Category: Rambling Thursday

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.”

Adios, 2020

A tiny tin of caviar for New Year’s Eve.

Here it is. The end of a miserable year. You think, well, thank God that’s over. But you know it’s not. There ain’t no shortage of misery in these parts.

Golf intersects with life

But there’s lots of good stuff, too, so you keep going. It’s just like golf. No, really, it is. I played my best golf ever this year, breaking 80 several times. I thought, oh, joy, those days of high scores are over at last!

And then came the high scores.

Damn it, just like life. I think yesterday was my worst round of the year. As we were finishing up on 18, after my fourth double bogey in five holes, one of the women said, “It was great to play with you, even if you didn’t play as well on the back nine.”

I’ve been in a snit ever since. I mean, was that necessary? In golf and in life, you don’t need to remind people when they suck.

One of the other women in my group stopped me in the parking lot to share she has broken 100 for the first time. I said congrats and all that, but really, I was in my own head at that point. Today, feeling crummy, I sent her an email congratulating her again on a wonderful milestone. She sent back the nicest note, and it helped me dump the negative waves.

In this case, it was definitely better to give than receive. I find it helps to do something nice for someone else to take the sting out of my own hurt feelings. Yet another lesson about accepting the ups and downs of life (and golf).

New Year’s Eve

Our New Year’s plans are typical. Stay home, eat well. I’m making baguettes, which we will have with good olive oil, a runny Brie, Italian cold cuts and other small bites. Champagne. This year’s treat is 50 grams of caviar.

Back in the day, we ate the good stuff from Russia on occasion. I don’t even know if you can get it anymore. We’ve tried American paddlefish, which is OK, but nothing to write home about. We like American farm-raised sturgeon from Sterling Caviar, which is less than an hour from our home. Sadly, they don’t have tours.

We’ve enjoyed caviar on toast points or on blinis, but this year we are going minimalist. We have one mother-of-pearl caviar spoon, which we will share out of convenience romanticism. I suppose there will be a fight over who goes first, but one person will eat her half right out of the tiny tin and then pass the spoon to Dale, who will then eat his half.

Now we know who goes first.

You had me at coconut milk

In other food news, I made Kabocha Squash Red Curry. I love anything in coconut milk, and I love Kabocha squash, so this was a total winner. The pomegranate seeds as a garnish were a yummy touch. We had a lot of leftover pom seeds, so I’ve put them on a sheet tray in the freezer for a couple of hours and will then bag them. Should work.

The only thing I did different with the recipe is add one diced serrano and one diced jalapeno pepper when I added the ginger. They were old peppers I wanted to use up, and the end result just wasn’t hot enough for us. I definitely think this dish can take the heat if you are so inclined.  

Today is a busy cooking day. In addition to the baguettes, I’m making beef stock out of the bones and scraps from our Christmas roast beef. Dale is making pâte.

Requiem for fuzzy pink slippers

Heartbreaking though it is, I believe my fuzzy fleece-lined pink Crocs are toast. Unless I was out playing golf or walking, I wore them all day every day, and they began to stink. Badly. I hand-washed them in soap and water, and it took a week for them to dry, even with a blow dryer assist. They still smelled awful.

I purchased “odor neutralizer” powder and sprinkled that in. It’s even worse. Anyway, my slippers/Crocs are in time out. I’m pretty sure they are history, but I haven’t tossed them yet, in case anyone has a remedy.   

Bueller, Bueller, anyone? 

Thank you

As we end the year, I’d like to thank you for hanging out with me here at Retirement Confidential. Lockdown has been tough, and politics has been brutal, but we’re retired! We can sleep late, and the food is good. I hope you found plenty of happiness in spite of it all, and I wish you unbridled joy in 2021.

Adios, 2020.

So long, farewell, aufwiedersehn, goodbye.

See ya. Wouldn’t want to be ya.

Scram.

Be gone with you.

And get off my lawn!

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.

Kindness, please

Dale came to grips with his age-related hearing loss a few years ago and now wears hearing aids. Occasionally I turn up the volume on the TV, so I might have a bit of hearing loss as well. Not enough to worry about just yet, but still.

Then yesterday I had a conversation on the golf course that made me wonder. My playing partner is a native Californian of Asian American descent. We were outside, getting ready to tee off. We were socially distant, and I was wearing a mask. In my defense, there was a good bit of mechanical noise around us.

She said, “I have something special for us today.”

Really?

I have Asian parents.

At this point, I’m thinking this is the preface to a family story. She’s Asian, her parents are Asian. So far, it makes sense. I nodded.

Then she asked, “Do you like them?”

I’m like, “Um, I don’t believe we’ve met …”

What?

Didn’t you say you had Asian parents?

No! I said I had Asian pears.

We laughed so hard. Good thing I was wearing my mask.

Anyway, Asian pears are delicious, if you haven’t tried them. Crispy but slightly sweet – not unlike myself. 

Kindness, please

Not that I’m normally unpleasant, but my permanent record as revealed by multiple 360-degree reviews throughout my career indicates I can come across as abrupt.

I’ve decided to work a little harder to be nice. I’m just so sick of reading about despicable acts of meanness and have made a personal vow to be as gentle and respectful as possible, even if I don’t particularly like you or disagree with you about politics or anything else. I even thought of a cool t-shirt slogan.

Some fucking kindness, please!

Oh, I guess that’s not in the spirit of things. But you get the idea. Sometimes it’s easy, like when I’m driving, I make a point to let people merge in or get in front of me when they are pulling out of a parking lot into traffic.

Other times it’s harder. A fellow golfer emailed me a long-winded apology about her insignificant breach of etiquette during last week’s play, and I didn’t want to engage in her drama. I simply wrote back, “No worries.” Then I thought, was that kind? She made an effort. It obviously matters to her.

I sent her another email and said I was busy when I replied earlier and didn’t mean to be abrupt. That I truly meant no worries and appreciated her note.

Of course, then I got back another email with more words than necessary, but I think she felt better. And you know, I did, too. I’ll call that a win.

To further my mission of kindness, I voted, hopefully voting out meanness at the top. I took mine to an official drop box. In California, you can sign up for a ballot tracking service, so I received this confirmation:

Your ballot for the 2020 General Election was received and will be counted. Thank you for voting!

Cat mask fever

My sister-in-law sent these adorable masks. I have no idea where she got them, but this cat mask is too cute to be disposable! Although I usually wear one of the washable cloth face coverings my sister made, I keep a stash of disposables around as well. Such is life in the time of pandemic.

Our air quality is much improved, and it has cooled off. Quite beautiful! Earlier in the week, I wasn’t sick, but I wasn’t 100 percent, either. I woke up this morning feeling great, and that’s not the dexamethasone talking. I’m blaming the air.

Today I’m making baguettes, which we have for dinner with good olive oil, prosciutto, brie and whatever else is hanging around. We have some liverwurst spread similar to pâté, which I think will be delicious. Red wine. If all I ever do is make baguettes for Dale, he will die a happy man.

Speaking of red wine, I believe we’ll be taking a drive out to one of our favorite wineries today. Around here, you can join a wine club at any of the wineries. While it varies from winery to winery, at this one, we’re obligated to buy three bottles per quarter and get free tastings anytime we want.

Normally, it’s a lovely place to hang out, but we’re not tasting until I don’t know when – when we see some sort of sign this virus has mostly passed. But it’s an interesting drive, and we have a pick-up ready. Usually they have other sales going on, and the rack is quickly slowly diminishing, so we might purchase additional bottles. Members get a nice discount.

Local wineries are one of my favorite things about living in California, and I am looking forward to the full experience sometime in the not-too-distant future.

Now that the weather is cooling, I’m thinking about all my favorite fall foods. And Thanksgiving, of course. Last year I made pumpkin cheesecake for dessert, and it was absolutely wunderbar. I froze individual pieces.

The cheesecake resuscitated quite well but didn’t last long due to my persistent overindulgence. Those little big slices were like a gun to my head. Why, yes, I want to make it again. But Dale loves apple pie, so I’m torn.

However, I made another deal with him that might get me off the hook for apple pie. I’m not much of a Christmas person and usually complain bitterly the whole time about what a pain in the ass it is. I find the tree to be mostly a nuisance, but Dale loves it. We do have lots of handmade German ornaments that are quite precious, but still, I prefer to see them tucked away in the garage.

Perhaps it’s a touch of cat mask fever or maybe a pre-Christmas miracle, but I said this has been one hell of a shitty year. Who knows what will happen next? We’re not getting any younger. If a tree makes you happy, I’m all in. I’ll help, I’ll be happy and won’t complain. That’s why God invented single malt Scotch.

Anyway, it wouldn’t be all that different from work, where I used to pretend to enjoy all the team-building activities, including one where a high-priced consultant asked a colleague to get on the floor and bark like a dog. A friend and mentor advised me once to think of it as an out-of-body experience, and that mostly worked for me.

Except Dale is my team in real life, and supporting his happiness is part of the deal. It will be fun. Besides, I’m thinking Jolly Christmas Donna is a fair trade for pumpkin cheesecake.

Marriage … it’s all about leverage compromise.

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.

more reading and watching

The Michael Cohen book about Trump was OK. More of the same unscrupulous crap we already knew. And, oh, by the way, unscrupulous crap Mr. Cohen was happy to be part of for 10 years … until he got caught. I’m done with these assholes, and I don’t want to read about them anymore.

On the TV front, I watched Unbelievable, which Netflix calls a mini-series. Based on a true story about a young girl who was raped but is convinced by the police she wasn’t, the series focuses on two women cops who put the pieces together and figure out who did it. I read this morning it was nominated for an Emmy Award. I loved it.

Also on the Emmy list is Schitt’s Creek, which got glowing reviews. I mean, glowing isn’t strong enough to describe how much reviewers love this show. I’ve watched a couple of episodes and didn’t get into it. I might give it another go.

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.

Gentlewoman cannabis farmer

My cannabis plant at 16 days.

cannabis seeds are tricksy

In the continuing adventures of a gentlewoman cannabis farmer, you may remember I started growing weed indoors late last year. I ordered a kit from A Pot for Pot and 10 seeds from I Love Growing Marijuana (ILGM).

My first plant was excellent! I used a two-gallon pot, so the plant didn’t get huge, but it grew nice and bushy, ultimately yielding about 10 grams of high-quality cannabis.  

Then I tried again with terrible results.

Seed #2 – Grew to harvest, but it looked weird and didn’t form buds. The cannabis had zero potency. I consulted with folks at A Pot for Pot, and they suggested it was an unusual phenotype. Then I consulted with a forum on ILGM. One member said it was a bad seed. Another suggested my lighting was substandard.

Seed #3 – Never entered the flowering stage.

Seed #4 – Never entered the flowering stage.

Seed #5 – Failed to germinate.

At this point, I was debating my whole approach to growing cannabis. I’m using autoflowering seeds, which means it should be easy to grow smallish plants inside with normal light. With regular seeds, you need a tent or some other kind of contraption to create a cycle for the flowering stage … 12 hours of light and 12 hours of complete darkness.

Autoflowering cannabis requires less equipment, so it’s less expensive to grow. The trade-off is a smaller yield, and some say the weed isn’t as good. My first batch was excellent, so I’m not sure I buy that argument.

Then I thought about lighting. The guy on the ILGM forum suggested a different sort of light that costs about $300. I didn’t want to spring for the light until I identified the source of the problem. Were my seeds bad, or was I doing something wrong?

I wrote to the folks at ILGM, where I purchased my seeds and attached pictures of my failures. I didn’t expect my money back or anything like that. I was just hoping for insight. They have a “Contact Us” page that is pre-populated with questions. One asked if your problem was with seed germination, and if so, how many failed to germinate? That made me wonder if germination failure is a common problem.

Even though I did have an issue with germination, I picked “Other” because I had the experience of five seeds. I wanted a holistic recommendation before trying #6.

Although I didn’t get the holistic recommendation I was after, they immediately sent me 10 free seeds and said they were confident I’d have better results. I’m not sure what that means. Did they know there was something wrong with the first ones? Or it this just part of the cannabis seed business?

From what I’ve read, ILGM is an honorable company, but seeds are imperfect, and that’s why they are so accommodating.

I’m delighted they stepped up and replaced my seeds! I did not purchase a new light – still using the cone light I installed for the first plant. This time, I did not buy the kit from A Pot for Pot. Instead, I bought all the elements separately – seedling starters, fabric pots, potting soil and fertilizer.

I’m now about 16 days into my first of the new seeds, and the plant looks spectacular. If all goes well, I’ll have enough to make another batch of my cannabis balm, which I use with great success on all my achy body parts.

Coconut Cream Pie?

I have this urge to make coconut cream pie. I’ve never made it before, but it’s calling my name. The recipes I’ve found so far call for graham cracker crust, which I adore, but I think coconut cream pie should have a pastry crust. I’m on the lookout for a recipe. Bueller? Bueller? Anyone?

Woodburning with vibrant colors

My most recent piece of woodburning art is now featured in the Gallery. I purchased spendy oil-based colored pencils, which are vibrant! I actually like the cheapo pencils, too. They are more subtle and look almost like a weathered tattoo. But the color pops with the new pencils. I will most likely use both, sometimes together for different effects.

Details and links to products I’m using are in the tutorial, which can now be viewed on the Downloads page.

Light in heart

I’m feeling rather lighthearted. I’m ever hopeful Trump is going down in November. While I try not to talk about politics too too much, I make no secret of my stance on that miserable excuse of a human being in the White House.

For the record, I respect a multitude of values – from liberal to conservative – but I do not respect Trump or the criminals who enable him.

The Biden-Harris announcement feels good, like maybe this national nightmare is coming to an end. Maybe we can get back to understanding we are all in this together. Maybe we can gather to celebrate decency and civility, ethics, respect for science and diversity, agreeing to disagree.

I’m practicing visualization. I can see myself dancing in the street. Oh, and I might need a “Nasty Woman” t-shirt.

Phases of retirement

A pallet scrap burned and colored. I like the coppery tones.
A darker piece of pallet scrap burned and colored. A little moodier, perhaps?

Optometrist

I went to the optometrist. Although I’m glad I went, it was the most uncomfortable I’ve felt in months.

My appointment was the first of the day. Masks required. Someone came outside and took my temperature with one of those remote gun-things. He asked me questions about fever, cough, etc. I passed the first test.

I was invited in and directed to wash my hands at a sink down the hallway. I did that. Then all the testing began. I signed up for two extra tests not covered by insurance, because I have weird things in my eyes (drusen) that could morph into macular degeneration at some point.

The doctor was thorough and made a small change to the progressive part of my prescription. She was reviewing test results from the fancy machines and wanted one of the images redone. I had to go back to another room, and at one point, it was me and three employees.

Other than Dale, it was the closest I’ve been to anyone since this whole business started, and I found myself trying to crawl into the wall. I didn’t say anything, mostly because it was over quick.

Then I went out into the optical area, where I was still the only patient allowed inside. I wanted my sunglasses replaced exactly as is – new frames but the same brand and style, same coatings, etc. So, that was easy. The technician asked me what I wanted in new regular frames, and I said something similar to what I have now.

She took me over to a wall and explained everything I tried on would be put into a basket for disinfecting. She pulled out the first pair, and I loved them. They are perfect. It was the fastest I’ve ever picked out frames in my life!

Now it’s a waiting game. Surprise – she said orders are taking longer than normal.

Artistic Endeavors

I’m continuing my relentless pursuit of nothing much in particular. I finished two more woodburning pieces and have started adding photos to my gallery. I still don’t know what I’ll do with these creations, but there they are.

Although I’m a novice at all artistic endeavors, I put it out there for you to see partly because it helps validate my experience … as in, yes, I am really doing this. It’s not perfect, but that’s OK. I also want to show how retirement activities evolve. Sometimes it feels like anything is possible.

I splurged on fancy colored pencils. They just came yesterday, so I haven’t had a chance to try them out yet. The cheapo ones are fine for now.  

climbing mountains

On the entertainment front, I watched a movie on Amazon Prime called, “Edie.” It’s about an 83-year-old woman in England who feels she wasted her life and now wants to climb a mountain in Scotland. It made me wonder about the definition of a wasted life.

Unlike Edie, I’ve gone after almost everything I wanted in life. However, in the grand scheme of things, I haven’t accomplished much. I consider making enough money to retire my greatest achievement. And here I am approaching 65, piddling around and relishing in simple pleasures.

I guess you could say the slacker retirement model works for me … at least for now. I am the happiest I’ve been. I don’t miss my career. I enjoy how I spend my time on the planet. Of course, the go-go model is another option, but I see that as just another race, only the rats are different.

But never say never. I suspect we experience different phases throughout retirement. Three years in, I might still be in my nesting phase, but something might switch over, and I’ll wake up wanting to climb that mountain. If we’re lucky, we get to make choices along the way.

I asked Dale what he thought, and his response was so profound I immediately ran to get a piece of paper and pen to write it down, but by the time I returned, we could barely reconstruct what he said. It was something like this:

If you can do what makes you happy and help people along the way, then that is a life well-lived.

Pretty good, yes?

Cheerfulness breaking through

The woodpile.

Pandemic Golf

Although I’m not sure what’s going on, the pandemic has been good for my golf game. I broke 80 for the first time! Golf is such a head trip, so it’s hard to know what finally helped me crack the code. One big boost to my game is that I play most of my rounds on a walkable course that is just under 5,000 yards from the forward tees and considered easier than most.

I am not ashamed. You still have to get the ball in the hole.

After walking 18 holes two days in a row, I was whipped and eager for a hearty he-girl breakfast. Dale delivered with sausage and melted cheese sandwiches on my homemade English muffins. I like mine with a little Dijon mustard. Dag, those things are delicious. Good coffee, and I’m ready for anything.

No Wood is safe

The course was backed up when I played Wednesday, and I had time to partake of my surroundings between holes. When what to my wondering eyes should appear but a broken tree limb begging to be decorated with my primitive woodburning technique.

The limb was long but not thick, so I stuck it in my golf bag like a club. It’s funny, no one asked what I was doing with a tree limb in my bag. I got it home and added it to the woodpile. Nothing out there is safe from a girl with a woodburning tool.  

Sewing? Surely you jest

In another dangerous development, I’ve been thinking about buying a sewing machine. This desire is perhaps an extension of my retirement fantasy life as a Bohemian heiress who dabbles in what amuses her.

I learned to sew back in the days when it was a required course for girls in the 7th and 8th grades. My mother was an excellent seamstress, and my sister is a gifted quilter and fabric artist. I made a few things as a teenager but generally failed life’s sewing test.

I had a basic sewing machine for years to make repairs but donated it to charity a couple of moves ago. I’ve been thinking about simple things that would be fun – nothing involving zippers or button holes … aprons, masks, kimonos. I promised my sister I would not make a move until I consult with her. When it’s safe to mingle again, I was thinking I could go to her house for sewing camp!

optometrist

Tomorrow I am visiting the optometrist. I badly need new glasses. I’m nervous about it, but I like all the safety protocols they have in place. I also asked for the first appointment of the day. I had a dream I went and had to spend hours and hours there without actually having my eyes examined. They kept coming up with reasons to keep me there.

Misery of the moment

All in all, I’m trying hard not to get caught up in the misery of the moment. I read this morning Trump has finally said what some of us have been expecting for some time – perhaps we should delay the election. It will take several mojitos to process that one. But the answer is no.

So far, I’ve contributed $285 to Joe Biden’s campaign and made a $75 donation to Jaime Harrison, who is running against Lindsay Graham in South Carolina … totally worth your support, if you are so inclined. I suppose they might squeeze a bit more out of me, but I’m close to my limit. I want both of them to win, but in reality, my money probably does more good at the food bank.

Cheerfulness breaking through

Today’s kind of wide open. I need new underwear and might brave a trip to Target. Could I have imagined a day when I would say that?

Making a Walgreen’s list for next week – seniors get a 10% discount on the first Tuesday of every month. I’ll probably burn some wood. It’s hot, so if I’m going to walk, I need to get moving soon. Maybe a nap later. Thinking about dinner, of course.

It’s not all bad out here. I keep thinking about Leonard Cohen, who said, “I’ve taken a lot of Prozac, Paxil, Wellbutrin, Effexor, Ritalin, Focalin. I’ve also studied deeply in the philosophies of the religions, but cheerfulness kept breaking through.”