Category: Learning

Two days and a wake-up

OUr second vaccines

Dale and I have been counting down the days until we get our second Pfizer vaccines. While there were some delays due to weather, it looks like we’re on track to get ours on schedule. As we used to say in the military, it’s two days and a wake-up!

Then it’s a two-week wait, and of course, we understand nothing is risk-free. It’s not like we’re changing our lives. Still, I have an appointment for a haircut exactly two weeks after. That appointment is the only thing between me and an ugly episode of Hair Clippers Gone Wild.

Unless it gets really bad again, we’d like to go camping when it warms up. I need art supplies, and I’m looking forward to wandering around a store instead of ordering it on Amazon.

A home for my art?

Speaking of art, I’m still a little cautious about sharing my woodburning art projects with people who may not like them. My sisters-in-law each received one for Christmas, and I understand they were not impressed. I get it, art is personal, blah, blah, blah.

I wondered if I could donate them to a thrift store that benefits a non-profit organization I’d feel good about supporting. I found one shop that benefits a cat shelter, and that might well be my first stop.

As for the art, they may love it, they may hate it or my little creations might not be a good fit for their clientele, but once I’m in the immune-zone, I plan to pay a visit.

A cooking failure

We had a rare cooking failure this week. Dale and I both love fried oysters, and it’s one of the few things we don’t make at home. We have one of those big home deep fryers but rarely use it. I made onion rings in it a few years ago, and they were greasy and soggy. I thought the temperature gauge was off.

But we kept it. This week Dale decided to test it. He filled the fryer with oil and heated it up, setting the temperature to 350 and then 375 degrees. The thermostat registered the proper temperature after the appropriate amount of time, and he used a separate instant-read thermometer for cross-reference.

Then he bought fresh oysters and shucked them himself. These were tough to open, and it was quite a task. He also decided to make homemade French fries and coleslaw to go with. There was some sort of coating made with buttermilk and cornmeal, but I wasn’t paying attention at that point.

He cooked it all up, and the oysters and French fries were inedible greasy soggy messes. I also had the audacity to say he put too much mayonnaise in the coleslaw. That did not help. I believe he described it as “piling on.”

It seems the machine heats up properly but can’t maintain temperature. So totally not Dale’s fault, although he felt terrible. We both get quite devasted when our food fails for whatever reason.

Anyway, the fryer (not the person who fries) is gone, although we will probably look for another one. We don’t do the big fry often, but those jumbo-sized things are handy.

Books and TV

I’m almost finished with Schitt’s Creek, and I have enjoyed it much more since I basically told Dale he had to binge-watch it with me or pass. In other words, Schitt’s or get off the pot.

I just can’t get into a show when he only wants to watch it once a month. I love it, but I do wish David would get married already. This is taking forever.

I highly recommend Lupin on Netflix but with only six episodes, it was over way too fast. It’s a French show, dubbed, about the son of an immigrant from Senegal who grows up to be a world-class thief with a heart of gold and a penchant for amazing disguises. I understand there are more at the ready, but they are waiting until summer to release them.

I’m on the waiting list at the library for Jussi Adler-Olsen’s Victim 2117, the last of the Department Q series about Danish detective Carl Mørck. The previous book in the series told the back story of sidekick Rose, and I believe this one is about Assad – a great character with a secretive past.

Also from the library, I’m reading Beginners: The Joy and Transformative Power of Lifelong Learning by Tom Vanderbilt. I should probably do a complete review, but I’m not sure I will. I like it, and I suspect a lot of retirees will be inspired by it, but the author sort of annoys me. He’s a journalist with a wife and family who decides to learn to sing and surf, among other activities.

I mean, sure, he wrote a book about it and will hopefully recoup some of his expenses, but I can’t help thinking about his wife, and what it must have felt like for her as he went off on this mid-life journey disguised as work.

Sorry about the mess, honey, but I’m late for choir practice! It feeds my soul! Oh, can you take me to the airport next week? I’m off to Costa Rica for surfing lessons!

I’m probably not being fair. I’ve been sort of cranky lately. I mean, I’m more relaxed and sleeping way better with The Former Guy somewhat out of the picture, but there’s still a lot of bad stuff going down out there, and I have to force myself to let go of things I can’t control.

Note to self: Stay away from the hair clippers.

Cloudspotting for beginners

My cloudspotting guides tell me these are Cirrus, high-altitude clouds composed of ice crystals but usually associated with fair weather.

Sourdough Saga

Today is bread day. While Gollum, my sourdough starter, is ready for action, I’m still not completely confident the bread will rise as it’s supposed to.

If you missed my last post, I named my starter Gollum, because when it comes to sourdough adventures, I find myself thinking about Gandalf, who said, “My heart tells me that Gollum has some part to play in it, for good or evil, before this is over.”

Now would be the time to mention Monday was also bread day, but my attempt was aborted by Gollum. The Tartine book said to discard all but a tablespoon of starter and then feed it again with the flour/water mixture. I’m not sure what happened, but Gollum failed to yield his precious bubbles after I fed him again, so I gave him more time to gather strength.

While Tartine is a great resource, it gets complicated fast, and I find Elaine at Foodbod Sourdough to be more approachable. Although I made the starter from Tartine, I’m following Elaine’s recipe for my first loaf of bread.

The dough is now experiencing the joys of “bulk fermentation” in the refrigerator. I will bake the bread later this afternoon. You may expect a full report in the coming days.

Happy in the middle

I’ve always wanted to be great at something, but greatness has eluded me, and the reality is that I’m adequate and sometimes pretty good at lots of things. This used to make me sad and envious as I read accounts of gifted and accomplished people with tremendous passion for their crafts.

As I’ve gotten older and experienced the simple pleasures of retirement, it turns out I’m quite happy in the middle. I don’t have a singular focus that drives me and see myself as a dabbler of sorts.

Dale is the same, and we were discussing it over drinks one evening. What is the name for people like us? He thought Renaissance man might fit the bill – a person of broad talents or expertise. But then I would hardly put us in the same league as Leonardo da Vinci.

Then whilst Googling around, I read this description of the modern Renaissance man or woman:

In the simplest terms, a Renaissance man is a person with genuine competence in and understanding of multiple different fields, all of which complement one another to make him a more talented and productive person.

I also discovered fellow blogger Patricia Doyle at Retirement Transition addressed this very same topic in 2019. She wrote:

Modern day Renaissance woman (or man) loves learning (has a mindset of continual learning) and enjoys discovering more. She/he is not “meandering” but delving just deep enough to gain knowledge; she/he recognizes that not everything has to be “mastered.”

Sounds good to me!

cloudspotting for beginners

As if I don’t already have enough to amuse me, I have become a fledgling cloudspotter! This is a great pandemic hobby, much like bird watching, and you don’t even have to leave your house.

I’ve always loved clouds. I vividly remember taking swimming lessons as a child. Floating on my back between sessions and trying to give name to shapes I saw in the sky. Was it a dog? A horse? But I never made much of an effort to learn more about them. Until last week.

I was playing golf and distance-chatting with one of my partners, when she mentioned a podcast that talked about the Cloud Appreciation Society. It’s a cool website with lots of amazing cloud pictures. I haven’t joined yet, but I definitely want that Cloud Selector Identification Wheel.  

In the meantime, I purchased The Cloudspotter’s Guide by Gavin Pretor-Pinney, founder of the Cloud Appreciation Society. He’s a very entertaining writer with lots of good stories about clouds, but it is quite techy. Dale can’t wait for me to finish so he can get started. His brain absorbs details better than mine.

Me? I’m looking for quick results, so I downloaded three free Android apps on Google Play to help with cloud identification.

  • Cloudspotting
  • Cloud-a-Day
  • Cloud Guide

My favorite so far is Cloud-a-Day, which has an Artificial Intelligence feature. I photograph a cloud formation, and it returns with a message:

Out of the 10 main cloud types, the Cloudspotter AI thinks it is this one.

Although there are 10 main cloud types, there are tons of sub-types and amazing rare cloud formations that even have special names. I’m just scratching the surface, but I’m seriously enjoying this new pleasure.

No aspirations involving greatness, but I’d like to get good enough to look up at the sky, and casually confirm, “Ah, cumulonimbus, thunderstorms likely.”

Working below one’s means

I’ve had a lot of “work” dreams and trying to make sense of them, I wondered whether it means I have unfinished business of some sort. I’m quite content with my retired life and do not want a job. So, what’s it all about, Alfie?

Dreams are so weird, and I don’t pretend to understand them. The work dreams are rarely good and usually replay the worst aspects of jobs I had during my career. My best guess is the dreams are a way for my mind to unravel the accumulated stress.   

Yet there might be another take on it. When I mentioned the question about unfinished business to a friend, he said although I seemed quite content, he had to wonder if I was making the most of my life. Am I reaching my full potential? Perhaps that’s what the dreams are about.

We had a great exchange about what that means. In his view, it’s about living each year as if it’s your last … setting targets and doing more than what you’ve done before. I guess that’s what a lot of people are doing when they post their goals about reading 200 books before Easter.

That deal about year-over-year improvement is too jobbie for me. Stretch goals and all that. And I’m not sure the strategy was successful. In my workplace, we systematically weeded out steady performers who worked as a team in favor of individual superstars who fought over the last porkchop, making everyone miserable.

What if I don’t need to continuously improve myself? For the record, my friend is right … I am content! But here’s a radical thought. What if being content is actually what it means to reach my full potential? What if being alive is my greatest accomplishment? What if ordinary is good enough?

I’ve read a little about Taoism, sometimes known as Daoism, which is a Chinese philosophy that is very much about going with the flow. I love the idea that not reaching too far might be the essence of freedom.  

The artist Pablo Picasso also had something to say about striving too hard:

You must always work not just within but below your means. If you can handle three elements, handle only two. If you can handle ten, then handle only five. In that way the ones you do handle, you handle with more ease, more mastery, and you create a feeling of strength in reserve.

I’m way calmer since Trump left office, and my sleep has been much less stressful. Not as many work dreams, which will hopefully continue to fade over time. Still, I’m glad I took the opportunity to reflect on the balance between being content and being productive.

While I applaud and respect those who drive themselves harder, there’s room for underachievers, too. If you are among those who resist excessive productivity, I hope you find pleasure in knowing you are not alone.

As for me, I am content to work below my means. It’s a sweet gig, actually.

Joy-makers

Intellectual distancing

As I write this, results of the U.S. election are still not known and may not be for days, possibly weeks? But I will say this. No matter who ultimately wins, lots of Americans still think Trump is an OK guy, and I think that’s a sign I need to stop paying so much attention to politics. I’m not going to waste my happiness capital on something I don’t understand and can’t control.

I’ll still make an effort to stay informed about what’s going on in the world, but I’m going to practice intellectual distancing. Why not? I’ve already nailed social distancing.

The rhetoric will read to me as blah, blah, blah, and then I will move onto something else. I’m done reading about anything Trump says or does. Although I’d like to see him exit the way they did it at work when someone’s bad behaviors finally caught up with them – escorted out of the building carrying a single box of their belongings.

Although I’m not much of an activist, if a crisis or cause should need my help, I’m there. What I need to do is cut off my emotional attachment to the outcome. In other words, you do what you can. Sometimes things go your way and sometimes they don’t. But keep your joy flowing. Maybe serious activists already know this. They are probably masters are compartmentalizing.

Joy-Makers

In spite of everything, there is much joy to be had, especially in retirement, which I consider life’s grand gift. It’s that whole simple pleasures thing. I haven’t been anywhere other than a golf course or the grocery store since March, but it’s not all bad.

I’ve been golfing a long time, but who knew it would turn out to be a great pandemic activity? Golf has been a joy-maker for me. Somehow the pandemic helped me with my mental game. I’m not easily frustrated anymore and just enjoy the challenges.

After a day out playing golf, I so look forward to a day at home with Dale. Breakfast, coffee, a few chores. Dinner – always our favorite subject. Last night, he outdid himself. Cordon Bleu, which are pockets of pounded-out veal stuffed with ham and cheese and then breaded and pan fried. Homemade French fries and a salad. A crisp Riesling to go with. I’m gonna have to do my long walk today just to feel moral again.

Dale made a batch of kimchi, and it’s ready to eat after fermenting for about a week. We like kimchi fried rice with a runny fried egg on top.

I made a batch of scones in my new scone pan. They came out beautifully, but the scones needed a lot more cooking time to get browned on the bottom and evenly cooked. I’ve made some notes to the recipe, so hopefully, it will be easier next time.

In the old days, I thought cookbooks were sacrosanct. You didn’t deface them with your primitive scribbles. Now I scrawl all over them, because otherwise you can’t keep track of changes you’ve made to the recipes. My notes have saved many a dinner.

Another joy-maker is my woodburning art. I still have no idea where all these little treasures will end up, but I do love making them. And I continue to learn – not only about art but about myself as well. For example, I started a project using one of the darker pieces of wood. I wanted some boldness to play against the dark and started with sort of an abstract tree-shaped thing with big splotches of black and white.

I was loving it, when Dale walked by and said, “Oh, a cow.” That was the last thing I was trying to convey. So, I started to de-cow it by adding additional colors, and I ruined it. Although I wasn’t mad at Dale, I was mad at myself and threw the damned thing away.

But then it occurred to me I let someone else’s opinion shape my vision. For me, it’s hard, but you’ve got to trust yourself. My next piece will definitely have some cow-like pattern.

This last piece of art was hard because I was coming off my big cow mistake, and I didn’t want to screw it up. Plus, the wood was quite damaged and hard to work with. I was facing the dreaded dealing-with-imperfection crisis, when I remembered – that’s the whole point of burning and coloring messed up wood. It’s already messed up! Anything I do to it makes it different and interesting.

Messed up but different and interesting. If that’s all anyone ever said about me, I’d be happy.

Work of a different sort

A couple of months ago, I wrote I would be changing the tagline of my blog, which was, “Aging badass with health, happiness and cannabis.”

I realize you aren’t breathless with anticipation about such routine blog matters, but your bookmarks might look funny as I work through the changes.

As my retirement journey evolves, I don’t think badass describes me well, unlike The Widow Badass, who definitely owns it and wins the prize for best blog name ever. And then there’s cannabis. I like it and continue to use it recreationally and medicinally but not as much as I expected. It doesn’t seem worthy of such prominent placement.

I’ve come to embrace the term slacker, as in a person who avoids work. Because I am definitely done with that pesky job thing. I changed the tagline to read, “The continuing adventures of a full-time slacker.” 

Sounded great to me, but as I started to share the news with you, I looked up the definition, which described people who shirk obligation, particularly military service. Well, that would not be me! Perhaps I am being too literal, but I deleted that tagline and left the space blank. Is blank best?

As for retirement, I seem to have landed in a happy place devoid of ambition. I do what needs to be done around the house and that sort of thing, but the rest of my energy is focused on activities that give me pleasure. I see myself as the face of resistance to over-engineering retirement, which isn’t a contest to see who accomplishes the most.

In retirement, there are no performance reviews.

I updated my About Me profile to read:

My full-time job is to take care of myself, be kind to others, enjoy simple pleasures and indulge in creative pursuits. I like to play golf, walk, swim, cook, read, write, watch TV, listen to music, make art and grow cannabis.

That pretty much sums it up. Maybe I don’t need a tagline. I would love to hear your thoughts, if you should be so inclined.

THE PANDEMIC PRESIDENT

Like everyone else, I woke up to news that the president and his wife tested positive for COVID-19. I seriously hope this gives them some perspective on the pandemic … that maybe science is real? Maybe setting a positive example would be good for America? The other option is that he’ll only have mild symptoms and come back claiming he was right – no worse than a cold.

Whatever. He has been irresponsible, and now here we are.

Pizza!

Dale makes pizza almost every Friday. He makes the dough on Thursday and lets it rise in the refrigerator overnight. Tonight’s is one of my all-time favorites. It’s a white pizza with bechamel sauce made with parmesan cheese. That goes on the bottom, and then he tops it with mozzarella, smoked gouda, red onions, capers and smoked salmon.

We were going through the grocery list, and I said be sure to check the milk because you’ll need it for the bechamel. A few minutes later, he said, “Oh, and I’d better check the milk.”

I just said that.

No, you didn’t.

Yard work

We finished cleaning up the backyard without killing each other. It’s not going to win a yard beautiful contest, but it looks clean and well-maintained. Our unlimited yard waste day is next week, and we have 17 bags ready to go! There are some areas with small stones that have thinned out, so when the bags are gone, we’ll add more stones.

Then we’ll be pretty much done. There are bare spots in the beds along the fence line that could use plants, but now we can take our time and deal with that as the mood strikes us.

Oh, and we may replace the pavers. As for ongoing maintenance, we have a small patch of grass I usually mow with a push mower. It takes less than 10 minutes. An occasional blow and some spot trimming, and the yard becomes quite manageable.

Now the backyard looks good and the air quality is bad, so we’re not spending any time out there, but the smoke is supposed to clear soon. Fall is my favorite season, and it looks like we’re headed for some lovely weather.

I was grumbling about all the labor involved with this yard project, but it occurred to me I would rather take care of our home than hold down a regular job. I’d rather clean my house than work so I can pay someone else to clean my house.

Even though I fared quite well in the business world, I’ve always been somewhat contemptuous of the whole scene.

What does this button do?

My latest pallet scrap makeover.

Feeling stuck? Ask yourself, “What does this button do?”

One of the joys of retirement is the freedom to do whatever the hell you want. You might not know where you’re going, but you have time to wander aimlessly and see where the road takes you. Lately, I find myself turning into that funky side street looking for more, although there are days I’m happy with a quiet hollow where I can hunker down for a spell.

The beauty of retirement is that it’s all possible. When I was working, I restricted my range of experiences because time was limited, and my dance card was full. I still have plenty to keep me entertained and want no part of real work, but now l feel like a curious kid at the control panel asking, “What does this button do?”

For example, I wanted to try my hand at something artistic. I had never even been tempted by visual arts, but I thought, well, it’s now or never. I can’t draw or paint, but maybe I can do something else artsy, and it might be good for me.

I piddled around with stuff that didn’t stick, until I spotted pallet scraps headed for the trash and began to wonder what I could do with them. I bought a cheap woodburning tool and began to experiment with doodle-like designs. Because, seriously, I can’t draw. Next thing you know I’m adding color, and now they look kind of cool.

You may have noticed most of my hobbies are activity-based. Things I like to do. A skill, a game, a task. But what about things I’d like to know?

Surely, in all my journals, I’ve made a list of things that interest me. But, nooooooo. My lists are about things I like to do or things I’m good at. Yesterday, I created a new list, “Things That Interest Me.” I started with the usual suspects. Golf, cooking. Another list of activities. Caught in my own trap!

Perhaps a better list would be, “What Do I Like to Read About?” That’s a very different list. I love to play golf, but read about it? Not so much. Cooking, yes, I love to read about food and cooking. I like to grow cannabis, but I only want to read enough to produce a healthy crop. I have no real passion for the details of gardening.

I read a lot of crime fiction, and I actually do like to read about crime fiction as a genre, but in terms of nonfiction, most of my knowledge on any single topic is superficial. I know a little about a lot.

It would seem my intellectual curiosity has limits. That has certainly been the pattern, although I do see signs of progress. I attribute this to retirement. I just hit the three-year mark, and I’m getting used to having extra room in my brain. And right now, I’m excited by the prospect of taking a deeper dive into something that intrigues me. But what?

While I haven’t found that ONE BIG THING, I have an emerging interest in Tejano music. And that materialized by asking, “What does this button do?” I heard some music, I liked it, I went looking for more, I found new artists, new sounds and just kept pushing the button as the story of this music unfolded before me.

Sometimes I get excited about things, and then my interest fizzles. I’m eager to see how far I’ll go this time around. Tejano music might stick, because I like to listen to it while I work on my art, so there’s a synergistic effect.

Aside from using synergistic in a sentence, I’m actually tapping into my old work skills and starting a Tejano music spreadsheet to organize bits and pieces of information I’ve picked up along the way.

But no PowerPoint presentations. That’s a bridge too far.

Groundhog Day all over again

I’ve been dreaming about going back to work. These are real nighttime dreams – not aspirational thinking. In one dream, President Obama asked me to come back to Texas, where I was needed in the defense industry. I said yes, I mean, for America, sure, but when I woke up, I was like, fuck, that was dumb.

In reality, I have no interest in a job. I thought a lot about why I’m having these dreams, and I believe it’s about a search for distraction. We’re living this Groundhog Day existence, and I’ve grown quite sick of the whole thing. Pandemic, fires, air quality, racism, politics – you name it, and I’m sick of it.

Work is the ultimate distraction. For years, a job served me well in my quest for something else to think about besides the crap that infiltrates my brain.

I’m convinced some people don’t want to retire, because then you don’t have that distraction anymore, and you kind of have to figure out who you really are. What’s your core value as a human being, and how are you going to spend your time on the planet?

Heavy stuff. In many ways, work is easier. Wouldn’t you rather be mad at your boss than mad at yourself?

That said, I’m still all about resisting the pressure to conform and perform. I’m post-job, living the Bohemian heiress lifestyle, dabbling in what amuses me, and I’m all the better for it.

Methinks it’s just a touch of cabin fever right now. I do believe we will get through this mess one way or the other, and I look forward to celebrating in grand style. Maybe even get on an airplane and go somewhere.

I know. Crazy talk.

lost in space

We actually have a favorite sausage market in Sacramento, but it closed after a big fire earlier this year. The brats were as good as any I had in Germany. A friend recommended another sausage market in Lockeford, a rural community about an hour from our house. Dale and I decided to take a road trip.

I had my phone, but I wasn’t sure about cellular service, so we packed a real map, and I wrote down the general directions. In the town of Ione, we got to a critical juncture in the journey – left, right or straight ahead – and the phone flipped out. First, it said I lost cellular data. Then it started telling me to make all kinds of crazy turns.

We tried straight ahead, and that didn’t work. We turned around and came back to the juncture, turning right. There was a remarkable absence of highway signs, and we weren’t sure we were on the right road, but to quote Bruce Springsteen, we took a wrong turn, and we just kept going.

The landscape was dry and barren and looked like Mars.

Dale was excited to pass Rancho Seco, a decommissioned nuclear generation plant. Oh, the sights to behold! And we can now say we’ve been to Galt, all 5.9 square miles of it.

In the end, we added about 30 minutes to our trip. We found the sausage market, loaded up and got on the correct road going back. I was curious to see where we’d land when we hit Ione, where we made all the wrong choices.

As we drove into the town, it became clear we should have made a left. Well, now we know.

Dale grilled one of the brats last night, and it was delicious, but I actually prefer the brats from Sac, which were emulsified like a hot dog. The brats from Lockeford were chunky. Still good, but I need to see if the other place is rebuilding. One can only hope.

lime squeezing happiness

To end on a bright note, as proof positive there is still good in the world, I bought a new citrus juicer, and it’s the most amazing kitchen tool I’ve purchased in years.

I highly recommend this little gadget, especially if you have weak wrists and enjoy lime-based cocktails (just an example). It sucks the juice right out and leaves a little more than a hockey puck as residue.

Cognitive tests for dummies

A sampling of our Mexican cookbooks.

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.

Purging old writing

Purging old writing and re-purposing journals.

Some say you should never throw away anything you ever wrote. I’ve taken a different path. Over the years and many moves, I’ve whittled down my stockpile of journals and published writing to one large tub. I periodically go through it and purge stuff I no longer want to keep.

I’ve purchased many lovely notebooks, but I as a diarist, I was inconsistent at best. Most notebooks had a few pages of scribbling about my sad woes and then many blank pages. After skimming through the entries and seeing nothing of consequence, I ripped those pages out for the recycling bin but saved the notebooks.

While I don’t journal, I do keep a notebook on my desk for working projects, so I shouldn’t need to buy anymore notebooks ever.

One thing I did notice and kept was a poem about Christmas I wrote in my late teens. Apparently, I’ve hated Christmas for a long time. In a way, that makes me feel better. It’s not like I made it up in mid-life. I was born this way.

I found a few paragraphs of a short story. I tried to write fiction years ago and quit, coming to perhaps a false realization that I don’t have it in me. Maybe it’s the quarantine talking, but I saw some potential. Not world-class literature, for sure, but I kind of want to know the back story and what happens next.

The bahnhof was cold, as they usually are, and damp, as I knew it would be. I could already feel the fever coming on, but we had a couple of hours to kill before the train left. I needed a drink, and I needed a book and Richard had already decided to be difficult.

Why didn’t we rent a car and drive, he wanted to know. But of course, he knew. It was the train. I needed to be on that train. There was no other option.

I left Richard with the bags and walked to the international store. I bought a cheap porno book for 12 marks and a murder mystery, both in English. Then I found a bar and settled in. It was going to be a long night.

Literary poetry has always sort of baffled me. But I did like writing straightforward poems that rhymed. Interestingly, I found my own little masterpiece about hating work – dated 1974! I had barely started working and was already sick of it. I kept that one, too.

The poem itself is pretty awful, so I’ll spare you that. But there I was at 19, wishing I could just quit worrying about making a living and enjoying life without goals or aims. I’m giving myself props for hanging in there.

It took 40 years, but I kind of achieved my dream. No big plans. My full-time job is to take care of myself, be kind to others and enjoy life’s simple pleasures. I golf, walk, swim laps, cook, read, write, watch TV, listen to music, take care of the house, grow cannabis and otherwise goof off. While I’m not the sort to show up at a protest march, another focus is to support progressive causes.

Everyone’s vision of retirement is different. Mine has certainly evolved, even from when I started this blog two-plus years ago. As I told a friend, I might find goals within the categories of things I like to do, but I’m not out to reinvent myself or my life. I’m happy just being.

An interesting book for those who are contemplating how happiness is relevant in a world gone mad is Yes to Life: In Spite of Everything by Viktor E. Frankl.

Just published for the first time in English, the author was a Holocaust survivor who lectured on the importance of embracing life even in the face of adversity. It’s not a breezy read, but there are some genuine nuggets.

Becoming more self-sufficient

Learning a new technique for cutting my own hair.
Reasonably even in the back.

I’m starting to feel like a baby homesteader. A retired suburban homesteader. As it turns out, I’m kind of digging it. But that’s the hippie living-off-the-land in me talking.

Since the virus came knocking, I’ve been doing my own pedicures, making English Muffins from scratch and cutting my husband’s hair. Then there’s the homegrown cannabis. Baguettes. Tortillas. I even made cheese – Indian paneer. As I write this, Dale is tearing apart a pallet I scavenged for art projects.

Today I cut my hair! I got a text from Lisa, my stylist, who said they were reopening, and she was scheduling appointments. I would love to go, but I said I’m being cautious as things reopen and am not yet comfortable going to a salon. Lisa is such a special person. This is what she wrote:

Completely respect that!

When you’re ready, know that we are 50% capacity with every other station being left unused and only the two end shampoo bowls are used. Masks are required for everyone for the entire appointment and temperatures are checked upon arrival. We always utilize safety and sanitation measures and have amplified our usual best practices. We also offer a treatment bun instead of a blow dry for those who wish to spend as little time in the salon as possible. I know you’re at high risk and you need to be more vigilant than most. I’m happy to take care of you in however you are comfortable when you’re ready.

You can’t ask for much more than that, but I can’t see myself getting a haircut or pedicure anytime soon. I’m kind of a minimalist by design – no polish on my toes, somewhat longish hair requiring fewer cuts, no color and no layers. It was supposed to be a low-maintenance retirement lifestyle, but it morphed into a pandemic lifestyle. I love it when a plan comes together.

I Googled a few how-tos and settled on a quick test. I pulled my hair into a scrunchie at the base of my neck and then brought it around over my shoulder, lined it up between my fingers and used hair scissors to snip off the ends. I hardly cut any this first time around. I just wanted to see if I could do it.

I’m calling it a success.

I wish I knew how to fix things around the house. As I recall from those workplace personality tests, I’m an ISTP, and we’re supposed to be mechanical. Obviously, there’s been some sort of mistake. But Dale’s pretty good at that stuff, so we balance each other out.  

Maybe becoming more self-sufficient is where I was headed all along, but it took retirement and the pandemic to bring my inclinations to the surface. It has been a pleasant surprise.