Post-Thanksgiving cooking fiesta

Homemade marshmallows dipped in chocolate.

It’s the post-Thanksgiving cooking fiesta at our house. I made marshmallows and got them all shipped off today. There were a few left over, so I decided to dip them in chocolate. The dipped version wouldn’t survive the trip to parts unknown, so I don’t want to hear any complaints if you were on my mailing list.

However, if you’re hankering for chocolate, I melted some chocolate chips in a small pan and added just enough cream to loosen it up a little. Dip and done.

For the turkey, we had cold turkey sandwiches and hot turkey sandwiches with gravy. Dale froze one whole breast and trimmed up the rest of the meat, which we’ll use in soup and some sort of casserole. Some of the options are turkey enchiladas, turkey pot pie and turkey divan.

I made stock out of the turkey carcass this morning. Tonight is Comfort Food Tuesday, so we’ll skip turkey tonight and have burritos or chimichangas from Dale’s homemade refried beans. This last batch was made from black beans. He sometimes uses pintos. I like them both!

While we do use canned beans for some dishes, we mostly start with dry beans and cook them in the Instant Pot.

Dale also made a salsa from his homegrown Trinidad scorpion peppers. They are among the hottest peppers on the planet, as measured by Scoville Heat Units. As a point of reference, jalapeños have 2,500 to 8,000 SHU’s. The heat level varies considerably from pepper to pepper.

Trinidad scorpions, depending on which variety, register from 1 to 2 million. As in, kids don’t try this at home. The first time I tasted Dale’s salsa made with these peppers, I sat on the stairs and cried. He has since learned a little goes a long way, and now I actually love it.

That means I’ll make soup tomorrow. It has carrots, celery, mushrooms, turkey and barley. I have this one little trick that makes the soup especially delicious. When I’m straining the stock, I save some of the meat and the cooked vegetables and then whiz it up into a paste in the food processor. We call it the flavor bomb, and I add a couple of spoonful’s to the soup.

I’ll make blue corn muffins to go with the soup. We got hooked on blue corn anything while visiting New Mexico, which in my opinion, has the best Mexican food in the U.S. Blue corn can be hard to find, but it’s worth the trouble. I purchase blue cornmeal for muffins and blue corn masa for tortillas on Amazon.

Stupidity gone wild

The virus is getting bad around here. It seems lots of people are getting together for big social events, and it will probably get worse in the weeks to come. We’re super-cautious to begin with, but we had a serious conversation about whether we need any course corrections.

We’re still going to the grocery store. We don’t do “big” shopping, and that may work to our advantage. One or both of us will shop for just a few things and get in and out quickly. Masks, hand san, social distancing.

My sister and many others wipe down the groceries or even quarantine non-perishables in the garage. I mean, you gotta do what feels right for you, but everything I’ve read says that’s not necessary. Just wash your hands again after you put the groceries away.

Even though I believe my swim protocol is safe, it’s one less place I need to go, so for now, no swimming. I’m still golfing and continuing to be very, very careful. I decided not to play in the women’s group until things improve, mostly because that’s the only time so many women are on the course. We hit from the same tees, so you have be careful your playing partners don’t get too close. And then all those women using the restroom …

I went out yesterday as a single and played with some men, which makes it easier as far as tees and restrooms go. I overheard them complaining to the starter about me joining them. Spoiler alert: unless it’s your own private course, that’s how it works.

For revenge, I outdrove them, birdied the first hole and then had a string of pars. They were pretty nice after that.

New slippers

Finally, with all this staying home, I decided to upgrade my slippers, or as Dale calls them, garden shoes. I never go barefoot and wear Crocs or Birkenstocks around the house. A stiff shoe is good for my back and knees.

I’m one of those people who buys everything in black, but I decided to cut loose this time. I don’t know if it’s retirement or the pandemic or what, but I bought pink fur-lined Crocs, and I love them!!

It’s funny how a small thing like fuzzy pink slippers can lift your spirits.

Betrayed by pie

I don’t know why apple pie has to be so hard. Soggy bottom crust, mushy apples, unnecessary feedback from your spousal unit. It’s one betrayal after another.

This year, I dug out a recipe from the Cook’s Illustrated site, which I subscribe to. Classic Apple Pie. I was tempted to use a different crust but decided to follow the recipe exactly. Because I’m a rules-follower. I’m not always rewarded for such allegiance, but that’s how I roll.

Their recipe called for a mix of Granny Smith and McIntosh apples. I knew the McIntosh would be hard to find, so I read through the comments and saw Pink Lady or Jonagold would be good substitutes. I used Pink Lady. I hate apple pie that has the consistency of apple sauce, so getting that part right was important.

At least it was to me.

The dough was a little dry and difficult to work with. I had to patch it in places, and it was too thick in some areas, but I couldn’t get it to roll out any thinner without cracks. I will say the pie cooked beautifully and looked perfect. However, I have experience with soap opera apple pie – the bad and the beautiful – so I assumed nothing.

Dinner was exceptional. The turkey was crisp on the outside and juicy in the middle, the stuffing was savory with crusty bits and the creamy mashed potatoes were like pillows waiting to be kissed with succulent gravy love. OK, that was a little over the top, but it was damned good. We shared a bottle of Pinot Noir.

We should have just stopped there and skipped dessert. But noooooo. There would be pie.

The texture of the apples was perfect and the seasoning was divine, but the crust was unevenly cooked, and Dale said the flavor wasn’t as good as my regular crust. I focused on the positives and raved about the consistency of the apples, when Dale said it didn’t matter to him. It could be applesauce, as long as the crust was good.

WRONG ANSWER.

Why am I busting my ass finding the perfect recipe if all I have to do is scoop out some apple sauce and throw a slab of crust on top? I was in kind of a snit when I went to bed. That’s why I woke up early ruminating about what went wrong with the apple pie.

Lying there in bed, I decided first to cancel my Cook’s Illustrated subscription. Fuck them. They think they’re so smart. Then I decided I’d go back to Ina Garten’s recipe for apple crostata, except I’d use this Cook’s Illustrated filling and a different crust recipe. And I’d probably have to adjust the cooking time. I planned to spend my day gathering all the recipes and creating a new one.

Then we got up and settled in for breakfast. Honestly, I was still full, so I just started with coffee. Dale went for the apple pie. I’m like, you don’t have to eat that. You’re under no obligation. I’m prepared to toss it. And then I couldn’t stop myself. It just came out.

If you prefer, I’ll just find you some apple sauce and throw a little crust on top.

Well, in terms of responses, that was not my best choice. All he said was, “Just stop it.”

Still, I was kind of happy thinking about what it would look like as it got sucked into the garbage disposal while I watched Dale gobble it up like it was his last meal. Because I was thinking, it could well be.

He practically licked the plate and then looked up and said, “I’m not sucking up to you, but that pie was absolutely delicious.”

What? I cut myself a small piece. Just a sliver, because I see more gravy in my future. But he was right. While the crust was still a bit unevenly cooked, most of it was crisp, crumbly and yummy. Perhaps everything tastes better when you don’t eat like you’ll be visiting the vomitorium later.

I’m not canceling my subscription to Cook’s Illustrated. They are fine people, and I’m sorry I said those bad things about them. I made notes to the recipe, which I will make again, but I’ll tinker with the pastry dough or use my other go-to crust recipe.

And so another Thanksgiving comes to a close. Even after three years of being retired, it still feels like a four-day weekend. I’m looking forward to lots of leftovers. Perhaps even another piece of pie.

Roadkill pizza & home haircuts

Preparing to snip off the ends of my hair using the patented pigtail technique.

I started to get in a funk this week. The pandemic. Trump. Just the weight of it all taking a toll, and I say that as someone who has it pretty damn easy. Do you suppose there’s a sleeping pill I can take tonight and wake up Jan. 20?

My remedy was to make another donation to the food bank and just get on with life. The whole simple pleasures thing. One good laugh, and I’m OK. Thankfully, Dale delivered.

He came back from a run and said there was a pizza box by someone’s trash with leftover pizza hanging out the side. He said it was kind of gross smashed up on the street and missing a couple of bites, but then he added, “You know, it still looked good.”

I don’t know. I find it highly amusing to think pizza still looks good even when it’s essentially road kill. Fortunately, I have a personal pizza chef. Tonight’s is what we call Punishment Pizza. Shrimp, goat cheese, Kalamata olives, basil and habanero peppers.

Other highlights from the week:

  • Finished watching River on Amazon Prime. Wow. Part moody cop drama and part otherworldly romance. Oh, and there’s an old disco song you will never get out of your brain. I’ve re-watched the last episode several times just for the dance scene with Stellan Skarsgård and Nicola Walker.
  • Validated my hypothesis that pumpkin cheesecake is good for breakfast. And then I tested it again just to be sure.
  • Splurged on another pair of “yoga” pants. At 65, I need some structure. My favorites are the Headlands Hybrid Cargo Tight from Athleta. At $108, they are not cheap, but these pants are durable, comfortable, versatile and flattering.
  • For a brief moment, I missed the feeling of being good at my job. Then I remembered the executive who had a temper tantrum when the company began to promote work-life balance. He said work was life and didn’t require balance. I realized I’m actually pretty good at retirement.
  • Decided to hoard my woodburning art creations as some sort of primitive documentation that I was here. Like etchings from the pandemic cave.
  • Cut my hair using the patented pigtail technique. I don’t think I’m losing abnormal amounts of hair, but I cleaned the bathroom today, and it’s like King Kong shaved in there. I have entertained the idea of buzzing it all off.

Waiting for marshmallows

A snip from my reading spreadsheet.

New covid restrictions

Our county was among most in California that got bumped back down to the strictest tier of COVID restrictions. I go four places – the golf course, the grocery store, the library and the outdoor swimming pool at my health club.

I believe the library will have to close, but I can still get curb-side pick-up and digital books. The health club can no longer have indoor activities, and I would be surprised if they keep the pool open. Perhaps no swimming for me.

All in all – no big deal. We are prepared to ride this out. As social misfits, it seems like we were born to hunker down. Even before the pandemic, I’d freak if the doorbell rang. Who could that be? What do they want?

The governor is also thinking about a curfew. As in maybe shutting everything down by 10 p.m. OK by me. I forgot people stayed out that late. And I’ve long maintained nothing good happens after midnight.

Just so you know, I am an equal opportunity critic. Governor Newsom went to a dinner party at the famous Napa restaurant, The French Laundry. Aside from the ridiculous cost when people in the state he represents are suffering and dying, and normal restaurants can’t survive, people from several different households attended the dinner. It was outdoors, so he thought it was OK.

Seriously. He should know better. I like the guy and overall, I think he’s doing a good job, but that was just plain dumb. To his credit, he apologized, which is something his critics in Washington can’t seem to manage. I can forgive someone who makes a mistake and admits it.

I think a lot about why people can’t band together and do what it takes to control the spread of this virus. I’ve concluded some people are just stupid or arrogant, and others lack the discipline to stay the course.

Remember the marshmallow test? Social science researchers put a marshmallow in front of a child and said she could have a second one – but only if she can last 15 minutes without eating the first one. The kids who can hold out for double the payout presumably have the willpower to do well in school, work and life.

Somewhere along the line, it seems we ended up with a boatload of people who can’t wait for the second marshmallow. And here we are.

Comfort Food

That’s why God invented comfort food. I’ve been making a list of our favorite decadent dishes we hope to make over the next several months. Of course, we don’t eat like this every night.

  • Stuffed Cabbage – cabbage rolls stuffed with ground meat (we use bison) and rice and simmered for hours in a hearty tomato sauce. Served with dark rye bread and European butter.
  • Transylvanian Layered Cabbage – a casserole with layers of sauerkraut, rice, sour cream and a mixture of ground pork, diced bacon and thin-sliced smoked sausage that has been well-browned. Served with dark rye bread and European butter.
  • Venison Meatloaf – a retro meatloaf made in a ring mold. Seasoned with onion soup mix, topped with a tangy ketchup-brown sugar sauce and smothered with melted jack cheese. Accompanied by wide egg noodles in a thick poppy seed-sour cream sauce.
  • Roast Duck – duckling roasted crisp in the oven with a slightly sweet orange sauce. Maybe some wild rice and a veggie to go with, but it’s all about the duck.
  • Beef Stroganoff – thin slices of beef tenderloin browned with sautéed mushrooms in a sour cream-shallot sauce. Served over wide egg noodles.
  • Porchetta Tarts – individual free-form tarts in a pastry crust filled with a pork-pancetta mixture, seasoned with fennel and sage and served with sage-butter sauce.

non-edible entertainment

As for entertainment you can’t eat, I’m back on the Department Q series by Jussi Adler-Olsen. For some reason, I had a hard time getting started with The Marco Effect, which is fifth in the series. I’ve checked it out three times and never read it, finally going back one more time. And it turned out to be my favorite so far. I think it was election stress that kept me from focusing.

All of the sudden I’m a fan of British crime shows. I started with Unforgotten, free on Amazon Prime. I absolutely adore Nicola Walker as DCI Cassie Stuart leading the department that investigates cold cases. The show is less about violence and more about how crime affects people’s lives.

I’m just starting River, which is on Netflix and also features Nicola Walker. Amazon has a bunch more British crime shows, but most of them are not on Prime. BritBox would be another option, but I don’t want another subscription at this time. We’ll see how long that lasts!

Flat Earthers take cover

Riley, who has been on lockdown for five years. He believes in the science of being cozy.

I’ve been trying not to think about the state of the union, but that might prove to be impossible. Just as I breathed a huge sigh of relief when Joe Biden won the election, Trump and his cronies dug in deeper to spread misinformation about election security, and the man himself refuses to accept he lost. Oh, and purging non-loyalists, denying access to transition resources.

The list goes on, and all of it concerns me, a retired 65-year-old military veteran and non-radical citizen who just wants decent people representing us. Yes, I care about specific policies and lean left, but I’m OK with a diverse selection of elected officials as long as they are not amoral sociopaths. I’m looking at you, Donnie.

As I stewed over this train wreck of politics, it occurred to me I am trying too hard to look the other way. I’m getting better at intellectual distancing – in that I can think about the mess we’re in and not internalize it too much – and I believe it’s a sign I can absolutely pay attention and share my observations from time to time without going nuts inside.

Just because we’re getting older doesn’t mean we have to disappear quietly into that good night. There’s a lot to talk about … and plenty of room left for art, reading, golf, outdoors, cooking and all the other fun stuff that makes for a happy retirement! I very much appreciate your readership and hope you enjoy the balance of topics.

I wonder (not worry) about what’s next. I already feel better knowing Joe Biden will be our next president. We have a ton of social, medical and financial challenges, but the flat Earthers will have to take cover when science matters again, and we’ll have four years to see if we can turn this ship around.

It will not be easy. I miss pre-Trump Republicans. Some of them might have looked beyond their own agenda to do what’s right for America and her allies. Now I wonder how Trump’s sycophants will fare once the ex-president has faded from the scene.

People like Bill Barr, Lindsey Graham and Mitch McConnell – they sold their souls. But perhaps there are others who will see the light once Trump isn’t looming over them like the grim reaper.

Call me crazy, but I’m feeling optimistic about the future.

Dessert rules

Flash-freezing individual pieces of pumpkin cheesecake before sealing up for storage.

Retirement Dreams

I’ve had weird retirement dreams lately. Most are variations of the same basic theme. I’m working at my old job but wondering why there isn’t more money in my bank account. Did they forget to pay me? Then I realize I wasn’t working at all and haven’t had a job in three years. I wake up happy.

The others involve business travel. Packing, unpacking, getting to the airport, hauling luggage, missing flights, attending conferences, team-building. More of a nightmare than a dream.

Trust but verify

The weather has turned cold by California standards – and I’m going through my annual period of shock. I’ve maintained membership at the health club, where there are two large outdoor pools for swimming laps. I don’t use the locker room and have a swim poncho to cover up while I slip out of my wet swimsuit. All in all, pretty low COVID risk.

Last year, the “family” pool was heated to about 85 degrees in the colder months. The main lap pool is 78 degrees year-round. I loved the warmer pool and kept up with my swimming all winter. I wear a thermal swim shirt even in the warmer pool.  

I noticed the family pool didn’t seem as warm over the past several weeks, but then it was still somewhat hot outside. I figured they are trying to save money since membership is down. Or maybe it’s just a little early to crank up the heat. I filled out a form inquiring about the temperature. Someone called me and said they would be heating it as per usual.

Although I wanted to trust, I also wanted to verify. Last week I swam twice, and it was barely warm enough for me. Now that it’s officially cold outside, I expect warm water. If they were going to raise the temperature of the pool, I figured it would take a few days, so I’ve been waiting. Yesterday was the test.

I am such a heat whore, and I knew the water would probably feel cool to me no matter what. But I also knew I could swim comfortably if it registered somewhere in the 80s. I packed my Thermapen!

The instant read thermometer was in the pocket of my poncho, and I walked to the edge of the pool. Dipped the Thermapen in, and got my read … 84 degrees! I had a great swim and look forward to continuing throughout the winter.

Dessert rules

Thanksgiving, as per usual, will be just the three of us – Me, Dale and Riley, our cat. Riley doesn’t like people food except for melted butter and tuna juice, so he’s easy. The main meal is consistent from year to year. Roast turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, broccoli or green beans, cranberry sauce.

Dessert has fewer rules. But I make the rules, so it’s all good.

Last year, I made pumpkin cheesecake, and it was the bomb. Dale liked it a lot, but he prefers apple pie. I wanted pumpkin cheesecake again, but apple pie sounds particularly good for some reason. Then there’s that whole thing about making Dale happy.

It has been a tough year, so I’m going all-out indulgent. We will have both … because dessert rules!

Individual pieces of cheesecake freeze well, so I’ll make it next week and save those yummy treats for later. I should be embarrassed to share this, but pumpkin cheesecake is delicious for breakfast. Pie is less freezer-worthy, so that will be our dessert on Thanksgiving.

I always fret about which apples to use. Cook’s Illustrated likes a mix of Granny Smith and either McIntosh, Jonagold or Pink Lady. A lot of it depends on where you live and what’s available.

when chores go bad

I’ve been such a slug lately and decided yesterday to take care of a long-neglected chore. We had a small pile of broken appliances otherwise known as e-waste. A recycling station not far from our house accepts e-waste for free.

After loading up the car, I accidentally pushed the wrong button on the garage door opener. It’s a 3-car garage, and we use that smaller side for storage. Lots of stuff is propped up against the door, and when I pushed that button, everything went to shit.

I had to shove it all back in to get the door even partially closed. Then I headed off for the recycling center, where they informed me their e-waste bins were full. Might I want to head up the road a few miles for the recycling station in the next town over?

Sure. Upon arrival, I was informed their e-waste recycling bins were full. Then my head exploded. Then I came home to the big mess I made prior to leaving. I cleaned all that up and unloaded my e-waste from the car, making a tidy little pile on the floor.

No good deed goes unpunished.   

No malarkey

What a relief to see Joe Biden elected president. And as one of the late night comedians said, what a year this week has been. I guess it was last week, but you know what I mean.

I like to think things are not quite as random as we suppose. Joe didn’t get the job in earlier years, because it was not his job. The universe was saving him for when we needed him the most. This time the doors opened.

I’ve had a lot of songs on the election results playlist that runs through my head. Among them:

  • When You Wish Upon a Star – Jiminy Cricket
  • Save The Best for Last – Vanessa Williams
  • A Change is Gonna Come – Sam Cooke
  • Waiting for the Miracle – Leonard Cohen
  • At Last – Etta James
  • Philadelphia Freedom – Elton John
  • Everyday People – Sly and the Family Stone

Any favorites on your list? By the way, I’m advocating Bruce Springsteen for the inauguration.

Our country is still a hot mess. But I am hoping someone sane and moral at the helm will drive positive change. Although I lean liberal, I don’t favor extremists of any persuasion. I’m thinking Joe can steer us toward sensible middle ground. There will be disagreements galore, but at least we won’t have all that hateful rhetoric spewing daily. No malarkey!

I NEVER watch political speeches, but I caved and watched Joe and Kamala. I cried. I do believe they are the right team for the right time. I loved how he said he would be president to all, not just his supporters. That always drove me nuts about Trump – only speaking to his base, as though he wasn’t president of the entire United States.

Is it too much to hope both sides will come together and give our country another run at democracy? That somehow Joe can help all of us embrace cooperation over divisiveness?

Dale and I had a lengthy debate discussion on how to pronounce Kamala’s name. It’s comma-la. Dale, as always, disputed my authority, and I had to produce reference material. Then he suggested my sources were not credible, so I finally had to find a video of Kamala saying her own name!

It’s not easy being us.

I still want to practice my intellectual distancing. Some of the more left-wing critics suggest the Biden win will let people like me “go back to brunch.” I’m not going to stop caring and doing what I can to help our country, but I do look forward to waking up everyday without this great existential fear about what Trump and his cronies have done while I was sleeping.

As for him, the reaction is pretty much what I expected. Earlier in the year, I had a vision it would be like the Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy accidentally spills water on the Wicked Witch of the West.

Look what you’ve done!! I’m melting, melting.

Ohhhhh, what a world, what a world. Who would have thought that some little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness.

Joy-makers

Intellectual distancing

As I write this, results of the U.S. election are still not known and may not be for days, possibly weeks? But I will say this. No matter who ultimately wins, lots of Americans still think Trump is an OK guy, and I think that’s a sign I need to stop paying so much attention to politics. I’m not going to waste my happiness capital on something I don’t understand and can’t control.

I’ll still make an effort to stay informed about what’s going on in the world, but I’m going to practice intellectual distancing. Why not? I’ve already nailed social distancing.

The rhetoric will read to me as blah, blah, blah, and then I will move onto something else. I’m done reading about anything Trump says or does. Although I’d like to see him exit the way they did it at work when someone’s bad behaviors finally caught up with them – escorted out of the building carrying a single box of their belongings.

Although I’m not much of an activist, if a crisis or cause should need my help, I’m there. What I need to do is cut off my emotional attachment to the outcome. In other words, you do what you can. Sometimes things go your way and sometimes they don’t. But keep your joy flowing. Maybe serious activists already know this. They are probably masters are compartmentalizing.

Joy-Makers

In spite of everything, there is much joy to be had, especially in retirement, which I consider life’s grand gift. It’s that whole simple pleasures thing. I haven’t been anywhere other than a golf course or the grocery store since March, but it’s not all bad.

I’ve been golfing a long time, but who knew it would turn out to be a great pandemic activity? Golf has been a joy-maker for me. Somehow the pandemic helped me with my mental game. I’m not easily frustrated anymore and just enjoy the challenges.

After a day out playing golf, I so look forward to a day at home with Dale. Breakfast, coffee, a few chores. Dinner – always our favorite subject. Last night, he outdid himself. Cordon Bleu, which are pockets of pounded-out veal stuffed with ham and cheese and then breaded and pan fried. Homemade French fries and a salad. A crisp Riesling to go with. I’m gonna have to do my long walk today just to feel moral again.

Dale made a batch of kimchi, and it’s ready to eat after fermenting for about a week. We like kimchi fried rice with a runny fried egg on top.

I made a batch of scones in my new scone pan. They came out beautifully, but the scones needed a lot more cooking time to get browned on the bottom and evenly cooked. I’ve made some notes to the recipe, so hopefully, it will be easier next time.

In the old days, I thought cookbooks were sacrosanct. You didn’t deface them with your primitive scribbles. Now I scrawl all over them, because otherwise you can’t keep track of changes you’ve made to the recipes. My notes have saved many a dinner.

Another joy-maker is my woodburning art. I still have no idea where all these little treasures will end up, but I do love making them. And I continue to learn – not only about art but about myself as well. For example, I started a project using one of the darker pieces of wood. I wanted some boldness to play against the dark and started with sort of an abstract tree-shaped thing with big splotches of black and white.

I was loving it, when Dale walked by and said, “Oh, a cow.” That was the last thing I was trying to convey. So, I started to de-cow it by adding additional colors, and I ruined it. Although I wasn’t mad at Dale, I was mad at myself and threw the damned thing away.

But then it occurred to me I let someone else’s opinion shape my vision. For me, it’s hard, but you’ve got to trust yourself. My next piece will definitely have some cow-like pattern.

This last piece of art was hard because I was coming off my big cow mistake, and I didn’t want to screw it up. Plus, the wood was quite damaged and hard to work with. I was facing the dreaded dealing-with-imperfection crisis, when I remembered – that’s the whole point of burning and coloring messed up wood. It’s already messed up! Anything I do to it makes it different and interesting.

Messed up but different and interesting. If that’s all anyone ever said about me, I’d be happy.

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.