Do you need a vacation calibration?

Mendocino Headlands State Park
Navarro Vineyards

We’re back from our trip to Mendocino, and as it happens, the weather was cold and rainy. We were forced to take shelter in a winery, where one can stay until the Pinot’s gone weather clears.

The scenery in Mendocino is spectacular. We hiked around Mendocino Headlands State Park and visited two wineries. As you may know, Dale and I live in great wine country, but the Anderson Valley specializes in wines that are not typically grown near us. That’s how we ended up with two cases of wine – a mix of Chardonnay, Gewurztraminer and Pinot Noir.

The obligatory difference of opinion between us lovebirds came down to whether we should leave the wine in the car overnight. I’m thinking several hundred dollars in wine – take it up to the room in case someone decides to smash and grab.

Dale’s thinking that’s way too much work. Take a chance.

Granted, our room was in an old house with narrow steps. And we are not as young and hearty as we once were. Dale finally agreed and carried our first case up. He was almost to the top, when he stumbled, but he righted the ship pretty well, saved the wine and only got a scrape on his knee.

He was annoyed because he saw no reason why the wine couldn’t have stayed in the car. But my little brain was working overtime, and I said, hey, I have an idea! My suitcase was a sturdy tote with a thick shoulder strap. What if I emptied it out, we put some of the bottles in the bag and shuttled the wine up in shifts?

And that is what we did. Kind of pathetic, but even Dale said it worked out pretty well. Of course, we had to shuttle it back to the car this morning, but downhill was way easier.

We were mostly disappointed in the food. But then we almost always are. Back in our globe-trotting days, we ate some pretty amazing meals. And these days, we are good cooks with impossibly high standards. We ate at a pub one night – our first dinner out since the pandemic! Mediocre fish and chips. So sad when you know how good it can be.

The second night we ate at a fancy place. We both got duck for an entrée, and it was cooked to perfection, but they used five spice seasoning, and I think it overpowered the duck. It just didn’t taste ducky enough for us. They served it with sautéed Swiss chard, which I love, but I didn’t think it was a good pairing.

All in all, we had a fine time, and we’re glad we went, but there’s some room for improvement. For many retirees, travel is their main mission, and they’re good at it. If that’s you, please feel free to skip this next part. But if you’re like us, homebodies with only a moderate itch to travel, you might benefit from what I’m calling a vacation calibration.

When we were younger, we were avid scuba divers. Most of our vacations were at Caribbean beach resorts. We don’t dive anymore, so the beach is less alluring. Yet we keep heading there, partly because that’s what we’ve always done. We do love the ocean vistas and great seafood, but this trip poked a hole in the seafood-is-better-at-the-beach theory.

I also used to be happy just hanging around the pool reading, because it was the opposite of work. Now I can stay home, hang around the pool and read whenever I want. I certainly don’t want to waste time and money to veg in the sun.

Food is a big attraction, but there’s the disappointment factor. I thought, what if we were just so damned hungry, that perfect food wasn’t the objective? What if all we need is something like a burger and a beer, which you can get about anywhere. And that led me to the idea that hiking might be a better focus for our trips. Work out hard, get cleaned up, eat, drink, crawl back to clean dry room and repeat?

That’s pretty much what we did when we were diving, but maybe at this stage of our lives we’re mountain people.

Dale reminded me that we loved Santa Fe, N.M. Plenty of hiking, interesting historical artifacts, great museums and delicious food. All the restaurants within an easy walk of the hotel. There must be more places like that!

So that’s my mission, should I choose to accept it. Continue with the vacation calibration and find a better fit for our changing expectations. While this trip wasn’t perfect, look at the pictures! I mean, how bad could it be?

The second booster

It’s hard to believe we’ve been married 43 years, and we approach nearly everything from a completely different perspective. I sometimes wonder how we lasted this long when we are such opposites.

I know, I know. Opposites attract. For the most part, we’ve learned not to argue about our differences, so at least it’s not opposites attack. But it is sometimes exhausting to hear each other out. The latest point of contention is the second Covid booster.

I’ll start first. Of course, I will.

Our numbers are looking really good right now. My state is currently at 5 cases per 100,000 population, and my county is at 3.9 cases per 100,000. One of my golf buddies said you can’t believe the numbers because people are testing at home and not reporting it. Probably, but all signs indicate the risk is much lower than it has been for quite some time.

I am inclined to wait until the numbers start rising again before I get the second booster. I liken it to the flu shot – you don’t want to get it too early in the season so you’ll still have some immunity during the peak. I’ve also read they are trying to tweak the vaccine to be most effective against specific variants, so waiting until that variant is somewhat more prevalent might be the prudent thing to do. Kind of like the flu shot targeting a specific strain.

Dale, on the other hand, says get the booster now. Why wait and put yourself at unnecessary risk? He wants to be all juiced up if and when another wave hits. If the effectiveness of the second booster wanes before the things get bad again, he figures they’ll authorize another booster. As he sees it, we’re probably going to need a booster every six months for the foreseeable future.

I’m wondering if his military background might have a role in this. Be ready no matter what. Don’t wait until the shit hits the fan. But I see his point. If we’re going to get a booster twice a year anyway, why not just go ahead and get the shot now?

If all else fails and I’m somehow caught between boosters, I can always hunker down. It’s a new skillset I picked up a couple of years ago.

What are your thoughts about the second booster?  

No-name style

Number 26

My husband and I are visiting Mendocino in April, and as we prepare to re-enter civilization after our pandemic lockup, I’ve given some thought to style. That’s a reference to my personal style, which is practically nonexistent. I’m pretty sure I’m not alone in this dilemma, so I’ll tell you where I landed and see if that’s any help.

Right off the bat, just thinking about it stirred up a few revelations. One day I woke up and realized I am no longer a skirt person. Just like that, and now I am at last ready to donate most of my work attire. I have one jacket and one pair of slacks that are keepers, but the rest of it is in the wind.

I’ve been wanting to do something about those lovely pieces hanging in my closet for quite some time now, but I wasn’t ready to let go. I could still visualize myself wearing them, mostly because I was a thoughtful shopper and only bought nice clothes that looked good and fit me well. But also because I associated wearing those outfits with the peak of my career, which was productive and prosperous.

Part of me was still clinging to that image. But as I worked through the emotional baggage I believe is linked to my chronic back pain, I made peace with some rough times I experienced toward the end of my career, and now I think, well, that was a good life, but I’ve moved on.

Now in my fifth year of retirement, let’s just say I’ve laid productivity to rest, although I’m counting on enough prosperity to make it to the finish line. In the meantime, I’d like to look good, but I don’t care about making a fashion statement. Being invisible is fine with me.

Invisible is such a harsh word. I like to think of it as stealth.

All that said, I was still thinking I needed a little help getting dressed, so I spent some time cruising the style quizzes.

That’s time I’ll never get back. When they asked do you like this outfit or that outfit, my answers were always no. I kept wanting to add, I hate it. When they listed celebrity style icons to see which ones I most identified with, the response was none of the above. I was like who in the hell is that person? And jumpsuits? Doesn’t anyone else have to pee all the time?

I Googled some terms to see if anything interesting would appear. Athleisure came to mind, but I see that as 50 ways to love your leggings. I think I’m somewhere in the middle of sleek chic, casual and minimalist. Even my golf attire is pretty simple. I had a brief flirtation with skorts, but that time is gone.

My favorite outfits for pretty much anything are stretchy but slim-fitting with minimal fuss. Pockets. Machine wash, tumble dry. Lots of black and white. Denim. Gray for a pop of color.

No adorable shoes. It’s Birkenstocks and Hoka One One trail running shoes or boots for dress-up.

If I leave the house, it’s usually to play golf, walk, swim or go to the grocery store. No-name style meets my needs. I feel good about how I present myself to the world and can kick it up a notch if I have to. This is my key point. We don’t need style quizzes. We just need to be confident with our choices. Trust that we know what we like and run with it!

Anyway, our Mendocino trip is only for two nights, but we’re excited. A room with an ocean view. Wine tasting. Scenic wonders. Dinner in a French restaurant. As for what to wear, I’m comfortable with the simple pieces in my closet. My Headlands Hybrid Cargo Tights can go anywhere when paired with a tee, a denim jacket and my signature turquoise jewelry. Birks or boots, depending on the weather.

It’s crazy, but I still have this urge to call it something. Sporty retirement minimalist California casual?

Retirement jobs

Galettes Complètes

I’ve read lots of retirees get a job because they miss their old identity, they’re bored or need the money. Have you thought about going back to work? Once I accepted that I’m quite fine with being a nobody, I found myself grateful to be holding steady with my current portfolio of retirement jobs.

Retirement job #1:

Cooking. I’m continuing to work my way through The Savory Baker. This week’s masterpiece was Galettes Complètes, buckwheat crepes stuffed with ham, egg and Gruyère cheese. I said if these turned out to be any good, I would buy a real crepe pan.

We had them for breakfast today, and it seems I have some shopping to do! I made the crepes yesterday and had everything ready to go this morning. Although my presentation was slightly off (they are supposed to be squares), the crepes were absolutely delicious. I had a hard time getting the folds to stay flat and used toothpicks.

The cookbook is from the folks at Cook’s Illustrated, but I’ve also saved a New York Times recipe for future consideration.

Retirement job #2

Exercising. I like to stay active because it’s fun and keeps my body in decent shape, but also because it means I can continue to eat well. As a person who struggled with weight earlier in life and tried all the crazy diets on the planet, it sure is nice to not worry about every little bite that goes in my mouth. My Fitbit says I burn about 2,000 calories a day.

Retirement job #3

Travel. I’ve started planning some trips! We traveled a lot when we were younger and don’t have a big wanderlust, but we can certainly improve on our current record, which is approaching zero. Admittedly, I took it kind of easy throughout our two-year staycation.

With Covid seemingly on the decline, we were thinking, let’s get through March and then start scooting around California. Lots to see and do here, and we won’t have to suffer the indignities of air travel.

In other Covid-related news, Dale and I have at least temporarily stopped wearing masks at the grocery store. Such adventurers we are.

Retirement job #4

Chores. Taking care of the house is a job I share with Peter Pan my husband, who has to be reminded from time to time he is a homeowner with responsibilities. I mean, neither one of us is excited about it, but this is real grown-up stuff.

Our water usage went up, and it turned out to be a leak in the skimmer of the pool. That got fixed last week. Next is trying to replace two segments of fence and a gate. We got a proposal, which looked good to us, but I had to float it by our neighbor, who shares one of the fence segments with us. Her portion would be about $600, and she squawked.

I’m super-annoyed, but I’m trying to be patient and understanding. She claims to have some guy who can do it cheaper, but that’s what she told me a year and a half ago. I want to get this ball rolling, as I am eager to outsource the yardwork and figured it would be easier once the fence is done.

My sciatica is almost non-existent at this point, yay, and I’ve decided yard work and its potential for added stress on my back is one variable I don’t want to mess with. Time to throw some money at it.

While I have several other retirement jobs, including art, I feel busy but not too busy, and aside from world events outside of my control, life is good. Way better than working, that’s for sure. I don’t read much of the serious news. I asked Dale to let me know if we get nuked so I can say goodbye.

Speaking of goodbyes, I had to delete the Wordle link from my phone. I’d wake up at 1:30 a.m. and think, I could go back to sleep or I could play Wordle. I’m all about bad choices and found myself playing in the wee hours of the morning. It’s still available through the New York Times, but my new rule is I have to be up and sitting at my computer to play.

Finally, last week marked 23 years since I was diagnosed with stage 3 primary peritoneal cancer, which is virtually the same as ovarian. Although most people seem to think ovarian cancer is a death sentence, I have been disease-free since my initial treatment. I did get breast cancer later, but the only relationship is that both cancers were caused by the BRCA mutation.

By the way, no one else in my extended family has had either ovarian or breast cancer, so testing positive for the BRCA mutation was a shocker. My oncologist believes I inherited it from my father.

Here’s to hoping March comes out like a lamb.

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?