COVID-19 vaccination: Part 1

Meyer lemons from our neighbor’s backyard.

Our yard does not get much sun, and what little we get is reserved for tomatoes and hot peppers. Our neighbors, on the other hand, have nothing but sun, and we are the lucky recipients of their surplus citrus. The Meyer lemons are spectacular this year.

Don’t you love the little box? They might even want it back. I’ll have to put some baked goods in there as a thank-you.

We use Meyer lemons as you would use any lemon, but when we get the motherlode, I juice them with ginger root, add simple syrup and freeze in quart-sized tubs. When I want juice, I melt a scoop of the frozen stuff and mix it with a bit of water. Delicious.

Vaccination Update

Exciting news. We have received our first vaccinations at a mass vaccination site run by Sutter Health, our healthcare provider. We did a dry run Saturday, as the site is a good 45 minutes away and in an unfamiliar area. I’m glad we did, as it made the Sunday drive to the site much less stressful.

We live in a quiet suburb but drove through a much larger town on the way to the vaccination site. There was a lot of traffic for a time when people are supposedly staying home. We passed several malls, and the parking lots were full. By the time we got home, I felt like we’d been to Dallas and back.

Dallas is kind of a joke between us from our days of living in Fort Worth. Dallas has a lot of cool things to do, but its bigness always scared me, and I couldn’t wait to get home. But then there’s the song Dallas as sung by Jimmie Dale Gilmore, and it makes me love it some.

Anyway, we got there early, because I can’t stop myself. It was a huge healthcare facility that looked like it was shut down before being repurposed as a mass vaccination site. Plenty of parking. We could see a long line full of masked old people. Us!

Dale and I both had appointments, but his was about 30 minutes behind mine. I said I was going for it and asked if he wanted me to text him if I thought he should get in line, too. He said yes.

As I was walking toward the line, I heard two women talking, and one said they ran out of vaccines. I was like, oh, crap, this can’t be happening. But I pressed on, and an employee kindly said to get in the line on the right if you had an appointment. The line on the left was for people who just showed up expecting to get vaccinated, and they were simply waiting to make an appointment for another day.

I asked about my appointment – does that mean I’m getting the vaccine? She said yes. I was afraid Dale would overhear the rumors about vaccines running out, so I texted him to ignore that, we were good. He acknowledged.

Then I asked the nice attendant about my husband. I explained he was about 30 minutes behind me. She said just have him join you in line – they’ll take you together. I immediately texted Dale, “Come now.”

Then it was hurry up and wait. No sign of Dale. I could see our car and his little bald head just sitting there.

Still sitting there.

As I was getting closer to the front of the line, I broke down and called him. He finally joined me and explained he had received another text from our neighbors about the lemons and assumed the beep from my second text was more of the same, so he ignored it.

Texts. So hard.

Everyone was super nice and professional. All the lines were marked to keep people socially distant. Upon entering, we saw a sign that said, “Today’s vaccine is Pfizer.” Dale thinks that is the best one, so he was happy. I would probably take the 7-Eleven vaccine if they had it.

We showed our ID, and they confirmed our appointments at the entrance. Then we stood in a short line before arriving at a standing station, where they asked if we’d had contact with anyone who tested positive, had symptoms, etc. They gave us a handout about the vaccine. Then we waited for a sit-down station, where they confirmed everything again.

The shot itself was completely painless. From there we moved to another station, where someone recorded our vaccinations and gave us COVID-19 Vaccination Record Cards. We got appointments for 21 days out, which will put us at Feb. 28. She stuck a post-it note to the card with the time we were allowed to depart the facility.

In the interim, we would sit in a holding area for 15 minutes to see if we had any reactions. Seats were spaced six feet apart. When it was safe for us to leave, they asked us to put the post-it note on our chair so they could disinfect it afterward. Slick!

After we got home, I played a round of Wii golf to keep my upper body moving, while Dale exercised his martini arm. We both slept well and feel fine today. Maybe a little drowsy. Slight soreness at the injection site. I usually get fever and chills from the regular flu shot and did not have any problems with this one.

All in all, the mass vaccination site was a first-class production, and we feel lucky to be in a relatively early group of those 65 and older. As I understand it, two weeks after the second shot, we’ll be as protected as you get. Of course, this doesn’t factor in variants and all that, but it does give us some wiggle room.

March 14. If all goes well, that’s when we’ll have whatever passes for full protection. I’m thinking about changes I will make, and I’m not going to lie, it’s fun. I’m pretty sure I’ll get a haircut. Maybe dine at an outside restaurant. Go wine tasting if it’s outside. Swim again! Unless the variants get out of control and our vaccines aren’t up to it, camping is back on the table.

I made sure to thank everyone at every station for their work. Oh, you get the occasional bad apple, but most medical professionals are truly special people, and I am forever grateful to them. And the researchers who were able to develop these vaccines in such short time! It’s amazing when you think about it.

Go science!

Art, relationships and sourdough

Making sourdough starter.

Our health care system announced Monday they would be opening appointments for anyone over 65 “later in the week.” I logged into my account to make sure it worked, and I told asked Dale to do the same. We would need to act quickly when the time came. After I logged in, I could see all my information, but you still couldn’t make appointments.

I decided to check in every morning and every night, figuring it would go live before they announce it, and all of the sudden it would work. And that’s exactly what happened. Dale was still eating breakfast when I called him upstairs to log into his account.

Oh, but did he listen to me when I expressed my desire for him to test his account? Of course not. The password didn’t work, and we messed around with that for 30 minutes until he finally got a replacement password.

Although I was rather annoyed with Dale, we got appointments for tomorrow, so I got over it pretty quickly. I never do this, but I demanded an apology. Seriously. He claimed it was a misunderstanding, which is his way of saying he’s sorry, and I forgave him because after 42 years, why not?

That was Thursday, and I have still received nothing from our health care system announcing the COVID vaccination feature on the website is active. Sometimes it helps to be crazy neurotic.

For some reason, I became irrational with fear that I wouldn’t be able to keep the appointment. Being somewhat of an over-zealous pandemic warrior and part-time hypochondriac, I decided to take my temperature, which was 98.6.

I’m usually in the 97 range, so I freaked. As I was trying to calm myself down, I thought, even in the grandest cosmic joke of all times, I would not get COVID on the same day I made my vaccine appointment. Plus, I felt fine, no symptoms whatsoever and only left the house once to play golf during the last 10 days.

Coffee! I had just had two cups of coffee when I took my temperature, and I wondered if that made a difference. I waited a couple of hours and took my temperature again, and again and again. Because as a functioning hypochrondriac, I have three thermometers! One digital from CVS, one digital from Walgreens and a mercury. All three put me in the 97 zone.

You can’t make this stuff up.

We’ve not been to the mass vaccination site, so we’re doing a test run today. Normally, Dale would complain about the overkill, but he knows he’s barely out of the dog house, so he’s on board with whatever I want at this point. My pledge to you is that I will not abuse this power.

Sourdough starter

In other news, my sourdough starter is underway. So far, so good, but I’m prepared to fail.

I’m following instructions in the Tartine cookbook and so far feel mildly confident it will work. I used a pint-sized tub filled about halfway with lukewarm water and a 50/50 mix of bread flour and whole wheat flour – enough to make a thick batter. After three days in a cool dark place covered with a dish towel, it bubbled and smelled funky. That’s when you start the feeding cycle.

Every morning, I discard 80 percent of it and add enough water and flour mixture to make another thick batter. Cover and return to its hiding place. I’m not sure how long this goes on – possibly a week – before I can actually bake with it. I’m keeping a log, so I can report back to you on how the timing works.

For now, we’re in the feed and wait mode – not unlike many of us riding out the pandemic.

Feed and wait.

Damaged goods

In other striking parallels, I’m working on a new woodburning piece, and I am once again in awe of the lessons I have learned through working on damaged wood.

I accept the pallet scraps are flawed, and nothing I can do will make them perfect. Perfection isn’t even on the radar. If I make a mistake, I just mess with it until the mistake looks like I did it on purpose. If I start to think, oh, this is ugly, I switch to, hey, cut yourself some slack, it was trash!

Working on wood scraps reminds me that we are all damaged goods. Proceed accordingly and remember, whether it’s art, relationships or sourdough, all you can do is practice and forgive.

Delicious homemade naan

Homemade naan.

Although I’m not a food blogger, I do write a lot about food and share recipes and links. To post a recipe you can print from my blog, it has to be something I’ve made multiple times with confidence. I’m also careful to ensure I don’t just copy someone else’s recipe. If I’m going to use it on the blog, I’ve tweaked it to some degree and changed the instructions based on my own experiences. And even then, I’ll cite the source of inspiration.

For those recipes that don’t make the cut, I try to link to the original source, whether it’s the Washington Post or someone’s blog. This can be problematic, as sites like the Washington Post have firewalls, and you may not be able to access the recipe.

My new favorite naan recipe came from the Post. I’ve only made it once, and even though it was utterly fabulous, the dough didn’t handle as described. More about that later, but just a preface as to why I’m not posting the actual recipe. I got a little creative and found a variety of sites that feature the recipe. Hopefully, one of them will work for you!

Washington Post

Fredericksburg.com

News India Times

Omaha World Herald

This is my third naan recipe, and it is by far superior to the others. Deliciously charred yet soft and bready. And except for my dough consistency issues, quick and easy to make. Dale ranked it among the best naan he has ever had.

My previous favorite used yeast, while this recipe uses baking powder. Buttermilk is another unique addition. In the past, I’ve cooked naan outside in our Roccbox pizza oven, which is great, but we’ve had a week of rain, so that was not in the cards. I liked this recipe because you cook them on the stovetop.

The dough was way too wet, and even though the author says not to do it, I added more flour. Next time, I would be more careful adding the water. Even then, I couldn’t really knead it into a smooth ball. Instead, I just scooped out portions and arranged them on the greased baking sheet, per the instructions.

At one point, I said I would be totally shocked if these materialized into something resembling naan. Color me shocked.

When it came time to roll them out, they rolled easily, but I had to generously dust them with flour on both sides multiple times to keep them from sticking. Pro tip of the day came from someone in the comments section of the Post. He suggested you roll them out between two sheets of Silpat.

Wow! Game Changer.

I used a large and very hot cast iron pan, which was perfect. There was smoke, so I cranked up the exhaust fan, which makes a noise such that our cat would exit the scene at a high rate of speed. Charred bits of bread where it blisters and burns stuck to the pan, and I thought maybe I had ruined it, but the pan cleaned up nicely later.

For the first night, we ate them hot off the grill with some curry I whipped up. The next morning for breakfast, we sealed the naan in foil packets and heated them in the oven for about 10 minutes at 400 degrees. And then we dunked those hunks of soft charry pillowy naan in olive oil.

Dag, they were good.

While I’ve made tortillas for many years, I didn’t mess with making real bread until I retired. I started with the Jim Lahey no-knead breads and had great success. From there, entering my pandemic bread phase, I moved onto English Muffins. And naan.

By the way, I’ve now made the Washington Post recipe for English Muffins that I originally linked to, as well as the recipe from Mel’s Kitchen Café that Dot shared in the comments section.

Dot wins! We preferred the muffins from Mel’s Kitchen Cafe.

In other bread developments, I will soon be joining the legions of pandemic warriors taking refuge in sourdough. With inspiration from Chris, the sourdough enthusiast at Tahoe Girl, I purchased the original Tartine cookbook and am almost ready to begin the adventure.

The full sourdough report will unfold in the coming weeks. I needed a few new sexy bread tools, which arrive Tuesday.

Let the fiesta begin!

Living large at home

Number 15

California’s governor lifted the much-maligned stay-at-home order just in time for a winter storm to roll in, and all of the sudden everyone wants to, um, stay home. Apparently, freedom’s just another word for let’s stay warm and dry.

Some businesses are starting to open again, although we aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. While I hate to admit this, I’ve become quite comfortable here in my nest. I do get out for walking and golf, but that’s it. Once in a while I get this idea I need to go out and buy something, but then I think, oh, I could just get that on Amazon.

In some ways, it will be hard to push myself out the door when the time comes. Dale’s not far behind me. He keeps a pair of binoculars by his desk that faces a window overlooking the street and reports on daily activities.

“Oh, it looks like the Johnson clan is getting new appliances.”

We really do need to get out more.

In the meantime, I’m grateful for hobbies that keep me amused. I finished another piece of woodburning art, ceremoniously named Number 15. This would be the successor to numbers one through 14. Creativity is sometimes stretched thin during these unprecedented times.

I made it for my dear friend, Carole, whose house has a lot of blue and green. I didn’t want to mimic her colors but instead complement them. It took great discipline to stick to the color scheme, as my previous works seem to be an explosion of reds. I did add just a tiny splash of red and yellow for character.

When I uploaded the piece to my online gallery, I was surprised how different it is from my other examples. I like the all-colors-are-welcome approach, but sticking with a palette is interesting, too.

This time I used a combination of acrylic paint and pencils to fill in the designs I made with the woodburning tool. Because I used so many greens and blues and have a limited supply of paint and pencils, I concocted custom colors for the first time. My sister, The Michaels Whisperer, tells me I can buy a book that essentially provides recipes for color-mixing.

As for scrap wood, I have a couple pieces left. I told asked Dale to be on the lookout and suggested he might want to drive through the neighborhood to see what people are tossing. Not all things are visible from his observation tower by the window.

Although I said in my last post I wasn’t particularly productive, several of us got into a discussion in the comments section and Tamara wondered if engaged is a better word. In addition to my golf addiction, I’m definitely engaged in a number of creative pursuits, to include cooking, baking, writing, growing cannabis and practicing art.

Still, I avoid overengineering my time and try not to make a job out of it.

While we all look forward to a cornucopia of post-pandemic options, I’m not waiting for it to end before I start to live. There’s something to be said for a simple but enjoyable lifestyle that is sustainable through good times and bad. I am fortunate to have a choice, and my simple pleasures in no way mitigate the pain and suffering others are experiencing throughout this ordeal.

I might not be living large, but I’m living large at home. As best I can, anyway.

Working below one’s means

I’ve had a lot of “work” dreams and trying to make sense of them, I wondered whether it means I have unfinished business of some sort. I’m quite content with my retired life and do not want a job. So, what’s it all about, Alfie?

Dreams are so weird, and I don’t pretend to understand them. The work dreams are rarely good and usually replay the worst aspects of jobs I had during my career. My best guess is the dreams are a way for my mind to unravel the accumulated stress.   

Yet there might be another take on it. When I mentioned the question about unfinished business to a friend, he said although I seemed quite content, he had to wonder if I was making the most of my life. Am I reaching my full potential? Perhaps that’s what the dreams are about.

We had a great exchange about what that means. In his view, it’s about living each year as if it’s your last … setting targets and doing more than what you’ve done before. I guess that’s what a lot of people are doing when they post their goals about reading 200 books before Easter.

That deal about year-over-year improvement is too jobbie for me. Stretch goals and all that. And I’m not sure the strategy was successful. In my workplace, we systematically weeded out steady performers who worked as a team in favor of individual superstars who fought over the last porkchop, making everyone miserable.

What if I don’t need to continuously improve myself? For the record, my friend is right … I am content! But here’s a radical thought. What if being content is actually what it means to reach my full potential? What if being alive is my greatest accomplishment? What if ordinary is good enough?

I’ve read a little about Taoism, sometimes known as Daoism, which is a Chinese philosophy that is very much about going with the flow. I love the idea that not reaching too far might be the essence of freedom.  

The artist Pablo Picasso also had something to say about striving too hard:

You must always work not just within but below your means. If you can handle three elements, handle only two. If you can handle ten, then handle only five. In that way the ones you do handle, you handle with more ease, more mastery, and you create a feeling of strength in reserve.

I’m way calmer since Trump left office, and my sleep has been much less stressful. Not as many work dreams, which will hopefully continue to fade over time. Still, I’m glad I took the opportunity to reflect on the balance between being content and being productive.

While I applaud and respect those who drive themselves harder, there’s room for underachievers, too. If you are among those who resist excessive productivity, I hope you find pleasure in knowing you are not alone.

As for me, I am content to work below my means. It’s a sweet gig, actually.

Motivation to get dressed

While I didn’t watch the inauguration, I read all about it afterward. I loved everything from the inaugural address and the music to the poetry and shed tears of joy and relief. I am filled with hope for our country. President Biden’s remarks made me want to be a better person.

But the inauguration was also the motivation I needed to get dressed.

Yes, in the midst of this most profound moment in our history, I found myself searching the internet for photos of the spectacular outfits. Well, the coats! The colors, the cuts. There was a time when I cared about fashion, but that seems like forever ago.

As the comedian Seth Meyers said, “So that’s what it feels like when you’re not grinding your teeth. I forgot, and I think – yeah, I can see colors again.”

Or as I might say, so that’s what it feels like when you’re not worrying about who has the nuclear codes. There’s room for lighthearted fare. On the fashion front, my favorite was Kamala’s camel coat. Even though there were brighter choices to admire, she had me at pleats.

I’ve mostly lived in warmer climates, so coats were not usually a fashion statement. I’d buy one multi-purpose coat and make do. Usually a neutral color. My favorite was a flowy coat I bought in Germany made with layers of olive cotton and corduroy. I actually have no idea how much it cost. I just knew I had enough Deutsche Marks in my wallet to buy it!

My go-to warm coat these days is a long black duster with a button-in lining that I bought years ago at Burlington Coat Factory. At one time I wanted a Burberry trench, but I could never find the single-breasted style I liked. I used to keep a picture of Jackie O’s as a reference.

Instead, I purchased a real Mackintosh raincoat that should last forever. Navy. Single-breasted. Simple and beautiful, but not quite as versatile as a trench.

Although I don’t need a dressy coat these days, I wear light jackets for casual outings and sports, or at least I did when there was such a thing as casual outings. Khaki, black, white or navy. My avoidance of bright colors goes back to my childhood of never having enough money. If you could only have one, you didn’t blow it on yellow.  

It has been nearly a year since I’ve worn anything more than what is required for groceries or exercise … leggings with pockets. Not even jeans. My hair gets mostly tied into a man-bun or topped with a hat.

As for the new administration, there will be missteps and disagreements, but knowing compassionate adults are in charge changes everything. I’m hopeful we can get to work on the tough issues our country faces, but at the same time, I feel lighter. Freer. Like I want to put on some real clothes and go somewhere. Maybe even fix my hair or buy something purple yellow camel.

Home spa failures

The home spa is somewhat of a failure.

My hair is driving me nuts, and my cuticles are super-glued to my nails. My toes literally shredded the bottom of the bedsheet. I won’t even talk about my skin of many zits, but when this business is over, I’m going for some sort of deluxe spa treatment. Or maybe I could just run myself through Super Suds at the car wash.

Yes! Better than the Wheel Deal, better than the Ultimate and maybe even an overnight stay for detailing.

I want to walk out clean and shiny with all the dings repaired. Beauty base zero.

Although my hair looks good, my scalp itches, and I find hairs all over the house. I wonder if I am losing abnormal amounts of hair. Or is it breaking? I have dreams it drops off in clumps.

I would love to get an assessment from my stylist, but that is not within the art of the possible at this time. And so, I turn to poor, beleaguered Dale.

Would you look at my scalp and see if anything is going on?

Like what?

I don’t know. Redness. Scabs. Lice.

Sure.

We get under a light, and he pokes around for a while. Then he said, “Your hair is too dense. I can hardly see your scalp.”

Seriously, that is like dirty sex talk.

Oh, me of fairy hair? Dense? According to Dale, my hair is fine, but there seems to be plenty of it. What he could see of my scalp looked pink and healthy. In a miraculous display of the mind-body connection, my scalp stopped itching.

I don’t want to complain about staff at our home spa, but they can barely keep up. Praying the professionals arrive soon.

Public Service Announcement

I feel kind of bad I didn’t let you know this sooner. I mean, we’re almost a year into the lockdown, right? But it’s time you know the truth about public restrooms.

Yes, they’re mostly filthy, but there are unique moments in life when you won’t care.

You. Will. Not. Care.

Due to the pandemic, many of them will be closed when you need them the most.

For example, let’s imagine you are on the way to the golf course and have an unexpected bathroom emergency. You know from past experience the convenience store on the left won’t let you use theirs. Good thing Taco Bell is right next door! McDonalds is a few blocks further, but sometimes that is a block too far.

Let us imagine you walk up to the Taco Bell, which appears open, but the doors are locked. And you might imagine yourself pounding on the glass like Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate, “Elaine! Elaine!”

And in this totally fictitious situation, it would seem the drive-thru is indeed open, but because of the pesky pandemic, you can’t go inside. Literally.

This could get ugly fast, so in the interest of public service, I wanted to let you know many of the restrooms you formerly used while out and about may not be available to you during these unprecedented times.

Sure, you could always go to an empty church parking lot and stuff tissues down your pants, but this is only a temporary solution.

Taco Bell is dead to you, and you can’t always count on the Les Schwab Tire Center across the street to let you use theirs. But when some saint of a woman at the desk says sure, you will be forever indebted.

Be careful out there.

Today is not yesterday

Cannabis tincture. Just a couple of drops from the dropper can ease anxiety.

Yesterday was a low point for me. Politics, pandemic, familial squabbles. I could feel my body and mind withdraw, and my only thought was enough is enough. And I say that as someone who has it easy.

This morning, I added a couple of drops of cannabis tincture to my orange juice. It’s so calming. A little miracle, really.

I make my own tincture, but if you live in a place where it’s legal, most dispensaries sell it. Mine is alcohol-based, so you have to mix it with something. Be careful not to overdo it. Go slow and start with just one or two drops, gradually increasing until you get the desired effect.

Most commercial tinctures are made with glycerin, so you put a drop under your tongue. Same advice about going slow. Either way, I highly recommend giving cannabis tincture a whirl. To me, it’s medicine.

My morning read includes an email newsletter called California Today from the New York Times, which I subscribe to. Today’s installment included an interview with a guy who has studied the far-right movement for many years. He said they’ve been around a long time and aren’t going away, but they never had a “sponsor” at the national level until Trump.

Perhaps I am naïve, but it gave me hope that once Trump is gone, they’ll go back to being a horrible splinter movement to be reckoned with but one without top cover at the highest levels.

Feeling better, I was pleased to see the stay-at-home orders for our region have been lifted. While the restrictions are based on the number of ICU beds available, they actually think people are being more cautious about masks and gatherings, and the numbers are starting to stabilize. That’s almost a minor miracle at this point.

We’re now in the purple tier, which allows for outdoor dining and other activities. There’s not much in the purple tier that applies to us. God knows, I’d love to get my hair sawed off, but I’m not going into a salon. While Dale and I aren’t venturing out anytime soon, it feels good just the same and will hopefully pacify the people who are so inclined.

We want to see happy people!

In another minor miracle, it is absolutely beautiful outside, peaking this afternoon at 62 degrees. I had supermarket sushi for lunch out on the patio, where I daydreamed about how joyful life will be further on down the road. Maybe we’ll be vaccinated by April? We’ll still have to be careful, but it will alleviate some pressure.

To celebrate that today is not yesterday, I’m going for a long walk and will not be wearing my usual 17 layers.

It gets better if you just hang on.

Comfort cooking

Rye bread rising.

You know what they say. When the going gets tough, the tough get cooking. I’m making bread today, and that’s the only kind of uprising I want to think about.

Our freezer is pretty full right now, so we’re making an effort to put a dent in that. Not like it’s a problem, because we have the best freezer food in town! Last night we had the leftover Kabocha Squash Red Curry from the freezer.

This curry is one of my new favorite recipes. The coconut milk held up in the freezer and didn’t separate when I reheated it, but the squash almost disappeared. Taste was great, though. I also used the pomegranate seeds I froze, and that was a huge success.

We had a pomegranate tree when we lived in Texas, and we never ate them. Boy, do I regret that now. While they are a PITA to clean, pom seeds are delicious and add such a punch to this curry, along with chopped roasted peanuts and cilantro.

I remember the first time we tasted cilantro – 1978. We bought it at a small Asian market, because we needed it for a recipe, and the big grocery stores didn’t sell it. We thought it was awful, and I know there are plenty of people who still think that. Or they have that genetic thing that makes it taste like soap. We love cilantro now and can’t get enough.

I’m also defrosting a tub of my stuffed cabbage rolls for dinner tonight. I’m making rye bread to go with. I use the basic no-knead method, but I add a tablespoon of caraway seeds. This time, I also substituted pickle juice for half the water. We saved the juice from a jar of Kosher dills.

The bread is still rising, but I sampled the dough, and I love the taste of the pickle juice in there. I may tinker with quantities, but I’m betting this is a keeper.

Since we’ve been eating reasonably healthy the last couple of days, I told Dale he could make something decadent Monday if he wants. Of course, I have an ulterior motive. I’m playing golf, and I love coming home to one of his kitchen creations.

I strongly suspect he’ll go with burgers, which he has been craving. In my view, they aren’t really all that indulgent. We make ours with bison. I guess the issue is that not a lot of vegetables are involved.

Dale roasted a whole chicken late last week, and we have leftovers from that. We already had chicken tortilla soup and froze two servings. I volunteered to make chicken divan, a retro casserole made with broccoli, chicken, canned cream soup, cheddar cheese and breadcrumbs.

I thought about making it without the canned soup, as we generally avoid processed food. But seriously, if we have it twice a year, I can’t think the canned soup is the worst thing I’ll eat. Plus, I know it tastes great the way I make it, so why mess with a good thing?

As far as death by food goes, I’ve been reconsidering cold cereal. I loved cereal when I was younger, but it’s not as healthy as you’d think. I try to mostly eat real food that doesn’t come out of a package. Plus, there’s the issue of acrylamides, which is a carcinogen that is actually in many foods. A lot of boxed breakfast cereals are packed with acrylamides.

I gave up cereal about 15 years ago. About the same time I gave up sodas. I don’t miss either one of them, but lately I’ve been thinking, oh, would a bowl of Cheerios kill me? Something else is probably going to get me first. Upon further reflection, I see no reason to start up again. If I want some cold cereal-like thing, I eat my homemade granola, which is basically oats and nuts.

The rest of the week is up for grabs. The weather is turning slightly warmer for a few days, so I want to take advantage of that. Golf, walking. We’ve both become so wussy about cold. Low 50s, and we can barely force ourselves to go outside.

Dale, being from Maine, used to advertise himself as the cold weather model, but he’s gone California now.

Learning to jump

It’s hard to process what has been happening. I have few words. Earlier in the week, I had something all written up about Trump’s call to Georgia’s Secretary of State, thinking that was the new low. I thought, this is what crazy sounds like. Before I could hit publish, there was another new low.

Looks like a race to the bottom. And now we know what crazy looks like.

And so, I try to stay calm. I was never good at meditation. I tried when I was first diagnosed with cancer 21 years ago, but I always fell asleep! Several years ago, I found a free app with guided meditations and used to do them on the bus as I commuted to work. I pulled up the app yesterday and did a 20-minute session.

The guided meditation helped. The one I use is called Sattva. Although, I confess, a few naps have been equally satisfying. Just another way to tune out.

In the midst of all this, my sister-in-law reports her sister is no longer speaking to her because of a row they had over Trump. What a coincidence! My sister is not speaking to me because I was rude when she called to warn me accidents and illnesses are befalling everyone she knows.

Dale is still speaking to me, but he blocked Nancy Pelosi.

Blog anniversary

This week marks three years since I started Retirement Confidential. In the beginning, I had a little freelance gig lined up with a former colleague who owns her own consulting business and thought I would expand that over time. But then she unexpectedly dropped me like a hot potato, and I realized I was done working for other people anyway.

My biggest motivator was always money, and it took some time for me to stop worrying too much about it. I collaborated with our financial planner, and we agreed we had enough saved to fund our retirement (coupled with Dale’s pension and Social Security). We have a conservative portfolio that under normal conditions helps us sleep at night.

A pandemic and attempted coup kind of messes with sleep. However, we are hopeful the money will last.

Once I stopped worrying about cash flow, it’s surprising how quickly I lost my desire to do much more than entertain myself with simple pleasures. Retirement is great! I enjoy writing about the journey, and I love hearing your stories.

I’m not sure where the road will take us. It’s one hurdle after another, but I’m learning to jump. Aside from the current drama, perhaps a good goal is to enjoy a long and healthy life doing the things that bring us happiness.