Category: Simple Pleasures

Making room for art

Wall of art.
Number 17. For some reason, this wood was hard to burn and hard to color, but I like how it turned out. I gifted it back to the guy who gave me the wood. I want it back.
Number 18. Unlike the damaged scraps I normally work with, this is a piece of poplar I purchased.

Although I can’t quite summon the strength to call myself an artist, I am happy to spend quality retirement time experimenting with artistry. I’ve been at it for about a year now. Consider this my periodic plea to make room for art in your life.

It all started when I scavenged a pallet from my neighbor’s debris. I had no idea what I would do with it, but it’s like that Progressive ad when Jamie cries with joy, “Who gives away free wood?”

One day I woke up and decided I would burn it. An art form known as pyrography, although my version is a far cry from the traditional works of this genre.

I got a book from the library and decided to purchase an inexpensive woodburning tool. I sanded the wood a little bit, made some primitive marks and called it art. That first attempt quickly escalated to drawing more complex designs with the woodburning tool and filling them in with color.

At first, I used cheap colored pencils, and although the result is fine, the shades are more muted. I didn’t get the explosion of color I wanted until I threw some money at it … in the form of Faber-Castell Polychromos oil-based colored pencils. Then I added some acrylic paint. Then I threw more money at it and bought a high-quality pyrography tool. We like to call it the BurnMaster 5000.

The big question all along has been what to do with this stuff. I have given away a few pieces to mixed reviews. While I try not to get into the trap of love me, love my art, I was disappointed to learn my in-laws thought it was weird and didn’t know what to make of it. Ditto for a guy I play golf with.

That’s when I decided no one gets this stuff anymore. I’m going to be an art hoarder. I hung a couple on the fence in the backyard, but the sun just made them almost disappear. So, I brought them in. I found an empty hallway wall and bought a bunch of Command strips. The rest is decorating history.

For the record, I do not have the decorating gene. Our house has no theme, décor, color scheme or anything else that looks intentional. However, this wall is intentional, and I like that. I will keep adding until it’s full and then find another wall.

Experimenting with art has been one of the best discoveries of my retirement. Sure, it’s relaxing, but it also stretches me to think in new ways and challenges me to accept imperfection. I almost exclusively work with found wood that is damaged in some way, but a friend recently gave me some wood that was really hard to burn and color.

To reward myself for finishing the monster, I purchased a beautiful piece of poplar at Home Depot. Yes, it was easier to burn and the colors absorbed beautifully, but I missed all the dings, dents and quirks of my abused and discarded scraps. A psychologist could have a field day with that one.

Speaking of abuse, my dentist was asking me about retirement – you know, those rare pauses where you can actually speak – and I said we were not high-rollers. No big travel Jones. That life is mostly about simple pleasures. I had shown him pictures of my art. We always manage to talk golf. Cooking.

He said, “So, all you really need are greens fees, art supplies and food.”

Yeah, pretty much.

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.

Vaxed to the max

We passed our post-vaccination 10-day waiting period and are now vaxed to the max. My first foray into the “fully vaccinated” zone was quite lovely, although my next attempt fell short. Here’s what happened.

Although I’ve played golf throughout the pandemic, I’ve been quite cautious and have avoided certain events where it was assumed we would get together afterward. I was not comfortable getting too close to people, indoors or outdoors.

One group I play with is particularly social, and I have avoided them for the past year. But I found myself missing the fun and signed up to play in an event now that I’m somewhat immune. It was cold in the morning, but by the time we finished, it was sunny and delightfully warm.

The course had an outdoor patio, where everyone gathered. Some were socially distant, some were not. I purchased a beer and sat down near the hub of activity but far enough away to feel at ease. I took off my mask, and there in the soothing sun I sat, sipping and chatting and feeling pretty damned happy.  

I think this was the first face-to-face conversation I’ve had with anyone other than Dale in over a year. Such a simple pleasure!

On the way home, the radio played in order:

  • The End (The Doors)
  • Truckin’ (Grateful Dead)
  • White Rabbit (Jefferson Airplane)  

Great music kind of put me in the mood to party. We’ll have to wait and see how that unfolds. I’m not sure I remember how to party. But I do feel optimistic that Dale and I can enjoy a wider variety of activities without putting ourselves at undue risk. However, I’ll go out on a limb and share my prediction.

By and large, Americans are done with lockdowns, and they’ve told themselves this is over. Many are going to behave with wild abandon and COVID, in some form or fashion, will be persistent for another year. And yet there’s a chance enough people have either had the virus or the vaccine, and we’ll turn this ship around. We can only hope.

My next thought was a return to swimming. My three-year-old swimsuits are a bit saggy from wear and tear, so I thought it would be fun to go to Target and see what they have. I masked up and headed out. I have been to Target only once during the pandemic, and that was to buy kitty litter, which I later learned could be delivered to my door.

I collected a handful of cute suits and made a beeline for the fitting room. It looked like a crime scene, as in all taped up and not open for business. I stood there for a few minutes, just staring at the empty space, kind of in shock. The possibility of the fitting rooms being closed had never occurred to me. I turned around and drove home.

As it turns out, my sister-in-law had the same experience, and she said even if you buy a swimsuit to try on at home, you can’t return it. So, I’m back to Amazon. Free shipping both ways.

Next in the queue are haircut, dentist and dermatologist. We have some home improvements on the list, but we’re going to wait a bit and see how the virus behaves before we commit to having anyone in our home.

Oh, and last week marked 22 years since I was diagnosed with Stage 3 ovarian cancer. I’m in a small club of lucky long-term survivors, and no matter what happens, pandemic or no pandemic, I will be forever grateful for my good fortune.

You can read more about my experience in this post from a couple of years ago.

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.”

Living large at home

Number 15

California’s governor lifted the much-maligned stay-at-home order just in time for a winter storm to roll in, and all of the sudden everyone wants to, um, stay home. Apparently, freedom’s just another word for let’s stay warm and dry.

Some businesses are starting to open again, although we aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. While I hate to admit this, I’ve become quite comfortable here in my nest. I do get out for walking and golf, but that’s it. Once in a while I get this idea I need to go out and buy something, but then I think, oh, I could just get that on Amazon.

In some ways, it will be hard to push myself out the door when the time comes. Dale’s not far behind me. He keeps a pair of binoculars by his desk that faces a window overlooking the street and reports on daily activities.

“Oh, it looks like the Johnson clan is getting new appliances.”

We really do need to get out more.

In the meantime, I’m grateful for hobbies that keep me amused. I finished another piece of woodburning art, ceremoniously named Number 15. This would be the successor to numbers one through 14. Creativity is sometimes stretched thin during these unprecedented times.

I made it for my dear friend, Carole, whose house has a lot of blue and green. I didn’t want to mimic her colors but instead complement them. It took great discipline to stick to the color scheme, as my previous works seem to be an explosion of reds. I did add just a tiny splash of red and yellow for character.

When I uploaded the piece to my online gallery, I was surprised how different it is from my other examples. I like the all-colors-are-welcome approach, but sticking with a palette is interesting, too.

This time I used a combination of acrylic paint and pencils to fill in the designs I made with the woodburning tool. Because I used so many greens and blues and have a limited supply of paint and pencils, I concocted custom colors for the first time. My sister, The Michaels Whisperer, tells me I can buy a book that essentially provides recipes for color-mixing.

As for scrap wood, I have a couple pieces left. I told asked Dale to be on the lookout and suggested he might want to drive through the neighborhood to see what people are tossing. Not all things are visible from his observation tower by the window.

Although I said in my last post I wasn’t particularly productive, several of us got into a discussion in the comments section and Tamara wondered if engaged is a better word. In addition to my golf addiction, I’m definitely engaged in a number of creative pursuits, to include cooking, baking, writing, growing cannabis and practicing art.

Still, I avoid overengineering my time and try not to make a job out of it.

While we all look forward to a cornucopia of post-pandemic options, I’m not waiting for it to end before I start to live. There’s something to be said for a simple but enjoyable lifestyle that is sustainable through good times and bad. I am fortunate to have a choice, and my simple pleasures in no way mitigate the pain and suffering others are experiencing throughout this ordeal.

I might not be living large, but I’m living large at home. As best I can, anyway.

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.

Ambition is overrated

My latest pallet scrap burned and embellished with colored pencils.

In my About Me profile, I wrote:

I like to play golf, walk, swim, cook, read, write, watch TV, listen to music, make art and grow cannabis.

And you know, that pretty much sums it up. I never imagined I’d arrive at this place, but I might be devoid of ambition. Although I was fairly successful in my career, success comes with baggage I no longer wish to carry. That could all change, but during this phase of my retirement, it’s rather pleasant to dabble in what amuses me and be free of expectations and judgment.

While I may be voted the girl least likely to do anything memorable, I’m enjoying simple pleasures that escaped me as I scrambled up the ladder at work. For example, I’ve been playing golf for about 25 years, and I’ve never enjoyed it more than I do now.

For years, I felt every swing was being judged. Every mistake was a failure of catastrophic proportions. Now I just play to play, and I am a much better golfer without all that self-induced pressure. Playing partners frequently ask me if I compete in amateur events, and my response is no, I’m not wired for it.

I’ve also learned to accept imperfection through my woodburning activities. At first, I wanted to hoard my art because that was easier than waiting for someone to say, “I like it.” I started giving it away, and it has been quite liberating. In some cases, I will never know if someone liked it. I only know what was in my heart when I created it and shared it. Somehow, that’s enough.

As for my other hobbies, some are going quite well and others leave something to be desired. Between the virus and Trump’s antics, it’s hard for me to sit still long enough to read. I have a book I’ve renewed two times, and I’m committed to reading it before the next expiration date.

But I honestly am not sure I can relax until Elvis has left the building. I was hoping that would be on Inauguration Day, but I read they have to deep clean the White House due to COVID-19 (not simply the stench of his presence), so it may take longer once they finally drag him out, perhaps kicking and screaming. Handcuffs would be nice.

I haven’t been swimming since the health club was forced to close down its indoor activities. The outdoor pools are still open, but I had concerns about the whole set-up. I really wanted to swim Sunday, so I reserved a lane and went over there. I did not like what I saw.

The weight equipment has been moved outside, and I had to walk through sweaty maskless people to reach poolside, where they set up stationary bicycles at the water’s edge, where I would normally enter the pool, and where sweaty maskless people were furiously spinning away.

I left. I’m keeping my membership for now, as I expect the restrictions to loosen sometime in January. You know, after the Christmas COVID rush. Once all that equipment and all those people move back inside, I’ll feel safer.

Although I may be overly cautious, it’s better than being careless or in denial. I played golf with an older guy, who said, “There’s a zero percent chance of getting this virus, but a few people do get it.” Lord. I just keep my mouth shut and the distance greater than six feet.

In the continuing adventures of a gentlewoman cannabis farmer, my plants have been doing great! I grow one at a time by a south-facing window with supplemental light. With autoflowering seeds, you don’t need much more than that. Since the summer, I’ve harvested 42 grams of high-quality buds.

That’s more than enough to make my next batch of cannabis balm, which I use daily on creaky body parts. The recipe is on my downloads page. While some say topical cannabis doesn’t work for them, I’m a believer. I first started using it shortly after my 2015 mastectomy, which resulted in neuropathic pain. I’m not good at describing what the pain feels like, but it’s like all the nerves are screaming, “Fire in the house!”

Recently it occurred to me I don’t have that pain anymore, so I stopped using the cream. Within a month, the pain returned. I also use it on my knees and on an itchy patch of skin on my back called Notalgia Paresthetica (Latin for itches like a mofo).

We celebrated 42 years of marriage on the winter solstice. I made tacos.

Roadkill pizza & home haircuts

Preparing to snip off the ends of my hair using the patented pigtail technique.

I started to get in a funk this week. The pandemic. Trump. Just the weight of it all taking a toll, and I say that as someone who has it pretty damn easy. Do you suppose there’s a sleeping pill I can take tonight and wake up Jan. 20?

My remedy was to make another donation to the food bank and just get on with life. The whole simple pleasures thing. One good laugh, and I’m OK. Thankfully, Dale delivered.

He came back from a run and said there was a pizza box by someone’s trash with leftover pizza hanging out the side. He said it was kind of gross smashed up on the street and missing a couple of bites, but then he added, “You know, it still looked good.”

I don’t know. I find it highly amusing to think pizza still looks good even when it’s essentially road kill. Fortunately, I have a personal pizza chef. Tonight’s is what we call Punishment Pizza. Shrimp, goat cheese, Kalamata olives, basil and habanero peppers.

Other highlights from the week:

  • Finished watching River on Amazon Prime. Wow. Part moody cop drama and part otherworldly romance. Oh, and there’s an old disco song you will never get out of your brain. I’ve re-watched the last episode several times just for the dance scene with Stellan Skarsgård and Nicola Walker.
  • Validated my hypothesis that pumpkin cheesecake is good for breakfast. And then I tested it again just to be sure.
  • Splurged on another pair of “yoga” pants. At 65, I need some structure. My favorites are the Headlands Hybrid Cargo Tight from Athleta. At $108, they are not cheap, but these pants are durable, comfortable, versatile and flattering.
  • For a brief moment, I missed the feeling of being good at my job. Then I remembered the executive who had a temper tantrum when the company began to promote work-life balance. He said work was life and didn’t require balance. I realized I’m actually pretty good at retirement.
  • Decided to hoard my woodburning art creations as some sort of primitive documentation that I was here. Like etchings from the pandemic cave.
  • Cut my hair using the patented pigtail technique. I don’t think I’m losing abnormal amounts of hair, but I cleaned the bathroom today, and it’s like King Kong shaved in there. I have entertained the idea of buzzing it all off.

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.

Year of the jammies

Cute work clothes with nowhere to go.

No matter how this shakes out, I’m thinking the pandemic is going to have a big impact on retirees and future retirees. I’m a happy homebody with enough interests to amuse me for years to come and savings that can withstand a recession. I consider myself lucky.

The pandemic offered a sneak peek at what it’s like to spend more time at home. But COVID is not a frolicking gap year. You’ve got fear, sickness, death, loss, boredom, home schooling, aging parents, family squabbles, childcare and financial stress. For a lot of people, it’s like getting hit with a Sharknado, and their response is, Oh Hell No!

I’ll bet a lot of people who used to dream about retirement can’t wait to get back to work. Or their savings have taken a tough hit, and they need to get back to work. And then I wonder if the pandemic experience will drive them to stay on the job even longer and avoid retirement, not only to fatten up the finances but also to maintain six degrees of separation from all thing homey.

There’s something to be said for staying in the workforce. It’s that whole identity thing. I’m post-identity, livin’ the jammie lifestyle, but there was a time when one of life’s curveballs changed my connection to work. I was only 43 the first time I got cancer, and I was stuck in a boring job with no growth potential.

Once I recovered from cancer, I vowed to put everything into finding a new job so I could achieve my professional dreams. It took me five years of steady job-hunting, but I did it. And when I found that new job, a door opened and then another and then another. That one move led to a successful career I was proud of.

Then I got cancer again. By this time, I was in my late 50s. And this time I started to think about another way of life with less stress. Did I want to spend my precious time on Earth working for the man, or could I cut the electronic leash and learn to enjoy life’s simple pleasures?

I had a hard time coming to grips with my decision because it seemed so alien not to work and be totally focused on my career, but I decided to retire at age 62. Not exactly early retirement but earlier than I ever imagined. Three years later, I’m so happy I made the leap.

Illness definitely affected my professional timetable. My first bout of cancer woke me up to get serious about work, and my second bout woke me up to get serious about life. Perhaps the pandemic is another turning point – what will we do differently as a result of this experience?

As for me, I have a hard time making friends, and the pandemic enabled me to stay distant in every way! I’m looking forward to becoming more sociable. I’ve said that before, but this time it feels real.

With so much alone time, I’ve learned I can go long periods without talking. I’ve always been such a blabbermouth, and I like this quieter side. Perhaps this new-found skill of talking less will teach me to listen more – and that will build on my goal to become a better friend.

The only other thing I thought of it is some sort of volunteer job. I’d like to contribute in some way beyond charitable giving, but my motives aren’t totally pure. I have a closet full of cute work outfits that haven’t seen the light of day, and after a year in jammies and workout clothes, I thought it would be good to get dressed up once a week.

Then again, I might just donate the clothes.