Aromatherapy for these unprecedented times

Fresh homemade tortillas.

While this week was a wee bit hot temperature-wise, nothing on the weather horizon looked dastardly. And yet … we lost power for 14 hours and internet for almost two days. I worried about refrigerated and frozen stuff, but in all honesty, living without the internet was harder.

The internet was still down when I decided to get a pedicure. Did I mention they have internet? I was able to catch up on my email, do the NY Times puzzles and otherwise get my fix of news – all for the Classic Pedicure at $35. I pay an extra $5 on top of that for a shiny buff as opposed to color. And then there’s what I call pandemic tipping. Just give a little more if you can.

I don’t get color on my toes because swimming in chlorinated water erodes the polish rather quickly. That’s what I said, anyway. I’ve recently concluded it’s also because I prefer the purity of no color. I think of it as Beauty Base Zero from The Hunger Games. That raw base before you add layers of makeup or whatever, except I like a blank canvas as the end state.

The toes thing is top of mind because I may not continue with swimming. I’ve been estrogen-free since my first cancer diagnosis in 1999, and that puts me at higher risk for low bone density and osteoporosis. Swimming is not a weight-bearing exercise, so it doesn’t help in that department. However, I figured it was good for my back and I enjoy it, so I’ve continued with swimming.

The back is another story. I had an MRI a few years ago, and it showed a variety of age-related degeneration, mostly in the lumbar area. One doctor said I’d need surgery eventually, and another said just about everyone’s back looks like that once you reach a certain age. My back rarely hurts, so I’ve chosen to ignore it.

Except it has been acting up lately, and I wonder if swimming is contributing to the problem. I suppose it could be something about my swim stroke that is off, but can I fix that at this age? For an exercise that doesn’t help with bone density? I’ve stopped swimming for a few weeks to see what happens. It does seem to be improving, but I can’t say for sure swimming is the problem.

I’m hoping some targeted exercises will fix me right up, so I made an appointment with my primary care physician so I could get an appointment with a specialist so I can get an appointment for an MRI so I can get an appointment for physical therapy.

In the meantime, I’m just muscling my way through it. Sometimes it feels like everything is going to shit. Golf and walking are fine (so far). Plenty of stretching, but even then, you have to be careful not to fix one thing only to mess up something else. I’m also careful not to take too much Advil, but I am eternally grateful for blue buddies.

Since the internet came back up, I’ve gorged myself on news and decided I didn’t miss much. Angry people everywhere. Jerks misbehaving on airplanes, the former guy raising his ugly head, Marjorie what’s-her-name saying or doing anything, guns, shootings. Not to mention a pandemic, which I regret to inform you is not over yet.

As all the spokespeople on TV are now keen to say, these are unprecedented times. The same people who are sending thoughts and prayers after some whack job shoots up a workplace.

More and more, I find refuge in my bubble of golf, art, food. I’m making fish tacos tonight and just finished a batch of homemade tortillas. In the picture, the tortillas are still a little blonde, but they’ll get a good char when I make the tacos.

As I was finishing up, Dale moaned, “God, I love that smell.”

Aromatherapy for these unprecedented times.

Life in the slow lane

An old John Deere wagon overlooking the Zinfandel vineyard.

Understanding your limitations

When it comes to competition, some people rise to the occasion and perform their best. Others don’t. I’m among those who typically choke if you tell me there’s a prize involved.

I play in a weekly golf league, but most of the time it’s low stakes and quite manageable for someone like me, who does not embrace competitive sports. When I’m relaxed, I’m a pretty good golfer, but every now and then my league hosts a more formal tournament, and I can barely get through it.

The tournament ended yesterday, and I feel a huge sense of relief. I’m free again! Now, I can just play the game. Of course, more evolved humans can do that anyway, but I have some sort of blockage. When I first retired, I tried like the dickens to enjoy organized golf events, but for the most part, I prefer life in the slow lane.

To spare myself the drama, I may just opt out in the future. Let others scramble for the title while I enjoy a relaxing game of no-stakes golf with people who like to play their best but don’t care about winning or losing.

I view this as a retirement success story. Seek to understand your strengths and limitations and course correct as you go. Eliminate what isn’t useful or pleasant.

Camping

Speaking of the slow lane, Dale and I enjoy tent camping, but more than a year of hibernation put the kibosh on that. Now that we’re fully vaccinated and the range of possibilities is broadening, we decided to go for it. The only thing is, it’s really, really difficult to get a camping reservation in California during normal times, and now everyone has discovered the great outdoors. Places like Yosemite and Lake Tahoe are almost impossible.

Some people are willing to drive five hours for a first-come, first-served campsite. That would not be us. And that is why I spent the better part of a week tackling the reservation system, which includes ReserveAmerica.com, Recreation.gov, ReserveCalifornia.com and a cornucopia of sites managed by individual counties.

I should have started this in January, but I was pretty busy not doing much of anything. Despite being late to need, I finally got one reservation for a Sonoma County beach campground toward the end of June. In July, we’ll be going to Lassen Volcanic National Park. We may have the worst sites in the campgrounds. I don’t know, and I don’t care. We have reservations!

While I may sound like a tough outdoors girl what with tent camping and all, I do not leave the tent at night. We have a great tent with a little screened room attached to the sleeping area, and this is where I store my Luggable Loo. Because even tough girls have to pee.

My low-tech fitness tracker

My low-tech fitness tracker.

Although I avoid competitive sports, I love exercise in general and consider fitness part of my retirement lifestyle. The problem is I found myself doing too much of some things and not enough of others. With some activities, you need to do them at least twice a week to gain any benefit.

I finally made up these little cards to help me see what’s on track and what isn’t. I just started it this week, so we’ll see how well it works. I mean, it’s Thursday, and I can already see some big gaps!

I’m only documenting fitness-related stuff I need to do regularly to maintain some level of proficiency. Some activities are scheduled in advance, and the rest are as the mood strikes me. I don’t like a strict regimen.

My goal for golf practice is only once per week, but for everything else, I’m shooting for 2-3 times per week. The “R” under swimming means I have a lane reservation. I mark the box with an X after I’ve completed the activity. Weights are usually the first thing to slip, so this cheat sheet helps me stay committed.

Wine Tasting

Today was a lazy day, so Dale and I went to a winery. We live adjacent to Amador County, which produces amazing wines just as delicious as those from Napa and Sonoma. And a lot less expensive! They charge $5 for a tasting and deduct that if you purchase bottles, which we almost always do.

This area specializes in the lighter reds – Zinfandel, Barbera, Sangiovese, Primitivo, Tempranillo, Petit Syrah and a variety of house blends. The venues are typically gorgeous, and it makes us all the more grateful to live here.

While we were tasting, Dale spotted the old John Deere wagon facing the Zinfandel vineyard. Kind of cool.

The person who poured our wine asked what we had planned for the rest of the day. I said, oh, not much. Dinner?

I love retirement and the slowness of it all, so we’ll have to see whether my fitness tracker helps or hurts. Surely, we can accomplish a few things without becoming a slave to the schedule. Right?

Right?

Making room for art

Wall of art.
Number 17. For some reason, this wood was hard to burn and hard to color, but I like how it turned out. I gifted it back to the guy who gave me the wood. I want it back.
Number 18. Unlike the damaged scraps I normally work with, this is a piece of poplar I purchased.

Although I can’t quite summon the strength to call myself an artist, I am happy to spend quality retirement time experimenting with artistry. I’ve been at it for about a year now. Consider this my periodic plea to make room for art in your life.

It all started when I scavenged a pallet from my neighbor’s debris. I had no idea what I would do with it, but it’s like that Progressive ad when Jamie cries with joy, “Who gives away free wood?”

One day I woke up and decided I would burn it. An art form known as pyrography, although my version is a far cry from the traditional works of this genre.

I got a book from the library and decided to purchase an inexpensive woodburning tool. I sanded the wood a little bit, made some primitive marks and called it art. That first attempt quickly escalated to drawing more complex designs with the woodburning tool and filling them in with color.

At first, I used cheap colored pencils, and although the result is fine, the shades are more muted. I didn’t get the explosion of color I wanted until I threw some money at it … in the form of Faber-Castell Polychromos oil-based colored pencils. Then I added some acrylic paint. Then I threw more money at it and bought a high-quality pyrography tool. We like to call it the BurnMaster 5000.

The big question all along has been what to do with this stuff. I have given away a few pieces to mixed reviews. While I try not to get into the trap of love me, love my art, I was disappointed to learn my in-laws thought it was weird and didn’t know what to make of it. Ditto for a guy I play golf with.

That’s when I decided no one gets this stuff anymore. I’m going to be an art hoarder. I hung a couple on the fence in the backyard, but the sun just made them almost disappear. So, I brought them in. I found an empty hallway wall and bought a bunch of Command strips. The rest is decorating history.

For the record, I do not have the decorating gene. Our house has no theme, décor, color scheme or anything else that looks intentional. However, this wall is intentional, and I like that. I will keep adding until it’s full and then find another wall.

Experimenting with art has been one of the best discoveries of my retirement. Sure, it’s relaxing, but it also stretches me to think in new ways and challenges me to accept imperfection. I almost exclusively work with found wood that is damaged in some way, but a friend recently gave me some wood that was really hard to burn and color.

To reward myself for finishing the monster, I purchased a beautiful piece of poplar at Home Depot. Yes, it was easier to burn and the colors absorbed beautifully, but I missed all the dings, dents and quirks of my abused and discarded scraps. A psychologist could have a field day with that one.

Speaking of abuse, my dentist was asking me about retirement – you know, those rare pauses where you can actually speak – and I said we were not high-rollers. No big travel Jones. That life is mostly about simple pleasures. I had shown him pictures of my art. We always manage to talk golf. Cooking.

He said, “So, all you really need are greens fees, art supplies and food.”

Yeah, pretty much.

Accepting risk and reality

The CDC now says vaccinated people in the U.S. can go maskless indoors or out. States and retailers are still determining how that plays out on a local level, but it comes down to this. You don’t know who’s vaccinated and who’s not, so what we have here is the honor system.

Good luck with that.

Mostly everything I know is wrong, but if I’ve learned anything over the past few years it’s this. A big chunk of my fellow Americans, perhaps as many as 70 million of them, are delusional. I do not have confidence people will do the right thing.

In the words of the dB’s, “You better wake up, wake up, wake up. That time is gone.”

How to process? On one hand, I am fully vaccinated and well-protected against getting sick or dying from the virus. However, I am more risk averse than some. We still haven’t been out to eat. But let’s assume I’m reasonably safe and can go anywhere, do anything.

The vaccine works, so I should be good. If unvaccinated people want to cheat the system and go maskless, what’s it to me? Let them mingle and infect each other. Darwinism at work.

But part of me thinks, OK, if enough of them get sick, that gives the virus more time to grow and prosper. More opportunities for variants to emerge. Possibly less protection for the rest of us and probably more time in the pandemic zone.

One has to assume the CDC has thought through all this and is willing to take a chance. Maybe this is the “one big thing” it will take to get more people vaccinated. Or it’s a ruse so we can pretend this is over and party like it’s 1999. And here’s a crazy thought: What if this really is the science, and we just have to believe?

Dale and I will stay the course, wearing masks to shop indoors but loosening up on other activities, because, after all, that vaccine counts for something. Life goes on. We made a pact we will go out to eat this week, but we’ll dine outside. We’re thinking about a road trip.

As a 22-year ovarian cancer survivor and six-year breast cancer survivor, I take illness and death seriously. But I also recognize you can’t allow yourself to wallow in the unknown, which we all understand you can’t control anyway.

Enjoying life – and enjoying retirement – means we have to accept risk and reality and find our safe and happy place somewhere in the middle.

That seems doable.

Homemade preserved lemons

My homemade preserved lemons.

Perhaps you remember my neighbor giving me a big box of Meyer lemons. They’ve all been used up one way or the other, but one of my favorite successes is preserved lemons.

Disclaimer: I’m not a food blogger and rarely post full recipes. I’m just a blogger who often writes about food … more like a food seductress. I thought I’d share my experience in general terms to see if anything tempts you. Although you could probably make the lemons from the description below. Sneaky am I.

I had never eaten preserved lemons before, but I thought they sounded good. The lemons were super-easy to make. I used as many lemons as I thought would fit into a large canning jar. About 6? Plus, you need more lemons for their juice.

You cut the lemons into quarters but stop about an inch from the bottom so the lemons stay intact at the base. Opening kind of like a flower. Then they get rubbed inside and out with ½ cup of Kosher salt. Then you kind of stuff them into a large canning jar and cover them with whatever salt is leftover and the lemon juice.

Shake the jar once a day for the first four days to redistribute the salt and juice. Then just let them cure for six to eight weeks in the refrigerator.

Mine were ready to eat a couple of weeks ago. There is much speculation on whether to eat only the skin or only the pulp or both. Then some say you should rinse them to reduce the saltiness.

The first thing I tried was chicken tagine, which is a chicken stew with olives, preserved lemon and spices such as cinnamon, saffron, ginger, paprika, cumin and turmeric. There are a million recipes out there – all you need is Google!  If you are a subscriber or can get past the firewall, I made a variation of this recipe from the NY Times.

Some recipes call for green olives, some call for black and some call for both. I went with both and used Kalamata for the black and French Picholine olives for the green.

I rinsed the lemons and used both the skin and the pulp. For chicken, I used six bone-in, skin-on thighs. It makes a nice saucy stew, which I served in large wide bowls over couscous.

We loved it and ate the leftovers a few days later. When I was cooking, I tasted the lemons alone, and they were kind of odd, but combined with everything else, they were delicious. I would maybe even use more next time.

My next test of the lemons is tonight. I’m starting with this recipe from the NY Times … Sheet-Pan Baked Feta with Broccolini, Tomatoes and Lemon. It’s basically slabs of feta cheese, broccolini, grape tomatoes and red onion tossed with olive oil and herbs roasted together on a sheet pan. The recipe says about 20 minutes at 400 degrees, stirring halfway through.

I’m going to use preserved lemons instead of fresh lemons. I may also add some olives, artichoke hearts and capers. Everyone in the pool! Still thinking about whether to serve it over orzo or Israeli couscous.

Do you use preserved lemons? How so?

Al Fresco dining

A rug and colorful pillows to improve the outdoor dining experience.

The weather is really nice. The wind has finally died down, so I thought we might make it Mediterranean night and eat outside. I just purchased an outdoor rug and then added some pillows I bought at Home Goods. I like how it spiffs up our little al fresco dining area.

And yes, fully masked and feeling frisky, I walked into a Home Goods store and made a purchase! The rug was from Amazon. All in all, I felt throwing a little money and color at it sort of makes up for inadequate attention to landscaping.

A blazer with shorts?

Styling my work blazer with shorts.

These selfies are awkward. I’m no good at them and wasn’t going to do it anymore, but there seemed to be a strong interest in how to re-purpose pieces of your work wardrobe for retirement style.

As always, I am at your service. Plus, I like showing you don’t need reconstruction after a mastectomy to wear stylish clothes. I apologize in advance if it turns out the fashion chronicles aren’t your jam.

This is my purplish Brooks Brothers blazer I bought post-mastectomy. I want to keep it because it’s hard to find jackets for a flat chest, and this one is perfect.

The little pockets in the front add dimension without without wearing what are commonly called foobs … nickname for fake boobs. I have never bothered with them. Didn’t even get fitted.

I rolled up the cuffs and pushed the sleeves up a little. Underneath is a simple cotton tank, and these are denim shorts I bought shortly after I retired. The sneaks are new. Birkenstocks or other comfort sandals would look great. I went for sneaks because they hide my golf tan.

Call me crazy, but I think it’s kind of cute. I’m usually cold in air conditioning, so the jacket would be handy if/when we should ever go out again.

If you’ve got any blazers from your work wardrobe hanging around, it’s worth a shot to see how you can pair them with shorts or jeans for a more casual look.

Fraud

In other news, I’ve been dealing with credit card fraud, and I’m just going to say it in my outside voice … sorting this out has been one giant cluster fuck. I hate my bank. I hate criminals.

On the bright side, I learned how to buy gas with cash. You go in! You tell them what pump you’re at, and you hand over the money! I was down to about a quarter of a tank, so I just took in $40 to make it easy.

I felt strangely successful and thought, well, maybe this is how I’ll do it from now on. Kind of retro. And you know what they say. Cash is king.

Blissful disengagement

I’ve always been opinionated and have a well-documented history of wanting to be right and willing to prove it, but now I find myself deep in the ease of retirement, enjoying the simple pleasures of disengagement.

Every time I get a desire to weigh in on some burning issue, I think, “What good would come of that?” Sometimes I’ll say something anyway, and I almost always regret it. Lately, I’ve gotten better at saying less, and you know what? Life goes on.

For example … I saw a LinkedIn post about safety in the workplace. The author said, “Too often, safety is the privilege of a few – not a right enjoyed equitably by all.” Somebody commented there was no correlation between safety and privilege, and I was about to jump on it, explaining, for example, how women are not safe in the same situations (walking alone at night, a hotel room on the ground floor) where white male privilege somewhat shields them from the same fears.  

Then I asked myself that important question. What good would come of that? I stayed out of it, and when I went back later to see what transpired, that person’s comment had been deleted. Time marched on without my input.

Last week, I mentioned to a golf buddy that California was currently lowest in COVID cases in the continental United States. A full week later, he tracked me down in the parking lot to show me statistics he pulled up on his cell phone clearly showing California had the highest number of cases in the U.S.

OK. Got me, except I said currently not cumulative, but c-words are tricksy. And maybe I misread something. Who knows? I opted for the quick escape, “Oh, interesting, thanks!”

For a third example, I begrudgingly attended a golf rules clinic, because golf is all about the rules. I only want to know enough to avoid someone else giving me a bunch of crap because I did something wrong. However, in my infinite stupidity, I mentioned to another golf buddy that I attended a rules clinic.

He asked if I learned anything. I said, yes, lots, but it’s hard to remember them all. Oh, but sure, let me dig for an enticing tidbit.

Yay! Here it is! Fresh off the memory merry-go-round!

One surprising thing was about teeing your ball up in the teeing area. If you purposefully make a swing at the ball, and it dribbles off the tee but remains in the teeing area as defined by the rules of golf, you count the stroke, but you can still tee it up for your next shot.

No, that’s not true.

Well, I probably got it wrong. It was a lot to process. All I know for sure is there was a difference between if the ball stays in the teeing area or rolls out of the teeing area.

But you said you get to tee it up.

Yes, but I retracted that comment. Now I’m saying I don’t know.

That seemed to satisfy him, but when I got home, I looked it up. As it turns out, I was right, and I started to copy the rule and text it to him for his further edification. But what did I do instead? I asked myself a simple question. Say it with me.

What good would come of that?

Because I am not a rules expert and don’t aspire to be one. Why would I set myself up for that argument? My regret is bringing it up in the first place. And even if I were to make this mistake again, there’s still an exit strategy. When he asks me what I learned, I say, “You know, I can’t recall.” And then I laugh. We all laugh. Because the rules of golf suck.

The final reusable straw came this week over food. The website Epicurious will no longer post new recipes using beef because of the impact cows and beef consumption have on climate change. I started to go down the slippery slope of engagement, when I read through all the comments on the New York Times article.

As is often the case, there are more than two sides, and I can pretty much understand each perspective. But anything I might have said has already been said. Plus, not everyone is as genteel and reasoned as I, and the discourse can be quite snarky.

Who needs that? I know there are important issues that will sometimes demand I step up and take a stance. And I’ll do it. But most of the time, my presence is not required.

In the meantime, I’ll just kick back and work on improving my retirement skillset – blissful disengagement.

A pencil skirt finds new life

A pencil skirt from my working days finds new life.

What’s left of my career clothes came back from the dry cleaner, and now I am beginning to play dress up so I can decide whether to keep or donate them. First up was my unlined tropical wool pencil skirt. I wrote earlier it was gray – must have been on the nip that day – as it is black.

In an attempt to style the skirt for casual wear, I paired it with a white t-shirt, cropped denim jacket and turquoise jewelry. Kind of simple, but that’s how I like it. The only thing new are the shoes. I went with sneakers. Not only comfortable, but they also hide my golf tan!

For walking, golf and pretty much everything else, I wear the Speedgoat trail running shoe from Hoka One One. I just purchased this limited version in white for “dress.”  

Perhaps I would wear this out for lunch or dinner, if that should ever come to pass. Wine tasting or visiting a museum? I guess anywhere you’d want to improve upon leggings.

Although I’m not much of a fashionista, I think if you wear skirts, this outfit could be flattering, regardless of size or shape. The jacket has a camouflaging effect. As for me, I don’t try to hide my post-mastectomy flatness, but I like how the jacket adds dimension.

It seems to me a white tee, denim jacket and white sneakers would look good with just about any seasonless skirt in your closet. Now that I’ve decided sneakers look OK, I can see all sorts of possibilities.  

The verdict? I’m keeping the skirt.   

Messing with your face

I played golf with some women I hadn’t met before and afterward, we sat socially distanced around an outside table and enjoyed a cold beer. Soon enough, the topic turned to faces and what to do about them as they age.

One woman was an advocate of Ultherapy. She goes annually and pays between $3,500 – $5,000 for a procedure to tighten everything from the décolletage up. The process is painful, she said, and they give her Valium before, during and after. But you walk wobble out looking good.

The other woman was furiously writing notes on her scorecard. She could definitely see Ultherapy in her future, but for now, she was sticking with Botox. I mostly listened, but then I asked a question.

While in the waiting room at the dermatologist for my skin cancer check-up, I overheard a woman talking about some sort of point system, and she wanted her points carried over from a previous provider. What’s up with that?

According to my fellow golfer, points are part of a rewards or loyalty system for Botox and other injectables. The more the merrier!

I’m in no position to judge, but the whole discussion made me sad nonetheless. I mean, life with all its trials and tribulations, and it all comes down to this? Wrinkles? Messing with your face?

Somehow, I think the prettiest girls – the cheerleaders and the beauty queens – have the hardest time accepting the inevitable ravages of age. I was the weird kid with bad teeth who wore men’s corduroy bedroom slippers to school, held my fork like it was a weapon and wrote poetry in spiral-bound notebooks I kept under the bed.

It’s a miracle I’m walking upright. But like good whiskey, I’ve aged well.

Nobody at the table asked me what I did about my face, because I’m pretty sure they could see the answer would be nothing.

Not that I am without vanity. I like clothes and care about how I look overall. In fact, I’ve been thinking more about how I am going to re-purpose my work wardrobe. I have some ideas that may be in the category of corduroy slippers, but I’m willing to give it a go and may even post the results on this very blog.

I might have to consult with one of my young fashionista friends – they always tell it like it is.  

cold-weather comfort food

With some rain expected this weekend, the temperature is supposed to drop into the low 50s, and I think of it as the last hurrah for cold-weather comfort food. And yes, I know 50s is not cold. We call it California Cold.

I’ve been keeping a list and crossing them off as we cook our way through:

  • Stuffed cabbage
  • Macaroni & Cheese
  • New England Baked Beans
  • Venison Meatloaf
  • Beef Stroganoff
  • Porchetta Pie
  • Chile Verde
  • Moussaka

I love eggplant, so I lean toward moussaka, which is a casserole made with ground lamb, browned eggplant, tomato sauce, grated sheep’s milk cheese and bechamel on top. Dale likes it, but not as much as I do.

Nostradonna predicts Dale will vote for porchetta pie or chile verde. I love both, so it’s no big deal one way or the other. I make the pie, which is actually several freeform savory tarts made with chunks of pork, pancetta, carrots, onions, fennel and fresh sage.

Dale makes the chile (along with homemade flour tortillas). He usually roasts the tomatillos and chiles outside on the grill, so rain may alter those plans. An alternative would be his Texas-style chile, made with chunks of pork and beef in a rich sauce and no outside grilling component. We love the chili topped with grated cheddar cheese, finely diced onion and buttered saltines on the side.

My neighbor made fun of me teased me about being busy, so busy, as she said in a not completely flattering way. I’m not sure where that’s coming from, but yeah, my days are full. Not stressful but busy and fulfilling in a good way.

Granted, golf sucks up a bunch of my discretionary retirement time, but so does cooking. All those recipes! What to make? And then shopping for ingredients and actually getting in the kitchen to weigh, chop, bake, roast, simmer and sear. And then being forced to eat such deliciousness.

I can think of worse ways to live.        

A surprising walking buddy

An old stone fence on a trail that runs along a ridge above our neighborhood.

Although I’ve been an avid walker for many years, Dale likes to run a couple of miles and get it over with quick. In the past, he’d walk only when he needed to catch his breath while running. I could rarely get him to accompany me on a walk – sometimes a hike through the woods, but that was rare.

Somewhere along the line he decided to start walking more. After all these years, it’s like a mini-miracle. We live in a neighborhood with all sorts of trails, although the maps leave something to be desired. As a solo woman walker, I’m careful and follow the advice shared with the two young lads in American Werewolf in London:

“Stay off the moors! Stick to the road.”

Of course, they didn’t stick to the road, and the rest is werewolf history. So far, I’m safe.

But Dale has been exploring. He came home all excited and said he wanted to take me on a hike that starts on an obscure trail near the end of our street. So that’s what we did yesterday. He said the narrow path was steep, and he didn’t get good traction with his running shoes, so he switched to hiking boots.

I wore my regular trail running shoes (even though I don’t run). I also took along some trekking poles to help with balance. They also take pressure off the knees.

The surprise came at the top of the ridge, where there was an old stone fence that seemingly stretched forever. Crusted with moss, we guessed the fence was more than 100 years old. Probably used to keep cattle from wandering off.

It looked like the trail continued down the ridge to connect with another trail I do frequent, but we weren’t sure and didn’t feel like hiking down there only to find ourselves with another uphill trek.

What a surprising walking buddy! I never saw it coming, although I will have to be careful and let it unfold at Dale’s pace. Note to self … this does not mean we start training for the Camino. Still, over the weekend we’re going to check out the maps and see if we can figure out where the trail goes. Or maybe we’ll just go for it.

Sometimes surprises are right around the corner. And just when you think you know a person, they change. Change is good.

Time to retire work clothes?

We’ve talked about this before. Many of you have already dumped your work clothes, but I can’t quite make the leap.

Instead, I inventoried my professional attire, and I’m actually proud of what I put together to wear my last few years on the job. I hated the suity-suity look, but I managed to create a timeless wardrobe true to my personality and appropriate for my mostly business-casual work environment. I focused on seasonless fabrics in solid neutral colors so I could mix and match without buying more clothes than I needed. 

Jackets were the greatest challenge after my mastectomy. Since I didn’t opt for reconstruction and am as flat as a 10-year-old boy, I found that anything with darts was a nonstarter. Dresses were also out. I favored skirts and pants with cropped baseball-style jackets in a variety of good quality fabrics.

It was not easy or cheap. I liked Brooks Brothers. The good news is everything still looks great and fits beautifully. I was like, damn, I did good! In retirement, I find those jackets in white, navy, khaki and black, are easy to wear with jeans and other casual looks.

Here’s what’s left of work attire that’s harder to re-purpose. Everything is tropical weight wool.

  • 1 navy blue skirted suit
  • 1 purplish tailored blazer
  • 1 gray pencil skirt
  • 1 gray skirt with pleats
  • 1 pair black slacks

The next step was to take them to the dry cleaners. I haven’t been near a dry cleaner in years, so I actually had to hunt one down! If I donate or consign the clothes, at least they will be clean.

Here’s what I’m thinking. I only have one suit, which I saved for interviews, trips to Corporate, etc. It never hurts to have a classic dark suit in your closet. The slacks are perfect black pants, and I could see wearing them out and about with a t-shirt, denim jacket and boots. The blazer fits me perfectly, flat chest and all. Perhaps I could wear it with jeans or the black pants for a special occasion.

That leaves the two gray skirts. I love them both, and I felt so good putting them on and checking myself out in the mirror. It has been a long time since I’ve seen me in anything but workout clothes or jammies. Purging dress shoes was one of my first bold acts of retirement, so I Googled pencil skirts with Birkenstocks, and yes, such a thing exists.

Even if I can pull it off, where would I go dressed as such? The colder months would be easier, as I could always go with black tights and some sort of comfy shoe. All that to say I’m still on the fence about the skirts. Maybe I should get rid of them.

What do you think?

All-clear from the dermo

Now that I’m catching up on appointments, I visited the dermatologist for what I call the big naked look-see. I drew his attention to a couple of spots, which he identified as maturity. Everyone’s a comedian.

He said my skin looked great, whatever I’m doing, keep doing. I’m of Eastern European descent, and even after years of sun worshiping with baby oil and Bain de Soleil, I’ve fared quite well.

Still, as a BRCA-positive two-time cancer survivor, I take nothing for granted. I am outdoors a lot, mostly playing golf for more than four hours at a time. One of my golf buddies (one of the pink people) is out for a couple of weeks following the Mohs procedure for cancerous cells on his face.

Even with my darker skin, I have already had my lifetime quota of surgeries, so I take cover. I spray my legs with sunscreen and wear SPF 50 on my face with a large-brimmed hat. I have a UV-blocking umbrella and wear these shoulder wraps under my golf shirts.

While I do swim outdoors, I only swim for 30 minutes two or three times a week, so I don’t worry too much about it. If it got to be an issue, I could wear a UV-blocking rash guard.

All in all, retired life is still good, COVID and all. I do feel like we are at the beginning of the end of the pandemic. Maybe not, but that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.