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A week of disappointments

As you might expect, I am disappointed and heartsick over the election results. I’ve lived through lots of elections, and this is not about being pissed off my candidate didn’t win. This is about an existential threat to the American experiment.

I have come to believe I am totally disconnected from roughly half the country. I don’t understand their problems, their grievances, their needs, their wants and why they think Trump can or will help. I don’t understand misogyny and racism or how people can attend his rallies and listen to his fury and vitriol and then, for example, join in a chant that Harris is a bitch.

A whole bunch of people either got sucked into this cult of hate or chose to ignore the facts and vote for him anyway. For what reason, I do not know. Our government is flawed, no doubt, but I can’t understand why so many people are mad enough about something to burn down the house. Democracy will be tested, that’s for sure.

Color me clueless. Dale and I were both depressed, so he made chimichangas for dinner. For a treat, he went salty, crunchy and processed with a bag of Cheetos. Not that I’m judging … it’s a fine choice. I, on the other hand, went with the over-fishing option and bought a fancy jar of tuna filets packed in olive oil. They’re expensive, but so delicious, and I was like, fuck it.

I’ll probably need more chocolate.

On one hand, I want to withdraw. Who are these people? This isn’t the country I thought it was. But there I go, thinking again. Instead, I will avoid political discussions, find whatever common ground there is and just try to be kind and enjoy life with other humans.

My sister is visiting next week! She hasn’t been able to come down since we moved here seven years ago, so it will be fun to play host. She lives in a relatively remote area, and we have all the big chains here, so shopping may be on the docket. Lunch out. Definitely a trip to Trader Joe’s. And probably our favorite winery out in Amador. It’s beautiful out there, and the wine’s great.

I haven’t been inspired to work on my art in months, but maybe it was the election being over that freed up my brain, so that’s good. I have lots of new ideas.

My favorite duck at the golf course died, so I want to do a little tribute to him on one of my boards. He was big white duck, the only white one out there and super-friendly. I only learned after they found him dead that everyone was feeding him. All this time, I thought he liked me.

Let’s just say it was a week of disappointments.

Uncoupling for a few days

After my big spiel about staying safe in the heat, it got beastly hot, and I played a rough 18 holes of golf. I got away with it, mostly because I used all my gear, including a solar umbrella, a battery-operated fan, a spray bottle of water, a cool towel and tons of fluids. That said, I felt weak and dizzy, and I should have stopped. 

I spent the next day resting and guzzling more fluids, and I felt OK after that. I vowed to be more careful going forward. Theoretically, I should be getting smarter about this stuff.

Shortly after, I went to Santa Cruz for a few days of golf with the girls. Quite the opposite weather on the coast. Dag, it was cold! But I was prepared. My knit cap and windbreaker were coveted by many. I did my best to keep up with my exercises but some require resistance bands and weights, and that just seemed like a bridge too far.

We played golf three days in a row, which is unusual for me. I wasn’t sure how my body would hold up, but I didn’t experience any pain at all and am pretty happy about that. I do think the strengthening exercises are helping in lots of different ways.

I’ve never been a big fan of cherries, but one of the women brought a bag for the trip, and they were delicious. I bought more at the farmers market today and made a smoothie with almond milk, cherries and almond butter. Yum. The tomatoes aren’t ready yet, but we can’t wait. That’s a whole season’s worth of happiness.

On the reading front, I highly recommend Sipsworth by Simon Van Booy. It’s a short novel about a lonely old woman who befriends a mouse. Just a great little story that will leave you feeling good.

The mouse in the book is very sweet, and he inspired me to have a talk with our cat about his demeanor. Riley was a rescue, but he’s been with us for, gosh, I don’t know, eight years? He still acts like we’re trying to kill him.

I asked Riley to be a little more loving. He won’t get on the bed to say hi, but I guess that’s not all bad. He’ll get in Dale’s lap once in a blue moon but not mine ever. He’s longhaired, and I groom him, and he doesn’t make a fuss. All in all, Riley is a good boy, and he’ll let me pick him up and smooch him. Uses his box. Doesn’t scratch stuff. Pukes now and again, but who doesn’t?

The book also made me think about vegetarianism. If you have an animal companion and wouldn’t think of eating him, why is your little friend more special than other animals you gladly consume?  I enjoy meat, but I could see life without it. However, I wouldn’t give up cheese unless it was a life-or-death situation.

Dale and I frequently throw that out for discussion – which would you rather give up? Meat or cheese? Easy for me. Meat. He’s a cheesehead like me but more of a carnivore and definitely on the fence.

We drive each other crazy much of the time, but Dale is still my favorite person, and he says I’m still his. However, I believe breaks are good for relationships, and we haven’t had many of those since I retired. Togetherness can be too much of a good thing. This time, I was gone four nights, and it was a nice vacation from each other.

As your official retirement confidant, I would definitely recommend retired couples periodically schedule solo trips.

I had a great time in Santa Cruz, but I’m glad to be home hanging out with Dale. It might be my imagination, but I think Riley is happy the family is back together again. Maybe that little talk we had did some good.

Moving on

Hello friends,

I’ve decided to shut down Retirement Confidential. I’ve enjoyed sharing this space with you, and I’ve learned a lot from your insights. Thank you for being part of my blogging journey.

As it happens, I love my life but no longer feel the need or desire to write about it. There’s something to be said for just enjoying the moment, and that’s what I plan to do. I may try my hand at other writing projects. Or maybe not. We’ll see what happens.

Again, thanks for all your support!

Donna

Is that your outside voice?

Number 38

So, gosh, politics. I understand nothing. Not to go all MAGA on you, but in some ways, I’m glad I don’t even have to pretend I’m intelligent anymore. One of the many joys of retirement. You can be dumb or play dumb, and no one cares.

When I was working as a communications professional for a big corporation, we interacted with all kinds of people in and outside of the company, and no matter what, you had to say the right thing … informed but ambiguous, direct but nonconfrontational, sincere but aloof. Seriously, it’s an art form.

You also had to be careful with your colleagues, because you never knew who was in a position to offer an opinion about your future.

Oh, Beatrice. She’s certainly competent, but some are saying she lacks executive presence.

John’s a great guy, but he needs a few more years to sharpen his soft skills.

Which brings me to Bud Light. Sales are down because the company featured a transgender woman in an advertising campaign. An acquaintance asked me what I thought. You can see how my responses have evolved since I retired, and my inside voice morphed into my outside voice.  

Old

I respect the right to boycott as an expression of your personal beliefs, and at the same time, it’s my hope that people can come together and appreciate our differences.

New

It’s bullshit. Why do you care who’s transgender and who isn’t? Maybe they would like me instead? Gray, grumpy, opinionated, post-menopausal. #dreamgirls. And, oh, by the way, I’ll be drinking extra Bud Light just because I’m pissed off, and someone has to do it.

Here’s another example. I’m sort of looking for a new car. No rush, but it’s on the horizon. I’ve been thinking about an electric car and ruled out Tesla. A friend asked me why.

Old

I’m seeing a lot of innovation at Tesla, but I’m just a little concerned about quality as production ramps up.

New

Because I despise Elon Musk, and I’m not buying a fucking Tesla.

Or you can just keep your mouth shut. That works, too.

On the bright side, we got a new coffee maker. When the old one went on the fritz, I did my usual hunter-gatherer thing and read every single review of every single coffee pot made in this century. I’m attracted to bells and whistles … perhaps the BeanMaster 5000 … but came up empty-handed.

Dale, on the other hand, happened to be in Target and saw a coffee pot that looked almost exactly like the one we have.

And just like that, done. Why is everything so easy for him?

Life between medical appointments

I was about to say this has been the coolest summer I’ve spent in California, but technically, it’s not summer yet. Hmmm. I told you spring was trouble.

Sometimes it does feel like getting older is about what happens between medical appointments. And I’m healthy!

Dale and I got the latest Covid booster and both doses of the Shingles vaccine. My wrist appointment was last week, and I’ll get to that, but I had a little skin scare in the meantime. And I’m not talking about the routine scary stuff you see in the magnifying mirror.

For the record, I go to the dermatologist every two years for a full body exam. At my last check-up, I had a small scaly patch above my left ear just at the hairline. Hard to even see. The doctor said it was nothing. But then a few weeks ago, it got thicker and uglier, and I was terrified.

I had to wait weeks. Just enough time for me to imagine strike three on the cancer front. I had already decided I wasn’t afraid to have half my face carved off as long as it wasn’t cancerous. Anyway, as the doctor previously said, it was nothing. Or benign keratosis, which passes for nothing one presumes.

The physician’s assistant zapped it with the freezer gun before I could say boo. Seriously, it went down like a shootout at the O.K. Corral. There was an unattractive scab, but it’s pretty much gone now.

She said never think you’re going to look stupid for getting something checked out. Just do it. Good advice for all of us.

As for the wrists. I broke both of them in 2012 when I fell off my bicycle. The right one was in a cast, but we didn’t know I broke the left one, too, so it didn’t heal properly. That said, it’s my right one that hurts the most. But it’s a sporadic thing, depending on how I choose to abuse myself.

Golf and swimming aren’t problematic, but some of that yoga I experimented with back in the fall was not good. Hyperextension is the killer. That’s like downward dog and planks, which I hate anyway. I know now not to do that, but as per usual, I had to learn the hard way, and it took months to recover.

I had seen this ortho about four years ago, so we could compare old x-rays to new ones. He said I have mild arthritis resulting from the old injuries, but it hasn’t progressed much at all. The only new thing was arthritis in my right thumb.

Thumb arthritis! Who knew?

That’s my phone scrolling thumb, which gets quite a workout with all my games and puzzles. They always ask if this is a work-related injury, but I guess they don’t care if it’s a retirement-related injury. No retirees compensation fund.

The doc said I don’t need to stop playing but try to hold the phone in my left palm and use my right forefinger to play. He said I might feel better using a thumb splint, but the one he recommended is $100, so I’m going to wait and see if my behavioral modifications make a difference.

Other than that, he said do what I want, avoid hyperextension.

In other news, my 2010 Ford Fusion Hybrid just went over 100,000 miles. For its age, that’s relatively low mileage, but I commuted by bus for four-plus years, so it spent a lot of time in my garage. Anyway, I’m on the fence about getting a new car. I like this one just fine and am hoping it will go another 50,000 miles at least. I drive like an old lady and have always kept up with maintenance, so there’s a good chance it will hang in there.

While I have money set aside for a new car, the timing is terrible. Aside from shortages and astronomical dealer markups, there’s the question of whether to go electric. Even if I do, I’d like more time to see how the market shakes out. Personally, I like the plug-in hybrids, but there are mixed reviews and even with that, none of the dealers I’ve visited even have them on the lots.

We weren’t Costco members because we shop at a military commissary, but for $60 bucks a year, I decided to join and can take advantage of their auto purchase program. I got a very nice email from them updating me on shortages.

One of the cars I’m interested in is the hybrid 2023 Honda Accord EX-L. There were none on the lot when I visited, but later I contacted them through the Costco program, and a sales rep let me know one is in transit, expecting to arrive in July. Wait and see. And I will definitely wait rather than pay a ridiculous dealer markup.

All that to say, I’m tired of thinking about it for now.  So, I’m back at square one. I’ve scheduled the 100,000 mile tune-up for the Fusion and will hope for the best.

On the entertainment front, I made a list (the magic elixir of peace and serenity) of my fixed entertainment costs and online subscriptions, and they actually don’t add up to as much as I thought. Roughly 10 percent of my Social Security check, and that includes the annual fee I pay for unlimited golf!

I did a free trial of Apple TV+ and am keeping it for now. That’s $6.99 a month. I’ve enjoyed High Desert with Patricia Arquette. Where has she been all my life? I particularly love that she has crooked teeth and never got them fixed. My role model.

Next on the list is Slow Horses.

High school. Has it really been 50 years?

The weather is turning gnarly, so I visited the library to load up on mystery novels. I keep telling myself to act like a big girl and read something literary, and occasionally I do, but inevitably I return to my low-brow life of crime.

One might say I’m attracted to the simple and seedy. I grew up in an underfunded and dysfunctional working class family. Certainly, I read my share of literature in school and later, after I hit escape velocity, but it’s not like we sat around the kitchen table discussing Finnegans Wake.

My dad read sleazy pulp fiction, and my mother enjoyed her True Detective magazine. Not saying I didn’t sneak a peek at their reading material from time to time. We children may wander, but sometimes it seems all roads lead back to the source.

I’ve been thinking about connections to the past since I was contacted by two friends I haven’t heard from in decades. They found me through the blog to reach out regarding our 50th high school reunion in Southern California. I haven’t attended any of the previous reunions and can’t imagine going to one, but I was pleased to hear from them just the same.

Both live in California. I joined the military after high school, and most of my friends went to college here. A few went to out-of-state universities, but I’m pretty sure they all came home after graduation. I also returned … 40 years later. Let’s just say it was a circuitous route.

One of my old friends lives in Santa Barbara, so we caught up via telephone. It was a great conversation, and I’m really happy we took the time to share our stories with each other. I always thought she had her shit together, and she always thought I did, so it was fun to confess neither one of us had a clue.

My other friend lives closer, and we’re going to meet in the middle for lunch next week. I’m looking forward to it! Socially speaking, I do better one-on-one or in small groups, as opposed to hanging out with a couple hundred people I barely remember at some sort of party venue. So, lunch. This is good.

What are your experiences with reunions? Do tell! It will be like a Clint Eastwood movie. The good, the bad and the ugly.

Not messing with my face

I’ve been thinking about Madonna’s face, and I’m guessing that’s exactly what she wanted. Famous people accustomed to the limelight can’t seem to give it up, so why not just maim yourself to get everyone talking? I don’t believe it has anything to do with ageism. I mean, she doesn’t look younger, only worse, but at least she’s in the headlines again.

Personally, I’m more focused on healthy habits and creature comforts than messing with my aging face. Do I sometimes do a little mirror surgery to see what I’d look like with everything tightened right up? Sure, but that’s not how I want to go down.

For example, I went to the dermatologist yesterday and actually had to put on real clothes. Black leggings, black t-shirt, black denim jacket, white sneakers, turquoise earrings, no makeup and a shock of silver hair. I must admit, I looked in the mirror and thought, damn, I look cool.

As I see it, you can dye your hair and inject your face, and that might create the illusion of youth, but I’m pretty sure they know how old we are. My thinking is that silence is a position of weakness, and being silent erodes confidence over time. I refuse to cower.

Aging should be a liberating experience. Wear what you want, say what you think, live how you like and like how you look – perhaps it is the absence of these things that makes aging such a drag for so many people.

But not us! We’re digging it, right?

So, the latest in retirement creature comforts – linen sheets. I mean, if you can afford this, do it before you die. I bought mine here. I can’t quite describe the comfort – soft but not silky. Not warm, not cool. The fabric feels heavier, but air flows through it. Dale preferred silky cotton, but he’s converted now. There’s no turning back for me.

Another indulgence I started this year is a 90-minute full-body massage every three weeks.  I love it. Yes, even though it does hurt a bit when she digs into those trigger points. The pain kind of scared me at first. I thought she had uncovered some sort of rare muscle-wasting disease, and I almost quit going because I thought, well, better not to know.

But now, I just breathe my way through it and it starts to feel good. Aside from the pure pleasure of having my creaky old body tended to, I do think massage is nothing but good news for your immune system, and it helps with stress, circulation, muscle pain and flexibility.

So, back to aging faces. I love the artist Jesse Dayton, and I am absolutely crazy about this reboot of Brand New Cadillac with Samantha Fish. Check out the drummer!

Old and cool. Inspiration for us all.

A bridge lesson

I was invited by one of the women in my golf group to participate in a series of beginner bridge lessons in her home, and I thought why not? They say this complex card game is especially good for the aging brain. It seems to me anything that might help us dodge dementia is a good thing. I’m retired. I’ve got the time.

Today was my first lesson, and that’s an hour and a half I’ll never get back.

Perhaps I should have known. When I told Dale, he reminded me math was involved. While it’s true I picked journalism as a major because it was about the only degree that didn’t require even the most rudimentary of math skills, I thought, well, it’s a card game. How hard can it be?

Many of you probably know this already, but it’s damned hard. I won’t even go into the complexities I tried to absorb during this first lesson, but it reminded me of high school geometry, when the teacher spent an entire semester saying, “Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.”

Because that’s what it sounded like to me.

The bridge instructor scheduled an indefinite number of lessons every Thursday at 9:30 a.m. Not bad, but not good for the retirement practice I subscribe to called, “The Slow Start.” But you know, staving off dementia, I guess I could move out faster for a good cause. Also, Thursdays at 10 is my preferred time for massages, and one must have priorities.

On the plus side, I wore jeans and my old Lucchese cowboy boots, which I haven’t done in a couple of years. At least I looked cute, and that takes a few brain cells, doesn’t it?

Bridge is interesting, and I can totally see the attraction. I generally like games. I really liked this group of women. If they had a Yahtzee league, I’m all in. I used to play Hearts back in the day, and that didn’t kill me. Backgammon. Scrabble.

But bridge, wow. I’m 67, reasonably intelligent and in excellent health. However, I don’t think I have enough time left to understand this game.

Even without the card counting and all that, there are all kinds of weird things including where you sit and what cards you play – north, south, east and west. What’s so wrong about left and right?

Sometimes your partner will show all their cards, and you play those, too. Like one hand wasn’t enough. And all these little codes to signal your partner how you want to bid. If everyone subscribes to the same convention, why not just say it in plain English? I have five spades!

I didn’t want to disappoint my friends, but I also didn’t want to pretend I’d come back when I knew it was a lost cause. While I acknowledge some stress is good for you, this is the kind of stress that makes me miserable. Rather than drag it out, I just laid it out for them. They were gracious, but now they have to find a replacement, which sucks for them.

When I got home, I told Dale he was right. Numbers gone wild! Crazy stuff! And all my Thursdays eaten up just to learn the basics? I’m pretty sure I would start dreading Thursdays, finding excuses to stay in bed, when in fact it’s a rather pleasant day of the week that has done me no previous harm.

He said, “So, you’re saying it was a bridge too far?”

The man’s still got it. 

All this is good news for those of you who enjoy reading my blog. I haven’t posted in a couple of weeks, and I had been thinking, maybe I’ll just quit writing. But that’s looking like a bad strategy now that I know bridge isn’t going to save me.   

I promised the bridge gods I would work harder at writing if they would just leave me alone.

Cats in high places

Mr. High and Mighty.

Cat food-powered entertainment centers

Usually on Saturdays I run my robot vacuum cleaner downstairs. There are a couple of footstools I stow out of the way, but I’ve never bothered to move the breakfast area chairs. This morning I noticed the floor was kind of messy where we eat, so I put the chairs up on the counter and the table to give the robot full access to said mess.

Well, it was a bonus day for Riley, our cat. Dale and I went to the grocery store while Robo was working hard, and when we returned, there was Riley, Mr. High and Mighty, resting happily in the chair. Cats are so funny. Dale calls them cat food-powered entertainment centers.   

Two shots, same arm, same day

We got our Covid boosters and flu shots. Same arm, same day. Dale said his arm hurt, and he didn’t sleep well. My arm didn’t hurt too much, but I had my usual fever and chills following the flu shot. It’s just something I get. I used to premedicate with Tylenol three days prior, and that fixed it, but they don’t like you to premedicate with Covid shots, so I stopped doing it.

I like getting it all over at once, otherwise I could just space them out and premedicate again. But it’s only for a few hours while I’m sleeping. Still, it was a rough night, and I was pretty whipped first thing in the morning. By lunchtime, I felt OK, and today I feel GREAT.

Feeling so much better is like the opposite of yesterday, and it reminds me of that quote, “I feel sorry for people who don’t drink. When they wake up in the morning, that’s as good as they’re going to feel all day.”

Technology Upgrade

I love technology for the most part, but I hate this constant need to upgrade. My 2016 Kindle Fire has been misbehaving, so I finally caved and bought a new one. It was actually cheaper.

Here’s the rub. I ordered it this morning, and it arrived a few hours later. I mean, I’m not sure Jeff Bezos needs all that money, but damn, that’s pretty slick. I should also give him credit for free shipping both ways. For me, that was a game-changer. Although, I’m just going to say it. I hate Alexa, so no points there.

I just disabled her on my new Fire. That felt good.

Interesting credit card fraud

I was paying my credit card bill and reviewing charges when I saw a $175 purchase from Etsy and a $175 credit from Etsy. Now that’s interesting.

For the record, I have not been shopping on Etsy. But the credit? What’s up with that? I called my bank, and they said it was rather odd. I wondered if the criminals were somehow testing it? Anyway, I had to get a new credit card (again) and re-do all my autopays. I hate that.

However, I did learn one thing. They said it would take 7-10 business days, and I asked, “Is there anyway to expedite that?” And they said sure! I received my new card the next day. Lesson learned. Ask for what you want.

Men without hats

He wasn’t doing the safety dance, but when Dale and I were leaving for the grocery store, he put on his running hat, and I don’t know what made me notice it all of the sudden, but it is disgusting. I lovingly mentioned this to him, and he said when he was visiting his sister in August, she wanted to throw it away.

That made me laugh, so I texted his sister, and she said their other sister just threw her husband’s hat away and made him wear a new one. Clean hat? It’s not that hard.

I’ll close by wishing all the best to our friends in Florida and along the Eastern Seaboard. Ian is a monster. I will confess I briefly wished Ian would make landfall in Lindsey Graham’s backyard. You know, since it bypassed Mar-a-Lago? But then my better self took over, and I just kind of went with a general request for world peace and everyone’s safety.  

Replacing old stuff

I came home from golf the other day, and there was a brand-new garden hose sitting idly on the front porch. Hmmm, I thought, I wonder what that’s all about.

Then I looked to the side of the driveway and spotted one of the bladders to our waterbed. Oh, this can’t be good, I said to myself.

It seems Dale woke up with a wet butt, assumed it was a leak in the waterbed and didn’t tell me, because he didn’t want to mess up my golf plans. What a guy! He drained the leaky bladder and managed to drag it downstairs, although he said it was quite the ordeal.

We’ve been talking about replacing the waterbed for a couple of years now. No time like the present. I tend to research and overthink everything, and I did not want to go that route this time around. Our guest room has a nice Beautyrest mattress we both tested to our satisfaction, so that’s what we went with for the master. While making the purchase, we had to decide between standard height box springs or low profile. Standard sounded good to us.

The bed is fantastic, but we didn’t realize standard box springs are nine inches thick. No big deal, except the bed is kind of up there now. At first, I didn’t like the looks of it, but I actually prefer getting in and out of the higher bed. It’s easier on my back.

However, our nightstands are hobbit-sized. It’s weird to reach over for something, and the reading light needs to be raised. A book on the floor is unreachable. Dale decided he likes the higher bed as well, so we’re looking at other solutions. I’ve been eying up bedside caddies that hold books, electronic devices and such.

Taller nightstands are probably going to happen as well. Ours are more than 30 years old and not in the best of shape. I looked online and can pretty easily get what we need, but I don’t want a wobbly nightstand and have been wondering if we should buy something from an actual furniture store, assuming they still exist.

The question, dear reader, is about quality. We hang onto everything as long as we possibly can and only replace when we absolutely have to. Some of our older furniture is well-made and has been hanging around more than 40 years … old and beat up, but hanging tough. Sounds like us!

We also have a few unique pieces bordering on junk that have lasted just as long. So, who knows? More recent additions are internet purchases from discount places – mostly shelves and stools. Quality varies, but it’s relatively cheap stuff, and we like it just fine.

However, we have been known to drop money on fancy kitchen essentials … pots, pans, knives. But that’s because we are passionate about cooking. We also enjoy our Ekornes Stressless chairs, which are outrageously expensive and worth every penny. Because we are passionate about sitting comfortably every single day.

For us, this isn’t about style or status. It’s more of a philosophical question. Does quality even exist anymore? Is it worth paying for? Always or just sometimes? Is cheap ever good enough?

It’s rather macabre, but I think about our mortality. As my 85-year-old golf buddy jokes, he doesn’t even buy green bananas anymore. Do your priorities change when you realize this thing might outlive you?

Our stuff will go to an estate sale when we die, and charities and/or surviving family members will inherit our assets. I don’t see the point in spending big bucks on a nightstand.

I’m thinking cheap but sturdy, serviceable and not hideous. Doable or easier said than done?