Category: Simple Pleasures

My dream job

I spoke with a former colleague this week, and he had nothing good to say about work. I tried to listen and be supportive, but the whole time I was thinking how happy I am to be done with all that.

The thing is, when I was into it, I was into it. I was paid well and am still reaping the benefits of long-term compensation. For the most part, I enjoyed the work and loved being a leader. I could have stayed a couple more years, but I had already had cancer twice, I was getting older and wanted a healthier lifestyle that wasn’t all about work.

I started visualizing the future, and then a couple of bad bosses and ridiculous expectations set me on the path to retirement, which might be the best thing that ever happened to me. I love being retired!

These days I do have a job – live well, stay healthy and be happy. You could say it’s my dream job.

The job is evolving. When I first retired, I experimented with arts and crafts. I might dabble from time to time, but it just didn’t stick. I’m surprised to discover I don’t care much about fashion or style. I did when I was working, but that was all part of the game. Now I dress for comfort and convenience.

When I dress, I think, could I wear this later if I go for a walk or hit balls on the driving range or would I have to change clothes? Mostly I wear stretchy things that go anywhere. And running shoes. Even though I don’t run. Supportive. Good for my back, my knees. Ready for action.

I sometimes thought of myself as a role-model for aging well, but that seems arrogant. I would like to go back and delete some of the content I’ve written I now see as preachy. I’m focused on just loving my life, doing the best I can with what I have and throwing it all out there for others to read about.

As my thinking evolves, I expect the blog to evolve as well. I haven’t decided exactly what I’ll do just yet, but I see changes coming. I’m probably going to ditch the word badass in my tagline. I feel great, but I don’t feel badass.

My topics are likely to focus on the core things that excite me. I’ve occasionally ranted about politics, but I’m not continuing down that path. Ditto for advice on retirement planning. And while golf is a big part of my life, I don’t write about it much because I don’t think it’s of interest to many people. I also walk and swim, but so what? Not much to say about that.

The things I love that readers also seem to care about are food, cooking, cannabis, crime fiction and funny stories about relationships.

I’ll give some thought to reorganizing the blog around these focus areas. I’m inclined to leave all the old content there, even though I don’t like some of it anymore, because it does reflect my journey. Gotta figure out a way to share stories about cooking and food without pretending to be a food blogger. Finally, I like to keep my word count under 700 and will be more diligent to keep it tight.

Anyway, that’s where I am on this Super Bowel Sunday. Dale and I don’t care for football, but we’re thinking about food anyway … keeping with the party theme. We have leftover roasted chicken, and I’m voting for Dale’s killer chicken tortilla soup. I’ll make an appetizer of baked cheddar olives wrapped in a flaky pastry dough.

Oh, and beer! We’re currently featuring Panic IPA in the kegerator. That’s my artwork on the door. My talent knows no limits.

Colon Blow 2020

Many thanks for contributing to the discussion about TV streaming options. I sincerely appreciate the recommendations. I wasn’t going to subscribe to anything, but now I’m leaning toward Netflix and Britbox. Go big or go home. I can always cancel.

In other news, today is colonoscopy prep day. The procedure is first thing tomorrow morning. Clear liquids all day and then Colon Blow 2020 starting at 6 p.m. I am not amused.

For the record, this is not my first rodeo. I’ve been on the five-year plan since 1999, when I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Like just about everyone else, I’d say the procedure itself is fine, but prep is the worst. This time it seems worse than normal. Previously, I’d do the colon blow earlier in the day and be done in time to get a decent night’s sleep.

But, oh, no. Now they have this thing called split dosage. I’m to do half of it at 6 p.m. and the other half at 2 a.m. I called to confirm, because I couldn’t imagine they expected me to be awake at 2 a.m. Sadly, that is exactly what they expect.

When I explained to Nurse Ratched I’ve never had to get up at 2 a.m. for colonoscopy prep, she almost barked and said, well, things change! That was it. Then another nurse called me for a pre-op discussion, and she was kinder and more informative. Basically, she said they’ve learned the split dosage does a better job of cleaning out the colon.

I’m all about clean colons. Hell, yeah. I’m in, but I still think it’s ridiculous. Here’s my conspiracy theory regarding the new colonoscopy prep:

In the old days, you went to see your gastroenterologist, and it went on from there. Now there are clinics that do pretty much nothing but colonoscopies. You don’t even meet your doctor until you’re naked on the table.

There is no medical basis for my opinion, just a rant really, but I believe the colonoscopy mills eliminated any personal attention or nuance, and they want the biggest blow-out this stinking desert has ever seen so they can get through it faster and do more.

There, I said it. I’m probably wrong. It’s all for my medical safety, blah, blah, blah. And I know one day of unpleasantness is nothing compared to colon cancer.

I hope you’re having a great Sunday. Me? Not so much. However, I leave you with this sweet article about an ex-prisoner and how he spends his Sundays. Highlights are good coffee and hot lavender baths.

It’s all about simple pleasures!

And speaking of simple pleasures, as clear liquids go, I have to say lemon Jello is not all bad. Not bad at all. But it would be better with whipped cream.

Is Netflix worth it?

It has been more than a year since I quit Netflix. No real reason other than the price went up slightly, and I didn’t watch it often. I honestly haven’t missed it.

However, we were channel surfing over the holidays and ended up watching Caddyshack. I’ve seen it multiple times, of course, but it had been years. We laughed so hard, and it felt good to be released from the prison of daily newsfeeds that suck me in. Caddyshack was great, even with commercials.

My favorite Ty Webb quote: “I don’t play golf for money, against people.”

While I love golf and work hard to keep improving, I’ve finally accepted I do not care for competition, so now I’m focusing more on the simple pleasures of the game. And that brings me back to the simple pleasures of watching a good show on TV.

Golf and life – how they do intersect.

Currently, I watch stuff on Amazon Prime. There’s a lot of good content that comes free with Prime, and I like the “pay by the drink” formula for new movies that never seem to make their way to Netflix. Lately I’ve been thinking of re-subscribing to Netflix. We are not on a super-strict retirement budget, so it’s not a financial issue. I just hate wasting money on services and goods I don’t need or use regularly.

But that might change. Although I am an avid reader, I also enjoy movies and binge-worthy series. After watching Caddyshack and cracking up for an hour and a half, I’m thinking I should indulge more. Not just comedies but a variety of entertainment. For example, I paid Amazon a few bucks for a season of Outlander, which is also available on Netflix.

By the way, I’m about to start episode 6 of Outlander, and if Claire and Jamie don’t have sex soon, I’m outtie.

Subscribing to a streaming service comes down to how I want to live my life. While I do think it’s important to keep learning, I’m not much into self-improvement as a retirement hobby. When I first retired, it seemed like everyone was saying we needed to reinvent ourselves to stay relevant or be worthy of retirement.

Now I realize I’m already worthy, and retirement is not a competition to see who is the most productive or the most evolved. Everyone is different, and retirement is (finally) our time to focus on what makes us happy.

As for me, I’m happy to spend a lot of time walking, swimming, playing golf, cooking and otherwise moving around. Kicking back during my downtime to watch more movies also appeals to me. A small thing if it brings pleasure.

What do you think? Is Netflix worth it?

My 2020 plan in 33 words

Oh, is it time for the Year in Review? My apologies. I’m not one to document goals, accomplishments or disappointments. If I wanted to do all that, I would be working.

Nor do I develop a complex plan for the upcoming year. Commitments, metrics – it starts to feel like performance management, and that’s enough to give me nightmares. What a horrible process that was. It gets ugly when you become a leader and see how the sausage is made. I almost threw up the first time I had to change someone’s rating because there were too many in that tier. It’s called forced distribution, and it sucks.

On the receiving end, I always got positive reviews, but you know how it goes. They have to find one thing. You gotta learn to take it. No matter what my boss wrote or said, I learned to respond, “Thank you so much. I love this job and can’t wait to work in collaboration with the team to accomplish even more next year.” Period.

Then whine about that one thing all night until Dale shuffles off to bed, turning to 600 pages of U-boat lore for solace.

I just can’t mess with laying all that judgment on myself anymore. I’m not perfect, but despite the rumors, I’m pretty cool. Life is great! My career felt like a 35-year race, and retirement feels like I made it to the finish line. It’s not as though I’m done with life, but I don’t have to run that particular race anymore. Now I can go to the party tent and drink beer.

Some people need big ideas to push them, and if that’s what makes you tick, I’m all about embracing it. I’ve seen some impressive 2020 goal-setting, and I seriously do find myself thinking, damn, I’m a slacker. For some of us, however, all that structure is oppressive. I actually get a lot done, but I try not to make a job out of it.

I keep a list of priorities on a 3 x 5 note card and call it a year.

If you’re feeling pressure to reinvent yourself in retirement or set up quarterly productivity metrics, I invite you to come over to the dark side, where we have a few priorities and the occasional short-term list to make sure things get done, but having clean jammies to hang out in is often the highest expectation of the day.

Aside from waking up without an alarm clock, my favorite times are when I play hard outside and come home to a great dinner. Maybe more of those in 2020? Dale? Dale? Anyone?

As for New Year’s Eve, we don’t make a big deal out of it. Our joke is nothing good happens after 10 p.m., when you should be home with the doors locked. For dinner, I’m making baguettes, which we’ll have with some fancy cold cuts, smoked salmon, cheese and champagne.

I assure you. If I see midnight, it’s only because I got up to pee.

A tree for the holidays?

I never get sick of retirement. Even when I read the news, and it’s all horrible and depressing, I think, well, at least I got to sleep in for two years.

Jury duty did not materialize. I called the automated line the first day, and they said call again tomorrow. I called again the next day, and they said you’re done. I was relieved to be set free but ready to do my part for democracy, if there should be any shreds left when all is said and done.

The Medical maze

Good news regarding my wrists. As you may recall, I fell off my bike in 2012 and broke my right wrist. It was in a cast. A couple of years later, I fell at work and x-rays were taken. My left wrist had an old fracture. I never knew it was broken, but I recall an anger management incident whereupon I pounded my fist on the arm of a chair, and I remember it hurting for weeks.

My wrists still hurt occasionally, and I attributed it to the fractures, although I also suspected carpal tunnel syndrome. Then in September, I did a fitness assessment that involved push-ups and other weight-bearing tests. They haven’t been the same since.

My primary care physician ordered x-rays and said my right one showed no signs of a fracture, and my left one had multiple fractures. She sent me to an orthopedic specialist.

I saw the ortho Monday. I will say that over the past couple of weeks, my wrists were starting to feel a lot better. I’ve continued to swim and play golf, wrapping my wrists in sports tape, which was hugely helpful.

Apparently, my primary care physician does not know how to read x-rays. The ortho said both wrists show signs of old but healed fractures. There is no evidence of arthritis. No symptoms associated with carpal tunnel.

He said my wrists look good and saw no reason for an MRI. The worst thing would be to immobilize them, so he said to keep doing what I’m doing. Play golf, swim, do weights, whatever. Tape them, don’t tape them, take Advil occasionally, whatever works. I asked about these little bands called Wrist Widgets, and he said sure, try them.

Later, I started having imaginary conversations.

 “What about bat’s blood? Do you think that would help?”

“Sure, give it a whirl.”

It kind of reminds me of when we lived in Egypt. You’d have horrible diarrhea and go to the medical clinic, and the first thing they’d ask is, “How long have you lived in Egypt?” And no matter what you said, they always replied, “That’s normal.” We started making up stuff.

“Doctor, there’s purple puss pouring out of my nose, and I’m vomiting baby chickens.”

“How long have you lived in Egypt?”

“Two years.”

“That’s normal.”

Anyway, I’m happy to be given the green light to play golf and swim and do weights, and as I said, both wrists are getting better, but I was a little surprised by his complete lack of concern. I guess that’s a good thing.

No signs of a Christmas tree

My Christmas tree experiment backfired on me. I reminded Dale once that Christmas would come fast following Thanksgiving, because I know he procrastinates, and if he wanted a tree, he’d better hustle. I would rather skip the whole thing, so I never said another word, hoping he’d forget.

He did seem unmotivated, and there were no signs of a tree. That’s when I started to feel bad. The tree makes him happy. I should encourage that, not secretly hope time gets the best of him. I finally said, look, I was hoping you’d forget about the tree, and I feel terrible if my bah humbug attitude brought you down. He said I was completely absolved. The tree is his deal.

Still, there’s no sign of a tree. Our neighbors got one yesterday, and it’s parked temporarily on their doorstep. It’s small but nicely shaped. I said, hey, check out Mike’s tree on their porch. I wonder where he got it? Dale nodded but didn’t say anything. By this time tomorrow, I’ll be begging.

A tree, for God’s sake, just get a tree already!

Retirement reading

I read where Tahoe Girl was re-reading one of her favorite books, “The Historian” by Elizabeth Kostova. I got it from the library and dove right in. First off, I will say it’s a beast of a book, weighing in at some 650 pages.

The story revolves around a group of academics studying the lore of Dracula and eventually their travels in search of his tomb. The principal narrator is the daughter of an academic, but part of the story is told through the father’s eyes, as well as through letters from another professor who went missing in the midst of his research. There’s even a love story tucked inside.

I liked it a lot. The history is detailed and quite interesting. I admit to speed reading here and there. But all in all, I found it hard to put down. I had a bad vampire dream toward the end of the book, and I finished it in the parking lot of the library, because I wanted the book out of the house.

Now that vampires aren’t stalking me in my sleep, I’m between books. I have a hold on the new Grisham book, “The Guardians.” Oh, and I got a nice note from Jay Harrison, our friend at BoomSpeak. He likes the Kristen Lepionka books I recommended. The character, Roxane Weary, is a private eye in Columbus, Ohio. She’s also bisexual.

I usually don’t like it when the author gets too cute with the private eye’s background. “He’s a retired clown who lives with witches on a mountain in Mongolia …” All that to say Roxane’s sexual preferences are an interesting sideline that don’t interfere with the integrity of a good private eye story.

California Dreaming

Since I didn’t have jury duty, I went to my golf club’s holiday luncheon. I blew out my hair and wore nice wool slacks that haven’t seen the light of day since I retired. Black pants, white shirt, denim jacket and black booties. For me, that’s festive.

As I was driving to the event, it was overcast and drizzling. I could hear the Mama and Papas singing, “All the leaves are gone, and the sky is gray.” And something about driving among the barren trees through California’s winter gloom to celebrate the holidays with a bunch of old lady golfers made me crazy happy.

Now I’m getting sentimental. I guess that means I will go with Dale to get a damned tree.

When the rain came

Our Thanksgiving was great, although the turkey was a little overdone. We had delicious turkey sandwiches last night on Dale’s homemade bread, so it couldn’t have been all that bad.

There was an incident involving the oven. Dale roasted a pork belly the night before, and apparently grease splattered, creating a lot of smoke when I was getting ready to put in the cheesecake. I had to turn on the fan and open windows. Luckily, it didn’t affect the food, and after the oven cooled, Dale wiped down the inside so we wouldn’t have a smokefest when he started cooking the turkey.

We didn’t argue about it, but I could tell he was annoyed that I was annoyed with smoke. He thinks I overreact, and that might be true, but I don’t see any advantage to embracing smoke and fire as a byproduct of cooking inside the home.

Dale went to bed early, but I stayed up watching the Downton Abbey movie. I love the series and felt like I was reunited with old friends – oh, look, there’s Anna! And Mr. Bates! And Mary’s hair … so chic. But all in all, it was pretty disappointing. I have this vision of the actors putting on their old costumes and laughing hysterically. As in, “Can you believe we’re getting paid to do this?”  

My pumpkin cheesecake was fantastic. I’m experimenting with freezer action. Once the pieces are firm, I’ll wrap them in plastic and put them in a tub or or add another layer of foil.

I am not a Christmas person, but I’m not going to get all grumpy about it, either. I’m just happy to be here. Dale is more into it than I am, but he doesn’t want to put up a tree until about a week before. However, if you don’t go soon, the trees are gone – especially with Thanksgiving coming right at the end of November this year.

Dale is not exactly methodical about getting things done, so I’m not saying a word. I’m hoping he procrastinates until there are no trees to be had. The only potential downside is my annual holiday tradition of drinking single malt scotch while he decorates the tree. I feel certain I could find another excuse to enjoy a wee bit of scotch, if the tree shortage should come to pass.

I finished all my books, and as it turns out, the library is open today! I’ve been avoiding crowds, but the library is reasonably safe. I suppose I’ll have to find something to wear other than jammies and head over there this afternoon, hopefully before the rain kicks in.

Yes, it’s California, but the rainy season is finally here, and it is quite chilly by my standards. I am proud to say I’ve walked about an hour every day. In terms of motivation, I had to dig deep, as I am such a wuus about the cold. But it was fine once I got started.

The rain and cold also affect my golf schedule – what Dale calls, “The Tour.” He usually asks me on Sunday what the tour schedule is this week. I didn’t play last week at all. I’m going to try and squeeze in a round early Tuesday. The rain is supposed to start in the afternoon. I welcome the rain, but I’m already sad about the unpredictability of winter golf.

When golf season is in full swing, I hardly bother with crafts projects. But now that the rainy season has started, I’ll resume my activities in the artist’s studio garage. I still have all the stuff for coasters, as well a piece of discarded fence I think will be interesting to play around with.

My little cannabis plant looks healthy, but it doesn’t seem to be growing much. I think it needs more light, so I caved and purchased an LED lamp. It should arrive today, and Dale said he would help me hang it – the guidelines suggest about one foot above the plant. For some reason, I was thinking of Robert Frost:

My little plant must think it queer to grow without a light source near.

Dale wants to take a turkey break today, but we have yet to discuss what we’ll have instead. I always make soup out of the carcass, so I’ll probably do that Sunday or Monday. Rain tonight, I think, and tomorrow looks like a washout.

I’m looking forward to next week, when everybody else goes back to work!

The 365-day weekend

We watched Office Space, which might be up there with Young Frankenstein for most times watched. I still love the scene where the consultant tells Peter he has been missing a lot of work lately.

Peter replies, “I wouldn’t say I’ve been missing it, Bob.”

Ditto!

In the work world I used to inhabit, Thanksgiving was at least a four-day weekend. Sometimes I would take a few extra days of vacation to get the whole week off, but as I advanced in my career, that became harder to do. More money equaled less time off, and in the end, the 24/7 work culture motivated me to retire. I never bought into the idea they owned me body and soul.

Even when I had time off, almost as soon as it started, I was stressed about it coming to an end.

I worked for a good company that paid me well, so I stayed fully committed and used to tell myself, “Don’t retire until you retire.” But the more hours I put in, the more I began to think about my exit strategy. I’m glad I hung in there, but I’m also glad I got out in time to enjoy retired life.

Now I’m entering my third year of retirement. The 365-day weekend. My third Thanksgiving without the dread of wondering when the call or email would come that some sort of crisis demanded my immediate attention. The biggest event today happened when I was toasting pecans and did a taste test. A few were rancid, so I had to throw out the whole package and send Dale to the store for more.

I know there are those who need more excitement or greater challenges, but I’m kind of done pushing that rock up the hill. Ambition served me well, but I don’t feel that need to prove myself anymore. Maybe it will come back, but for now I’m happy reading, writing, playing golf, walking, swimming, cooking – the usual suspects.

It got cold and windy and rainy here, so I’m going through my annual period of denial and staying inside with a couple of good books. I forgot I now have a gym membership, because I mainly just use it for the pool, but I could easily drive over there and hop on the treadmill. I might do that if this weather keeps up.

As for reading, I discovered a new writer – Kristen Lepionka. Her character is Roxane Weary, a private detective in Columbus, Ohio. There are three books, and I’ve now read them all. The characters are great, the stories interesting and I love her humor. Roxane is also bisexual and has an on-and-off girlfriend, as well as an on-and-off boyfriend. You know, all things prurient …

I’m about half-way through the new Janis Joplin biography by Holly George-Warren. It’s actually quite sad. Janis tried so hard to be conventional and fit in to her family’s expectations, but she just couldn’t make a go of it. I’m glad she went with who she was and shared her rare talent with us, but I wish she had been able to leave the drugs alone.

The Downton Abbey movie is available to stream for $19.99 on Amazon. I’m trying to justify it by suggesting it would cost more than if Dale and I went to the theater to see it and got a big bucket of popcorn. The thing is, he doesn’t really want to watch it, so my justification is weak.

That means I’m just going to do it anyway. My popcorn is pretty good, too. Olive oil, I swear, there’s no turning back.

An uneventful week … perfect

It was an uneventful week of retirement, and that is exactly how I like it.

Dale seems to be recovered from a brutal case of Achilles bursitis. He has been sidelined for awhile, and now it looks like we can plan some outdoor activities together. The weather here in northern California is gorgeous. This is what we pay for.

I’ve recovered from a freak accident involving the upper back weight machine, whereupon you sit on a bicycle-like seat facing the weights and squeeze your shoulder blades as you pull the weights toward you. If you should so happen to be taking boatloads of Advil for another injury and exert too much energy, it might result it some pretty spectacular bruising in the area of the body getting all friendly with the bicycle seat.

Now I know why Lance Armstrong didn’t know he had testicular cancer.

Our solar power system on our house is finally up and running. This is the last year of the 30 percent rebate on our federal taxes. We’ll use the rebate and savings on our utility bill to fund a new heating and cooling unit next year. Ours is 20 years old.

The solar contractor was excellent, but PG&E dragged their feet. They presumably had fires and electrical outages to worry about … one of the downsides of living in northern California.

PG&E emailed a welcome packet, which I suppose we’ll have to read. I’m not much for details when it comes to science. If I should ask Dale a simple question, I get a 20-minute response and references to books and documentaries. I would have been fine with something along the lines of, “Sun make magic with roof panels.”

When I think about our daily activities, I expect someone to scold us for being privileged. We’re not extravagant, mostly focusing on simple pleasures, but I do recognize not living from paycheck to paycheck is a luxury. Still, I imagine an announcer from an old scare-tactic documentary such as Reefer Madness.

“They don’t work! They eat cheese! They wear jammies until noon! They run out of mayonnaise! They’re living the retirement lifestyle!”

So, yes, we ran out of mayonnaise. Dale was making BLTs and scraping the bottom of the jar. He went to the pantry for more, and there wasn’t any. I followed up with another search. Surely, there’s a backup jar hiding somewhere between crushed tomatoes and peanut butter.

Running out of mayo is unheard of in our house. It would be like running out of cheddar cheese. Just doesn’t happen. Dale takes great pride in maintaining a robust pantry. Anything gets low, and you know there’s another one in backup.

I have a responsibility to add items to the list, so it’s not his fault. Surely, somewhere between tuna melts and tuna melts, I should have seen this coming.  

Part of the problem is we don’t keep a master list. Dale hates lists. Especially if it says to-do and has his name on it. I was in search of a compromise and after a period of reflection that included counting my blessings for having such problems, an idea bubbled to the surface.

Here’s the deal. Dale hates having a personal list, but he’s not opposed to lists in general. What’s not to like about a house list, as in not his and not mine? We have a small collection of refrigerator magnets, and I used them to affix the list to the fridge, a neutral setting. Now there’s a consolidated location for documenting items that are getting low.

I slowly walked Dale over to the list, like introducing a cat to another cat for the first time. He might have sniffed and scratched a little, but he likes it! And he bought replacement mayo.

Today is a beer run. No list required.

An overnight getaway

Although Dale and I are homebodies extraordinaire and don’t have a big travel Jones, we’ve decided to make more of an effort to scoot around California. Overnight road trips are a low-stress and relatively inexpensive way to escape the routine and enjoy local pleasures … and we don’t have to get a cat sitter.

No matter where you live, I suspect there are fun things to do and beautiful places to see within just a few hour’s drive. We love the ocean and had a craving for oysters, so we drove 2.5 hours to Tomales Bay, which is oyster heaven. Hotels aren’t cheap, but if you shop around, one night doesn’t break the bank.

We had oysters on the half shell and Bloody Mary’s for lunch at a bayside restaurant along the way. After checking into the hotel early, we hiked down to the water and just absorbed the scenery. Read for awhile in the room and then got ready for dinner. Oysters on the half shell for an appetizer, followed by fried oysters! Fresh and delicious and exactly what we came for.

Here’s the weird thing about us. Camping or hotel, it doesn’t matter, we don’t hang around in the morning. You’d think, well, we’re there, we should stay and lap up more of the bounty. But for us, it’s up and out. We didn’t even stop for breakfast. We were home before 10 a.m. The kitty was happy to see us!

What a great little trip. Not everyone wants to be on-the-go all the time. The overnighter is kind of a perfect getaway for those of us who don’t care to travel all that much or worry about leaving our pets.

No regrets … sort of

Dale and I were having a philosophical discussion about life’s regrets, and he asked if I had any. He might have been holding his breath as he waited for my response.

I said, “I regret not getting the coconut cake at Barbara’s Fishtrap in Princeton-by-the-Sea.”

The cake looked so perfect, but I was all holier-than-thou about sugar, so I skipped it, and I’ve been thinking about that cake ever since … at least three years. There’s a clear snapshot in my head. I remember staring at the cake display from across the room. And then someone ordered it! Details emerged, and I ogled layers upon layers of pale creamy coco-nutty whipped fluffiness that only coconut lover can appreciate.

Then it was my turn to ask about regrets, as in, “How about you?” For a minute, I thought he’d go deep and reveal a profoundly sad truth from the bowels of his barren tender soul, but then I remembered he’s from Maine.

He said, “I regret not knowing about soft shell crabs when we lived in Pennsylvania.”

Oh, man, I share that regret. We didn’t discover soft shells until we lived in Alabama and started going to New Orleans for mini-vacations. Later, we lived on the Carolina coast, where they were also plentiful. In Texas, we had some good ones in Port Aransas.

The bounties of California are many, but they do not typically include soft shell crabs. Sometimes you’ll see them as an appetizer at an Asian restaurant. The seafood guy at Whole Foods told me they were currently getting fresh ones in every Friday, except we went two Fridays in a row, and they weren’t in.

Thinking about the coconut cake made me nostalgic for a hot fudge sundae. My mother used to treat us to hot fudge sundaes when we were out and about – sometimes at the lunch counter at J.J. Newberry’s, which was in one of the original outdoor malls in Orange County, where I grew up. Sometimes at Helen Grace Chocolates, which was in a strip mall.

I still love a good strip mall!

Anyway, I ate my lifetime supply of ice cream in 1973, when I oh-so-conveniently worked at an ice cream store. I love it when a plan comes together.

The store was a Carvel, with premium ice cream and excellent toppings, which could be scooped from a bin in the walk-in when no one was looking. It was during this unfortunate period when I ate hot fudge sundaes for breakfast, and I’ve been dreaming about them ever since. Seriously.

The closest I ever got was in 1999, when I had stage 3 ovarian cancer and was on chemo and burning calories like there was no tomorrow. Oh, I guess that’s a regrettable choice of words.

Hungry but maybe dying but still all holier-than-thou, I went to some new-fangled yogurt place. The ice cream was not really ice cream and the fudge wasn’t really hot. I threw most of it away. I survived! And so, here we are, and it occurs to me I have time to seek out the best hot fudge sundae this stinking desert has ever seen.

I’m not big on goals, but I’m adding the iconic ice cream creation to my list. List of what? I don’t know … things to do, things to eat, simple pleasures. I’m grateful coconut cake was the biggest regret I could muster, and notwithstanding the art of moderation, I don’t want to say at the end, “Damn, I wish I’d had that hot fudge sundae.”

At the end of it all, I am reminded of my mother. I believe her last words were, “Is there any more See’s?”