Category: Current Events

Dining out after 786 days

I’ve had a jones for writing since I was a little kid. Some of it was about making my voice heard, putting my stake in the ground, as I grew up with parents who were mostly disengaged, and I had a hard time developing a strong sense of self. That, and because I was bad at math.

At 66, I believe I’ve finally let go of demons and old resentments and am happily enjoying my hard-earned retirement. If I can ignore the pandemic, politics and pandemic politics, life is good. And when things are good, the urge to write seems to fade. Just chill, I tell myself. The less said, the better.

Then I go down into this rabbit hole and think, well, I already suck at so many things, and I should only have to suck at one thing at a time. Maybe I should pull the plug on the blog.

And yet she persists. Why? Well, it’s kind of like the John Lee Hooker song, Boogie Chillen.

One night I was layin’ down

I heard mama and papa talkin’

I heard papa tell mama let that boy boogie-woogie

It’s in him and it got to come out

It’s in me, and it got to come out. I’ll continue to have some hits and misses along the way, but that seems to mirror just about everything else in life, doesn’t it? All things considered, I think it’s important for all of us to remember the entire journey is a practice run.

And so, we return to the stuff I try best to ignore. The pandemic, politics and pandemic politics.

I swim in a heated outdoor pool at a health club. The water is reasonably warm, but I’m always cold, so afterward I hop slide gently into the hot tub to warm up. Yesterday, there was another guy in there, about my age or a bit older, plenty of distance from me, but I could tell he was trying to figure out a way to start a conversation. I kept my mouth shut.

He finally asked if I was a marathon swimmer. That seemed innocuous enough. I said no, I only swim about 30 to 45 minutes a couple of times a week because physical activity helps me manage pain.

Dumb! Too much information. What about no, and then a full stop?

The pain comment set him off on his Marine Corps experiences, and it was a very dark conversation, indeed. I just listened. I finally said, well, maybe pain is like Covid, we have to learn to live with it.

That set him off on Covid and mask requirements. All I said was, seriously, masks are the least of my worries. He spewed something about the Bill of Rights, and I asked if he wore a seatbelt. He was a big guy, and suddenly he emerged from the hot tub like Shamu, said that was a ridiculous comparison and proceeded to socially distance himself into the locker room.

This is not my first unpleasant hot tub conversation. It’s like the Wild West in there. I do think there are a lot of angry people who were marginally managing their lives, and Covid blew up all their coping mechanisms. Now, all bets are off. I’ve got to learn to give one-word responses so I don’t end up engaging in these shenanigans.

As for living with Covid, for the first time since December 2020, Dale and I ate in a restaurant! We’ve talked about it but could never quite summon the strength. Dale tends to be non-committal, so after two-plus years of yeah, maybe, I finally said, “I’m going to have lunch out on Tuesday. Would you like to join me?”

It actually went uphill from there. He asked me to cut his hair beforehand. I got dolled up and wore real clothes. It’s an upscale restaurant, but I didn’t think Taco Bell would be a good dry run.

We had planned to eat outside, but it was cold and windy, so we reluctantly went inside. The atmosphere was lovely, and we had the dining area practically to ourselves. We each had a Bloody Mary, extra spicy, please, and we shared two appetizers – Kung Pao Calamari and Tuna Wonton Nachos.

With tip, it was $67.77. Not cheap, and you know I’m not good at math, but I counted 786 days of not eating out. Is that about 8 cents a day?

It was a nice outing, and now we are trying to develop a long-term strategy for living with this thing. We don’t want to get stupid just because Omicron is fading, but we need to be less risk-averse than we’ve been. How are you assessing risk?

Here’s some important retirement information. Understand your partner’s strengths and weaknesses and work with them. It would seem dropping ideas on Dale doesn’t work. I need to make specific plans and invite him to join me – I think Dale preferred it that way, at least I got a yes out of him, although he did suggest I was easy for coming home with him after the first date.

Spotify, I hardly knew you

I’ve only had a Spotify account for a few weeks, and already there’s trouble. Sadly, I used up my lifetime quota of moral outrage, so I thought I’d parse this out instead to see if there’s a middle ground.  

Neil Young was the first musician to pull his songs from Spotify in protest over Joe Rogan’s podcast, which I’m told spreads misinformation about COVID and accompanying vaccines. I would not know personally, because I do not listen to Joe Rogan.

Several other musicians backed Neil Young, and news reports said customers are canceling their accounts, whether it’s in solidarity with Neil Young or just because they don’t like Spotify anymore for various and sundry reasons.

I respect Neil Young’s position and have no gripe with his protest. It’s his music, sort of, because as it turns out, he apparently sold a chunk of his publishing rights in 2021, so I imagine his request to pull the music wasn’t as simple as all that. Anyway, as an artist, he definitely has a dog in this hunt, and his behavior is consistent with everything I know about Neil Young, who after all, wrote Ohio after the Kent State shootings.

Then there’s Joe Rogan. I had never even heard of him until all this blew up, and I’m glad I’ve kept to myself, a busy retiree thinking important sourdough thoughts.

They say he’s spreading misinformation. Yeah, well, take a number. Neil Young said the misinformation is killing people, and that might be true, but if listeners are basing life decisions on what Joe Rogan has to say, God help them.

A lot of us are like, fine, your choice if you go down that rabbit hole. Although I agree with Neil Young, I don’t think the world needs him to figure out who is dumb and who isn’t. However, people who won’t get vaccinated are making it even harder to get past the pandemic, and one could argue they are not just killing themselves, they are killing us.

Up to this point in the arguments, I’m kind of on the fence with regard to keep or cancel Spotify. Are they the good guys? The bad guys? Sure, they’re in it for the money, but who isn’t? It’s my contention no one – not Amazon, not Apple nor any other service you may care to peruse – can pass the purity test.

Just look at the junk that comes out of Fox. Can anyone shut them up? Are they screaming fire in a crowded theater? Dang, that pesky free speech thing is hard.

Whether it’s a television station, a bookstore, a music streaming service or home goods delivered straight to your door, there’s always the risk you will encounter shady business practices, vile content, unethical investments, deviant behavior and more. When you see it, you have to decide – is this my battle to fight?

As for Spotify, kudos to Neil Young, but I have decided this is not my battle. At least for now. Perhaps I can purchase moral outrage futures so I will be ready when the shit hits the fan, as we say in the Pekar household.

But for now I’m going to continue to ignore Joe Rogan and enjoy the music that makes me happy.

Your thoughts?

The Great Resignation

Have you been reading about The Great Resignation? Droves of people are quitting their jobs, much of it as a result of the pandemic. While lots of factors play into their decisions, including child care challenges, it sounds like workers have discovered the joys of a slower pace and aren’t going back until they find something with more balance.

You’ll notice I didn’t say work-life balance. In one job, I wrote talking points for the president of the company about his efforts to change the culture of the workplace. He asked me to “socialize” them with other executives, and one VP took issue with the term work-life balance. He said, and I quote, “Work is life.”

As for resigning, we get it, don’t we? One of the reasons I retired earlyish is because the rat race was wearing me out, too. But I was 62, and my husband and I had enough money saved to presumably last the rest of our lives. These are young people gambling with their futures … holding out until employers bend.

I’ve never understood why 40 hours a week isn’t enough. In my last job, you were expected to put in at least 50, preferably more. My boss had some sort of document readily accessible on her smartphone that could instantly tell her who was putting in the most unpaid overtime … and who wasn’t.

She would check on weekends to see if your Instant Messenger light was green, which usually meant you were online and working.

Granted, I was highly compensated, but my hourly rate was down there with fast food. Not really, but you like to think you’re paid more because you bring extra value, not because you are willing to give up having a life outside of work.

Fast food reminds me of a funny story.

We had just returned from working abroad, and I interviewed for a job at an insurance company in Columbia, S.C. They made an offer, and I countered.

I made more money than that at my last job working in Egypt.

Well, that was overseas. You can’t compare us to overseas.

I made more money than that when I lived in Alabama.

Well, that was aerospace. You can’t compare us to aerospace.

I accepted the job anyway, but when I later told the story to a coworker, he said his response would have been:

I made more money than that when I worked at Captain D’s.

Well, that was fast food. You can’t compare us to fast food.

That story still makes me laugh.

Anyway, I want the workers to find their bliss, but I can’t say I have much hope. I suspect they’ll enjoy some time off, run out of money and once again be at the mercy of the man.

It’s a tough predicament, and I have no love left for what’s become of the workplace, but I have some amazing memories and am still exceedingly grateful for all my experiences.

And the money. Oh, and retirement. Definitely retirement.

Another year to live!

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.

And so it goes. Another year to live!

Accepting risk and reality

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.

That seems doable.

Blissful disengagement

I’ve always been opinionated and have a well-documented history of wanting to be right and willing to prove it, but now I find myself deep in the ease of retirement, enjoying the simple pleasures of disengagement.

Every time I get a desire to weigh in on some burning issue, I think, “What good would come of that?” Sometimes I’ll say something anyway, and I almost always regret it. Lately, I’ve gotten better at saying less, and you know what? Life goes on.

For example … I saw a LinkedIn post about safety in the workplace. The author said, “Too often, safety is the privilege of a few – not a right enjoyed equitably by all.” Somebody commented there was no correlation between safety and privilege, and I was about to jump on it, explaining, for example, how women are not safe in the same situations (walking alone at night, a hotel room on the ground floor) where white male privilege somewhat shields them from the same fears.  

Then I asked myself that important question. What good would come of that? I stayed out of it, and when I went back later to see what transpired, that person’s comment had been deleted. Time marched on without my input.

Last week, I mentioned to a golf buddy that California was currently lowest in COVID cases in the continental United States. A full week later, he tracked me down in the parking lot to show me statistics he pulled up on his cell phone clearly showing California had the highest number of cases in the U.S.

OK. Got me, except I said currently not cumulative, but c-words are tricksy. And maybe I misread something. Who knows? I opted for the quick escape, “Oh, interesting, thanks!”

For a third example, I begrudgingly attended a golf rules clinic, because golf is all about the rules. I only want to know enough to avoid someone else giving me a bunch of crap because I did something wrong. However, in my infinite stupidity, I mentioned to another golf buddy that I attended a rules clinic.

He asked if I learned anything. I said, yes, lots, but it’s hard to remember them all. Oh, but sure, let me dig for an enticing tidbit.

Yay! Here it is! Fresh off the memory merry-go-round!

One surprising thing was about teeing your ball up in the teeing area. If you purposefully make a swing at the ball, and it dribbles off the tee but remains in the teeing area as defined by the rules of golf, you count the stroke, but you can still tee it up for your next shot.

No, that’s not true.

Well, I probably got it wrong. It was a lot to process. All I know for sure is there was a difference between if the ball stays in the teeing area or rolls out of the teeing area.

But you said you get to tee it up.

Yes, but I retracted that comment. Now I’m saying I don’t know.

That seemed to satisfy him, but when I got home, I looked it up. As it turns out, I was right, and I started to copy the rule and text it to him for his further edification. But what did I do instead? I asked myself a simple question. Say it with me.

What good would come of that?

Because I am not a rules expert and don’t aspire to be one. Why would I set myself up for that argument? My regret is bringing it up in the first place. And even if I were to make this mistake again, there’s still an exit strategy. When he asks me what I learned, I say, “You know, I can’t recall.” And then I laugh. We all laugh. Because the rules of golf suck.

The final reusable straw came this week over food. The website Epicurious will no longer post new recipes using beef because of the impact cows and beef consumption have on climate change. I started to go down the slippery slope of engagement, when I read through all the comments on the New York Times article.

As is often the case, there are more than two sides, and I can pretty much understand each perspective. But anything I might have said has already been said. Plus, not everyone is as genteel and reasoned as I, and the discourse can be quite snarky.

Who needs that? I know there are important issues that will sometimes demand I step up and take a stance. And I’ll do it. But most of the time, my presence is not required.

In the meantime, I’ll just kick back and work on improving my retirement skillset – blissful disengagement.

Motivation to get dressed

While I didn’t watch the inauguration, I read all about it afterward. I loved everything from the inaugural address and the music to the poetry and shed tears of joy and relief. I am filled with hope for our country. President Biden’s remarks made me want to be a better person.

But the inauguration was also the motivation I needed to get dressed.

Yes, in the midst of this most profound moment in our history, I found myself searching the internet for photos of the spectacular outfits. Well, the coats! The colors, the cuts. There was a time when I cared about fashion, but that seems like forever ago.

As the comedian Seth Meyers said, “So that’s what it feels like when you’re not grinding your teeth. I forgot, and I think – yeah, I can see colors again.”

Or as I might say, so that’s what it feels like when you’re not worrying about who has the nuclear codes. There’s room for lighthearted fare. On the fashion front, my favorite was Kamala’s camel coat. Even though there were brighter choices to admire, she had me at pleats.

I’ve mostly lived in warmer climates, so coats were not usually a fashion statement. I’d buy one multi-purpose coat and make do. Usually a neutral color. My favorite was a flowy coat I bought in Germany made with layers of olive cotton and corduroy. I actually have no idea how much it cost. I just knew I had enough Deutsche Marks in my wallet to buy it!

My go-to warm coat these days is a long black duster with a button-in lining that I bought years ago at Burlington Coat Factory. At one time I wanted a Burberry trench, but I could never find the single-breasted style I liked. I used to keep a picture of Jackie O’s as a reference.

Instead, I purchased a real Mackintosh raincoat that should last forever. Navy. Single-breasted. Simple and beautiful, but not quite as versatile as a trench.

Although I don’t need a dressy coat these days, I wear light jackets for casual outings and sports, or at least I did when there was such a thing as casual outings. Khaki, black, white or navy. My avoidance of bright colors goes back to my childhood of never having enough money. If you could only have one, you didn’t blow it on yellow.  

It has been nearly a year since I’ve worn anything more than what is required for groceries or exercise … leggings with pockets. Not even jeans. My hair gets mostly tied into a man-bun or topped with a hat.

As for the new administration, there will be missteps and disagreements, but knowing compassionate adults are in charge changes everything. I’m hopeful we can get to work on the tough issues our country faces, but at the same time, I feel lighter. Freer. Like I want to put on some real clothes and go somewhere. Maybe even fix my hair or buy something purple yellow camel.

Today is not yesterday

Cannabis tincture. Just a couple of drops from the dropper can ease anxiety.

Yesterday was a low point for me. Politics, pandemic, familial squabbles. I could feel my body and mind withdraw, and my only thought was enough is enough. And I say that as someone who has it easy.

This morning, I added a couple of drops of cannabis tincture to my orange juice. It’s so calming. A little miracle, really.

I make my own tincture, but if you live in a place where it’s legal, most dispensaries sell it. Mine is alcohol-based, so you have to mix it with something. Be careful not to overdo it. Go slow and start with just one or two drops, gradually increasing until you get the desired effect.

Most commercial tinctures are made with glycerin, so you put a drop under your tongue. Same advice about going slow. Either way, I highly recommend giving cannabis tincture a whirl. To me, it’s medicine.

My morning read includes an email newsletter called California Today from the New York Times, which I subscribe to. Today’s installment included an interview with a guy who has studied the far-right movement for many years. He said they’ve been around a long time and aren’t going away, but they never had a “sponsor” at the national level until Trump.

Perhaps I am naïve, but it gave me hope that once Trump is gone, they’ll go back to being a horrible splinter movement to be reckoned with but one without top cover at the highest levels.

Feeling better, I was pleased to see the stay-at-home orders for our region have been lifted. While the restrictions are based on the number of ICU beds available, they actually think people are being more cautious about masks and gatherings, and the numbers are starting to stabilize. That’s almost a minor miracle at this point.

We’re now in the purple tier, which allows for outdoor dining and other activities. There’s not much in the purple tier that applies to us. God knows, I’d love to get my hair sawed off, but I’m not going into a salon. While Dale and I aren’t venturing out anytime soon, it feels good just the same and will hopefully pacify the people who are so inclined.

We want to see happy people!

In another minor miracle, it is absolutely beautiful outside, peaking this afternoon at 62 degrees. I had supermarket sushi for lunch out on the patio, where I daydreamed about how joyful life will be further on down the road. Maybe we’ll be vaccinated by April? We’ll still have to be careful, but it will alleviate some pressure.

To celebrate that today is not yesterday, I’m going for a long walk and will not be wearing my usual 17 layers.

It gets better if you just hang on.

Learning to jump

It’s hard to process what has been happening. I have few words. Earlier in the week, I had something all written up about Trump’s call to Georgia’s Secretary of State, thinking that was the new low. I thought, this is what crazy sounds like. Before I could hit publish, there was another new low.

Looks like a race to the bottom. And now we know what crazy looks like.

And so, I try to stay calm. I was never good at meditation. I tried when I was first diagnosed with cancer 21 years ago, but I always fell asleep! Several years ago, I found a free app with guided meditations and used to do them on the bus as I commuted to work. I pulled up the app yesterday and did a 20-minute session.

The guided meditation helped. The one I use is called Sattva. Although, I confess, a few naps have been equally satisfying. Just another way to tune out.

In the midst of all this, my sister-in-law reports her sister is no longer speaking to her because of a row they had over Trump. What a coincidence! My sister is not speaking to me because I was rude when she called to warn me accidents and illnesses are befalling everyone she knows.

Dale is still speaking to me, but he blocked Nancy Pelosi.

Blog anniversary

This week marks three years since I started Retirement Confidential. In the beginning, I had a little freelance gig lined up with a former colleague who owns her own consulting business and thought I would expand that over time. But then she unexpectedly dropped me like a hot potato, and I realized I was done working for other people anyway.

My biggest motivator was always money, and it took some time for me to stop worrying too much about it. I collaborated with our financial planner, and we agreed we had enough saved to fund our retirement (coupled with Dale’s pension and Social Security). We have a conservative portfolio that under normal conditions helps us sleep at night.

A pandemic and attempted coup kind of messes with sleep. However, we are hopeful the money will last.

Once I stopped worrying about cash flow, it’s surprising how quickly I lost my desire to do much more than entertain myself with simple pleasures. Retirement is great! I enjoy writing about the journey, and I love hearing your stories.

I’m not sure where the road will take us. It’s one hurdle after another, but I’m learning to jump. Aside from the current drama, perhaps a good goal is to enjoy a long and healthy life doing the things that bring us happiness.

Less important things to think about

The screaming match that passes for news is tough to take these days, and I’m keeping myself pathologically busy so I don’t have time to sit down and read much of it. While I do care, I don’t like to get too stirred up about current events. I have less important things to think about.

I heard a song that kind of sums it all up. Soapbox, by Brent Cobb. My favorite line is, “Well, hot dog, your opinion is louder than mine.”

Still, I was happy the Supreme Court rejected the Texas bid to overturn election results. The Washington Post printed an op-ed that listed all the Republicans who publicly supported the effort. I mentioned to Dale our congressman, Tom McClintock, was on the list.

Doing his best Darth Vader impression, Dale said, “The sickness is strong with this one.”

There are two pandemic songs I like very much. Stay Home by Shinyribs and Quarantine Blues by Steve Poltz. Guaranteed to make you smile.

We are eager to get the vaccine, but we’re definitely not first in line. I wonder about my previous cancer experiences and how that figures into risk. I don’t have cancer now, but did my treatment affect me long-term? I’m pretty sure chemotherapy is an immuno-suppressant, but that was more than 20 years ago, so does it even matter? I really don’t know, and since I am quite healthy now, I’ll just wait my turn.

I’m not much of a Christmas person, but I promised Dale I would support the whole tree-decorating thing and be of otherwise good cheer. I’m hanging tough, but he does not make this easy. It takes Dale a full week to decorate the tree, and it’s like an ornament bomb went off in the living room.

If it were me, I’d have that thing done in a snap, and then I’d put everything away, and then I’d go into a mad cleaning frenzy so we’d wake up to an immaculate house the next morning. But that’s me. Just a kid with a dream.

We like to watch the Lord of the Rings trilogy at Christmas, so while I expressed my support for Dale’s unique timetable, I also suggested we hold off on movies until the tree is done, the presents are wrapped and all the associated paraphernalia (as well as the collector’s set of Amazon boxes) is out in the garage for the remainder of the holidays.

I think he agreed, but you never know.

Meanwhile, I’m getting primed to take on some sort of big cooking project. Croissants are on the list. A tough challenge to be sure and certainly less important than the shenanigans of Republican snollygosters.

Which suits me just fine.