Category: Simple Pleasures

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.

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.

A dissent against yard work

Off for a round of golf wearing my dissent collar.

I was lying in bed this morning. Smoke from the fires has dissipated for the time being, so the window was open, and the air felt cool. For a minute, maybe less, it felt normal. Like none of this had happened. A normal summer sliding into fall. No pandemic, no fires, no civic unrest, no one encroaching on anyone’s right to live in peace.

A normal election year. Two reasonably sane people running against each other without undue malice. You pick one or the other, but your choice is not an existential threat.

Cozy in bed and feeling happy. What if I just stayed there?

But I got up to read yesterday’s news, which we pay to have dropped on our driveway every morning. We saw the news about RBG, and we’re feeling very sad. I have to distance myself from the shenanigans involving her replacement. Maybe a third justice will be the last thing Mitch McConnell has to deliver for the Dark Lord before shuffling back to hell, where he belongs.

I got a cup of coffee and began to read. Dale had the section with weather. In a bright perky voice not common in our house anymore, he said, “The fire danger map looks good!”

You know what they say in golf. If someone gives you a putt, take it. I mean, if that’s all there is … I’m clinging to the image of a shrinking fire danger map. And the sound of Dale’s happy voice.

In other upbeat news, I ordered a hot-shit woodburning tool, as mine was merely adequate. My chronically weak wrists were starting to hurt, and I read a better tool with higher temperatures is much easier to manage. Plus, I think you get cleaner lines.

There were several high-quality products to consider, but I went with the Burnmaster. With a name like that, what choice did I have?

I started to do a whole post about yard work, but I didn’t want to dwell on the disparity among workers in our household. We were going to throw some money at it but decided to clean up the yard ourselves. While some of us worked like an animal, others preferred to put on clean shirt and water the basil.

There was an ugly incident in which the less motivated person was shamed into doing his part … sort of a mini performance improvement plan. I am now comfortable with our progress, as well as the participation level. He pruned the Sago palms, which is not an easy job.

My counterpart hard job was to attack the giant overgrown rosemary plant, which I call Rosemary’s Baby.

It looks like it’s actually the neighbor’s plant poking through our fence.
Just a fraction of the debris from Rosemary’s Baby.

I don’t know what I’m doing, so I just started treating it like some sort of delicate Bonsai and went after it with pruning shears. I barely put a dent in it and gave up for the day. When I went in the garage, I saw a tool I’d never seen before.

Well, hello! Who are you?

Dale said it was a chain saw. Really. How long have we had that? Forever. Does it work? Yes. Would it work on Rosemary’s Baby? Probably. And you didn’t think to suggest this?

I know what you’re thinking, as in, you don’t know what a chain saw looks like? Hey, I was busy earning a living, writing drivel for very important corporate bobbleheads, thank you very much. My brain was full.

Anyway, just call me Dances with Chainsaw. I love that thing! I’m almost done with Rosemary’s Baby, and now that I’m almost down to stubs, it looks as though it’s not even our plant. There are no roots on our side – just thick branches breaking through the fence.

I guess I’m OK with that. Psychologically, I’m done. This is the last time I am cleaning up the yard. In the future, money will be thrown. I don’t mind a little mow and blow, but I prefer to save my wrists for fun retirement hobbies.

Which is why the rosemary debris is sitting idly today while I go and play golf. My personal tribute to RBG and perhaps a dissent against yard work.

May she rest in peace.

Just keep going

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

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

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

I went home to recover and prepare for chemotherapy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Music to burn wood by

This will be a short post because I’ve been screwing around all afternoon trying to get this image set up so when you click on it, a light box pops up, and you can see the details. How hard should that be? It might work … try it!

I messed around with the gallery, too. Hopefully an improvement, but my brain is fried at this point.

I’m excited to share this latest sample of my pallet art. I hope it’s not too boring. My goal is part show-and-tell and part inspiration. I had absolutely no interest in art prior to retirement, and now it’s becoming a big part of my life. I even dream about it and wake up with new ideas.

In this example, I drew all the images with a pencil first. Mainly because there’s a lot of layering … and it’s easy to mess that up in real time. Then I burned in all the pencil lines with my woodburning tool. After all the burning was done, I used a combination of standard pencils and oil-based pencils to add color. Finally, I sealed it with two layers of spray-on varnish.

My favorite one so far! For some reason, I’ve become addicted to Tejano music with lots of accordions. I dedicate this piece to Flaco Jiménez, one of the best accordionists in the business. His music keeps me burning.

Life among the hermetically sealed

I was preparing for locusts when the fires came. The fires are a good distance from us. We are safe, but the air quality is terrible. We weren’t going anywhere anyway. Now we’re hermetically sealed. I haven’t been outside in days.

Key words: We are safe.

Nothing to complain about. Many indoor amusements.

Art (or something like it)

I’m still having fun with my woodburning art. If nothing else, it’s a wonderful distraction while spending days on end at home. I didn’t want to clutter up the house with my masterpieces, so my completed projects are hanging in the garage until I decide what to do with them.

I asked a friend to look at my online gallery and pick out one for herself. She chose my favorite one so far! I used oil-based pencils for the deep, bold colors and standard colored pencils for areas with subtle shading. I love the range of reds and yellows, which she said will complement her living room furniture.

Pallet scrap burned and embellished with a combination of oil-based pencils and standard colored pencils.

I’m experimenting with a new technique on my current piece. I’ve used an acrylic paint glaze to color the larger areas, and now I’m adding a background design with burned-in dots. The glaze is sort of rustic looking, and I even sanded a little bit over it to roughen it up more. The glazing process is time-consuming, but I seem to have plenty of time on my hands.

Work in progress — the blots are colored with an acrylic glaze, and I’m adding a dotted pattern in the background.

Books & TV

On the entertainment front, I’ve been watching Anne with an E on Netflix. There are only three seasons, and I will be sad when it ends. Total escapism. The series is based on the Anne of Green Gables books, which I never read as a child. Sometimes childhood classics don’t hold up when you read them as an adult, but I still might give the series a try.

I’ve also found some books only seem to be written for children or young adults. I read all the Tarzan books in my 20s and loved them. Just so you know, Jane was badass! Other children’s books I’ve read as an adult include the Harry Potter novels, A Wrinkle in Time and The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane. I also love the Stuart Little and Paddington Bear movies.

There’s something simple and healing about stories for young audiences. I might just make a regular thing of it. Do you have any favorite children’s books or movies you’ve enjoyed as an adult?

Food

As a foodie, I highly recommend the Food Network series, Amy Schumer Learns to Cook. She and her chef husband are quite the opposites and hilarious together. He likes to cook with fennel, and her reactions are priceless.

We went on another Mexican kick this week. Sometimes we just can’t stop ourselves. Dale made carnitas one night, I made chicken tacos another. Oh, and a dish I jokingly call huevos dineros. It’s my twisted version of huevos rancheros amped up for dinner. A crisp corn tortilla topped with homemade chili sauce, Cheddar cheese and a runny fried egg, accompanied by shredded iceberg lettuce, tomatoes, sliced avocados and a dollop of sour cream.

Today I’m making an overnight no-knead dough that will magically produce baguettes tomorrow. We’ll have those with a ripe Brie, Italian cold cuts and maybe some smoked salmon. Greens on the side. My sister sent us a beautiful assortment of balsamic vinegar, which will certainly have an important role in this meal.

Today’s dinner is unknown at this point, but we swore an oath it will be vegetable-centric to make up for the excesses we enjoyed earlier in the week.

Retirement spreadsheets

Using spreadsheets for good not evil.

I started the year with only one goal and added another one in March. I hate it when that happens. Let’s hope having two goals isn’t the first step down the slippery slope to having three or even more, as I consider myself the queen slacker, the face of resistance to over-engineering retirement.

As an avid golfer, my first goal was to break 80 this year. I’ve only been at it for 20 years, so the time was right. Bingo! I shot 79 a couple of weeks ago, so that’s done. I guess that technically means I’m back to having one goal. The path should be clear for my return to mediocre golf.

My other goal is to survive the pandemic. So far, so good.

I retired from a job where everything was documented in quarterly reports and dashboards. That’s the last thing I want to do in retirement. Although I am handy with a spreadsheet, these days I use technology to help me with recreational activities! Here’s a selection from my files:

  • Reading list
  • Local Golf Courses I Can Walk
  • Cannabis Field Notes
  • Streaming List
  • Road Trips

What else is the queen slacker up to? Dale bought lobsters yesterday, and we had lobster rolls for dinner. I had leftover lobster salad on a toasted English muffin for breakfast. I drank strong coffee and scanned the news.

Did some puzzles and walked for about an hour. It seems like we spent the morning thinking about dinner. But I spent much of my career thinking about dinner, so that’s nothing new.

Dale’s making a dish we call Schnitzel on a Stick. He pounds a bone-in pork chop thin and then breads it and fries it in lard, which is actually better for you than butter. Also high in taste. Please don’t judge too harshly – there will be broccoli.

Speaking of animal fats, today we had a unique challenge that required my undivided attention for, oh, I’d say 30 minutes.

Mission bacon.

One of our favorite pork products – Wright Thick Sliced Hickory Smoked Bacon – has been increasingly difficult to find, but Amazon Fresh has it, so I stepped up to the plate and put together an online order for delivery later today. Who says I’m not busy?

Although I’m not scared of mediocre golf, I practiced putting on a matt out in the garage. A little music to go with. The Last Waltz. The Band.

As I was working on this post, Dale was at his computer reading the news, and he told me Joe Biden announced his running mate is Kamala Harris.

We like Kamala and think she’s a good choice, but Dale was upset because Joe didn’t tell him first. Dale’s like, you give a candidate some money and you expect more. I said, here’s the thing, Dale, I think Joe expected more money.

Still, we are proud to do our part and are ever hopeful a new day is coming.

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?

Stop and smell the goose poop

Ice wine slushie and garden tomatoes.

Today is Wednesday, and normally I would be playing golf in my weekly league. However, last Wednesday, I played so well on the front nine that I felt physically ill trying to live up to my short-lived reputation on the back nine.

The league is not exactly high-stakes competition, but there’s a point system and bragging rights. I got ahead of myself and started feeling over-confident … thinking about the win instead of staying centered and enjoying the game. I decided to take a break. Time to stop and smell the goose poop.

Much to my surprise, I find myself wanting to be more sociable. As an introvert and dedicated homebody, I really thought I could go forever without talking to anyone. I was actually delighted when the clubhouse closed in response to the pandemic.

Now I’m thinking, gee, I don’t know. Life is pretty hard, and who knows how this will all end? What’s wrong with a little party before the lights go out or come on again? Even when reality sucks, can we not find a way to celebrate the moment?

The very idea of being sociable is all speculative at this point, but I can see it happening. Dale is desperate to talk to someone other than me, so I’m pretty sure he’s on board.

Until such time, we continue to party in small ways by cooking and eating well. The chana masala I made was absolutely fantastic, but the naan wasn’t very good. The bread was too cracker-like. I want to try again with a different recipe.

The backyard tomato harvest is on. We had Greek salads – coarsely chopped tomatoes, cucumbers and onions. Garnished with feta cheese and a few Kalamata olives. Dressed with good olive oil and red wine vinegar. A spray of oregano. Dale’s homemade bread for dunking.

We repurposed the bread for BLTs – always delicious with homegrown tomatoes. Then tostadas. A crisply fried corn tortilla topped with mashed black beans, cheddar cheese, lettuce, onions, tomatoes and guacamole.

BTW – I do the NY Times mini crossword puzzle every day. One of the clues this week was an ingredient in guacamole. The answer was onion. I say no! That’s crazy talk. Avocado, lime, salt and a hint of garlic powder.

Onions in guacamole. Yes or no? Your vote matters.

Whenever Dale roasts a whole chicken, we freeze the carcass. I had two carcasses, so I made stock yesterday. I splash some olive oil in a stock pan and add a rough chop of celery, onions and carrots. Sweat those out and add the chicken. Cover with water. Plop in a little cheesecloth sack stuffed with fresh parsley. Simmer for three hours. Strain and freeze.  

I don’t eat on the mornings when I play golf, so we celebrated my day off with one slice of bacon each, toast made from Dale’s homemade bread and eggs scrambled in the bacon fat. I recognize we had bacon earlier in the week, and I apologize for setting a bad example.

We’ve been eating outside. Music, food and drink. That might cure what ails you. I invented a refreshing dessert perfect for al fresco dining. I’m calling it an ice wine slushie. You probably don’t have ice wine sitting around, but somehow, we accumulated several bottles.

Start with 13 ounces of ice wine. Add 3/4 cup of water and six tablespoons of sugar. Simmer for two minutes in a saucepan, cool, and then put it in an ice cream machine. It doesn’t freeze solid, so I put it in a shot glass, and you take a little sip as the sorbet melts.

The flavor is unbelievable, and it’s a thoroughly pleasant way to end a meal. Then when it gets dark, we take a dip in the pool. Swimsuits optional.

Yes, we’re taking time to smell the goose poop, enjoying our simple pleasures and practicing for the parties in our future. How are you celebrating the moment?