Year of the jammies

Cute work clothes with nowhere to go.

No matter how this shakes out, I’m thinking the pandemic is going to have a big impact on retirees and future retirees. I’m a happy homebody with enough interests to amuse me for years to come and savings that can withstand a recession. I consider myself lucky.

The pandemic offered a sneak peek at what it’s like to spend more time at home. But COVID is not a frolicking gap year. You’ve got fear, sickness, death, loss, boredom, home schooling, aging parents, family squabbles, childcare and financial stress. For a lot of people, it’s like getting hit with a Sharknado, and their response is, Oh Hell No!

I’ll bet a lot of people who used to dream about retirement can’t wait to get back to work. Or their savings have taken a tough hit, and they need to get back to work. And then I wonder if the pandemic experience will drive them to stay on the job even longer and avoid retirement, not only to fatten up the finances but also to maintain six degrees of separation from all thing homey.

There’s something to be said for staying in the workforce. It’s that whole identity thing. I’m post-identity, livin’ the jammie lifestyle, but there was a time when one of life’s curveballs changed my connection to work. I was only 43 the first time I got cancer, and I was stuck in a boring job with no growth potential.

Once I recovered from cancer, I vowed to put everything into finding a new job so I could achieve my professional dreams. It took me five years of steady job-hunting, but I did it. And when I found that new job, a door opened and then another and then another. That one move led to a successful career I was proud of.

Then I got cancer again. By this time, I was in my late 50s. And this time I started to think about another way of life with less stress. Did I want to spend my precious time on Earth working for the man, or could I cut the electronic leash and learn to enjoy life’s simple pleasures?

I had a hard time coming to grips with my decision because it seemed so alien not to work and be totally focused on my career, but I decided to retire at age 62. Not exactly early retirement but earlier than I ever imagined. Three years later, I’m so happy I made the leap.

Illness definitely affected my professional timetable. My first bout of cancer woke me up to get serious about work, and my second bout woke me up to get serious about life. Perhaps the pandemic is another turning point – what will we do differently as a result of this experience?

As for me, I have a hard time making friends, and the pandemic enabled me to stay distant in every way! I’m looking forward to becoming more sociable. I’ve said that before, but this time it feels real.

With so much alone time, I’ve learned I can go long periods without talking. I’ve always been such a blabbermouth, and I like this quieter side. Perhaps this new-found skill of talking less will teach me to listen more – and that will build on my goal to become a better friend.

The only other thing I thought of it is some sort of volunteer job. I’d like to contribute in some way beyond charitable giving, but my motives aren’t totally pure. I have a closet full of cute work outfits that haven’t seen the light of day, and after a year in jammies and workout clothes, I thought it would be good to get dressed up once a week.

Then again, I might just donate the clothes.

Election fatigue

The U.S. election has been particularly brutal this year. Of course, I’ve made no secret of my utter disdain for Trump. I fear the worst if he is reelected. However, I’ve read conservatives fear the worst if Biden is elected. Both sides have deeply seated emotions that are on full display and propagated in news outlets and on social media.

It got me thinking about how things used to be. I seem to recall my parents did not tell each other who they voted for, although I remember a Goldwater bumper sticker on the car. That was just posturing. Who you actually voted for was your own private business. Dale said his parents were the same, and he only learned his father was a Democrat years after he died.

Even after a stint in the Army and 20 years as an Army wife, I can’t recollect any serious political conversations with friends or colleagues. A bit of social commentary for sure, but we mostly talked about beer, food, family, work, travel, music, romance and sports. It was fun.

Back when we were having those get-togethers, we assumed no one was exactly like us, so we made an effort to find common ground. With the internet, a lot of people found their tribe, and now they don’t want to socialize with anyone who doesn’t think, act or look like them.

It’s all quite tiresome. While I continue to support causes and candidates I care about, politics has become a dreary topic of conversation. I’m burned out. Aren’t you? I noticed there are no political yard signs in our neighborhood, and I love it. It seems rather peaceful in our little bubble.

Politics and neighborhoods … maybe it’s like marriage. Not everything needs to be said.

A mysterious visitor

Dale had an unusual experience last week, and no, I’m not talking about yard work.

He went to get gas and was parked by the tank, about to fill up. A neatly groomed older guy – Dale said maybe 60s – approached him. The man was wearing shorts Dale said were a little shorter than what’s in fashion (as if Dale would know) and a shirt tucked in. No mask.

The visitor said, “I’m from another area, and I’m not sure how this works. Do I go in and pay?”

Dale asked him if he had a credit card, and the guy said yes. Dale explained he could pay at the pump. The guy got his credit card out and fiddled around with the machine, finally asking Dale if he could help him. Dale showed him how it worked. Before the guy pressed the button for gas, he said, “Oh, is this unleaded?”

By this time, Dale is wondering what the hell? But he said in his nicest Mr. Know-It-All voice, “We haven’t had leaded gas in the U.S. in more than 20 years.”

The guy said, “Oh, OK, thanks.”

Dale’s telling me this story, and I said, “Are you sure he didn’t say he was from another era?”

We both laughed, but that leaves us with some decisions to make. Who was this unmasked man, and why was he so clueless? Here are your choices:

  • Time traveler
  • Alien
  • Recently incarcerated or otherwise institutionalized
  • Other?

I’m voting for time traveler and an unlucky one at that. Time travel should come with a warning: Beware 2020. As for the other choices, it seems like even someone institutionalized would be more savvy, and I’m pretty sure aliens don’t have credit cards … let’s hope not, anyway.

Upgrading kitchen tools

Our 46-year-old hand mixer on the left, and the new one on the right. Notice the beaters.

At this stage of our lives, we try not to load up on stuff, but kitchen necessities are a special category. Although we’re cautious about what we buy, it seems like we’ve been spending a lot. We’ve purchased a few relatively inexpensive tools, but you know, everything adds up.  

Two things broke, and we replaced them. We bought a new can opener ($19.95) and a new immersion blender ($50). Our choice was a no-nonsense 2-Speed Kitchenaid Immersion Blender. We don’t make smoothies, so we don’t need ice-crushing power. I pretty much use it for mayonnaise and to puree soups and sauces. The Kuhn Rikon can opener is slick.  

We upgraded several tools, including a fantastic new citrus juicer ($22.29). I’ve pretty much moved on from mojitos to margaritas, but both need copious amounts of lime, so I rest my case.  

For 20 years, I used a tortilla press with a wobbly hinge. I replaced it with this beauty by Victoria ($36.89). It’s the same size as my old one – 6.5 inches – but I cannot believe the difference. It’s heavy and presses an exceptionally smooth tortilla. I’ve also used it to flatten out naan.

Next up was the hand mixer. Dale had the Sunbeam before he met me, so we’re thinking it’s 46 years old. There was a power surge button that is held together with duct tape, but other than that, it seemed to work fine. The two main things I use it for are to beat egg whites for souffles and to whip mashed potatoes. And yes, I know there are more foodie ways to mash potatoes.

Anyway, I thought my egg whites weren’t stiff enough, so we went with a new hand mixer. I bought the Kitchenaid 5-speed directly from Kitchenaid ($50). The beaters are very different. The new design seems to be a technological advancement. I’ve been super-impressed with the results on egg whites and mashies. Anything more complicated than that, I use the heavy-duty stand mixer.

The final upgrade is a new panini maker. We had the original Cousinart Griddler, which did not have a floating hinge to adjust for thicker sandwiches. The plates were not removable, either. Still, we used it for 12 years with great success.

Dale really wanted one with a floating hinge. Removable plates are a nice feature as well. I researched all the big brands and went with the upgraded Cousinart Griddler ($79). The floating hinge is not exactly a floating hinge, according to Dale, but the height is adjustable, which has the same effect, so he’s good with it. It does more than we need, but it’s not gigantic. We’re not likely to use it as an indoor grill, but you never know.

One of the features I like is that you can buy extra plates and use the Griddler to make waffles. I’ve been, well, waffling about buying a stand-alone waffle maker for years, but I don’t think we would eat waffles often enough to justify it. The Griddler might not make the world-class Belgian waffles of your dreams, but as least we’ll have waffles at home, which I can have with real syrup. Waffle plates are still on my wish list.

The last three items on this shopping spree gone mad are new, as in not a replacement. I’ve been drooling over all the gorgeous bundt pans that are available now, but I just don’t see me making many bundt cakes. So far, I’ve successfully dodged that bullet.

However, I did succumb to a basic scone pan ($31.41). You don’t really need one, but mine become quite irregular when they bake, and I like the idea of containing them for a more uniform shape. I ordered the pan from King Arthur, because it was on sale, and I was getting other stuff anyway.

Also in the baking category, I ordered four stainless steel 6-inch pie pans ($31.94) I love to make savory pies, and I like the idea of making two for us and two for the freezer. The pie pans should arrive tomorrow, just in time to make these mini chicken pot pies from Ree Drummond.

Finally, I bought a rack ($49.99) for drying pasta. I like to make pasta earlier in the day, so I don’t have to mess with it when it comes times to start cooking. The rack keeps the pasta from sticking together as it sits. This little guy works great.

As for spending a lot, now that I add it up, it doesn’t seem so bad. Total cost was $371.47. We haven’t eaten in a restaurant or been anywhere in eight months. But we eat well, and sometimes you just gotta have the right tool for the job.

In theory, I subscribe to the rule of 1 for 1 … you buy something new, you get rid of something else. I have plans to gift the panini maker, but I can’t quite seem to part with that hand mixer. Maybe those new-fangled beaters will turn out to be a hoax. I don’t know … something is telling me to keep it.

Successful homegrown

A close-up of my second successful cannabis plant at harvest.
About 30 grams of homegrown cannabis (minus one small bud for scientific studies).

Successful homegrown

When I was bringing the trash cans in this week, my neighbor asked if I had a minute. I’ve not talked with him much, but he seems like a nice guy. We kept our distance, kind of like Tim the Tool Man and Wilson.

So, I’m like, what’s up? He said, “Are you the gardener?” And that led to a great conversation about growing cannabis. Apparently, he can see the plant from its home by our South-facing window, and he has been quite mesmerized. He’d like to try growing it. I made him a cheat sheet, some of which I’ve shared below.

It’s fun to think I might have a grow buddy!

In the continuing adventures of a gentlewoman cannabis farmer, I’ve made great progress. In an earlier post, I mentioned that I received new cannabis seeds (at no additional cost) since so many of mine failed to germinate.

My first plant with the new seeds was a beauty. This time around, I didn’t use the kit from A Pot for Pot, although I still highly recommend that option. I’m thinking I can do it for less, although the up-front costs are a little higher.

I now buy Fox Farm Happy Frog Potting Soil. A 12-quart bag for about $20. I also purchased a three-pack of Fox Farm Liquid Nutrient Trio Soil Formula – Big Bloom, Grow Big and Tiger Bloom. Cost was $46. I follow their instructions for fertilizing.

Also from Amazon, I purchased a five-pack of VIVOSUN 3-gallon Plant Grow Bags for $13.99. A 3-gallon pot will typically produce a bigger plant than a 2-gallon pot from the same seed. Presumably a 5-gallon pot would yield even more, but I have not tried that yet.

My first plant ever in a 2-gallon pot took 102 days from seed to harvest over the winter. It was 20 inches tall at maturity. Yield was about 1/3 of an ounce or 10 grams. My second successful plant was in a 3-gallon pot during the summer and took 61 days from seed to harvest. It was denser with bigger buds but about the same height. Yield was just over an ounce or 30 grams.

I taste tested it yesterday, and it is perfectly potent weed, although I mostly use it to make my topical cream. Instructions are on my downloads page.

A new plant is already in fine shape. In yet another experiment, I re-used some of the potting soil, filling the bottom half of the fabric pot. Then I filled the top half with fresh soil. So far, so good.

The Burnmaster 5000

My latest woodburning art with a mix of colored pencils and acrylic paint.

My latest art was done entirely with the new high-end burning tool (we shall call it the Burnmaster 5000). It’s fabulous!! I’ve been experimenting with stippling techniques, which you can see on the tree-like thing on the left.

I also used a combination of acrylic paints and colored pencils. Pencils are easier to keep inside the lines, but depending on the wood and the color, sometimes I have to really go after it to get the kind of coverage I want. The paint was much more difficult to keep inside the lines, but coverage was great.

The red and orange horizontal elements on the bottom were done in paint. They’re large enough so keeping inside the lines wasn’t too much of an issue. But the smaller designs with white are also paint, and while I love the depth of color, it was a pain to keep it inside the lines and doesn’t look quite as good up close. In the future, I’ll probably just use the paint for larger designs.

Dale cut up the remainder of my scrap wood yesterday. There are some darker pieces, which I think will look better with paint. I can’t wait to get started!

Kindness, please

Dale came to grips with his age-related hearing loss a few years ago and now wears hearing aids. Occasionally I turn up the volume on the TV, so I might have a bit of hearing loss as well. Not enough to worry about just yet, but still.

Then yesterday I had a conversation on the golf course that made me wonder. My playing partner is a native Californian of Asian American descent. We were outside, getting ready to tee off. We were socially distant, and I was wearing a mask. In my defense, there was a good bit of mechanical noise around us.

She said, “I have something special for us today.”

Really?

I have Asian parents.

At this point, I’m thinking this is the preface to a family story. She’s Asian, her parents are Asian. So far, it makes sense. I nodded.

Then she asked, “Do you like them?”

I’m like, “Um, I don’t believe we’ve met …”

What?

Didn’t you say you had Asian parents?

No! I said I had Asian pears.

We laughed so hard. Good thing I was wearing my mask.

Anyway, Asian pears are delicious, if you haven’t tried them. Crispy but slightly sweet – not unlike myself. 

Kindness, please

Not that I’m normally unpleasant, but my permanent record as revealed by multiple 360-degree reviews throughout my career indicates I can come across as abrupt.

I’ve decided to work a little harder to be nice. I’m just so sick of reading about despicable acts of meanness and have made a personal vow to be as gentle and respectful as possible, even if I don’t particularly like you or disagree with you about politics or anything else. I even thought of a cool t-shirt slogan.

Some fucking kindness, please!

Oh, I guess that’s not in the spirit of things. But you get the idea. Sometimes it’s easy, like when I’m driving, I make a point to let people merge in or get in front of me when they are pulling out of a parking lot into traffic.

Other times it’s harder. A fellow golfer emailed me a long-winded apology about her insignificant breach of etiquette during last week’s play, and I didn’t want to engage in her drama. I simply wrote back, “No worries.” Then I thought, was that kind? She made an effort. It obviously matters to her.

I sent her another email and said I was busy when I replied earlier and didn’t mean to be abrupt. That I truly meant no worries and appreciated her note.

Of course, then I got back another email with more words than necessary, but I think she felt better. And you know, I did, too. I’ll call that a win.

To further my mission of kindness, I voted, hopefully voting out meanness at the top. I took mine to an official drop box. In California, you can sign up for a ballot tracking service, so I received this confirmation:

Your ballot for the 2020 General Election was received and will be counted. Thank you for voting!

Cat mask fever

My sister-in-law sent these adorable masks. I have no idea where she got them, but this cat mask is too cute to be disposable! Although I usually wear one of the washable cloth face coverings my sister made, I keep a stash of disposables around as well. Such is life in the time of pandemic.

Our air quality is much improved, and it has cooled off. Quite beautiful! Earlier in the week, I wasn’t sick, but I wasn’t 100 percent, either. I woke up this morning feeling great, and that’s not the dexamethasone talking. I’m blaming the air.

Today I’m making baguettes, which we have for dinner with good olive oil, prosciutto, brie and whatever else is hanging around. We have some liverwurst spread similar to pâté, which I think will be delicious. Red wine. If all I ever do is make baguettes for Dale, he will die a happy man.

Speaking of red wine, I believe we’ll be taking a drive out to one of our favorite wineries today. Around here, you can join a wine club at any of the wineries. While it varies from winery to winery, at this one, we’re obligated to buy three bottles per quarter and get free tastings anytime we want.

Normally, it’s a lovely place to hang out, but we’re not tasting until I don’t know when – when we see some sort of sign this virus has mostly passed. But it’s an interesting drive, and we have a pick-up ready. Usually they have other sales going on, and the rack is quickly slowly diminishing, so we might purchase additional bottles. Members get a nice discount.

Local wineries are one of my favorite things about living in California, and I am looking forward to the full experience sometime in the not-too-distant future.

Now that the weather is cooling, I’m thinking about all my favorite fall foods. And Thanksgiving, of course. Last year I made pumpkin cheesecake for dessert, and it was absolutely wunderbar. I froze individual pieces.

The cheesecake resuscitated quite well but didn’t last long due to my persistent overindulgence. Those little big slices were like a gun to my head. Why, yes, I want to make it again. But Dale loves apple pie, so I’m torn.

However, I made another deal with him that might get me off the hook for apple pie. I’m not much of a Christmas person and usually complain bitterly the whole time about what a pain in the ass it is. I find the tree to be mostly a nuisance, but Dale loves it. We do have lots of handmade German ornaments that are quite precious, but still, I prefer to see them tucked away in the garage.

Perhaps it’s a touch of cat mask fever or maybe a pre-Christmas miracle, but I said this has been one hell of a shitty year. Who knows what will happen next? We’re not getting any younger. If a tree makes you happy, I’m all in. I’ll help, I’ll be happy and won’t complain. That’s why God invented single malt Scotch.

Anyway, it wouldn’t be all that different from work, where I used to pretend to enjoy all the team-building activities, including one where a high-priced consultant asked a colleague to get on the floor and bark like a dog. A friend and mentor advised me once to think of it as an out-of-body experience, and that mostly worked for me.

Except Dale is my team in real life, and supporting his happiness is part of the deal. It will be fun. Besides, I’m thinking Jolly Christmas Donna is a fair trade for pumpkin cheesecake.

Marriage … it’s all about leverage compromise.

Work of a different sort

A couple of months ago, I wrote I would be changing the tagline of my blog, which was, “Aging badass with health, happiness and cannabis.”

I realize you aren’t breathless with anticipation about such routine blog matters, but your bookmarks might look funny as I work through the changes.

As my retirement journey evolves, I don’t think badass describes me well, unlike The Widow Badass, who definitely owns it and wins the prize for best blog name ever. And then there’s cannabis. I like it and continue to use it recreationally and medicinally but not as much as I expected. It doesn’t seem worthy of such prominent placement.

I’ve come to embrace the term slacker, as in a person who avoids work. Because I am definitely done with that pesky job thing. I changed the tagline to read, “The continuing adventures of a full-time slacker.” 

Sounded great to me, but as I started to share the news with you, I looked up the definition, which described people who shirk obligation, particularly military service. Well, that would not be me! Perhaps I am being too literal, but I deleted that tagline and left the space blank. Is blank best?

As for retirement, I seem to have landed in a happy place devoid of ambition. I do what needs to be done around the house and that sort of thing, but the rest of my energy is focused on activities that give me pleasure. I see myself as the face of resistance to over-engineering retirement, which isn’t a contest to see who accomplishes the most.

In retirement, there are no performance reviews.

I updated my About Me profile to read:

My full-time job is to take care of myself, be kind to others, enjoy simple pleasures and indulge in creative pursuits. I like to play golf, walk, swim, cook, read, write, watch TV, listen to music, make art and grow cannabis.

That pretty much sums it up. Maybe I don’t need a tagline. I would love to hear your thoughts, if you should be so inclined.

THE PANDEMIC PRESIDENT

Like everyone else, I woke up to news that the president and his wife tested positive for COVID-19. I seriously hope this gives them some perspective on the pandemic … that maybe science is real? Maybe setting a positive example would be good for America? The other option is that he’ll only have mild symptoms and come back claiming he was right – no worse than a cold.

Whatever. He has been irresponsible, and now here we are.

Pizza!

Dale makes pizza almost every Friday. He makes the dough on Thursday and lets it rise in the refrigerator overnight. Tonight’s is one of my all-time favorites. It’s a white pizza with bechamel sauce made with parmesan cheese. That goes on the bottom, and then he tops it with mozzarella, smoked gouda, red onions, capers and smoked salmon.

We were going through the grocery list, and I said be sure to check the milk because you’ll need it for the bechamel. A few minutes later, he said, “Oh, and I’d better check the milk.”

I just said that.

No, you didn’t.

Yard work

We finished cleaning up the backyard without killing each other. It’s not going to win a yard beautiful contest, but it looks clean and well-maintained. Our unlimited yard waste day is next week, and we have 17 bags ready to go! There are some areas with small stones that have thinned out, so when the bags are gone, we’ll add more stones.

Then we’ll be pretty much done. There are bare spots in the beds along the fence line that could use plants, but now we can take our time and deal with that as the mood strikes us.

Oh, and we may replace the pavers. As for ongoing maintenance, we have a small patch of grass I usually mow with a push mower. It takes less than 10 minutes. An occasional blow and some spot trimming, and the yard becomes quite manageable.

Now the backyard looks good and the air quality is bad, so we’re not spending any time out there, but the smoke is supposed to clear soon. Fall is my favorite season, and it looks like we’re headed for some lovely weather.

I was grumbling about all the labor involved with this yard project, but it occurred to me I would rather take care of our home than hold down a regular job. I’d rather clean my house than work so I can pay someone else to clean my house.

Even though I fared quite well in the business world, I’ve always been somewhat contemptuous of the whole scene.

What does this button do?

My latest pallet scrap makeover.

Feeling stuck? Ask yourself, “What does this button do?”

One of the joys of retirement is the freedom to do whatever the hell you want. You might not know where you’re going, but you have time to wander aimlessly and see where the road takes you. Lately, I find myself turning into that funky side street looking for more, although there are days I’m happy with a quiet hollow where I can hunker down for a spell.

The beauty of retirement is that it’s all possible. When I was working, I restricted my range of experiences because time was limited, and my dance card was full. I still have plenty to keep me entertained and want no part of real work, but now l feel like a curious kid at the control panel asking, “What does this button do?”

For example, I wanted to try my hand at something artistic. I had never even been tempted by visual arts, but I thought, well, it’s now or never. I can’t draw or paint, but maybe I can do something else artsy, and it might be good for me.

I piddled around with stuff that didn’t stick, until I spotted pallet scraps headed for the trash and began to wonder what I could do with them. I bought a cheap woodburning tool and began to experiment with doodle-like designs. Because, seriously, I can’t draw. Next thing you know I’m adding color, and now they look kind of cool.

You may have noticed most of my hobbies are activity-based. Things I like to do. A skill, a game, a task. But what about things I’d like to know?

Surely, in all my journals, I’ve made a list of things that interest me. But, nooooooo. My lists are about things I like to do or things I’m good at. Yesterday, I created a new list, “Things That Interest Me.” I started with the usual suspects. Golf, cooking. Another list of activities. Caught in my own trap!

Perhaps a better list would be, “What Do I Like to Read About?” That’s a very different list. I love to play golf, but read about it? Not so much. Cooking, yes, I love to read about food and cooking. I like to grow cannabis, but I only want to read enough to produce a healthy crop. I have no real passion for the details of gardening.

I read a lot of crime fiction, and I actually do like to read about crime fiction as a genre, but in terms of nonfiction, most of my knowledge on any single topic is superficial. I know a little about a lot.

It would seem my intellectual curiosity has limits. That has certainly been the pattern, although I do see signs of progress. I attribute this to retirement. I just hit the three-year mark, and I’m getting used to having extra room in my brain. And right now, I’m excited by the prospect of taking a deeper dive into something that intrigues me. But what?

While I haven’t found that ONE BIG THING, I have an emerging interest in Tejano music. And that materialized by asking, “What does this button do?” I heard some music, I liked it, I went looking for more, I found new artists, new sounds and just kept pushing the button as the story of this music unfolded before me.

Sometimes I get excited about things, and then my interest fizzles. I’m eager to see how far I’ll go this time around. Tejano music might stick, because I like to listen to it while I work on my art, so there’s a synergistic effect.

Aside from using synergistic in a sentence, I’m actually tapping into my old work skills and starting a Tejano music spreadsheet to organize bits and pieces of information I’ve picked up along the way.

But no PowerPoint presentations. That’s a bridge too far.

Sleep medicine

I haven’t been sleeping well, but it’s looking like all I needed was a medicinal dose of Trump’s tax returns. After the big reveal in the New York Times yesterday, I got mad, but then I got happy, and then I went to bed and slept like a rock.

As Gloria Steinem said, “The truth will set you free. But first it will piss you off.”

We celebrated truth and potentially justice this morning with Dale’s amazing breakfast sandwiches: pan-seared sausage patties with melted cheddar cheese on toasted English muffins. I like a little Dijon mustard on mine. Dale goes for the yellow.

Just so you know, Dale did ask first if I was up for these tasty treats, because on occasion I have accused him of trying to kill me. But that’s all in the past. You know, those dark days when clean arteries were a higher priority. Today, there was no hesitation in my response, which was, hell, yes.  

The patties were sizzling when I noticed the trash smelled funny, so I said I’d take it out. Dale said, oh, no, that’s OK, I’ll get it. I’m like, not a problem. Happy to do it. I took out the stinky trash, and he put in a clean bag.

More coffee?

Please!

Your breakfast is ready!

Thank you!

Here, you can have the front section of the newspaper.

Oh, look, more about those pesky taxes.

You look cute this morning …

Maybe I slept so long I woke up in the wrong household. This place is peaceful. The people are rested and happy. Optimistic. Is this what life could be like in the future?

I have blamed the news for keeping me up at night, but in this case, a bit of investigative journalism was the best sleep medicine I’ve had since, oh, I don’t know. 2016? November, I think.

A dissent against yard work

Off for a round of golf wearing my dissent collar.

I was lying in bed this morning. Smoke from the fires has dissipated for the time being, so the window was open, and the air felt cool. For a minute, maybe less, it felt normal. Like none of this had happened. A normal summer sliding into fall. No pandemic, no fires, no civic unrest, no one encroaching on anyone’s right to live in peace.

A normal election year. Two reasonably sane people running against each other without undue malice. You pick one or the other, but your choice is not an existential threat.

Cozy in bed and feeling happy. What if I just stayed there?

But I got up to read yesterday’s news, which we pay to have dropped on our driveway every morning. We saw the news about RBG, and we’re feeling very sad. I have to distance myself from the shenanigans involving her replacement. Maybe a third justice will be the last thing Mitch McConnell has to deliver for the Dark Lord before shuffling back to hell, where he belongs.

I got a cup of coffee and began to read. Dale had the section with weather. In a bright perky voice not common in our house anymore, he said, “The fire danger map looks good!”

You know what they say in golf. If someone gives you a putt, take it. I mean, if that’s all there is … I’m clinging to the image of a shrinking fire danger map. And the sound of Dale’s happy voice.

In other upbeat news, I ordered a hot-shit woodburning tool, as mine was merely adequate. My chronically weak wrists were starting to hurt, and I read a better tool with higher temperatures is much easier to manage. Plus, I think you get cleaner lines.

There were several high-quality products to consider, but I went with the Burnmaster. With a name like that, what choice did I have?

I started to do a whole post about yard work, but I didn’t want to dwell on the disparity among workers in our household. We were going to throw some money at it but decided to clean up the yard ourselves. While some of us worked like an animal, others preferred to put on clean shirt and water the basil.

There was an ugly incident in which the less motivated person was shamed into doing his part … sort of a mini performance improvement plan. I am now comfortable with our progress, as well as the participation level. He pruned the Sago palms, which is not an easy job.

My counterpart hard job was to attack the giant overgrown rosemary plant, which I call Rosemary’s Baby.

It looks like it’s actually the neighbor’s plant poking through our fence.
Just a fraction of the debris from Rosemary’s Baby.

I don’t know what I’m doing, so I just started treating it like some sort of delicate Bonsai and went after it with pruning shears. I barely put a dent in it and gave up for the day. When I went in the garage, I saw a tool I’d never seen before.

Well, hello! Who are you?

Dale said it was a chain saw. Really. How long have we had that? Forever. Does it work? Yes. Would it work on Rosemary’s Baby? Probably. And you didn’t think to suggest this?

I know what you’re thinking, as in, you don’t know what a chain saw looks like? Hey, I was busy earning a living, writing drivel for very important corporate bobbleheads, thank you very much. My brain was full.

Anyway, just call me Dances with Chainsaw. I love that thing! I’m almost done with Rosemary’s Baby, and now that I’m almost down to stubs, it looks as though it’s not even our plant. There are no roots on our side – just thick branches breaking through the fence.

I guess I’m OK with that. Psychologically, I’m done. This is the last time I am cleaning up the yard. In the future, money will be thrown. I don’t mind a little mow and blow, but I prefer to save my wrists for fun retirement hobbies.

Which is why the rosemary debris is sitting idly today while I go and play golf. My personal tribute to RBG and perhaps a dissent against yard work.

May she rest in peace.