Undyed and loving it

Manchego and Chorizo Muffins

Whilst relaxing outside with a beer after a round of golf, one of the women noticed I got my hair cut. I took off my hat to show her the full effect, and she was surprised by all the gray. She liked it and said it was pretty, and then one of the perpetual blondes at the table said she wasn’t ready to go there yet.

Go where? To the land of the undyed, where we are forced to walk the Earth looking our age? I’ve heard others say they are too vain or they aren’t ready to give up. I’m plenty vain, but for me, it’s more about the complete package than simply the color of my hair.

I actually believe I look better than I ever have, and just so you know, my prefrontal cortex is kinda hot, too.

Putin on the blitz

Not to take anything away from the Ukrainians, but I’m having a hard time with Russia. Not the people, of course, but I am so angry with Putin. Our planet is dying, the world has suffered through a pandemic – more than 5 million people dead – and just as it looks like we might be getting a break – all he can do is think about killing some more? For a land grab?

I know the whole thing is more complicated than that, and Dale, an amateur military historian, would be more than happy to explain it to me in excruciating detail. However, one more Hitler documentary, and this marriage is over!

Oh, and let’s not forget about all the fucktards who have cozied up to this sociopath over the past years and still have trouble saying anything bad about him. And it’s not just Trump, either. If I’ve learned anything over the past two years, it’s that I know nothing, but I’m thinking the lovefest with Putin has got to be about money. When all else fails, follow the money.

While I’m not a religious person, I join those of you in praying for peace and hoping there’s a way out of this mess.

Savory Baking

I absolutely positively did not need another cookbook, but I’m weak that way. I purchased The Savory Baker by the folks at America’s Test Kitchen.  I was still debating what to try first, when Dale flipped through it and said he was smitten with the idea of Manchego and Chorizo Muffins. It’s actually the first recipe in the book, so I’m guessing he didn’t flip too far. Still, hat’s off to Dale keeping it simple.

The muffins include a variety of flavor bombs, including Manchego cheese, Spanish chorizo, fresh parsley, jarred red peppers and sour cream. I made them yesterday, and we reheated them for breakfast this morning. All I can say is yum.

Next will be Jalapeño Cheddar Scones. But then we would eat jalapeño cheddar dragon poop.

Adventures of a gentlewoman cannabis farmer

I took a break from growing cannabis, because it seemed like we had plenty, but it’s kind of like wine in a box – it goes fast. I started an indoor plant from seed this week, and it will soon be time to buy a clone in an attempt to successfully grow a plant outdoors. Last year’s clone didn’t make it – not enough sun in the flower bed – so this time I’m growing it in a pot in the middle of the yard. That should maximize sunnage.

Although I do imbibe, my favorite use for cannabis is for balm, which is featured on my downloads page. It’s a little miracle cream for all parts achy. You can buy the commercial product where it’s legal, but it is more expensive than making it yourself. I am not a fan of CBD-only products. If they work for you, or that’s all you can get, who cares? But I have found products made with the whole plant to be more effective.

I attended a cannabis education program when I first retired, and I see the same folks are offering an online course to earn a budtender certificate. OK, so I don’t want to be a budtender, because that looks too much like work, but maybe I’d like to know what they know? Let’s just say I have a learning orientation.

The self-paced course might keep me from ruminating on all the gloom and doom. I mean, I know that’s what Jalapeño Cheddar Scones are for, but every little bit helps.

Trying not to worry

Riley

It feels like everything is going to shit, that maybe this is the beginning of the end, but I keep telling myself not to worry about things I can’t control. And I am reminded of a scene from Lord of the Rings:

“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo.

“So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

As I’ve muddled my way through retirement, I’ve pretty much let go of the idea that I need to accomplish anything. Just hanging out, enjoying simple pleasures. Trying not to worry but worrying anyway about Riley, our cat, and why he likes Dale better. It can’t just be about the food.

However, sometimes I get this idea – I can’t quite reach it – but it feels like something might be pulling me in a new direction. As per usual, I have few clues as to what that might be.

My prediction is that I’ll discover something special to write about, I’ll do some sort of long-distance walk or I’ll find a new focus for my cooking obsession. As I reflect on these speculations, it occurs to me all are a search for a singular passion, which I don’t appear to have. Always the dabbler, we’ll just have to wait and see what comes of my magical thinking.

I’m trying not to stress out about anything. Maybe retirement doesn’t need to be orchestrated. Just live it and do your best to stay healthy and happy. Or maybe it’s a cycle, and you just have to ride out each phase until the next one appears. I don’t know, but I’m open to endless possibilities.

I do these deep breathing exercises in bed before I even get up. It’s almost a form of meditation, and I think that’s when all will be revealed. Until then, I continue to putz around, taking care of things that perhaps don’t matter in the big picture but seem to provide a sense of steady comfort.  

Whatever happens, my hair will look good. When I got my hair lopped off in early December, the stylist said I would need regular trimmings about every six weeks. I eagerly signed up, even though I’ve previously been resistant to the whole salon regime. They say never surrender, unless you’re 66 and your hair looks like crap.

I canceled my first trim due to Omicron. My hair still looked better than it ever did, but I absolutely loved the shorter bob. The rescheduled appointment was this week! Our Covid numbers are way down, but at this point, I didn’t care if Godzilla breezed into town, I was getting a haircut. I’m delighted with the results. And yes, I wore a mask.

This might be the vaccine microchip talking, but I’ve actually had an urge to go shopping. Like not online and for real. It’s hard to imagine I could need anything beyond what’s delivered to my doorstep, but going to the mall seems like such a quaint thing to do.

Although we didn’t have much money, my mother loved clothes and was always good for a trip to The Broadway. It’s gone now. I vividly remember waiting outside with great anticipation for the doors to open before a big sale and was always enthralled with the lingerie section upstairs, where there was a big glass case of fancy peignoir sets. Oh my!

The peignoirs were gone, too, by the time I got old enough to wear them. I do like fancy undies and may splurge if I should make it to said mall. Although I remember the owner of a lingerie store telling me, “If you wait until you can afford it, you’ll look like hell in it.”

I’m well into the second half of that sentence, but I also need swimwear, which is difficult to order over the internet and particularly difficult for me since I chose to go flat after my mastectomy. It will take an N95 and perhaps medication to get me through swimsuit shopping.

I’ve gone back and forth on the whole streaming music thing, and I have no qualm with anyone’s decision one way or the other. There are no saints in this story. However, I’ve decided to give Spotify the big FU for supporting Joe Rogan and switch to Amazon Music Prime.

While I don’t think my decision puts a dent in the universe and in no way settles the myriad issues over music streaming in general, I’ve read Amazon pays artists slightly more. But that might be smoke and mirrors. At the end of the day, go with your gut and try not to worry.

Dining out after 786 days

I’ve had a jones for writing since I was a little kid. Some of it was about making my voice heard, putting my stake in the ground, as I grew up with parents who were mostly disengaged, and I had a hard time developing a strong sense of self. That, and because I was bad at math.

At 66, I believe I’ve finally let go of demons and old resentments and am happily enjoying my hard-earned retirement. If I can ignore the pandemic, politics and pandemic politics, life is good. And when things are good, the urge to write seems to fade. Just chill, I tell myself. The less said, the better.

Then I go down into this rabbit hole and think, well, I already suck at so many things, and I should only have to suck at one thing at a time. Maybe I should pull the plug on the blog.

And yet she persists. Why? Well, it’s kind of like the John Lee Hooker song, Boogie Chillen.

One night I was layin’ down

I heard mama and papa talkin’

I heard papa tell mama let that boy boogie-woogie

It’s in him and it got to come out

It’s in me, and it got to come out. I’ll continue to have some hits and misses along the way, but that seems to mirror just about everything else in life, doesn’t it? All things considered, I think it’s important for all of us to remember the entire journey is a practice run.

And so, we return to the stuff I try best to ignore. The pandemic, politics and pandemic politics.

I swim in a heated outdoor pool at a health club. The water is reasonably warm, but I’m always cold, so afterward I hop slide gently into the hot tub to warm up. Yesterday, there was another guy in there, about my age or a bit older, plenty of distance from me, but I could tell he was trying to figure out a way to start a conversation. I kept my mouth shut.

He finally asked if I was a marathon swimmer. That seemed innocuous enough. I said no, I only swim about 30 to 45 minutes a couple of times a week because physical activity helps me manage pain.

Dumb! Too much information. What about no, and then a full stop?

The pain comment set him off on his Marine Corps experiences, and it was a very dark conversation, indeed. I just listened. I finally said, well, maybe pain is like Covid, we have to learn to live with it.

That set him off on Covid and mask requirements. All I said was, seriously, masks are the least of my worries. He spewed something about the Bill of Rights, and I asked if he wore a seatbelt. He was a big guy, and suddenly he emerged from the hot tub like Shamu, said that was a ridiculous comparison and proceeded to socially distance himself into the locker room.

This is not my first unpleasant hot tub conversation. It’s like the Wild West in there. I do think there are a lot of angry people who were marginally managing their lives, and Covid blew up all their coping mechanisms. Now, all bets are off. I’ve got to learn to give one-word responses so I don’t end up engaging in these shenanigans.

As for living with Covid, for the first time since December 2020, Dale and I ate in a restaurant! We’ve talked about it but could never quite summon the strength. Dale tends to be non-committal, so after two-plus years of yeah, maybe, I finally said, “I’m going to have lunch out on Tuesday. Would you like to join me?”

It actually went uphill from there. He asked me to cut his hair beforehand. I got dolled up and wore real clothes. It’s an upscale restaurant, but I didn’t think Taco Bell would be a good dry run.

We had planned to eat outside, but it was cold and windy, so we reluctantly went inside. The atmosphere was lovely, and we had the dining area practically to ourselves. We each had a Bloody Mary, extra spicy, please, and we shared two appetizers – Kung Pao Calamari and Tuna Wonton Nachos.

With tip, it was $67.77. Not cheap, and you know I’m not good at math, but I counted 786 days of not eating out. Is that about 8 cents a day?

It was a nice outing, and now we are trying to develop a long-term strategy for living with this thing. We don’t want to get stupid just because Omicron is fading, but we need to be less risk-averse than we’ve been. How are you assessing risk?

Here’s some important retirement information. Understand your partner’s strengths and weaknesses and work with them. It would seem dropping ideas on Dale doesn’t work. I need to make specific plans and invite him to join me – I think Dale preferred it that way, at least I got a yes out of him, although he did suggest I was easy for coming home with him after the first date.

Play. Play nice.

Lots of people out there seem to have ambitious goals for the year, but I’m keeping it simple:

Play. Play nice.

I’ve heard people say retirement evolves over the years. So far, I would say that’s true. I spent the first year happy to sleep late, and now I can’t wait to wake up and play Wordle.

We had a solid financial plan, but I worried about money in the beginning. Perhaps it was just the newness of not having a steady income, but I’m over it. With a conservative investment portfolio, I don’t even care much about what happens in the stock market.

Art was something I discovered after I retired, but everything else is about the same only more so. As I enter my fifth year of retirement, I find myself doing what comes naturally … digging deeper into the things that give me pleasure. Golf. Walk. Swim. Cook. Eat well.

Cooking is an obsession. I had a whim this week that I would like to make crepes. I’ve had a few here and there over the years, but they haven’t been high on my yum list. I’ve certainly never made them myself. But for some mysterious reason, crepes came calling.

As it turns out, we have a crepe cookbook, circa 1976. We have a lot of old cookbooks, and it’s fun to try vintage recipes. While I did use a recipe from the cookbook for the filling, I turned to Serious Eats for the basic crepe batter. I made them in a regular 10-inch nonstick pan.

After making the batter and preheating the pan, I poured a few tablespoons of the batter in, swirled the pan around and cooked them until lightly golden on one side and then just done on the other. I stacked them on a plate, covered it in plastic wrap and let them sit in the refrigerator until I was ready to make the filling.

I love when a major step in a recipe can be done ahead.

The filling was scallops, green onion and mushrooms in a wine cream sauce. I used a sheet pan and laid a crepe flat, filling one side and then folding over like a quesadilla. The top was sprinkled with grated Gruyère cheese and then baked in the oven at 350 degrees until the cheese was melted. I served them with steamed asparagus on the side.

All I can say is wow. Where have these been all my life? I was so excited I forgot to take a picture. Anyway, I can imagine so many things that would make excellent crepes. I’m more interested in savory than I am sweet.

Drilling down into the things I like to do anyway helped me realize I don’t need a LinkedIn account. My profile has been static since I’m not working anymore and don’t intend to. But I’ve left it there anyway, mostly out of inertia, but partially because I like seeing what former colleagues are up to.

Lately I’ve noticed LinkedIn has become a lot like Facebook, which I abandoned years ago. My LinkedIn feed is increasingly full of political messages, family stories, sexy graduation pictures. There was even a post about someone’s stillborn baby.

On one hand, maybe this is what they mean when they say bring your full self to work, but if people think blurring the lines between home and work will lead to a happier life, they might be in for a rude awakening.

I don’t know what’s posted on LinkedIn today, because I closed my account. Just like that. Interestingly enough, as I shut down one source of online connections, I’ve amplified my efforts to connect with  people I meet face-to-face, mostly on the golf course. We already share a love of golf, correct?

With a little effort to be friendlier and more approachable, I discovered a fellow golfer shares my cooking obsession. I gave her some of Dale’s homemade scorpion pepper salsa in exchange for a jar of her homemade marmalade. That led to an invitation to join a group playing at a celebrated course down the road a piece. It’s just a day trip, but this will be my first out-of-town adventure since the pandemic. I’m kind of excited.

Play. Play nice. Just might be something to it.

Spotify, I hardly knew you

I’ve only had a Spotify account for a few weeks, and already there’s trouble. Sadly, I used up my lifetime quota of moral outrage, so I thought I’d parse this out instead to see if there’s a middle ground.  

Neil Young was the first musician to pull his songs from Spotify in protest over Joe Rogan’s podcast, which I’m told spreads misinformation about COVID and accompanying vaccines. I would not know personally, because I do not listen to Joe Rogan.

Several other musicians backed Neil Young, and news reports said customers are canceling their accounts, whether it’s in solidarity with Neil Young or just because they don’t like Spotify anymore for various and sundry reasons.

I respect Neil Young’s position and have no gripe with his protest. It’s his music, sort of, because as it turns out, he apparently sold a chunk of his publishing rights in 2021, so I imagine his request to pull the music wasn’t as simple as all that. Anyway, as an artist, he definitely has a dog in this hunt, and his behavior is consistent with everything I know about Neil Young, who after all, wrote Ohio after the Kent State shootings.

Then there’s Joe Rogan. I had never even heard of him until all this blew up, and I’m glad I’ve kept to myself, a busy retiree thinking important sourdough thoughts.

They say he’s spreading misinformation. Yeah, well, take a number. Neil Young said the misinformation is killing people, and that might be true, but if listeners are basing life decisions on what Joe Rogan has to say, God help them.

A lot of us are like, fine, your choice if you go down that rabbit hole. Although I agree with Neil Young, I don’t think the world needs him to figure out who is dumb and who isn’t. However, people who won’t get vaccinated are making it even harder to get past the pandemic, and one could argue they are not just killing themselves, they are killing us.

Up to this point in the arguments, I’m kind of on the fence with regard to keep or cancel Spotify. Are they the good guys? The bad guys? Sure, they’re in it for the money, but who isn’t? It’s my contention no one – not Amazon, not Apple nor any other service you may care to peruse – can pass the purity test.

Just look at the junk that comes out of Fox. Can anyone shut them up? Are they screaming fire in a crowded theater? Dang, that pesky free speech thing is hard.

Whether it’s a television station, a bookstore, a music streaming service or home goods delivered straight to your door, there’s always the risk you will encounter shady business practices, vile content, unethical investments, deviant behavior and more. When you see it, you have to decide – is this my battle to fight?

As for Spotify, kudos to Neil Young, but I have decided this is not my battle. At least for now. Perhaps I can purchase moral outrage futures so I will be ready when the shit hits the fan, as we say in the Pekar household.

But for now I’m going to continue to ignore Joe Rogan and enjoy the music that makes me happy.

Your thoughts?

Crazy old lady plogger

One of my regular walking routes passes by three schools – elementary, middle and high school. I try to avoid walking when the students are out and about, not that it isn’t entertaining. The fashion show alone is worth the price of admission. All I can think is, my mother would have killed me.

Anyway, I woke up from my customary daze one day and realized there was a lot of trash along the route. It occurred to me I could pick it up, with proper outfitting, of course. At first, I was like, ick, why should I clean up after the little bastards? But then my higher self emerged, and I started thinking about supplies.

Picking up litter while exercising is sometimes called plogging, an activity that started in Sweden. Sometimes people wear rubber gloves and pick up trash with their hands. It has been said bending and stooping is good for you, but I can assure you, it is not good for me.

I purchased grabbers on Amazon for $13.99. The first time I went out, I took a plastic trash bag, but it was awkward to hold and difficult to keep open wide for depositing the litter. An Internet search led me to Bigmouth Bagger, which features an over-the-shoulder litter bag holder made by a retiree in Virginia. Cost was $37.05. Free shipping, and it came quickly.

Other accessories include:

Aside from looking stylish, I very much enjoy plogging and am happy to do something positive for my community. So far, I’ve been sticking to the paved trails. I see trash in the median, which is gnarly, but I seem to fill up a bag just fine without going down in there.

There may come a day when I’d do the ditch, but I’d need backup to watch for traffic, snakes, etc. And certainly bullet-proof pants. Not my fancy Athleta tights. Then again, I may never go in there.

I carry a 13-gallon bag, which is mostly full when I’m done. The new rig from Bigmouth Bagger makes it easy and comfortable. Totally worth the money.

There are some items I just won’t mess with. Bottles with visible amounts of liquid in them. I can’t really tell if the lid is sealed, and I don’t want to deal with the potential mess. Anything big, heavy or sloppy will have to wait for a more stalwart plogger.

Music makes the time pass quickly. I’ve also made some new friends who stop to thank me or express an interest in plogging as well. Litter sucks, and people seem to appreciate efforts to clean it up.

What do you suppose is the number one litter of choice?

You guessed it. Masks. Miscellaneous plastic, odd bits of paper and Styrofoam, candy wrappers and empty plastic bottles round out the list.

Just so you know, the grabber is multi-purpose. I use it to wave back at people and more importantly, to spin it around in time to the music. That might be why they call me the crazy old lady plogger.

You don’t think they really call me that, do you?

Go with the flow

When I look back at my working life, I usually reflect on the negatives. I’m not purposefully a glass half-full kind of person, but it does seem that’s my default. Lately, I’ve been thinking about the positives, and there were a few surprises.

I was reading a golf psychology book, as I am wont to do, and there was a reference to the old nursery rhyme:

Row, row, row your boat

Gently down the stream

Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily

Life is but a dream

I’m not the first to realize this could be a beautifully simple guide to happiness. As I reflected on the meaning behind these lyrics, it occurred to me I sometimes row hard in the other direction because that’s the way I want to go, damn it.

But wait! Is there a benefit to rowing with the current? Going with the flow? Imagine.

Here’s where we come back to my work experience. I was stuck in a nice but dead-end job and couldn’t seem to find a way out. When I wasn’t working, I spent all my time on the job search. I had a few memorable interviews but no offers.

Only one person at work knew I was on the hunt. I actually didn’t know her well but somehow decided she was the one to trust. That’s a little telling, isn’t it?

Anyway, one day I whined I couldn’t get a job. She said, “That’s because it wasn’t your job. When it’s your job, the doors will open.”

Indeed. After interviewing for a job in Minnesota because by that time I would go anywhere, the hiring manager called to tell me I didn’t get it, but they thought I would be a good fit for their company. He offered to shop my resume around, and that led to an interview in Texas.

When they offered me the job, Dale and I stopped to think it through. What if it didn’t come with relocation? The next day they emailed me a document outlining the relo assistance, and it was amazing. Then Dale said, what about my job? Within days, he was laid off and got a nice exit package. And that’s how it all rolled out.

I went from a local utility in South Carolina to a large multinational Fortune 100 company, and while I was quite competent in my field, this was the big show. Easier for some than others. Having been raised by wolves, I had limited social acumen and not a lot of workplace savvy.

But I needed this job, and I was hellbent on figuring it all out. In addition to some great mentoring, the company offered lots of training, especially on the soft skills such as ethics, diversity and interpersonal communications, and I absorbed all of it.

Yes, some might say it was all about being politically correct, but at least we weren’t punching out flight attendants. I have developed new appreciation for having both feet planted solidly on the high ground. Only recently did it occur to me some of those nuances of behavior I learned at work are worth preserving in retirement.

Kind of like the monster’s transformation in Young Frankenstein, it turns out I liked having a calmer brain and a more sophisticated way of expressing myself. Communicating to make someone else more comfortable. Listening rather than telling. Remembering to say and instead of but. You do it enough, and you sort of become the person you were trying to be.

Even though I’ve previously harbored resentment over some of my work experiences, I can now see how the flow took me to a place where I could explore this better version my myself. The wolves had their charms but didn’t exactly give us a good head start.

That’s what I’ve been up to lately. Still learning. Sciatica is nearly gone. I’m walking a lot, playing golf and swimming. Lots of deep breathing – in through the nose, out through the mouth. I’m as surprised as anyone I could spend quality blogging time on all this touchy-feely stuff, but pain changes you.

And strangely enough, it’s not all bad if you go with the flow.

My first walking playlist

My favorite advice columnist these days is Carolyn Hax, who writes for the Washington Post. She’s not a therapist, but her responses are so intelligent and so insightful, I’d pay for some couch time with this journalist.

In a recent column, she urged a writer to respond to another person’s nasty comment with her honest feelings … something along the lines of, “What an unkind thing to say.” She said don’t let anything stand unchallenged. Invite difficult people out into the open.

Carolyn ends the column with this: “The truth is your power. Remaining calm is your superpower.”

Indeed!

After a shaky start earlier in my career, I became quite good at keeping things bottled up at work, where we used to say only the whale that surfaces gets harpooned. Or never complain, never explain. While I did speak up and was good at keeping calm in a crisis, figuring out what to say and when to say it was practically a full-time job.

Carefully choreographed restraint was useful in the workplace, but it’s not particularly helpful for the rest of our lives, when theoretically we are free to let it all hang out. But as it turns out, managing interpersonal communication is a key life skill we need more than ever in retirement.

I say that because I believe the default is to make us invisible. Have you noticed that? No longer young and jobby, sometimes it feels like no one sees or hears us anymore. At first, I was like, fine. Who cares? I’ll just keep a low profile and go about my merry way.

It worked for a while, but eventually it takes a toll. As I’ve written in previous posts, I believe my sciatica is at least partially exacerbated by repressed emotions. At first, I thought it was the big stuff, childhood drama and all that, but now I think it’s everyday communication or lack thereof.

In my last post, I wrote about my experience on the golf course, where I finally said in a very kind and truthful way how I felt about some behaviors I found unsettling. I feel great! Carolyn is right about owning your truth and staying calm.

It’s an art form. I’ve been practicing, asking more questions and being less judgmental yet stating quite clearly where I stand. As my communication skills improve, so does my back. Pain is complicated, and I understand not everyone will have the same experience, but it seems like it’s working for me. Perhaps there’s a nugget or two in this continuing saga that might help you.

My first Walking Playlist

I’m loving Spotify and have been goofing around with playlists. Yesterday, I walked for an hour to this playlist, and it was so much fun I couldn’t not share it. I didn’t use beats per minute or anything professional like that, so my advice is to keep your normal pace and not let the music drive you to do more than you safely can.

Walking is not required. Think of it as an eclectic collection of music that brings a smile to your face and makes you want to move. Maybe a little sing-a-long if you are so inclined. Below are the songs if you use a different streaming service. For an hour’s walk, I turn around somewhere in the middle of La Bamba.

  • Billie Jean – Michael Jackson
  • Yes Sir, I Can Boogie – Baccara
  • Streets of Bakersfield – Dwight Yoakam
  • Shake Your Hips – Joan Osborne
  • Everyday People – Sly & The Family Stone
  • The Holy Grail – John Fogerty
  • Bear Cat – Rufus Thomas
  • London Calling – The Clash
  • Dumas Walker – The Kentucky Headhunters
  • La Bamba – Flaco Jimenez & Steve Jordan
  • Refugee – Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers
  • All The Lilacs in Ohio – John Hiatt & The Jerry Douglas Band
  • Stayin’ Alive – Bee Gees
  • Is Anybody Goin’ to San Antone – Texas Tornados
  • I Love to Love – Tina Charles
  • Highway 61 Revisited – Bob Dylan
  • Papa Was a Rollin’ Stone – The Band of Heathens & Ray Wylie Hubbard

Catching up to technology

I’ve surrendered to the privacy pirates and am enthralled with my new technology toys for music. I signed up for Spotify, paying for premium at $9.99 a month. The choice of music is amazing, and it’s fun to find old tunes you know and love as well as new stuff you’d like to explore but don’t want to buy.

Amazon is another excellent choice, but I tried Spotify first and decided to stick with it.

Next were wireless earbuds. I went with Carole’s recommendation of Samsung Galaxy Buds Live, and they’re great. I accidentally ordered the version bundled with a wireless charger pad. Although I planned to return the wireless charger, I’m sold! I just put the buds in their case and set that on the pad, and the fiesta begins. I can also use the pad to charge my cell phone.

All in all, it would seem I’ve at least partially caught up to this era. My tights from Athleta arrived, and they fit well and are quite stylish. Newly outfitted, I do feel more with it and am even more inspired to walk.

More on the Mind-body connection

My sciatica has improved, although it’s definitely not gone. Even after all the discussion we had here about some of the reservations we share regarding the mind-body connection, I still think it’s worth digging into my emotions to see if any negativity is contributing my physical problems. While I know this doesn’t apply to everyone, I have a history of stress-related illness.

As I said earlier, I’ve dealt with all my family drama, but this week I realized I still have some baggage from work.

Although I had a fine run, I was treated rather badly the last couple of years on the job. It’s a long story, but to extend my career with the company, I was pretty much forced to take a job working for a high-level bully and screamer. Everyone knew, but he delivered results, so they looked the other way.  

There’s more to the story than just him, and it would take another 10 pages to explain how it all went down. I try to think, oh, it was OK, but really, it wasn’t. I was well-compensated, and in the end, I came out way better off financially. The money definitely made retirement possible, but the whole thing still makes me angry.

I took to my journal and wrote all about it. I won’t frighten you with the inner workings of my mind, but putting my deepest feelings on paper helped me understand the role these emotions have on my every day life.

One thing I decided was to reframe how I experience golf. It might not seem like golf could be connected to work. I suspect some of you may be struggling with the same issue. We were so accustomed to performing for the king, that we feel we have to prove ourselves in some other way after we retire.  Whatever it is that drives us, we’d better be good at it.

For me, that was golf. I’ve been playing poorly, but I decided it didn’t matter. I am going to just focus on enjoying the challenges and pleasures of the game. I signed up for this week’s league play with the women.

It was chilly when we started about 9 a.m. but warmed up quickly and was turning into a beautiful day. I was playing OK. Not as well as I normally play, but I was fine and actually enjoying myself. As we walked off the 9th hole, our new leader was standing by with her timer and said we were 10 minutes behind schedule. I kind of wondered if it would come to this, as she sent sort of a snarky note in advance warning us about pace of play.

Much to my surprise, I said in a very calm and kind voice, “I’m done.” Then I explained that I really like her, she is one of my favorite people in the club and I don’t hold this against her in any way, but I have decided that golf under those conditions does not work for me personally. We’re supposed to be having fun out here, and we weren’t slowing anyone down. I added that I play all the time out there with men, and no one ever fucks with them about pace of play.

And then I walked away.

Later, I sent a note to one of my playing partners apologizing for the abrupt departure. She understood, and said they had to wait on the group in front of them on number 10. They took a picture of themselves waiting and texted it to the leader with a note, “So much for 10 minutes.”

Ha! I liked their style and felt a little bad I didn’t hang in there. On the other hand, I believe I did what I needed to do. If you’ve been reading this blog for a bit, you may recall this is not the first time I’ve addressed this achievement fixation and how it impacts life. Not to mention golf! It’s a tricky balance, but I think I’m getting closer to the sweet spot.

Leftover chicken

And that leaves me to chicken. We love roasted chicken and always freeze the carcass to make stock. Dale pulled off all the meat yesterday, so I made a list of food we make with leftovers:

  • Chicken enchiladas
  • Chicken tacos
  • Chicken Divan
  • Chicken Tortilla Soup
  • Chicken in Phyllo with Hazelnuts and Feta
  • Chicken Tetrazzini
  • Chicken Curry with Coconut Milk and Spinach
  • Mini Chicken Pot Pies
  • Chicken Quesadillas

Dale got to vote, and the winner is Mini Chicken Pot Pies. I make three. We split one and freeze the other two. For some bizarre reason, we like chicken pies with French fries. And a salad. We don’t always eat like 10-year-old boys.

I’d better get going. I like to make everything ahead of time and refrigerate until it’s time to cook.

Give a robot a chance

After we got the engineered hardwood flooring installed downstairs, I read the most important care tip is to keep it vacuumed. Although I’ve so far resisted the siren call of home cleaning services, I decided to give a robot a chance. 

Warning. This is not for people who are on a tight budget. While prices vary considerably, our floor guy said not to get a cheap one … they aren’t worth the money.

We got the iRobot Roomba i7+. I purchased it online from Lowe’s. With tax, total cost was $803.30. It’s kind of a shocker, but I get a rebate from online purchases on my credit card, so it’s not all bad. This model creates a smart map of your home so you can target specific areas without having the robot vacuum the whole house.

Robo, as we call him, is self-emptying. When he’s done with a job, you hear a giant whirl and the dirt, dust and cat hair go into a tower at the docking station lined with a bag you only have to change once a month or even less. The sound is loud, but it’s just for a few seconds.

I loves him. He had to do several tours of the whole house to map it out, but then I was able to go into the app and customize it. The rooms are labeled, so I can tell him to just vacuum the kitchen and breakfast area, which is where we make most of the mess.

When Robo does the whole house, he usually has to go back to the docking station to recharge. Then he’ll finish the job after he’s all juiced up. He really does a great job, and I almost want to give him a tip!

The hardwood floors are perfect for Robo. We only have two area rugs. One is a flokati, and I’m probably going to program Robo to skip him. He doesn’t get stuck or anything, but I’m not sure it makes a difference. The other rug is a tighter weave, and Riley, our cat, loves to hang out there. He is a long-haired cat and very fluffy. It has always been hard to get the cat hair off.

Robo kind of stirs up the cat hair on the rug and leaves it in clumps. It’s an improvement but not a solution. We’d be better off without any rugs, but we like it, and most importantly, Riley likes it. I just have to go back with the regular vacuum periodically to get the rest of the cat hair.

I mainly wanted Robo to help maintain the hardwood floors. Upstairs is carpeted, except for the bathrooms. Robo could map the whole upstairs, too, and he has a feature that supposedly will keep him from falling down the stairs. But at $800, I’m looking for a sure thing. I could create a keep-out zone, but only after he maps the area, so I’d have to watch and make sure he doesn’t get to the stairs.

While I may eventually go that route, for now, I put him in a room, press the “clean” button and close the door. The smaller rooms are easy because he doesn’t fill up the bin or run out of juice. Our master area is bigger, and both scenarios are possible. When I hear him quit, I take him back to the docking station and let him empty the bin and recharge.

I’m impressed. It’s amazing how much cat hair he manages to find. I even love the vacuum tracks on the carpet!

I hesitated to share my experience with the robot vac because I know not everyone has an extra $800 to burn. But if you do have some spare change, so far, I think it’s a retiree’s best friend. The house is cleaner, and it’s easier on your body … leaving you with more time to have fun!