Phases of retirement

A pallet scrap burned and colored. I like the coppery tones.
A darker piece of pallet scrap burned and colored. A little moodier, perhaps?

Optometrist

I went to the optometrist. Although I’m glad I went, it was the most uncomfortable I’ve felt in months.

My appointment was the first of the day. Masks required. Someone came outside and took my temperature with one of those remote gun-things. He asked me questions about fever, cough, etc. I passed the first test.

I was invited in and directed to wash my hands at a sink down the hallway. I did that. Then all the testing began. I signed up for two extra tests not covered by insurance, because I have weird things in my eyes (drusen) that could morph into macular degeneration at some point.

The doctor was thorough and made a small change to the progressive part of my prescription. She was reviewing test results from the fancy machines and wanted one of the images redone. I had to go back to another room, and at one point, it was me and three employees.

Other than Dale, it was the closest I’ve been to anyone since this whole business started, and I found myself trying to crawl into the wall. I didn’t say anything, mostly because it was over quick.

Then I went out into the optical area, where I was still the only patient allowed inside. I wanted my sunglasses replaced exactly as is – new frames but the same brand and style, same coatings, etc. So, that was easy. The technician asked me what I wanted in new regular frames, and I said something similar to what I have now.

She took me over to a wall and explained everything I tried on would be put into a basket for disinfecting. She pulled out the first pair, and I loved them. They are perfect. It was the fastest I’ve ever picked out frames in my life!

Now it’s a waiting game. Surprise – she said orders are taking longer than normal.

Artistic Endeavors

I’m continuing my relentless pursuit of nothing much in particular. I finished two more woodburning pieces and have started adding photos to my gallery. I still don’t know what I’ll do with these creations, but there they are.

Although I’m a novice at all artistic endeavors, I put it out there for you to see partly because it helps validate my experience … as in, yes, I am really doing this. It’s not perfect, but that’s OK. I also want to show how retirement activities evolve. Sometimes it feels like anything is possible.

I splurged on fancy colored pencils. They just came yesterday, so I haven’t had a chance to try them out yet. The cheapo ones are fine for now.  

climbing mountains

On the entertainment front, I watched a movie on Amazon Prime called, “Edie.” It’s about an 83-year-old woman in England who feels she wasted her life and now wants to climb a mountain in Scotland. It made me wonder about the definition of a wasted life.

Unlike Edie, I’ve gone after almost everything I wanted in life. However, in the grand scheme of things, I haven’t accomplished much. I consider making enough money to retire my greatest achievement. And here I am approaching 65, piddling around and relishing in simple pleasures.

I guess you could say the slacker retirement model works for me … at least for now. I am the happiest I’ve been. I don’t miss my career. I enjoy how I spend my time on the planet. Of course, the go-go model is another option, but I see that as just another race, only the rats are different.

But never say never. I suspect we experience different phases throughout retirement. Three years in, I might still be in my nesting phase, but something might switch over, and I’ll wake up wanting to climb that mountain. If we’re lucky, we get to make choices along the way.

I asked Dale what he thought, and his response was so profound I immediately ran to get a piece of paper and pen to write it down, but by the time I returned, we could barely reconstruct what he said. It was something like this:

If you can do what makes you happy and help people along the way, then that is a life well-lived.

Pretty good, yes?

Cheerfulness breaking through

The woodpile.

Pandemic Golf

Although I’m not sure what’s going on, the pandemic has been good for my golf game. I broke 80 for the first time! Golf is such a head trip, so it’s hard to know what finally helped me crack the code. One big boost to my game is that I play most of my rounds on a walkable course that is just under 5,000 yards from the forward tees and considered easier than most.

I am not ashamed. You still have to get the ball in the hole.

After walking 18 holes two days in a row, I was whipped and eager for a hearty he-girl breakfast. Dale delivered with sausage and melted cheese sandwiches on my homemade English muffins. I like mine with a little Dijon mustard. Dag, those things are delicious. Good coffee, and I’m ready for anything.

No Wood is safe

The course was backed up when I played Wednesday, and I had time to partake of my surroundings between holes. When what to my wondering eyes should appear but a broken tree limb begging to be decorated with my primitive woodburning technique.

The limb was long but not thick, so I stuck it in my golf bag like a club. It’s funny, no one asked what I was doing with a tree limb in my bag. I got it home and added it to the woodpile. Nothing out there is safe from a girl with a woodburning tool.  

Sewing? Surely you jest

In another dangerous development, I’ve been thinking about buying a sewing machine. This desire is perhaps an extension of my retirement fantasy life as a Bohemian heiress who dabbles in what amuses her.

I learned to sew back in the days when it was a required course for girls in the 7th and 8th grades. My mother was an excellent seamstress, and my sister is a gifted quilter and fabric artist. I made a few things as a teenager but generally failed life’s sewing test.

I had a basic sewing machine for years to make repairs but donated it to charity a couple of moves ago. I’ve been thinking about simple things that would be fun – nothing involving zippers or button holes … aprons, masks, kimonos. I promised my sister I would not make a move until I consult with her. When it’s safe to mingle again, I was thinking I could go to her house for sewing camp!

optometrist

Tomorrow I am visiting the optometrist. I badly need new glasses. I’m nervous about it, but I like all the safety protocols they have in place. I also asked for the first appointment of the day. I had a dream I went and had to spend hours and hours there without actually having my eyes examined. They kept coming up with reasons to keep me there.

Misery of the moment

All in all, I’m trying hard not to get caught up in the misery of the moment. I read this morning Trump has finally said what some of us have been expecting for some time – perhaps we should delay the election. It will take several mojitos to process that one. But the answer is no.

So far, I’ve contributed $285 to Joe Biden’s campaign and made a $75 donation to Jaime Harrison, who is running against Lindsay Graham in South Carolina … totally worth your support, if you are so inclined. I suppose they might squeeze a bit more out of me, but I’m close to my limit. I want both of them to win, but in reality, my money probably does more good at the food bank.

Cheerfulness breaking through

Today’s kind of wide open. I need new underwear and might brave a trip to Target. Could I have imagined a day when I would say that?

Making a Walgreen’s list for next week – seniors get a 10% discount on the first Tuesday of every month. I’ll probably burn some wood. It’s hot, so if I’m going to walk, I need to get moving soon. Maybe a nap later. Thinking about dinner, of course.

It’s not all bad out here. I keep thinking about Leonard Cohen, who said, “I’ve taken a lot of Prozac, Paxil, Wellbutrin, Effexor, Ritalin, Focalin. I’ve also studied deeply in the philosophies of the religions, but cheerfulness kept breaking through.”

Cognitive tests for dummies

A sampling of our Mexican cookbooks.

Cognitive tests

I’m no fan, but I’d like to thank President Trump for talking about the results of his cognitive test. Now I know you have to count backward from 100 by 7s, and I know I must avoid taking this test or I can say bye-bye car keys. The truth is, I can’t count forward to 100 by 7s.

Let’s call it a learning disability, but I struggle with math. In school, I barely got through algebra, and geometry was next in line to feast on the remains of my carcass. High school geometry was like going to class where everyone was speaking in tongues. I remember sitting there, dizzy with confusion, thinking, “Oh, fuck.”

I got into college anyway. That’s why God invented the journalism major.

Even today, I often use my fingers for simple addition. Dale calls it the digital calculator. As for cognitive tests, he suggested I apply for an accommodation. While other people have service animals, I would ask to bring my service calculator.

Although my earlier idea for a service cat didn’t work out, I’m willing to give the calculator a try. I’m already thinking about a name. A little vest.

COVID update

The COVID-19 numbers in our county are going up. Dale and I huddled this morning to reassess our situation and discuss course corrections. After a robust discussion, we concluded we’re already being quite prudent and are not making any changes at this time. That means we will continue to go to the grocery store as needed, and I will continue to play golf.

In a lot of ways, this is easier for us, because the closest family member is several hundred miles away, and we haven’t made any close friends since we moved here when I retired. This is pretty much how we lived before the pandemic.

We decided to stock up on a few essentials – mostly paper goods – but to otherwise avoid purchasing a lot of extra food. We have two refrigerators and a well-stocked chest freezer, so we feel good about our options. We’re also flexible about what we eat – if they are out of one thing, then we’ll have something else.

Pandemic hobbies for foodies

When I think about food, I am so grateful neither one of us is a picky eater. I can’t imagine how people arrive at conclusions about common foods they will and won’t eat. But then I’m in recovery. I was picky as a child but eventually grew out of it. Although I like some liver, about the only thing I won’t eat are entrails and internal organs. Just because it grosses me out.

We cook a lot of Mexican food, so we stock a hearty supply of dried beans – pinto and black. I recently concluded we are in a rut, relying on the standards we’ve made for years … tacos, burritos, tostadas. In wild pandemic craziness, I reorganized the cookbooks, and for the most part, lumped like-cuisines together. Oversized books have a special shelf and are in no particular order.

I found 14 cookbooks dedicated to Mexican food! I started going through them to learn more about the full scope of the food from Mexico and to see what we might have overlooked the first time around. It’s a fun pandemic hobby … if you’re a foodie. The first book I tackled was “The Cuisines of Mexico” by Diana Kennedy. It was published in 1972.

She writes about certain foods being nearly impossible to find in the U.S. – tomatillos, fresh tortillas. She even said Monterey Jack cheese was hard to find in some parts of the country. I remember buying cilantro for the first time at a Korean market in the early 70s, and it came in a pot. Of course, now it’s everywhere. When we lived in Germany the first time, we bought tortillas in a can. We are so fortunate these days to have such a wide variety of foods readily available.  

There’s a new documentary out about Diana Kennedy, who is 97. I haven’t seen it yet, but in the reviews, some question her legacy – a privileged white woman who became a so-called expert on Mexican cuisine? Others beat her up for being so puritanical about her version of authenticity. Still, she gets grudging respect as someone who did her research and earned her stripes.

I owe her one for teaching me to make tortillas. It’s the gift that keeps on giving.

How to be happy inside

A scrap of wood I burned … adding color afterward.

There are four things that get me out of the house these days – golf, walking, swimming in an outdoor pool and grocery shopping. I approach all with caution to reduce my risk. I see the first three as low-risk, at least the way I do it. The grocery store can be riskier, but I feel good about our approach.

We don’t do big weekly shopping excursions. Dale goes to the military commissary once or twice a month for the basics, and we supplement that with what I call “precision strikes” at the local grocery store. We might go for three or four things. We know what we want and where it is, entering the store like masked commandos to seek our targets, avoiding other customers like the plague (or COVID-19).

We are in and out in 10 or 15 minutes. Hand san after. Wash hands thoroughly when we get home. Throw masks into the washing machine. While everything carries risk, we feel reasonably safe going to the store. As for restaurants, movies, salons – anywhere you have to hang around inside for an extended length of time – we’re just not going there.

We never did it much anyway. Both of us have multiple interests that keep us amused at home. If our current approach to managing risk keeps us safe and healthy, we could easily ride this out for as long as it takes.

Those of you who are more sociable are probably having a harder time. I understand. And although I try hard to avoid preaching about anything from my bloggy pulpit, I do encourage everyone to broaden their range of solitary interests. Learn to create. For me, it has been life-changing.

In the past, most of my hobbies were sports-related. I guess they still are, but since I retired, I filled in the gaps with other creative pursuits … art, cooking and growing cannabis.  

I’ve never even dabbled at visual arts, but I took a mask-making class and then started experimenting with stone coasters. I liked it a lot, but coasters didn’t feel like anything I would want to sustain over a lifetime. The idea of making something useful appealed to me at first. That’s a symptom of my practical nature.

But with more leisure time and the freedom to think about something other than work, my brain began to wander. Maybe I am not practical by nature. Maybe I just adapted to survive. It’s not like a switch went off. I would say it was more like the slow turning of a dimmer that gradually illuminated the space in my brain. I began to appreciate the idea of art for art’s sake.

At some point, I decided to scavenge my neighbor’s discarded wood. It sat in the garage for a year while I mused about what I could do with it. I do not know what made me decide to start burning wood. But I did some research and bought an inexpensive beginner’s tool. I just finished my third piece. I’m still a complete novice, so it’s probably too soon to say this, but I might have found my artistic calling.

In my fantasy world, I would become good enough at wood-burned art projects so people would want my stuff. Then I could start an Etsy shop or something like that and donate 100 percent of the profits or proceeds to charity.

While I had a good job and am exceedingly grateful to have earned enough for a comfortable retirement, it came at the expense of exploring a more personal journey of expression. Some days it does feel like the end of the world as we know it, but nurturing my creativity keeps me happy inside and excited about life.

Retirement, even during a pandemic, can be an unbelievable opportunity to pursue nothing – and that is everything.  

Is pandemic hair forever?

My signature man bun secured with a silk scrunchie.
Another option for an updo.
Pandemic hair … slightly lopsided as a result of cutting my own hair at home.

It’s quite surprising to me, but I get a lot of blog traffic from Pinterest pins of my hair … especially the picture featuring my signature man bun. I adopted a low-maintenance style to save time and money in retirement, but it turned out to be a great strategy for pandemic hair.

And, yes, it’s looking like pandemic hair is my forever hair.

Texture

I’ve always had fine hair … a decent amount with plenty of body, but it’s weightless. Like fairy hair. My hair is not thinner due to age – I was born this way. Over the years, I’ve learned to embrace it.

My stylist would prefer I wear it a bit shorter, but she’s benchmarking me against thick hair. I like the way it looks, and extra length means fewer visits to the salon. With fine hair, wearing it longer also gives you more hair to twist around for updos.

Color

It has been 12 years since I dyed my hair. By the way, I managed to have a great career and got promoted with gray hair. It happens. Growing it out is painful, but once you get through it, no more fussing with roots. And everyone goes gray differently. Your color is unique to you. It can’t be replicated from a bottle, and that’s kind of cool.

Cut

Because my hair is fine, I do not have layers or bangs. Bangs just mean less hair, right? I haven’t had it professionally cut since January. Due to the pandemic, I do not intend to visit a salon anytime soon.

My new favorite way to cut is to part it in the middle and make pigtails. Then bring the pigtails to the front, tie them together and press your fingers on a line where you want to cut. I just snip the ends off. From the back, it’s slightly lopsided, but it’s good enough for me, especially since I rarely wear it down. I hope to improve on my salon skills over time.

For the record, I cut Dale’s hair, and it’s also slightly lopsided. Then I had to give my cat what might be referred to as a “sanitary clip.” Also a wee bit crooked, so we’re all in this together!

Care

I wash and condition my hair as little as possible, about twice a week. No styling products. No blow dryer. When it’s wet, I clip it in a bun on the top of my head. Take the clip out before I go to bed, and my hair is full and wavy when I wake up in the morning.

While I use a regular brush, I also use a 100 percent boar-bristle brush to distribute the oils and smooth my hair. The brush also “plumps” up my hair for better updos.

Most of the time I wear it in a bun secured with a silk scrunchie. I have a variety of clips, jaws and barrettes for other updos. I like it slightly unruly and let a few loose strands fall where they may.

For this version of low-maintenance hair, I think you have to like the way you look in short hair, because wearing it up will be your default much of the time. It’s like having short hair but easier in some ways.

Special Occasions

I might use a styling gel or root lifter and blow it dry with a round boar-bristle brush. I only do this once or twice a year.

Your pandemic hair

How is your hair holding up? Roots? Have you decided to buzz it off, grow it longer or go gray? Are you cutting it yourself? Or dare I ask … have you visited a salon?

The mojito report

Mojito, a cocktail made with white rum, lime, mint and club soda.
Blind taste testing club soda. See? Cloth face coverings have many uses.

The humorist Russell Baker said June was about making the seasonal switch to gin and tonic. Or as I always say, nothing spoils summer like brown liquor.

While I do enjoy a G&T, I wanted to try something different and decided July was about making the seasonal switch to the mojito. It has been a burden to test this for you, but I believe in giving back. This is my report.

The mojito is a Cuban cocktail with white rum, lime, fresh mint, sugar and club soda served over crushed ice. It’s a perfect summer drink. I experimented a little with ingredients and technique. Again, it’s all about giving back.

Rum

So far, I’ve only used Bacardi Superior, because that’s what we had. It’s smooth and subtle. I like it, although I am eager to try another kind for the purpose of scientific discovery.

Sugar

Some recipes call for sugar and some call for simple syrup. I made a batch of simple syrup and used that. It’s great. To make simple syrup, all you do is heat a cup of sugar and a cup of water and stir until completely dissolved. It keeps in the refrigerator forever.

Mint

Fresh mint is the only option, but there are debates on whether you should muddle the leaves. I tried it both ways, and muddled leaves released more mint flavor. Some say muddling makes the mint turn bitter, but I did not find that to be the case. To muddle, just put the mint in a cocktail shaker or other vessel and poke it a bit with the end of a wooden spoon.

Lime

One whole lime per drink. I don’t like to measure more than I have to, and I found most limes squeeze equally.

Club Soda

For you, dear readers, I did a blind taste test, which by the way, is another great use for your cloth face covering! We had some Canada Dry club soda, and I used that first. Then I bought a bottle of Fever Tree club soda, which is the fancy stuff. I tried that and declared it better, but I was wondering if it was all psychological. Hence the blind taste test.

I poured the water in small glasses and labeled each with painter’s tape. I asked Dale to mix them up while I turned away. I put on my mask, and he led me to the table and helped me put my hands on the glasses. Such a guy.

Honestly, I couldn’t detect a difference. They’re both delicious.

Instructions

Dale’s favorite cocktail is gin-based, so the mojito is just for me. I like that there’s a little labor involved, so I only have one and don’t run back for another. They go down pretty easy.

Put three or four mint leaves in some sort of a vessel. I use a cocktail shaker. Muddle gently with the end of a wooden spoon. Add two ounces of white rum, the juice of one whole lime and two tablespoons of simple syrup. I hate dirtying up measuring spoons, so I actually measured the tablespoons that come with our flatware, and they are, indeed, tablespoons.

I use a margarita glass and fill it about a little more than halfway with crushed ice. I drop one of the squeezed out lime halves into the glass. Pour the cocktail over the ice and then fill it the rest of the way with club soda. You can garnish with more mint for show, but I find it perfect as is.

Respectfully submitted,

Donna Pekar

After the fire, the flowers bloom

Desert chic with mask.

Although our garden tomatoes are in abundance and quite luscious, we also like the heirlooms from a favorite vendor at the farmer’s market. It’s supposed to be 100 degrees here today, so we headed out early in hopes that we could be back in time to walk/run before the heat kicks in.  

I’m wearing what I call desert chic with mask. It’s all about the fashion statement. Oh, for those of you who may be new to the blog, yes, it’s true I don’t have breasts. I had a mastectomy without reconstruction and am living the flat and fabulous lifestyle.

Anyway, we wanted a stash of tomatoes for a tomato pie I make with cheddar cheese, basil and a biscuit crust. But as we were getting into the car, I said, “I don’t have to make tomato pie. We could do Greek salads again, if you’d rather.” Dale said nothing.

Did you hear me?

Yes.

Well, what do you think?

Yeah, that sounds good.

Seriously! That is not a response. This is a binary choice, Dale.

Oh, you!

I may as well be saying blah, blah, blah, and you’re like, yeah, that sounds good.

We both started laughing, which is a form of grace these days. Then we decided we could actually do both. I made a command decision and said, OK, we’ll do the pie tonight and the salad later in the week. He makes bread for that, so the ball is in his court.

As they say on TV, during these unprecedented times …

Sane and crazy

Sane: I saw some people at the neighborhood park having a socially distant get together. Each chair had a balloon tied to it – I guess as an easy way to keep them six feet apart. Or maybe just for the party effect. Such a simple little gathering, but it made me happy.

Crazy: Our county numbers are still pretty good in comparison to the rest of California, but the whack jobs driving up to South Lake Tahoe to party are making it harder for everyone. An article in this morning’s newspaper quoted a visitor who said, “Everybody seems to be pretty healthy, so I don’t have a concern.”

I can’t even speak to that.

Woodburning

My first two woodburning projects on pallet scraps.
Current woodburning project on a piece of teak patio furniture that was damaged in a fire.

I’m continuing to work on my woodburning projects. It’s quite therapeutic. When I wrote my first post about it, Bobi shared a comment that it reminded her of Zentangle. I checked that out, and it’s pretty cool stuff. I might take a class someday. In the meantime, I’ve been looking at lots of Zentangle images to give me ideas.

The biggest difference is that Zentangle is on paper, which is a perfect surface. I’m using recovered wood and burning it. Although I’m a novice woodburner, I think it’s safe to say wood does what it wants. Sometimes you just can’t get a smooth line. The tool hits snags and resistance.

Just like us! That’s one of the reasons I like burning wood.

I have noticed a big difference between the pallet scraps and a piece of teak scavenged from our neighbor’s bench that was damaged in a fire. Teak is smoother and burns cleaner. And the coloring is different, too.

Perfection is not my goal. In fact, the less perfect the better. The burned bench might be my favorite surface so far. It has a story, a history. I like hanging out in the garage, imagining the possibilities, listening to music and letting my mind run free.

Somehow, it gives me hope for the future. After the fire, the flowers bloom.

Stop and smell the goose poop

Ice wine slushie and garden tomatoes.

Today is Wednesday, and normally I would be playing golf in my weekly league. However, last Wednesday, I played so well on the front nine that I felt physically ill trying to live up to my short-lived reputation on the back nine.

The league is not exactly high-stakes competition, but there’s a point system and bragging rights. I got ahead of myself and started feeling over-confident … thinking about the win instead of staying centered and enjoying the game. I decided to take a break. Time to stop and smell the goose poop.

Much to my surprise, I find myself wanting to be more sociable. As an introvert and dedicated homebody, I really thought I could go forever without talking to anyone. I was actually delighted when the clubhouse closed in response to the pandemic.

Now I’m thinking, gee, I don’t know. Life is pretty hard, and who knows how this will all end? What’s wrong with a little party before the lights go out or come on again? Even when reality sucks, can we not find a way to celebrate the moment?

The very idea of being sociable is all speculative at this point, but I can see it happening. Dale is desperate to talk to someone other than me, so I’m pretty sure he’s on board.

Until such time, we continue to party in small ways by cooking and eating well. The chana masala I made was absolutely fantastic, but the naan wasn’t very good. The bread was too cracker-like. I want to try again with a different recipe.

The backyard tomato harvest is on. We had Greek salads – coarsely chopped tomatoes, cucumbers and onions. Garnished with feta cheese and a few Kalamata olives. Dressed with good olive oil and red wine vinegar. A spray of oregano. Dale’s homemade bread for dunking.

We repurposed the bread for BLTs – always delicious with homegrown tomatoes. Then tostadas. A crisply fried corn tortilla topped with mashed black beans, cheddar cheese, lettuce, onions, tomatoes and guacamole.

BTW – I do the NY Times mini crossword puzzle every day. One of the clues this week was an ingredient in guacamole. The answer was onion. I say no! That’s crazy talk. Avocado, lime, salt and a hint of garlic powder.

Onions in guacamole. Yes or no? Your vote matters.

Whenever Dale roasts a whole chicken, we freeze the carcass. I had two carcasses, so I made stock yesterday. I splash some olive oil in a stock pan and add a rough chop of celery, onions and carrots. Sweat those out and add the chicken. Cover with water. Plop in a little cheesecloth sack stuffed with fresh parsley. Simmer for three hours. Strain and freeze.  

I don’t eat on the mornings when I play golf, so we celebrated my day off with one slice of bacon each, toast made from Dale’s homemade bread and eggs scrambled in the bacon fat. I recognize we had bacon earlier in the week, and I apologize for setting a bad example.

We’ve been eating outside. Music, food and drink. That might cure what ails you. I invented a refreshing dessert perfect for al fresco dining. I’m calling it an ice wine slushie. You probably don’t have ice wine sitting around, but somehow, we accumulated several bottles.

Start with 13 ounces of ice wine. Add 3/4 cup of water and six tablespoons of sugar. Simmer for two minutes in a saucepan, cool, and then put it in an ice cream machine. It doesn’t freeze solid, so I put it in a shot glass, and you take a little sip as the sorbet melts.

The flavor is unbelievable, and it’s a thoroughly pleasant way to end a meal. Then when it gets dark, we take a dip in the pool. Swimsuits optional.

Yes, we’re taking time to smell the goose poop, enjoying our simple pleasures and practicing for the parties in our future. How are you celebrating the moment?

Syrup comes from trees

Pure maple syrup.

My seasonal allergies kicked in this week, resulting in post-nasal drip and a little cough, cough, and pretty soon you think, oh shit, this is it. However, I stayed inside for a day, drank a lot of water and my sinuses cleared up. Another bullet dodged.

I haven’t been within six feet of anyone except Dale. I always wear a mask and wash my hands fanatically, but still. This is scary stuff. As a bit of a hypochondriac, I decided to proceed with what I’m calling my early warning system. I ordered one of those pulse oximeters that measures your blood oxygen saturation levels. They say it’s a good way to catch a drop in blood oxygen levels, which can be a dangerous sign of COVID-19. Around $30.

We get a free newspaper we call the Village Idiot. I was reading it during breakfast this morning. They did man-on-the-street interviews, asking people what they were doing for the July 4th holiday. One guy said he was going to the Bay Area. One person said she was going to Utah for a family reunion. I almost choked on my granola. Why not swing by South Dakota and swap a little spit at Mount Rushmore while you’re at it?

Another woman said she was having a barbecue. While Dale insisted it could be just cooking up ribs for her family, having a barbecue sounds like an event not a cooking technique. I just wonder if any of these people are paying attention.

We’re not going anywhere. It’s not exactly traditional fare for America’s Independence Day, but I’m making chana masala, which I would describe as chickpea curry. The base is onion masala. I made the base yesterday, and the fragrance was intoxicating. Onions, spices, garlic, ginger and tomatoes all stewed together in the Instant Pot. I gave Dale a little taste, and he said just give me a spoon and we’ll have that.

BTW … I don’t use canned chickpeas. They’re fine, but I like the taste of beans when they’re cooked from scratch. And they’re so easy! I add dried unsoaked chickpeas to the Instant Pot, add water to cover and cook at high pressure for an hour if I want them on the soft side. For more bite, maybe 45-50 minutes. Then I freeze them in the liquid. Perfect for homemade hummus and other dishes like chana masala.

The big experiment today will be naan, Indian flatbread. I’m excited to try it. We have a small outdoor pizza oven, a Roccbox, and I’m going to cook the bread in that.

Food is starting to seem like the last good thing left of civilization. Dale and I both love to cook, but I’ve definitely gone down the rabbit hole since the pandemic started. We weren’t big into restaurants anyway, but now that’s not even an option for us until maybe next year. Cooking has been my savior throughout all this. And the more I cook, the more I want to cook.

The pasta I made this week came out great. I learned it helps to let the rolled-out sheets of pasta dough dry a little before cutting it into noodles. To reward myself for such genius, I ordered a pasta drying rack. I’m eager to try ravioli, perhaps stuffed with butternut squash and topped with a browned butter sage sauce, but I want to do tubular pasta a few more times to ensure this week’s success wasn’t just a one off.

One downside of all this cooking is the urge to splurge on kitchen stuff. I try not to indulge unless I absolutely positively need it, but I have my eye on several items: a gratin pan, a ravioli mold, a tart pan with a removable bottom and a waffle maker.

The waffle maker is high on my list because when are we going to get those again? Besides, the last ones I had in a restaurant were disappointing. Oh, and when I asked the waiter if they had real maple syrup, the guy looked at me like I was a complete asshole and said, “Well, it didn’t come from a tree.”

Armchair travel and pesto

My Chopped basket. I think I’ll make pesto and homemade pasta!

Today is one of those days where everything feels hard. It seems like everyone out there is mad at everyone else. The news is horrible. I go for a walk, and I have to dodge people left and right to keep six feet away. And, oh, if I want my favorite masks for golf tomorrow, I’d better run another load of wash. I had an appointment to swim laps, but I canceled. Swimming has become such an ordeal.

I decided to stay home. Isn’t that crazy? It seems like most people are itching to go out and do normal things, but sometimes I think we still need a respite from the madness. For me, it means retreating to what’s comfortable. Simple pleasures.

First thing’s first. Lunch. While I eat mostly healthy unprocessed food, I do love me some Cheez Whiz on fresh celery. I’ve been quite the cookie monster lately, so that was my meal, but a tasty one it was. Lunch at home always seems like such an indulgence after years of poking down something at work. It’s actually one of my favorite things about retirement. Well, and breakfast.

Have your lunch habits changed since you retired? I hope you are enjoying something delicious …

Next step was downloading what is turning out to be a pretty good book about hiking the Appalachian Trail. A little armchair travel is good for the soul. I don’t actually want to hike the AT, but I love to walk and am always looking for inspiration. Over the years, I’ve given a lot of thought to doing some sort of long walk, but I have so many caveats I usually give up.

In the Great Big Picture Book of things that scare me about a long walk, here they are in no particular order:

  • Peeing
  • Cliffs and drop-offs
  • Wild animals
  • Pooping
  • Murderers
  • Rapists
  • Bad knees
  • Bad back
  • Weather
  • Sleeping
  • Eating
  • Social distancing

That’s just for starters. For now, I’m gradually increasing my mileage with the idea of doing a long day hike that starts after breakfast and ends before happy hour. That seems doable.

Dinner is always a topic of high interest at our house. Since I decided to avoid the world today, I wanted to cook. I was going to make Chana Masala, but we didn’t have all the ingredients. And it’s not like going to the store is easy.

However, we did have some lovely basil from the garden, so I’m making pesto. I’m also making pasta from scratch. I’ve made pasta before with great success, but I don’t do it enough to feel as though I’ve mastered it. I always make sure we have back-up pasta.

That should get me through the day. And it’s Tuesday! Chopped night on the Food channel. Thank you, universe.