with stone coasters. I liked it a lot, but coasters didn’t feel like anything I would want to sustain over a lifetime. The idea of making something useful appealed to me at first. That’s a symptom of my practical nature.

But with more leisure time and the freedom to think about something other than work, my brain began to wander. Maybe I am not practical by nature. Maybe I just adapted to survive. It’s not like a switch went off. I would say it was more like the slow turning of a dimmer that gradually illuminated the space in my brain. I began to appreciate the idea of art for art’s sake.

At some point, I decided to scavenge my neighbor’s discarded wood. It sat in the garage for a year while I mused about what I could do with it. I do not know what made me decide to start burning wood. But I did some research and bought an inexpensive beginner’s tool. I just finished my third piece. I’m still a complete novice, so it’s probably too soon to say this, but I might have found my artistic calling.

In my fantasy world, I would become good enough at wood-burned art projects so people would want my stuff. Then I could start an Etsy shop or something like that and donate 100 percent of the profits or proceeds to charity.

While I had a good job and am exceedingly grateful to have earned enough for a comfortable retirement, it came at the expense of exploring a more personal journey of expression. Some days it does feel like the end of the world as we know it, but nurturing my creativity keeps me happy inside and excited about life.

Retirement, even during a pandemic, can be an unbelievable opportunity to pursue nothing – and that is everything.

After the fire, the flowers bloom

Although our garden tomatoes are in abundance and quite luscious, we also like the heirlooms from a favorite vendor at the farmer’s market. It’s supposed to be 100 degrees here today, so we headed out early in hopes that we could be back in time to walk/run before the heat kicks in.

I’m wearing what I call desert chic with mask. It’s all about the fashion statement. Oh, for those of you who may be new to the blog, yes, it’s true I don’t have breasts. I had a mastectomy without reconstruction and am living the flat and fabulous lifestyle.

Anyway, we wanted a stash of tomatoes for a tomato pie I make with cheddar cheese, basil and a biscuit crust. But as we were getting into the car, I said, “I don’t have to make tomato pie. We could do Greek salads again, if you’d rather.” Dale said nothing.

Did you hear me?

Yes.

Well, what do you think?

Yeah, that sounds good.

Seriously! That is not a response. This is a binary choice, Dale.

Oh, you!

I may as well be saying blah, blah, blah, and you’re like, yeah, that sounds good.

We both started laughing, which is a form of grace these days. Then we decided we could actually do both. I made a command decision and said, OK, we’ll do the pie tonight and the salad later in the week. He makes bread for that, so the ball is in his court.

As they say on TV, during these unprecedented times …

Sane and crazy

Sane: I saw some people at the neighborhood park having a socially distant get together. Each chair had a balloon tied to it – I guess as an easy way to keep them six feet apart. Or maybe just for the party effect. Such a simple little gathering, but it made me happy.

Crazy: Our county numbers are still pretty good in comparison to the rest of California, but the whack jobs driving up to South Lake Tahoe to party are making it harder for everyone. An article in this morning’s newspaper quoted a visitor who said, “Everybody seems to be pretty healthy, so I don’t have a concern.”

I can’t even speak to that.

Woodburning

I’m continuing to work on my woodburning projects. It’s quite therapeutic. When I wrote my first post about it, Bobi shared a comment that it reminded her of Zentangle. I checked that out, and it’s pretty cool stuff. I might take a class someday. In the meantime, I’ve been looking at lots of Zentangle images to give me ideas.

The biggest difference is that Zentangle is on paper, which is a perfect surface. I’m using recovered wood and burning it. Although I’m a novice woodburner, I think it’s safe to say wood does what it wants. Sometimes you just can’t get a smooth line. The tool hits snags and resistance.

Just like us! That’s one of the reasons I like burning wood.

I have noticed a big difference between the pallet scraps and a piece of teak scavenged from our neighbor’s bench that was damaged in a fire. Teak is smoother and burns cleaner. And the coloring is different, too.

Perfection is not my goal. In fact, the less perfect the better. The burned bench might be my favorite surface so far. It has a story, a history. I like hanging out in the garage, imagining the possibilities, listening to music and letting my mind run free.

Somehow, it gives me hope for the future. After the fire, the flowers bloom.

Syrup comes from trees

My seasonal allergies kicked in this week, resulting in post-nasal drip and a little cough, cough, and pretty soon you think, oh shit, this is it. However, I stayed inside for a day, drank a lot of water and my sinuses cleared up. Another bullet dodged.

I haven’t been within six feet of anyone except Dale. I always wear a mask and wash my hands fanatically, but still. This is scary stuff. As a bit of a hypochondriac, I decided to proceed with what I’m calling my early warning system. I ordered one of those pulse oximeters that measures your blood oxygen saturation levels. They say it’s a good way to catch a drop in blood oxygen levels, which can be a dangerous sign of COVID-19. Around $30.

We get a free newspaper we call the Village Idiot. I was reading it during breakfast this morning. They did man-on-the-street interviews, asking people what they were doing for the July 4^th holiday. One guy said he was going to the Bay Area. One person said she was going to Utah for a family reunion. I almost choked on my granola. Why not swing by South Dakota and swap a little spit at Mount Rushmore while you’re at it?

Another woman said she was having a barbecue. While Dale insisted it could be just cooking up ribs for her family, having a barbecue sounds like an event not a cooking technique. I just wonder if any of these people are paying attention.

We’re not going anywhere. It’s not exactly traditional fare for America’s Independence Day, but I’m making chana masala, which I would describe as chickpea curry. The base is onion masala. I made the base yesterday, and the fragrance was intoxicating. Onions, spices, garlic, ginger and tomatoes all stewed together in the Instant Pot. I gave Dale a little taste, and he said just give me a spoon and we’ll have that.

BTW … I don’t use canned chickpeas. They’re fine, but I like the taste of beans when they’re cooked from scratch. And they’re so easy! I add dried unsoaked chickpeas to the Instant Pot, add water to cover and cook at high pressure for an hour if I want them on the soft side. For more bite, maybe 45-50 minutes. Then I freeze them in the liquid. Perfect for homemade hummus and other dishes like chana masala.

The big experiment today will be naan, Indian flatbread. I’m excited to try it. We have a small outdoor pizza oven, a Roccbox, and I’m going to cook the bread in that.

Food is starting to seem like the last good thing left of civilization. Dale and I both love to cook, but I’ve definitely gone down the rabbit hole since the pandemic started. We weren’t big into restaurants anyway, but now that’s not even an option for us until maybe next year. Cooking has been my savior throughout all this. And the more I cook, the more I want to cook.

The pasta I made this week came out great. I learned it helps to let the rolled-out sheets of pasta dough dry a little before cutting it into noodles. To reward myself for such genius, I ordered a pasta drying rack. I’m eager to try ravioli, perhaps stuffed with butternut squash and topped with a browned butter sage sauce, but I want to do tubular pasta a few more times to ensure this week’s success wasn’t just a one off.

One downside of all this cooking is the urge to splurge on kitchen stuff. I try not to indulge unless I absolutely positively need it, but I have my eye on several items: a gratin pan, a ravioli mold, a tart pan with a removable bottom and a waffle maker.

The waffle maker is high on my list because when are we going to get those again? Besides, the last ones I had in a restaurant were disappointing. Oh, and when I asked the waiter if they had real maple syrup, the guy looked at me like I was a complete asshole and said, “Well, it didn’t come from a tree.”

We love our seniors

The Sunday paper featured a full-page ad celebrating seniors. I was like, wow, how’d they get my name?

Upon further reflection, I realized they meant graduating seniors. Not older folks like us. Bummer.

Don’t get me wrong. I love young people and can’t imagine how hard this year has been for them. Hell, yes, celebrate their achievements! No generational warfare from me.

While some may find retirees disposable, we make important contributions to the economy – contributions that help support everyone. Even without a job, we still pay income tax on the money we withdraw from our IRAs. If we own a home, we pay property taxes and fees associated with funding schools and other community assets. Even on a fixed-income, many of us support local food banks and other charitable causes.

Not to mention the many contributions retirees make by volunteering, sharing their knowledge, connecting with their families or just being cool, interesting people.

The economy needs us, but we need the economy to thrive, too. Not just for us, but also for all the young people who have miles to go in their journeys through life. I support careful re-opening as we learn to manage the risks associated with COVID-19. A vibrant economy is good for all of us, but that doesn’t mean older people have to be first ones in the pool.

Dale and I have loosened up a bit on grocery store visits – quick trips with masks and social distancing. Plenty of hand-washing afterward. I’m playing golf – outdoors wearing a mask when I use the restroom or anticipate a close encounter. No chit-chat. Plenty of hand-washing afterward.

No mass gatherings, no travel, no restaurants.

Some people have asked why I wear a mask. I have a new response that is working well. I say, “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m at higher risk than many.” I’m not even sure that’s true, but it stops almost everyone. Only one person asked why, and I said medical history. No more questions after that.

This article by Erin Bromage, Ph.D, of UMass Dartmouth, has been out there since May, but I keep returning to read it. Dale and I found it very helpful as we learn to navigate our new reality.

Category: Health & Wellness

Sleep medicine

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