When rain is rain

Number 23

Interpreting art

I took a little detour with my latest pallet scrap. I mostly draw squiggles and such because I’m not skilled at representational art. If you handed me a salt shaker and said, draw this, I probably couldn’t.

This piece includes a few attempts to capture something real, as well as a loose interpretation of something real. On the real side might be the beer mug and the slice of pizza.

As for loose interpretation, pink cats perhaps? Also, on the right, I was going for a cracked egg with a runny yolk. I didn’t quite pull it off. Dale thought it looked more like a cheeseburger! I think of it as a distressed white orb with yellow oozing out of it. You may think of it as you like, and that is the beauty of art.

Outsourcing for retirees

It’s a pre-Christmas miracle, but it appears Dale’s life will be spared. Instead of madly throwing poisonous darts at him for sticking me with the seasonal clean-up of our backyard, I threw money at the problem and hired someone to do it for us.

Of course, that’s my job, too, and it isn’t easy. You find someone, you call them, you leave a message and they never call you back. I ended up going with one of the higher-end services, simply because they answer the phone. Hopefully, they will make up for it with speed and proficiency.

Dale and I will still “share” routine maintenance, but it feels good to know someone else will do the heavy lifting for a change.

While I’m not ready just yet, I am also going to hire a monthly housekeeping service. When I first retired, I took great pride in doing all the housework – partly because I hate spending money on something I can do myself, partly because I think there’s honor in doing your own shit work and partly because any kind of movement is good.

All that to say I actually don’t mind some of it, but again, I need help with the heavy lifting.

We’re having work done in the kitchen soon and getting new flooring downstairs. Assuming we live through that and don’t kill each other in the interim, I’ll wait until the work is finished before I start the search. Finding contractors is practically a full-time job.

What tasks do you outsource? Worth it?

Thinning hair

As I approach 66, I’ve noticed my hair thinning around the temples, and I thought it was something new to worry about. Because, you know, I’m always on the lookout. Then I saw pictures of me from several years ago, and it appears my hair started thinning early into the Trump administration.

So far, so good. I wear it longish and parted in the middle, so it’s really only me who sees the thinning. And I looked at click bait pictures of older women’s hairstyles, and even those touted as having great hair had some thinning action going on. It looks fine. It’s normal.

My hair has pretty much grown back from my post-vaccination haircut, and I like it in its as is condition. Sadly, I did not get the extended warranty. However, I’ve decided if my hair eventually goes, it goes. I was bald when I was on chemo, and I looked pretty damned good. Oh, that’s right. I was 43. Oh, to be young with cancer!

Just kidding. I dreamed last night I ran into some guys I used to work with who had thinning hair, and they had all retired and shaved their heads and looked fantastic. I said I was going to do the same thing, and Dale was cool with it. I told Dale about the dream this morning as a way of thanking him in advance for his support.

When Rain is Rain

We had unexpected rain, and I got so excited, convinced it was the Miracle in September – the miracle that would put out California’s raging forest fires. It was midnight, and I opened the front door to stand on the porch and watch it come down, silently saying a prayer for relief from the seemingly incessant burning.

By morning, the media reported it was barely enough rain to register on any meter that matters, and lightning sparked a few new fires. I was devastated, thinking life sure does suck lately.

I mentioned my disappointment about the rain to Dale, my life partner of more than four decades, who has annoyed me more during the past 18 months than all the other years combined. I’m told the feeling is mutual. These are testy times, indeed.

He said he didn’t think of it that way at all. He thought, rain! Rain is nice. I like the sound of it. The air smells pleasantly damp. It was like we got a little hosing off. And even though it didn’t put a dent in the fires, it was good for our yard. Our little piece of the pie.

Sometimes rain is just rain.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I get over being mad at my husband.

Wishful thinking

Full Retirement Age

My birthday is this month, and I will be 66. My full retirement age for Social Security is 66 and two months. I had been planning to start receiving my monthly payments as soon as I reached full retirement age and was excited about the prospect of a paycheck, but now I’m having second thoughts.

Some financial experts suggest it’s smarter to start withdrawing from your IRA and hold off on Social Security until you reach age 70. According to this NY Times article, living on retirement savings in the early years and holding off on collecting benefits is likely to increase monthly income over a lifetime.

There’s also a discussion about marginal tax rates and provisional income if math is your jam, but I’m a journalism major. No can do.

If I wait until I’m 70, my monthly checks would go up by about $800. It sounds nice, but I’m not sure it’s worth waiting for. With my husband’s military pension and our savings, we are not dependent on Social Security, so I’m inclined to skip all the analysis and just go with what feels right.

I suppose I’ll chat with our financial planner before making my final decision. What variables have you considered as you make this choice?

Sugarfest 2021

In other news, I’ve decided to bake my own birthday cake. I’m going to make the three-layer coconut cake from Sally’s Baking Addiction. Everything about it is totally decadent. Even the buttercream roses on the top are insanely me. The more frosting the better.

However, I watched the video for how to make the roses, and I don’t think I can pull it off. I have some Russian piping tips my sister gave me, and those look easier. I will be watching lots of YouTube videos to build my confidence. Here’s a sample.

While we’re on the subject of baking, I spent a lot of time indoors last week due to the air quality, so I decided to make cookies decorated with royal icing. I have quite the collection of cookie cutters and other paraphernalia.

I haven’t made them in a couple of years, mostly because my wrists were sore the last time I made them, and I wondered if I would even try again. However, my wrists have improved, so I went for it. My lack of practice shows. The icing on the chili pepper is too thick and lumped up in places, and the icing was a little sloppy at the bottom of the ladybug.

Imperfect but cute and delicious. Not a bad thing to be. By the way, I made chocolate dough and added a teaspoon of espresso powder. Next time I’d use a little more. You can’t taste the coffee, but somehow it makes the chocolate taste better. We keep them in the freezer, which helps with portion control!

Golf Giveth and Golf Taketh Away

Yesterday I played golf in what is called an alternate shot tournament. I had a partner, and we took turns teeing off. One of us on odd-numbered holes, and the other on even-numbered holes. Then we took alternate shots until the ball was holed.

On number six, my partner teed off. The shot was plenty long enough but in the left rough. We were still 140 yards out, and it was my turn.

I hit a 7-wood, and we watched it fly toward the green. She thought it got stuck in some thick grass in front of the green, and I thought it hit the green and rolled past the hole. When we got up there, she went one way, and I went the other, and we didn’t see it. I jokingly said, maybe it’s in the hole.

And it was!! So, we had an eagle 2 on a par 4. We would go on to completely fall apart on the back nine, but I will remember that shot for a long time.

Wishful Thinking

I’m feeling hopeful that maybe we are turning the corner on COVID. I mean, not everywhere, but maybe some places? I read today 80 percent of eligible Californians are at least partially vaccinated. In my zip code, about 80 percent are fully vaccinated and another 10 percent have one shot.

That said, our numbers are still terrible. Cases per 10,000 people approaching 40 percent in our county. Yet, there are some case rates in the hundreds, so I guess it’s all comparative. I am shocked by how many people go out and about as though the virus doesn’t exist.

I do wonder if the virus will run out of people to infect. Or maybe Delta will run its course and the virus will subside, transitioning to something more like the seasonal flu. I have no basis for these comments. Perhaps nothing more than wishful thinking.

But you know what? There’s something to be said for wishful thinking. I have been on both sides of the attitude spectrum, and nothing good ever happened when I thought the glass was half-empty.

Smoke gets in your eyes

The Caldor fire is about 40 miles to the east of us and moving further east, which is good for us but not good for Tahoe. The winds shifted yesterday, and while the fire is still moving in the other direction, our air quality has taken a turn for the worse.

I’m learning to accept the realities of living in a state that burns, but it’s hard when there is so much beauty to behold, and you can’t even go outside. The fires are life-threatening for some, but for us they are mostly inconvenient and just plain scary.

The smoke stresses me. I took the top picture first thing this morning, and it was creepy not to even see the hills above our house. The wind shifted yet again, and later you could see the hills. The Sago palm is in both pictures, but you can only see it in the bottom one. I immediately felt better when the air started to clear. I think it’s a primal reaction.

Fortunately, there is plenty to keep me amused inside. We’re out of cookies, and we can’t have that. I’m whipping up a batch of our go-to cookies with peanut butter, chocolate chips and sea salt. I’ll probably play some Wii golf on our vintage system.

I used to talk bad to the Wii when things didn’t go my way, but I found out there’s no modern substitute that replicates the motions of golf, so I made nice with the damned thing to ensure it doesn’t talk to the other appliances and quit on us.

Playing Wii golf helps me with the mental side of real golf. I practice visualization, staying calm no matter what and lowering expectations. I’ve written before about my fear of competition, but I forced myself to play in the women’s club championship this year. While I didn’t play my best golf, I held steady and finished tied for sixth overall.

Playing and not choking was a big step forward for me. I’m sure others in my group were feeling sorry for me, as I did mess up a few holes and can certainly score better under ideal conditions, but I couldn’t be happier that I pretty much held it together over three rounds – the format was best two out of three.  

Have you thought about what you fear and whether you should push yourself in that direction?

Learning to manage my expectations with golf is helping me manage fear and loathing in a more general sense. As I said earlier in the week, it’s all about showing up. I stress about the attempted recall of California’s governor, Afghanistan, drought, fires, smoke and COVID, but I’m also choosing to read less about it, and that helps.

When all else fails, stick your head in the sand.

Dale and I talked about what it’s like to live here now, and we’re not ready to bail. I can’t think of a place that doesn’t have some sort of natural disaster looming. It seems to me we’re all going to have to accept climate change is here, and it’s going to alter our lifestyles. So, we adjust and keep going.

We live in a suburban area, and while anything is possible, we figure a forest fire is unlikely to impact us directly. There’s a lot of asphalt between us and the woods. I’ve taken to looking out the window in the morning to a) see if there are any dead bodies in the pool; and b) see if there are any fire balls rolling down the hills.

Even if the fire did start charging down the hill toward us, we would have time to evacuate. That’s how I settle my mind. If the house goes, the house goes.

Then you’ve got excessive heat, power outages. One thing we are considering is a standby generator. If we’re going to live in a fortress, we may as well fortify the fortress so as to live in the style to which we have become accustomed.

We’ve been debating the advantages and disadvantages of a portable rig versus a unit that hooks up to our natural gas supply. The portable rigs are less expensive but not exactly cheap, and then you have to deal with extension cords and all that. I’m thinking, we’re getting older, and we’d be better off with a built-in standby system.

We haven’t called for quotes yet, but our climate is such that we could live without air conditioning or heat for a couple of days. A small unit that powers the refrigerators and maybe a few creature comforts might be all we need.

If all goes well and we continue to take good care of ourselves, I believe we could last another 25 years or so, even with all the bad craziness. However, I’ve decided if I’m here for the finish, I’m going out with a giant bowl of Lucky Charms. Perhaps with a chaser of Frosted Flakes.

That 70s chicken

I’m trying to pay less attention to the news for all the reasons you might suspect and decided to browse our vintage cookbooks instead. What could go wrong, other than a few arteries snapping shut?

The first cookbook I grabbed was The Galloping Gourmet featuring 1970s celebrity TV chef Graham Kerr. I remember watching the show with my sister, who learned to make Chicken Kiev. The recipe was in Volume 1.

Basically, you make a compound butter with cayenne pepper, lemon, parsley and garlic. Roll it into a log and wrap it in plastic. Freeze.

Then you pound out a chicken breast fairly thin and stuff it with slices of the frozen butter. Roll it up and use toothpicks if necessary to keep it secure. Dip in flour, beaten egg and then breadcrumbs. Deep fry until golden brown.

It was DELICIOUS, but it made a huge mess, and we don’t really eat that way anymore. I read Mr. Kerr also doesn’t eat that way anymore. I do love me some fried food occasionally, but we mostly use chicken breasts for soup, salad, stir-fry – that sort of thing. And by the way, chicken breasts are ginormous these days. We should have split one.

I guess I’ll keep poking through the stacks, but I can’t imagine making that again. I’m not even sure why we’d keep the books. We have the whole series! Looks like the set sells on eBay for less than $20, and I can’t be bothered. I suppose I’ll donate them.

In other critically important food news, our second refrigerator crapped out after only eight years. Same as our washing machine, so maybe that’s all you get out of them these days. The repairman came three times and couldn’t fix it.

For a replacement, we went to Lowe’s. Why? We’ve always had great luck with Best Buy, but for some reason we picked Lowe’s. The salesman was great, but the delivery system sucks.

Our refrigerator was supposed to arrive Monday. They were supposed to call Sunday to give us the window of time for delivery, but they never did. After Dale called them, they said 8 a.m. to 7 p.m., which is bullshit. Then they called at 4 p.m. or so to tell us the truck broke down, and now we’d have to wait until Wednesday.

Today is Wednesday, and we still don’t have the refrigerator. Again, they didn’t call. Dale had to hunt them down, and they said there were still issues with the truck. I guess they only have one? Now they have promised it tomorrow, stating they’d call with the delivery time. Yeah, right. So, we’ll be hanging around all day waiting for the appliance delivery man or someone like him.

I realize whining about a second refrigerator is a first-world problem, but still.

Just to keep things simple, Dale is making paninis tonight – tomatoes, basil and whole milk mozzarella cheese sandwiches drizzled with a balsamic vinegar glaze. Yum.

I’ve been wanting a metal pie pan for ages and finally caved. I deserve a metal pie pan, or at least that’s what I told myself.

I saw one in the King Arthur catalog. I like the corrugated bottom and am eager to try it out. I didn’t buy it from King Arthur, because they charge for shipping, and I found the same one on Amazon Prime.

The pan was $19.99, while the King Arthur version is $16.95, so the difference is probably a matter of cents. I do like King Arthur and purchase from them frequently, but I try to be selective. For example, these measuring cups were not cheap, but they are fantastic. And, of course, flour, cocoa — the usual suspects.

All play and no work

I’ve kept journals for years, although I often quit mid-way through, leaving lots of empty pages behind. However, I’ve kept the journals and periodically go back to raid them for fresh paper. I found one this week from 1994. I was 39 years old, and I was already dreaming about retirement.

Well, not retirement per se, but it seems I already wanted the exact lifestyle I enjoy today. All play and no work!

I slept like a baby last night. I worry sometimes because I do so enjoy my sleep. But on weekends, I don’t mind getting up, because I know the day is mine. But getting up and going to work, knowing that time belongs to someone else is not motivation for getting up. But what else can I do?

Work isn’t that bad. I don’t know why I hate it so much. Maybe I just wasn’t born for work. I’d rather play!

I’m looking forward to Christmas. Not because I like Christmas but because I have 11 days off! I love it. I plan to write and practice piano and walk. Maybe throw in a little cooking. And reading, of course. I do love life when I can do the things I like.

I sure wish I didn’t have to go to work today. I love staying home. Maybe I should have married money. But then I would be embarrassed to be a kept woman.

I’m feeling happier. I’ve come to the realization my self-worth is not wrapped up in what happens to me at work. It’s not my soul in there. I know I have to have a job, and I want to be good at it, and I want to get promoted and all that, but it’s not my purpose in life.

For the record, I was not a real piano player. I was learning to read music and play the piano with a special “piano” keyboard and program that plugged into my Mac. I learned three or four songs and had Dale videotape my recital. I would go on to express regrets about my performance.

It seems I blew Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.

On the bright side, I would go on to have a successful career doing pretty much what I was doing when I complained about it in 1994. While I worked hard and had a strong drive to succeed, I was always ready to goof off and had lots of soul-affirming hobbies and interests. Ultimately, I accepted the dualities of work and play, but I never felt like I found my purpose.

Still, I’m glad I stayed the course in my career and didn’t chuck it all to live off the land. Money doesn’t grow on trees, as my mother used to say, and my job was key to building our savings. But all the fun stuff I did over the years is what truly prepared me for retirement.

The fun meter isn’t exactly pegged these days, what with fires, smoke, COVID … have I forgotten anything? But I still love retirement, and reading my old journals was a great reminder to quit whining, relax and enjoy the privilege of life.

As for purpose, I heard the musician Steve Earle talking on his Sirius radio show the other day, and he said he has always believed he was put here for a purpose, but he’s no longer arrogant enough to assume he knows what that is. Instead, he said, “I just show up.”

Me, too, Steve.

A change is gonna come

Number 22, a gift for my sister, who just retired. Congratulations, Cheryl!

I woke up the other morning thinking, “I should get a job.” I used to like people. Maybe I could learn to like them again.

Yes! I could quit using cannabis, pass a drug test and get back in the workstream. I’ve read there’s a shortage of employees. Except I haven’t read anything about trying to lure back the 50 and 60-somethings they drove out in favor of snappy young talent. So, there’s that.

Oh, and then dealing with all those problematic young people. They are in charge now, and I liked it better the other way around.

I suppose I’d be the new troublemaker, asking for all sorts of special accommodations. You know I can’t sit in a regular chair for hours on end. And such ridiculous expectations. Forty hours a week, seriously? I could maybe squeeze in some Spider Solitaire, but when would I have time to swim, cook, walk, play golf, take naps, stretch or work on my art?

Clearly, a desk job is out of the question. Not good for my health.

Then I thought, I could be a budtender! I could get some training online and apply for a job at a dispensary. I imagined myself, silver hair flowing, adorned in turquoise jewelry, imparting sage cannabis wisdom.

Except being a budtender is a fancy name for working retail. Horrible hours and crummy pay. Sometimes they want you to work at night! What about dinner????? Not to mention whiny customers, and that’s kind of a deal-breaker for me. Any filters I may have had in the past are gone. It’s like retirement truth serum. Now I just say what I think, and I assure you, it won’t be good for sales.

The truth is, I love retirement. Time and freedom is a hard-earned gift, and I have no interest in going backward. My guess is the job idea is more about the ongoing isolation of COVID. Maybe a subconscious yearning for pre-pandemic life?

Except it will be post-pandemic life. Something new, different, maybe better in some ways. I mean, why not? An uncertain future, for sure, but with any luck we’ll still be here to explore it.

I’m ready.

Lest we get too judgy

Number 21 — my latest creation of wood-burned art embellished with color.

Repurposing career clothes

Although I did experiment here and here with repurposing some of my career wardrobe, I quickly lost interest. I don’t dress that way anymore, basically living out of one laundry basket full of casual and athletic wear.

And yet … I’ve decided to keep what’s left – a jacket, a suit, a few skirts and a pair of slacks. At least for a little while longer. Reasons, in no particular order:

  1. I’ve pared it down to just a few pieces anyway, so it’s no big deal to keep them hanging in the closet.
  2. The pandemic has probably changed career fashion forever. I don’t think my style will be popular with anyone but me.
  3. All the charities I checked want larger sizes, and I don’t want to bother with consignment.
  4. They fit well and look good on me. Sometimes lacking other options, you have to wear your confidence.
  5. It’s more fun to dress up when it’s not 100 degrees. Fall is just around the corner.
  6. These are not normal times, and you never know what will happen. Post-pandemic renaissance? Apocalypse? I might need nice clothes.

The joy of movement

I visited the physical therapist, and all in all, it went well. I have some nits to pick about the process, but I heard what I wanted to hear. Basically, she said I have good mobility and should continue to do everything I want to do in terms of golf, swimming, stretching, walking and weights. With regard to osteoporosis, she said to avoid jumping and jarring movements but otherwise keep moving. Her team can help me with strength and balance.

They stretched out my problematic left buttocks area and decorated it with Kinesio tape, which presumably helps with muscle pain and inflammation. I must say it seems to be working! They put the tape on while I’m face down in the “child’s pose.” Of course, I can’t put the tape on myself, so I had Dale take a picture of me in case we need to replicate. He took the picture, but I’m not sure he’s on board with taping me. It’s not like I’m asking him to shoot an apple off my head.

I played golf twice, and I could definitely feel the burn, but I think it was just the normal aches and pains of returning to exercise after a 10-day rest. I tried to take it easy, forget about the score and feel the joy of movement. I will try swimming today.

Note to fellow retirees – be gentle but move as much as you can as often as you can. Mobility goes away quickly and is difficult to recover.

The limitations of movement

Movement is one of the reasons I don’t outsource housework. I do most of it, but Dale does make significant contributions to our efforts. The balance inside the home isn’t really an issue, but I did talk with him about adding some additional chores to his list. He’s always cooperative, but it annoys me that I have to spell it out for him.

Yardwork is a different story. This is where the limitations of movement are hitting home. I tend to be a workhorse, and as I always joke, Dale likes to put on a clean shirt and go bye-bye in the car. For the record, he does laugh when I say that!

Our neighborhood association maintains the front yard. We don’t have a huge backyard, and the pool takes up most of it. Dale has always said it wasn’t worth the money to hire someone to mow and blow such a small area. Especially since I ended up doing it most of the time. But there’s also pruning – and in previous years, that also fell to me.

Newly armed with spunk and MRI results, I said that time is gone. Beyond mow and blow, count me out. Shortly after my proclamation, he actually mowed and edged. I didn’t even know he knew how to use the edger. In the spirit of cooperation, I got out the blower and cleaned up. See how nice it is when we work together?

Message received. It went in one ear, stayed there and didn’t go out the other.

That means I’m shopping for some sort of landscape service. Although it’s not a big financial commitment, my first thought was I’ll start collecting Social Security later this year, and I could just pay for it from that account.

But my second thought was no way – why is it my responsibility? I know he truly doesn’t care who pays for it, he’s like yeah, whatever you want, but I remember all those bags of yard waste from last year, and my less kind self wants to see him cough up some cash. Reparations, if you will.

Oh, shit, this is bad

Lest we get too judgy in our aging years, Dale announced this morning he couldn’t find his keys, which include both house, car and mailbox. We looked everywhere, including the neighborhood mailbox, because he has left them there before.

Alas, no keys.

My smug self was thinking I would keep the mailbox key separate so as to avoid such a situation. But that’s me. Then I went down the path of we’re getting older, him especially, and this is likely to happen more often. Lost things. Kitchen fires. Who knows? From there, I plummeted to, “He’s got dementia. Oh, shit, this is bad.”

We went to a few doors asking if anyone picked up keys from the mailbox. Nothing. One neighbor was like, oh, shit, this is bad, and I said, indeed, I’m trying not to be judgmental. Another neighbor said to check with the Homeowner’s Association – people sometimes turn in lost items. Dale tried calling, and a recording said they were closed. I said, “Well, let’s just drive over there and see. I’ve got my keys.”

I reached into my purse and pulled out my keys. Except they were not my keys.

Wait! These look like your keys!

They are my keys!

We both burst out laughing. Apparently, he’d left them on the counter downstairs after picking up the mail, and when I was scooping stuff up after I came home from golf, clearly exhausted from exemplary play, I thought they were mine and dropped them into my purse.

One would assume he’s now thinking, looks like Donna has dementia. Oh, shit, this is bad.

Bouncing back from injury

Although I don’t bounce like I used to, I am recovered from whatever I did to myself when I fell in the bathroom. Now I’m back to whatever I’ve had for the past 10 years or so. In the absence of fractures or other potential mishaps, chronic pain never felt so good.

That means I’m back on the golf tour this week. I also want to get back to swimming and light weights. I visit the physical therapist Monday and will see what she thinks. For the most part, golf has not made my lower back pain worse, but I’m not so sure about the other two. Still, I refuse to lay flat on my back if I have a choice, so that’s that. Onward and upward.

I’m more conscious about calcium since the osteoporosis business. I do eat dairy and lots of other calcium-rich foods, but I decided to add canned sardines to my rotation. Dale has been eating them for years. I like them, especially on a Triscuit!

Do you eat sardines? I would love to hear more ideas – how to enjoy them best, any particular brands or seasonings you like. I’m not afraid to throw some money at a premium product. Although Dale is even more of a food snob than I am, sardines are sort of his bachelor food, and he just buys whatever he sees first.  

I do believe back pain is sometimes connected to our emotions, so I’ve been trying to deal with my anger about the pandemic. I tell myself, yes, I am angry it was politicized. It did not have to go down this way. I’m angry with the people who won’t get vaccinated. I’m angry we’re going back to masks again. I’m angry that it looks like this thing will drag on forever.

But that anger does not make my back hurt! My back is strong. I can do anything I want.

At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

I finally read Victim 2117, the latest in Jussi Adler-Olsen’s Department Q series featuring Carl Mørck. I started it a couple of times but didn’t get too far. Sometimes it takes me a while to get into his books, but when I do, I love them. This one was excellent – quite the dramatic backstory of Carl’s sidekick, Assad.

As I was Googling the book so I could copy and paste the slashed o in Mørck, I discovered there are Department Q movies! Has anyone seen them? Looks like some are available on Amazon. I’ve been re-watching Outlander. I had already burned through the final season of Bosch and needed a complete distraction.

We had to cancel our trip to Lassen Volcanic National Park due to fires in the area. If it’s not one thing, it’s two. Or three. Or four.

For a little while, it felt like we had turned a corner on the virus and life was becoming whatever passes for normal these days. But it looks bad out there. In our zip code, 77 percent have been fully vaccinated, and 84 percent have at least one dose. Yet our positivity and case rates are higher than you’d expect.

Most of those testing positive in our area are between the ages of 18-49. While we’ve all been reading about breakthrough cases, I would assume most aren’t vaccinated. I can’t fix that, so I tell myself to just roll with whatever I have to roll with.

And so, we turn to happy thoughts. Dinner. We have leftover grilled tri-tip and fresh corn and tomatoes from the farmer’s market. I’m making a loaf of sourdough bread, so we’ll cobble together a meal out of that. Dale is making happy hour nachos with fresh jalapeños from his garden. Cheese is medicinal.

We have a nice stash of limes, so I might make a margarita. Have you heard of ranch water? It’s a drink. I have not had one, but I was reading about them. It sounds like a fizzy margarita. Same basic ingredients topped with seltzer water. I guess the fizz of choice is Topo Chico, which I’ve also never had.

I might have to go back to the happy hour laboratory and return to you with a complete report. It’s all about sacrifice.

Dealing with low bone density

I like good news and have happily shared my experience of surviving cancer as an inspiration to others. I’m far more reluctant to share unpleasant news, but I’ve decided it’s important to tell the whole story, not just the bits and pieces that flatter my self-image.

As a reminder, I had primary peritoneal cancer (like ovarian) and breast cancer. Both cancers were estrogen-sensitive. I had a total hysterectomy and have not had supplemental estrogen since I was 43 – about 22 years. While I knew this would put me at higher risk for low bone density, I hoped my healthy and active lifestyle would prevail.

Alas, it was not enough. According to my recent bone density test, I have osteoporosis. For me, that diagnosis comes with a lot of baggage. I don’t see myself as frail or fragile, and I don’t want to live like the slightest twitch will result in a fracture.

On top of that, I’ve done a good bit of reading and suspect osteoporosis is over-diagnosed. How a Bone Disease Grew to Fit the Prescription is an NPR article is from 2009. It’s a fascinating read about the origins of bone density testing and the role pharmaceutical companies played in shaping the definition of disease.

There was a meeting of osteoporosis “experts” in Italy, and one of their challenges was to decide what was normal aging and what wasn’t. It was hot, and they couldn’t reach consensus. Someone finally drew a line on a graph, and they said everyone on this side of the line has a disease. Then they split it up into two diseases – osteopenia and osteoporosis, depending on where you landed on the graph.

Doctors soon began pushing bisphosphonate drugs to treat low bone density. I’ve read about these medications, and I’m not primed to sign up. In addition to unpleasant short-term side effects, there are serious long-term risks and not a lot of evidence to suggest they actually reduce fractures.

My results put me just inside the line for osteoporosis. However, results come with two scores. Your “T” score compares you to an average healthy 30-year-old. Like many older women, my “T” score sucked. But you also get a “Z” score that compares you to someone of your age and gender. My “Z” score looked pretty good to me.

I mentioned this when I met with the doctor. I said, “If I’m reading this correctly, I’m in the 90th percentile for someone of my age and gender. And presumably, most of those women had estrogen, so I must be doing something right.” She said yes, but we don’t use the “Z” score to diagnose osteoporosis. I said, yes, that’s part of the racket. We both laughed.

She agreed with my proposal to wait a year and get retested before doing anything dramatic. She said compression fractures in the spine do happen to people with osteoporosis, and that’s always a risk. The doctor agreed the medications also have risks and downsides.

I asked for a referral to physical therapy so I could get some targeted exercises to help me strengthen my spine and hips. At the same time, I mentioned my back had been bothering me, and I needed to get that sorted out. She sent me for an X-ray.

The X-ray suggested the possibility of a compression fracture! I was devastated. Was I wrong about everything? Should I just bite the bullet and start the bone drugs? Will I have to quit golf forever? She sent me for an MRI.

Just to complicate things, after the X-ray but before the MRI, I slipped and fell in the bathroom. I’m OK, but my back hurts more than it did. I figured if I didn’t have a fracture before, I certainly have one now.

Imagine my surprise when the MRI revealed a messed up back with bulging discs and age-related degeneration similar to the messed up back I had when I got an MRI seven years ago. And no fractures! Even after the fall.

All in all, I’m relieved and feeling pretty good about my prospects. I’m eager to start physical therapy. And although I might regret it later, I’m still holding out on prescription meds for osteoporosis. I’ve done more reading on vitamins and have added K and A to my regime. Please know I am not an expert, nor am I suggesting these choices for anyone else because I could be completely wrong.

I think of osteoporosis as an unintended consequence of my cancer treatment, and I’m annoyed, but I’m still grateful it wasn’t a recurrence and look forward to many more years of mediocre golf.   

THC transdermal patches for pain

For various reasons I’ll share in due time, I’ve had a bit of pain for the past few months. I’m careful not to take too much Advil, although it works beautifully. I alternate with Tylenol.

My doctor suggested prescription pain meds, which I rejected. I just kind of felt like I’m not that bad off. I’m still walking and playing golf. When she said maybe I’d like to try a Lidocaine patch, I recalled a discussion about transdermal patches when I attended the cannabis education seminar at Oaksterdam University.

Like other transdermal patches, the cannabis variety is a thin plastic strip similar to a Band-Aid and is applied to a venous area of the body, such as the inside of your wrist. You don’t actually place the strip on the part of your body that hurts. The cannabinoids are slowly released into your bloodstream for about 12 hours.

Off I went to the dispensary to purchase my own little stash of patches. There were so many choices! Different brands, different strengths, some higher in THC, some higher in CBD and some higher in CBN. CBD is noted for its anti-inflammatory properties, and CBN helps with sleep. You may also choose between Sativa or Indica.

Like many cannabis users, I typically find Sativa more uplifting and Indica better for winding down. But everyone is different.

Although a lot of people get excited about CBD, most of the studies I’ve read say cannabinoids are at their best when they work together. It’s called the entourage effect. For most people, that means CBD is good alone, but CBD with THC is better.

There are key differences between topical creams and transdermal patches. You’re not likely to fail a drug test using topical creams, but you will most likely come up positive using a transdermal patch. Topical creams will not get you high, but you may experience a slight buzz from a patch.

I purchased four patches, each with 20 MG of THC. I chose Sativa, because I find it more energizing than Indica.

A word about dosage. Smoking, vaping or consuming 20 MG of THC will definitely get you high. Too high for my taste. I’m a lightweight when it comes to cannabis and always start low and go slow. For example, I buy Kiva cannabis-infused blueberries coated in milk chocolate for occasional help with sleep. They are only 5 MG, and even after using cannabis several times a week for a few years, I cut them in half.

However, a transdermal patch only releases a little at a time, and the effects are minimal. Even so, the budtender suggested I try cutting them in half or quarters.

For the first one, I tried cutting it in half. I definitely felt a slight buzz, enough of one that I would be careful about driving. But, wow, pain be gone!! I had a productive day and felt great.

Then I tried a quarter, no buzz and not much pain relief. Next, I tried cutting it into thirds, and for me, that’s the magic number. I put it on about 30 minutes ago, and I feel very pleasant but not high, just a little happier than normal. While the pain is not completely gone, it’s unnoticeable … irrelevant.

With my senior/veteran’s discount, cost per patch with taxes at my California dispensary was $10.80. At three uses per patch, that’s $3.60 for all-day pain relief. The budtender said if they worked well for me, to come back on Mondays, when they are 15 percent off.

I am absolutely in awe of this medicine, and sincerely hope this information has been helpful for those of you in search of safe and healthy pain relief. If you don’t want the THC or live in a place where cannabis is illegal, Mary’s Medicinals has a sister company, Made by Mary’s, that sells hemp-based patches. I have not tried them, although they get great reviews.

By the way, I don’t get any kind of a kickback from Mary’s – there are other brands I’m sure are equally fantastic. I went with Mary’s simply because I met someone at the cannabis seminar I attended who was a fan. Sometimes just one personal referral does the job.