Our kitchen remodeling project is behind schedule, but they finish up today, so everything should be good to go for Thanksgiving. We have missed cooking so much and can’t wait to crank it up again.
Of course, we’re going to have a nicer kitchen, but being miserable for close to five weeks motivated us to get serious about having fun. We are out of practice.
Dale and I don’t have a big urge to travel, especially long trips by air, and COVID did nothing to change our minds. Still, we’re feeling confident we can scoot around California with moderate risk. There are so many beautiful places to see here, and we’ve done a whole lot of nothing for two years.
As it is with kitchens and travel, everything costs money. I’ll start collecting Social Security in December, and that should help fund some adventures. Additionally, we’re starting to talk about monthly withdrawals from what used to be my 401K but is now an IRA.
Although I was good at building a solid 401K, I’m less skilled when I think about draining it. I have found it difficult to make the mental switch from saving to spending. However, I may be ready. Not too many people in my family die of old age, so I’d like to enjoy what’s there.
We talked with Bob, our financial planner, and he encouraged us to get started … operating under the theory you can’t take it with you. Bob suggested we go with 4-5 percent. Ideally, your returns match or outpace withdrawals, so you don’t touch your principal. But with this market, who knows?
As a childless couple, we do want to spend our principal … just not all at once. I like the idea of “die broke.” However, I would like to avoid being alive and broke. But if that’s how it goes down, hell, yes, I would take it.
My car is 11 years old and in good shape, but I see a new one on the horizon. So, it will be good to start socking away cash for that purchase. I’m hoping my car goes another couple of years so I can see how the electric market shakes out. I’d like to go electric or plug-in hybrid. Any recommendations?
The biggest hurdle is getting over a bad case of COVID caution. Breakthrough infections notwithstanding, we’re both fully vaccinated and boosted and will most likely be just fine. We can’t live in fear forever.
Remodeling continues, but they are making excellent progress and should finish up by the end of the week. Between interactions with the contractors, we talk about food. When we’re not talking about food, we watch cooking shows.
We’ve had full use of our microwave and oven throughout the project. But no cooktop, no sink, no countertops. Our freezer was pre-stocked with leftovers, which we’ve mostly burned through. Lasagna, Chicken Pot Pie, Chicken Divan, Chicken Enchiladas, Lamb Rigatoni, Chicken Curry and Chicken Tetrazzini. Salads. Burgers on the grill.
It’s not like we’ve been starving!
Additionally, there are certain homemade foods we keep around at all times, and they are gone. Pizza, tacos and scones from the freezer and granola in the pantry. We will have fun replenishing the supplies. There’s one piece of coconut cake left, and it has my name on it.
When I retired, I got a few Starbucks gift cards, which I’ve hardly used. I’ve been driving over there in my jammies to get us each a large dark roast. Drive-thru, of course. At about $6 for the two, I’ve mostly drained those cards. The Starbucks employees I’ve encountered are quite cheerful and personable.
I had my first bite of fast food in more than 10 years. One morning I got us each a sausage biscuit from McDonalds. It was OK, but I’m good for another 10 years. We had sandwiches from Jersey Mike’s, which we like a lot. And takeout from a local Asian bistro. It was expensive and not very good.
As of Friday, our countertops and backsplash were in, and the cooktop, sink and dishwasher were functional. The kitchen is still not business as usual because they haven’t finished with the cabinet fronts, but the sink was a game-changer.
Contractors don’t come on Sundays, so it really is a day of rest. I wanted to play golf since I haven’t been able to play during the week, but instead I opted for a relaxing breakfast with Dale. At the beginning of the remodel, we had a couple of big-ass arguments, but we broke each other’s will worked through it and emerged closer than ever.
Maybe this was what we needed to get back to the basics of love. Our own little Luckenbach, Texas. I’m glad we got our issues resolved early in my retirement, as it bodes well for enjoying the rest of our time together. Counseling might have been cheaper but probably more painful.
Breakfast was bacon and toast, and it was bliss.
We are getting excited about Thanksgiving. Dale ordered a fresh Diestel turkey. He stuffs the bird with a seasoned potato, bread and onion mixture he grew up eating in Maine. Mashed potatoes and gravy, some sort of green vegetable. Pinot Noir.
Usually I make cranberry sauce, but we are doing something different this year. At Christmas, I often make a cranberry walnut pie. However, this year Dale has requested plum pudding with hard sauce. But we still want the pie, so I’m making it for Thanksgiving. I thought it would be overkill to have the pie and cranberry sauce.
I’m still going to load up on cranberries for the freezer, as I love them in scones. Or scons, as Paul Hollywood says.
I hope the kitchen stories haven’t been too self-absorbed. But I guess it is what it is. The whole project has been an interesting retirement experience I wanted to share. However, if you are bored senseless, I expect to emerge from The Remodeling Zone later this week and return to our regular programming.
Still knee-deep in the hoopla with regard to the kitchen remodel. In a surprising development, I’ve learned dust is like dry shampoo and makes my hair fluffier. Just another pro-tip from Dale and Donna’s cantina.
As far as dealing with contractors, the remodel brings out the overzealous project manager in me, the queen of rumination.
I’d like to introduce some corporate concepts. In my dream world, we’d have a communications plan that starts with a daily 8 a.m. stand-up. Wouldn’t it be nice to know what was happening? Who would be there and when?
Maybe a war room with the project plan taped to the wall. FAQs. Here’s a sample:
Q: What can I expect the first day?
A: Contractors will arrive at a designated time known only to them and immediately begin demolition. You won’t know what hit you.
Perhaps a lessons-learned meeting at the conclusion of our project? Oh, how I hated those. I mean, enough already. It’s over. But no, we all dutifully marched in for the dreaded hot wash. One of my co-workers said hot wash sounded so harsh. Why not call it a cool cleanse?
I believe Dale and I will be, enough already, it’s over. No hot wash for us. Go away and never come back.
And yet.
This project has been a bit of a wake-up call for me. While I was not a micromanager at work, those dark impulses decided to play out at home. We used to see it a lot in the kitchen, when Dale was cooking and I arrived on the scene to make sure he was doing it properly. And he is the better cook!
Fortunately for Dale, I backed off. But I still find myself offering guidance in all sorts of activities when he’s perfectly capable of figuring it out all by his own self.
The flooring is scheduled to be installed tomorrow. I have a doctor’s appointment, and I was going to cancel. Dale asked why. I said I need to be here to make sure he’s doing it right. Dale laughed, “Seriously, you know how to install floors?” I didn’t even tell him I read the label for the glue, just in case.
Ridiculous. I do think this is a control thing that got worse after I retired, and I have new appreciation for Dale being at the butt end of it. May I suggest those of with the tendency to meddle learn to back the fuck off?
Think of me as the advance party here to perform reconnaissance and report back from the field … a bit of intelligence to ease your retirement journey.
We are getting a bit of a kitchen makeover – new cabinet faces, drawers and pull-outs, along with a new countertop and backsplash. Additionally, we’re replacing the floors downstairs. All of it is happening at once and all whilst we are living here.
In the kitchen remodeling system, the project affects two separate yet equally important people: The spouse who manages the crime, and the spouse who hangs around acting offended. These are their stories.
I’m the principal interface with the general contractor and sub-contractors. Dale is called in for decisions, as needed, but mostly he stresses over his space and schedule being disrupted. He can’t cook! Oh, wait. Neither can I. The kitchen has been demolished.
The biggest issue is the mess. They had to tear up a ceramic tile floor, and there’s nothing I can say to adequately express how gross that is. The noise, the dust – it’s a symphony of horrors. I believe the worst is over, but then I said that two days ago. Fumes come next, as they prepare to paint the cabinet bases.
A couple of nights ago, Dale and I had what we’re calling The Last Meltdown. He was annoyed with me for over-thinking everything, and I was annoyed with him for whining about how hard it is. We vowed we will not be each other’s problem. Laugh more, complain less.
We had quite the chuckle over this fancy kitchen and bathroom showroom we visited. It’s a national chain. Ferguson. We went the first time looking for a sink, and somebody basically pointed and walked away. We ended up buying our sink on Amazon.
Then I went to look at cabinet hardware. Almost everything I found on Amazon was hollow, and I wanted solid. I took pictures of cabinet bases, measured everything and made accompanying diagrams. See attached.
A woman behind a desk greeted me, and I said I was there to buy cabinet hardware. She walked with me to that area, explaining that nothing is in stock. Everything is special order. I asked how long that typically takes, and she shrugged. I asked if there was someone who could help me, and she said they don’t do design work. I said I just had a few questions, and she said she’d see if she could find a sales associate.
None of the hardware had prices. There was another couple looking, and one of them dismissed an elaborate cabinet pull for being too expensive. I asked her how she knew. She said you have to Google it. You come here, you’re on your own. The only benefit is that you get to see it and feel it in person. I took pictures of all the displays so I’d know what brands to consider.
No one ever came to help me, so I left. The receptionist who was supposed to find me a sales associate watched me walk out the door and didn’t bat an eye. I guess that’s a business model.
When I got home, I Googled all the brands, and they are spendy. But one of my searches took me to MyKnobs.com, where I found the expensive stuff but also reasonably priced solid hardware. My little diagrams helped me count up how many I needed and in what size.
I placed my order. We’ll see how long that takes.
The good news is the contractors have been great and seem to be doing high-quality work. I believe the end result will be fabulous, so I’m trying to keep my eyes on the prize.
We’ve had use of our microwave and oven the whole time and have been eating yummy food from the freezer. However, we’ve been bad consumers, using lots of disposable plates and such. I am amazed how quickly the trash builds up – yet another lesson to be good environmental stewards going forward.
Some things require real dishes. We have a plastic tub for the dirty ones, and Dale has been washing them outside every couple of days. Although other sinks in the house are operational, we didn’t want to get food bits in pipes without a garbage disposal. He has a system for heating up the water with one of those big propane things people use to fry turkeys. First soapy, then rinse. Throws the dirty water in the sideyard. It gives him something to do besides sulk.
We’re both in the remorse phase. At least we’re on the same side now. Our motives were pure. As retired homebodies who spend a lot of time in the kitchen, we wanted a nicer space for ourselves. It wasn’t even about resale. But at this point, we’re like, did we really have to do this?
But it’s too late now. The show must go on. We are fortunate that we can do it at all, and someday I can imagine us saying it was worth it.
But it is not this day.
If I had a do-over, I’d still get the kitchen done, but I’d leave the tile alone. God meant tile to stay there forever.
Have you been reading about The Great Resignation? Droves of people are quitting their jobs, much of it as a result of the pandemic. While lots of factors play into their decisions, including child care challenges, it sounds like workers have discovered the joys of a slower pace and aren’t going back until they find something with more balance.
You’ll notice I didn’t say work-life balance. In one job, I wrote talking points for the president of the company about his efforts to change the culture of the workplace. He asked me to “socialize” them with other executives, and one VP took issue with the term work-life balance. He said, and I quote, “Work is life.”
As for resigning, we get it, don’t we? One of the reasons I retired earlyish is because the rat race was wearing me out, too. But I was 62, and my husband and I had enough money saved to presumably last the rest of our lives. These are young people gambling with their futures … holding out until employers bend.
I’ve never understood why 40 hours a week isn’t enough. In my last job, you were expected to put in at least 50, preferably more. My boss had some sort of document readily accessible on her smartphone that could instantly tell her who was putting in the most unpaid overtime … and who wasn’t.
She would check on weekends to see if your Instant Messenger light was green, which usually meant you were online and working.
Granted, I was highly compensated, but my hourly rate was down there with fast food. Not really, but you like to think you’re paid more because you bring extra value, not because you are willing to give up having a life outside of work.
Fast food reminds me of a funny story.
We had just returned from working abroad, and I interviewed for a job at an insurance company in Columbia, S.C. They made an offer, and I countered.
I made more money than that at my last job working in Egypt.
Well, that was overseas. You can’t compare us to overseas.
I made more money than that when I lived in Alabama.
Well, that was aerospace. You can’t compare us to aerospace.
I accepted the job anyway, but when I later told the story to a coworker, he said his response would have been:
I made more money than that when I worked at Captain D’s.
Well, that was fast food. You can’t compare us to fast food.
That story still makes me laugh.
Anyway, I want the workers to find their bliss, but I can’t say I have much hope. I suspect they’ll enjoy some time off, run out of money and once again be at the mercy of the man.
It’s a tough predicament, and I have no love left for what’s become of the workplace, but I have some amazing memories and am still exceedingly grateful for all my experiences.
And the money. Oh, and retirement. Definitely retirement.
Ever since I wrote a post about sardines and decided they don’t scare me anymore, I’ve been on a quest to sample what’s available. They’re super-good for you, they’re sustainable and I was surprised to discover I like them!
We love anchovies, especially Ortiz, and we’ve always had a can or two of Beach Cliff sardines in the pantry. Those were my starter sardines. Don, a reader, commented that he liked King Oscar. I hunted those down – found them at Safeway – and they were indeed delicious.
Then I bought a cookbook, The Magic of Tinned Fish by Chris McDade. What a fantastic book! Many of us view tinned fish as snack food, but Chris makes the case for using premium products mostly from Spain and Portugal in a wide variety of dishes home cooks will appreciate.
The book includes a page with recommended brands, as well as websites where you can purchase these specialty items, but I wanted to see what I could find at my neighborhood grocery stores. I had to shop around, but I found Matiz wild-caught sardines in olive oil, as well at Cole’s wild mackerel in olive oil.
The Matiz sardines are absolutely fantastic. My new favorite brand. Sometimes the other brands look almost beat up, but these are plump and pristine. The taste is perfect. I ate them plain, right out of the can, but I can’t wait to try some of his pasta recipes.
Next, I wanted to try the mackerel. The author makes the case for abandoning tuna, which is over-fished and not sustainable. Dale, who grew up in Maine, was skeptical. He said mackerel is oily and fishy, and I was not going to like it.
Chris, the author, says you can use mackerel interchangeably with tuna fish, and he also features it in recipes, including pasta, salads and soups. I made simple mackerel salad today. Just some mayo and diced pickle, and it was delicious. It tasted pretty much like tuna. Dale was shocked at how good it was.
Prices vary, but the better stuff costs more. At my store, a 5-ounce can of Bumble Bee solid white albacore in water was about $2.99, while a 4.4-ounce can of Cole’s mackerel in olive oil was $3.99. A 3.75-ounce can of King Oscar sardines was $2.59, while the 4.2 ounce can of Matiz sardines was $3.95.
I’m not banning tuna from our household, but I can see myself substituting with mackerel on a regular basis. I would definitely buy the King Oscar sardines again, but those Matiz sardines are quite special.
The cost seemed reasonable to me, but some tinned fish can get pricey. Fresh, in some cases, is cheaper. Still, I like the idea of having fish in the pantry, and over time, I would like to try the premium brands of smoked trout, smoked oysters, squid, mussels, whole clams and octopus.
In other snobby food news, this article from the Washington Post says there’s a champagne shortage. If you have a favorite for the holidays, start looking for it now.
For most, a job forces us to be competitive, whether we like it or not. We crawl our way to the top of the pile to make more money, validate our self-worth and provide for our families.
Sometimes it’s hard to differentiate between competition against others and competition against ourselves. When all is said and done, there might not be much of a difference – a standard of being better than someone else or better than you can ever hope to be?
And then you retire, and you still have this competitive drive all dressed up and nowhere to go. We may channel that energy into sports, hobbies, side gigs or travel, and like so many others, we often compete for attention on social media. We want to be good at something. We want to be seen.
I’m beginning to think the holy grail of retirement – or maybe just aging in general – is choosing to become less competitive and more mindful. While competition can be motivating, it’s all too easy to judge yourself harshly. I’ve always been way too hard on myself, and at this point in my life, I’m trying to focus on enjoying the experience more than the outcome.
For example, golf is one of my passions. I play in a women’s league at a local club. The rules are quite persnickety and the prizes are meager, yet competition is fierce. Bragging rights, I guess. I took pride in suggesting I didn’t care about winning, although I freely admitted I didn’t want to be DFL – dead fucking last.
What a surprise to wake up and realize if you care about losing, you care about winning. Even striving to be in the middle of the pack is its own little contest.
All that said, I’m not suggesting people abandon competition completely. It’s not about giving up. I still like the idea of challenging ourselves to do exceptional things. But I definitely think retirement is the right time to moderate our expectations and find new ways to feel rewarded.
Try to forget about winning or losing. Be kind to yourself no matter where you rank in the hierarchy of achievements. Focus on the pleasures of the game itself, your interactions with people, sharing your work with others or the creative process of making art or putting a business project together.
At the end of the day, whatever drives you, ask yourself this: would you do it for love?
Ralph, my indoor cannabis plant, complete with cat-proof fencing.
I turned 66 in September, and my Full Retirement Age for Social Security is 66 and two months. After much great discussion right here on this very blog, I decided to file for benefits.
It was easy to do online, however, I wasn’t sure how they calculated the month of November. I didn’t want to mess this up, so I adjusted the timing to be sure I was absolutely positively Full Retirement Age and opted to receive my first payment in January.
Imagine my surprise when the phone rang, and it was a most pleasant woman from the Social Security Administration. She asked why I chose January. I explained my paranoia and said I figured January would ensure I didn’t have money deducted because I filed too soon.
She laughed and said this happens all the time, and that’s why she was calling. If I reach Full Retirement Age anytime in November, I could get my first check in December. Deal! She made the adjustment, and now I’m good to go.
I have to admit, I was reminded of my working days when suited-up people arrived in the hinterlands and said, “Hi, we’re from Corporate, and we’re here to help.”
But this time it was the government, and it appears to be true.
Thanksgiving
I’m not sure what Thanksgiving is going to look like this year. We’re getting new cabinet faces in the kitchen and a new countertop, and then all new flooring downstairs. Our contractor was supposed to start in September, but now he’s scheduled to start next week. I figure this could run into November or even later.
Oh, well. We can always celebrate on a different day. Even with just the two of us, celebration means cooking. We do a big turkey and eventually eat every last bite of it. Some gets made into delicious leftovers and a whole breast goes into the freezer.
Dessert is the big question. Last year I made a command decision and went with pumpkin cheesecake. We both loved it, but Dale likes apple pie, and I figure it’s his turn to choose. I could probably tell the story of my life through apple pie – moderate success, excruciating failures. Bad crust, ill temper.
All my recipes have notes about what worked, what didn’t. It would seem I could get this right. This year, I’m going to gather my recipes and create a new one. Danger, danger, Will Robinson.
You may recall I bought a steel pie pan recently. One might trot that out for apple pie, however, the pan sucked. I thought the corrugated bottom would increase crispiness, but I found it did quite the opposite. Some parts didn’t connect with the steel, and they remained soggy.
One pie made me so mad, I just threw the whole thing away, pan and all. Now, it’s just me and my Pyrex. As it was meant to be.
The year of the osis
For me, this has been the year of the osis. Osteoporosis, spinal stenosis. While I do have some lower back pain, it’s not really in my back, more like in my buttocks. And it’s actually quite manageable. I still swim, walk, play golf and do weights. Sitting is the worst.
I did visit a pain management specialist upon the recommendation of my primary care physician, and it was pretty much a waste of time. She showed me the MRI results and basically guessed spinal stenosis is causing my pain. Because there has to be some explanation, right?
Steroid injections are an option, but I declined. It’s just not that bad, and she said it might not work and even if it does, the benefits don’t last all that long. A little short of sales skills. She was amazed I do all I do with the degree of stenosis she saw on the MRI. Which tells me maybe that’s not the cause.
Presumably, the human back hasn’t changed much in at least 500 years. And we didn’t always have MRIs to point the finger. People didn’t know what they didn’t know, and somehow, they managed to plod on, osis notwithstanding.
Cat-proofing cannabis
Finally, in the continuing adventures of a gentlewoman cannabis farmer, our cat, Riley, discovered the joys of destruction and killed my last seedling. There’s no THC in it at that point, so it’s not like he’s a kitty stoner. He just liked digging up the young plant and chomping on it.
Many thanks to Dale, who built me a cat-proof fence. Now, Riley sits there and stares at it. Weeping, one kitty tear at a time. How. Could. This. Happen.
We actually have two plants. Our outdoor plant, Steve, didn’t get enough sun and barely grew. However, there are a couple of nice buds, which are about ready for harvest. Next year, I will grow my outdoor plant in a container and put it where there’s lots of sun.
My indoor plant, Ralph, is coming along nicely with his new protective barrier. His power comes from a south-facing window and a 450-watt LED grow light.
I actually don’t use much cannabis, except for my homemade balm, but I enjoy the challenge of growing it. It’s a harmless (and in many places legal) retirement hobby for those of us who aren’t much into travel. You can always stay home with your plant and your Pyrex.
If you’re at all interested, I got started with a kit from A Pot for Pot. Easy and cost-effective. My best indoor plant yielded 30 grams, which is a nice little stash of weed, if one is so inclined.
One of the greatest things about retirement, especially for women, is we no longer have to wear uncomfortable shoes. Or worry about a golf tan.
I tried hard to find work-appropriate footwear that didn’t torture my feet but mostly came up short. No stilettos for me. For some, those thin tapering towers are considered “power” shoes, but they just seemed ridiculous.
Not that I didn’t like expensive shoes. I threw a lot of money at fancy footwear. Ballet flats were chic but never supportive enough for me. Designer “comfort” heels were marginally better, but oh, they sure did look nice. I did that for a couple of years when I was trying to compete with the big girls before I said no more and switched to shoes with thick platform soles and fat rubber-like heels.
Toward the end, when I figured no one was looking anymore, I took to wearing my Birkenstock London’s with black tights and pleated skirts. Somehow, it worked. Or at least I thought it did!
These days I wear Hoka One One for sports and Birkenstock for pretty much everything else. I do have some beautiful low-heeled boots and will wear them with skinny jeans tucked in for winter wine tasting, as that seems to be the outfit of choice for such endeavors. Seriously, it’s like a uniform.
Birkies last practically forever, so it’s not like I needed new shoes, but dag, I saw the Kyoto and was smitten. I kept putting it off, and they’d be out of stock by the time I was ready to buy. When I found black in my size, I went for it.
I love this shoe. As it gets cooler, I think the new Birkies will look great with leggings or my favorite Headlands Hybrid Cargo Tight from Atheta. My winter staple. I have three pairs and now consider jeans dress attire.
It seems the Kyoto is a popular style. It comes in cool colors, but a lot of sizes are out of stock no matter where you shop – Birkenstock, Zappos, Amazon – all of the above. If I ever see Ochre in my size, resistance is futile.
While I don’t miss work, I confess early into my retirement I missed feeling important. Being a director for a large corporation was demanding. Once you got to that level, the company wanted everything you had but taunted us with money and perks to keep people like me crawling back for more.
After a while, you start to think you’re somebody.
Then you join the long list of retirees who used to have big jobs, and you realize no one cares about your glory days. I needed a new mindset, and as I was looking for answers, I stumbled upon this quote in an online forum:
“We were never the somebody we thought. And we are never the nobody we fear.”
For me, that kind of says it all.
Double shot
Yesterday, I got my flu shot and COVID booster at the same time – one in each arm. I didn’t have any problems with the COVID vaccines first time around, but I have a history of fever and chills after getting the flu shot. I used to pre-medicate with Tylenol several days in advance, and that put an end to the chilly willies.
However, I’ve since read you’re not supposed to do that, since they don’t really know how it affects the vaccines. So, I toughed it out, and sure enough, I got fever and chills. Quite the miserable night, but it passed pretty quickly. Both arms are still sore, but I managed to play a little golf today.
COVID has completely stressed me out. I know – take a number, but I believe I’ve been unnecessarily paranoid. Now that I’m boosted and the case rates are going down here in California, I’m going to try hard to lighten up. We still haven’t been to a restaurant, even for outside dining.
Part of the problem is we’re kind of spoiled by our own home cooking, and most restaurants just aren’t that good. Still, a diversion would be nice. The weather is lovely, so maybe we can get our butts out the door and try someone else’s food.
Great British Baking Show
Speaking of food, I am finally getting into the Great British Baking Show. I can’t imagine what took me so long, but I love it. The baking is fantastic, of course, but as a Britophile, I also like the cast of characters.
I’m still watching the first season, so I have lots of shows in the queue. One of the first things I want to try is Mary Berry’s treacle tart.
A fluted tart pan with a removable bottom has been on my wish list for quite some time, and mine arrived today. Don’t you love it when a plan comes together? However, I don’t want to get in the trap of making sweets all the time, so I want to try a savory tart first. Or even a quiche. I’ve always made quiche in a regular pie pan, but the tart version just looks so inviting.
Cucko for coconut
We are still raving about the coconut layer cake I made for my birthday. Individual pieces are stowed safely in the freezer, but it seems someone has been eating them.
Dale said it is the best cake he’s ever had, and I have to agree. I called it the Thrilla in Manila. I mean, I know that’s a famous boxing match, but I just think it’s fun to say. And it could describe cake, right?
