Suddenly popular!

Not too cute to wear a mask! Proudly sporting a cloth face covering made by Maru, a cherished reader who is a Stage IV cancer survivor and fellow graduate of the Taxol School of Hard Knocks.

New Friends

In spite of social distancing, I’m suddenly popular. I’m not sure God understood me when I said doing my best blind hermit imitation, “A visitor’s all I ask. A temporary companion to help me pass a few short hours in my lonely life.”

Thoughtful folks from all over the country are calling me day and night … about my health care options. I will turn 65 in September, so it’s all about Medicare supplements, but still, it’s the thought that counts.

I did sign up for Medicare and got a message it was approved. I am not drawing Social Security yet, so I assume the next step will be setting up some sort of process for paying monthly premiums. As for supplements, Dale is retired military, so we have Tricare for Life as our secondary.

This might be a good time to whisper a sweet nothing in his ear, “Thank you for your service.”

My other new friends are the Biden people. I donated $100 to his campaign, and I got a personal email thanking me for my contribution! He said, “We will send a lot of messages to you, Donna, because you are our lifeblood. You kept the lights on when people swore we were about to pack up and go home.”

They like me, they really like me!

While I don’t look forward to lots of emails, I officially welcome them to bombard my inbox if that’s what it takes. Just doing my part for America.

Escape fiction

Bored? Need a good book? I just finished Three Hours in Paris by Cara Black. The setting is World War II. An American woman, who is also a sharpshooter, is in the United Kingdom with her British husband, and she is recruited for a secret mission to assassinate Hitler. Things go wrong, her handlers in the UK have abandoned her and she’s on her own in Paris trying to survive as Nazis hunt her down.

This is what they mean by escape fiction! I usually don’t like WWII books, but I couldn’t put it down.  

retirement marches on

All in all, the virus sucks, but even when the shit hits the fan, I believe it’s possible to stay safe, busy, happy and fulfilled.

I review my retirement cheat sheet daily:

  • Play golf
  • Practice golf
  • Cook
  • Arts & crafts
  • Walk
  • Write
  • Housework
  • Home maintenance & repair
  • Weights
  • Read
  • Brush the kitty
  • Stretch
  • Swim
  • Tend my cannabis garden

It’s a busy day, and before you know it, it’s happy hour.

Mandatory masks

California went to mandatory masks indoors and where you can’t maintain social distancing. I love it. Makes most activities safer for everyone. We went to the farmer’s market and saw a few people without masks. I saw one woman, all dolled up and maskless.

Dale: What’s her excuse?

Me: She’s too cute to wear a mask.

Anyway, Dale and I agreed we can’t let it piss us off when we see selfish people violating the mandates designed to protect us. No muttering, just keep moving and stay six feet away.

Dale needs to make a trip to the hardware store, but the last time he went he said no one was wearing mask. No one. That was before the new requirements. But still, it makes him nervous … he said it was no county for old masks. I said it was no county for old men, and we both laughed.

Black Pepper Cookies

For the record, I’m not yet tired of my homemade peanut butter cookies. I’m prepared to go the distance … one cookie per day for the rest of my life. However, Dale had a craving for my black pepper cookies, which are an all-time favorite.

I used to make them for work events, and one of my colleagues asked me to bring her a separate stash so she wouldn’t have to share. Which I did.

BTW, they’re another pandemic-friendly cookie. The pepper won’t fight off the virus, but the recipe calls for just a few ingredients that are probably in your pantry anyway. We like them with lots of pepper, so I use two generous teaspoons of coarsely ground black pepper.

A cool trick from King Arthur is to wander around your kitchen and find unusual tools to press your cookies. They suggest a potato masher, among other things. My favorite is the bottom of the tube from our food processor. I do love circles.

These cookies freeze well and are delicious straight from the freezer, where you should keep them so you don’t eat them all at once.

Black Pepper Cookies

A hot-sweet cookie almost like a spicy peppery shortbread … easy to make with simple pantry ingredients. Originally from Sunset magazine.
Print Recipe

Ingredients
  

  • 1 cup all-purpose flour
  • 1 tsp baking powder
  • 1 cup sugar
  • 1-2 tsp whole black peppercorns, coarsely ground
  • 1/4 cup butter
  • whole black peppercorns

Instructions
 

  • In a food processor, combine flour, baking powder, 3/4 cup of the sugar and ground peppercorns. Whirl until blended.
  • In a small saucepan, stir butter over medium heat until browned, stirring through the white foam to check. Add to the flour mixture and whirl until the dough forms a ball. If after a minute or so, it's still not in a ball, just put it in plastic wrap and squeeze together until it forms a ball.
  • Pinch off 1-inch pieces of dough and roll into a ball. Arrange balls, slightly apart, on a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper. Dip the bottom of a small glass in the remaining sugar and press each ball gently to about 1/2 inch thickness. Press a peppercorn into the center of each cookie. Sprinkle with additional sugar, if desired.
  • Bake on the lowest rack of a 300 degree oven until browned on the bottom, about 20-25 minutes. Transfer the cookies to a rack and let cool completely. Store at room temperature or freeze. They're delicious right out of the freezer!

Doodling in the time of pandemic

On the right is my newest attempt at art or something like it … woodburning on a pallet scrap. Left is an older experiment on wood with acrylic paint.
A close-up of my woodburned doodles.

I saw a headline whereupon Dr. Fauci said normalcy is unlikely until next year – and I thought, “Wow! Only a year? That’s nothing.” In the Army, we used to say we could stand on our heads for that long.  And doodling. I’ve got that going for me.

My county has some of the lowest infection rates in California. Still, Dale and I are more vigilant than most. The fitness center re-opened with lots of restrictions … all meeting with my complete approval. They don’t call me the sanitation marshal for nothing.

Lap swimming resumed by appointment only. I went Saturday and am going again today. I wear a mask as I enter and leave the facility, do not use the locker room and change out of my suit from underneath my swim poncho.

I’ve started limiting the amount of time I spend using my computer and cell phone … partly because I don’t think it’s healthy to stare at a screen all day. Seems like I would have learned that from work! Here I am retired, doing the same damned thing. I’m also paying less attention to the news.

It turns out I can stay informed without subjecting myself to electric shocks every 20 minutes.

More time outdoors

While avoiding the blue screens, I’m spending more outdoors. Golf has always kept me outside for long periods of time, and that’s a good thing. In addition to my regular schedule of walking, Dale and I resumed our weekly hikes, which were abandoned earlier in the pandemic.

The weather has been great, and I thought, why not read a book outside under the beach umbrella? A little staycation. I’m starting to go through our treasure trove of cookbooks and discover recipes we overlooked the first time around.

Growing cannabis

I’m working to up my game as a gentlewoman cannabis farmer. My last batch was disappointing. Didn’t look right, didn’t smoke right. No potency. Perhaps I had beginner’s luck with my first grow, but I think something was wrong with this seed. Hence the name – bad seed.

I have two plants growing. One was outdoors, but I got worried about pests and brought it in. They are propped together by the window sharing the LED light, and I can only assume that’s not good. But I guess I’ll ride this out to the end.

Part of the problem is I’m growing ruderalis, which is an autoflowering plant that is easier to grow but not particularly robust. I’d like to try growing a sativa/indica hybrid. One plant can yield a year’s worth of pot. But to grow a plant like that indoors, you have to trigger the flowering stage, which means at some point I have to create a place where the plant can have 12 hours of total darkness.

I’m not much of a gardener, so I’d like to keep this simple. And inexpensive. Of course, what did I spy with my little eye but a fancy and beautiful contraption that would be perfect, especially if you live in a place where you have to hide it. Only $2,000! Dale said that buys a lot of weed at the cannabis dispensary.

I’m thinking a cheap grow tent that doesn’t do anything but block out light when I need that. I don’t want to invest in hydroponics, fans, dehumidifiers, etc. I’m still reading up on my options. What is it they say, cannabis is not addicting but growing it is?

Art that says, “I was here.”

Finally, you might recall I scavenged a wood pallet from a neighbor’s pile of debris. Dale broke it up for me. I got this idea that maybe it would be fun to get started in woodburning. I researched it online and then got an inexpensive ( $25) woodburning tool for beginners.

When I first started this project, I thought I should try to work through any emotions I had associated with the pandemic. It turns out I don’t have any! At least not now. It is what it is. Science. Reality.

I don’t know how to draw real things, but I used to doodle spirals all the time during online meetings at work. I sanded the wood scrap and then started in on the spirals, later filling it in with tiny dots. Two coats of spray-on varnish. Nailed it to the fence as an embellishment and plan to make more, some with paint and color to add variety.  

Dale said it reminded him of primitive cave drawings. Not particularly artistic, but enough to say, “I was here.”

Our spirit animal

Our coyote friend came back to take another snooze by the pool. He appears to be a juvenile. Well-fed and healthy. I was out of the house early to play golf, so I don’t know what time the coyote bolted. Dale said he looked out mid-morning, and the coyote was gone.

I think he’s our spirit animal – sent to share a message. Reminding us to not take things too seriously and to seek balance between wisdom and playfulness. As I researched this further, I learned coyote symbolism warns us to beware of the dark side of things and reveals the answers to your problems often come in ways and forms you least expect.

Since the coyote first showed up, we’ve done quite well backing away from COVID arguments, which are principally focused on surviving shopping expeditions and managing territorial issues in the kitchen.

While it’s easy to assume these issues arose from being crushed together during pandemic sheltering, it might also result from being crushed together during my retirement, whereupon I discovered that I liked staying home … which is where Dale likes to hang out, too.

We’ve learned that both of us staying home fighting for space while the world is on fire is a dark place to start when you’re just trying to make dinner.

The thing is, we both like to cook. And with cooking comes control. When I was working, Dale basically had squatters rights in the kitchen, but now he has to share his toys. But it’s not just space or equipment. It’s about choices. What are we going to eat? How are we going to get it? Are you going to use that fresh spinach before it goes bad? Mexican … again?

We had a close call earlier this week, but I managed to defuse the fire with quick action … a skill I’ve been perfecting of late, perhaps with the help of our spirit animal. It involves pressing my lips together and keeping my mouth shut.

The situation was chicken breasts. As you may recall, I defrosted and re-organized the chest freezer. At the time, we only had one chicken breast left, so I put it in a Ziploc with thighs and labeled it, “Chicken Breasts and Thighs.” Makes sense to me.

Normally, Dale likes to buy the frozen chicken breasts individually sealed and you can just cut one off as needed. But when the stay-at-home mandate first started, those were hard to find.

When individually sealed breasts showed up again, Dale purchased a package and put them in the freezer. No, he probably turned backward and tossed them over his shoulder like salt or maybe did a little dance in silent protest of the new order.

And so it came to pass that it was time for Mexican-style baked chicken breasts. A yummy thing. You mix some salsa in with beaten eggs, dip the breast and then roll it in bread crumbs seasoned with cumin and whatever other spices sound good. Throw some butter in a glass casserole, bake at 375 degrees about 30 minutes or until done. Serve with shredded iceberg lettuce, a dollop of sour cream, sliced avocado and a wedge of lime.

I said innocently enough, “When you get the chicken breasts out to thaw, the oldest one is in a labeled Ziploc. Use that one and then cut off one of the new ones.” He did not respond.

Later, as Dale was preparing his kitchen hut for the sacred cooking ritual, I was convinced I personally witnessed him cutting off two portions from the new package of individually sealed breasts.

I wanted to say, “What is so effing hard about using the oldest one first?” But then I thought, oh, the chicken will get eaten one way or the other. Who cares? I did not say a word, and I’ve been quite proud of my restraint. I thought about all the ways to do things and how we almost always go in opposite directions. It’s actually quite funny.

So, I laughed. I thought it would make a funny post and sat down to write. Then I went to the freezer to take some sort of picture to go with. While I was there, I decided to look in the Ziploc. The chicken breast was gone. Only one missing from the other package.

That coyote. He’s a trickster.

We love our seniors

The Sunday paper featured a full-page ad celebrating seniors. I was like, wow, how’d they get my name?

Upon further reflection, I realized they meant graduating seniors. Not older folks like us. Bummer.

Don’t get me wrong. I love young people and can’t imagine how hard this year has been for them. Hell, yes, celebrate their achievements! No generational warfare from me.

While some may find retirees disposable, we make important contributions to the economy – contributions that help support everyone. Even without a job, we still pay income tax on the money we withdraw from our IRAs. If we own a home, we pay property taxes and fees associated with funding schools and other community assets. Even on a fixed-income, many of us support local food banks and other charitable causes.

Not to mention the many contributions retirees make by volunteering, sharing their knowledge, connecting with their families or just being cool, interesting people.

The economy needs us, but we need the economy to thrive, too. Not just for us, but also for all the young people who have miles to go in their journeys through life. I support careful re-opening as we learn to manage the risks associated with COVID-19. A vibrant economy is good for all of us, but that doesn’t mean older people have to be first ones in the pool.  

Dale and I have loosened up a bit on grocery store visits – quick trips with masks and social distancing. Plenty of hand-washing afterward. I’m playing golf – outdoors wearing a mask when I use the restroom or anticipate a close encounter. No chit-chat. Plenty of hand-washing afterward.

No mass gatherings, no travel, no restaurants.

Some people have asked why I wear a mask. I have a new response that is working well. I say, “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m at higher risk than many.” I’m not even sure that’s true, but it stops almost everyone. Only one person asked why, and I said medical history. No more questions after that.

This article by Erin Bromage, Ph.D, of UMass Dartmouth, has been out there since May, but I keep returning to read it. Dale and I found it very helpful as we learn to navigate our new reality.

Purging old writing

Purging old writing and re-purposing journals.

Some say you should never throw away anything you ever wrote. I’ve taken a different path. Over the years and many moves, I’ve whittled down my stockpile of journals and published writing to one large tub. I periodically go through it and purge stuff I no longer want to keep.

I’ve purchased many lovely notebooks, but I as a diarist, I was inconsistent at best. Most notebooks had a few pages of scribbling about my sad woes and then many blank pages. After skimming through the entries and seeing nothing of consequence, I ripped those pages out for the recycling bin but saved the notebooks.

While I don’t journal, I do keep a notebook on my desk for working projects, so I shouldn’t need to buy anymore notebooks ever.

One thing I did notice and kept was a poem about Christmas I wrote in my late teens. Apparently, I’ve hated Christmas for a long time. In a way, that makes me feel better. It’s not like I made it up in mid-life. I was born this way.

I found a few paragraphs of a short story. I tried to write fiction years ago and quit, coming to perhaps a false realization that I don’t have it in me. Maybe it’s the quarantine talking, but I saw some potential. Not world-class literature, for sure, but I kind of want to know the back story and what happens next.

The bahnhof was cold, as they usually are, and damp, as I knew it would be. I could already feel the fever coming on, but we had a couple of hours to kill before the train left. I needed a drink, and I needed a book and Richard had already decided to be difficult.

Why didn’t we rent a car and drive, he wanted to know. But of course, he knew. It was the train. I needed to be on that train. There was no other option.

I left Richard with the bags and walked to the international store. I bought a cheap porno book for 12 marks and a murder mystery, both in English. Then I found a bar and settled in. It was going to be a long night.

Literary poetry has always sort of baffled me. But I did like writing straightforward poems that rhymed. Interestingly, I found my own little masterpiece about hating work – dated 1974! I had barely started working and was already sick of it. I kept that one, too.

The poem itself is pretty awful, so I’ll spare you that. But there I was at 19, wishing I could just quit worrying about making a living and enjoying life without goals or aims. I’m giving myself props for hanging in there.

It took 40 years, but I kind of achieved my dream. No big plans. My full-time job is to take care of myself, be kind to others and enjoy life’s simple pleasures. I golf, walk, swim laps, cook, read, write, watch TV, listen to music, take care of the house, grow cannabis and otherwise goof off. While I’m not the sort to show up at a protest march, another focus is to support progressive causes.

Everyone’s vision of retirement is different. Mine has certainly evolved, even from when I started this blog two-plus years ago. As I told a friend, I might find goals within the categories of things I like to do, but I’m not out to reinvent myself or my life. I’m happy just being.

An interesting book for those who are contemplating how happiness is relevant in a world gone mad is Yes to Life: In Spite of Everything by Viktor E. Frankl.

Just published for the first time in English, the author was a Holocaust survivor who lectured on the importance of embracing life even in the face of adversity. It’s not a breezy read, but there are some genuine nuggets.

Taking a stand

I have nothing eloquent to say about the death of George Floyd and the subsequent protests around the country. What happened to George is horrible and wrong.

I have nothing kind to say about Trump’s reaction or his visit to the church for a photo op … and our government’s violent response to peaceful protesters.

While I’m not sure how to articulate my feelings about this tragedy and our long history of racial injustice, I can’t just go on and pretend it didn’t happen. Now more than ever, I believe it’s important to take a stand against racism.

I support Black Lives Matter. I want to be part of the solution, and I’m looking for leadership and inspiration from all corners of America and beyond to show us the way.

Becoming more self-sufficient

Learning a new technique for cutting my own hair.
Reasonably even in the back.

I’m starting to feel like a baby homesteader. A retired suburban homesteader. As it turns out, I’m kind of digging it. But that’s the hippie living-off-the-land in me talking.

Since the virus came knocking, I’ve been doing my own pedicures, making English Muffins from scratch and cutting my husband’s hair. Then there’s the homegrown cannabis. Baguettes. Tortillas. I even made cheese – Indian paneer. As I write this, Dale is tearing apart a pallet I scavenged for art projects.

Today I cut my hair! I got a text from Lisa, my stylist, who said they were reopening, and she was scheduling appointments. I would love to go, but I said I’m being cautious as things reopen and am not yet comfortable going to a salon. Lisa is such a special person. This is what she wrote:

Completely respect that!

When you’re ready, know that we are 50% capacity with every other station being left unused and only the two end shampoo bowls are used. Masks are required for everyone for the entire appointment and temperatures are checked upon arrival. We always utilize safety and sanitation measures and have amplified our usual best practices. We also offer a treatment bun instead of a blow dry for those who wish to spend as little time in the salon as possible. I know you’re at high risk and you need to be more vigilant than most. I’m happy to take care of you in however you are comfortable when you’re ready.

You can’t ask for much more than that, but I can’t see myself getting a haircut or pedicure anytime soon. I’m kind of a minimalist by design – no polish on my toes, somewhat longish hair requiring fewer cuts, no color and no layers. It was supposed to be a low-maintenance retirement lifestyle, but it morphed into a pandemic lifestyle. I love it when a plan comes together.

I Googled a few how-tos and settled on a quick test. I pulled my hair into a scrunchie at the base of my neck and then brought it around over my shoulder, lined it up between my fingers and used hair scissors to snip off the ends. I hardly cut any this first time around. I just wanted to see if I could do it.

I’m calling it a success.

I wish I knew how to fix things around the house. As I recall from those workplace personality tests, I’m an ISTP, and we’re supposed to be mechanical. Obviously, there’s been some sort of mistake. But Dale’s pretty good at that stuff, so we balance each other out.  

Maybe becoming more self-sufficient is where I was headed all along, but it took retirement and the pandemic to bring my inclinations to the surface. It has been a pleasant surprise.  

The Last Argument

A coyote snoozing by the backyard spa.
Our coyote friend on the move after he heard me open the door.

Suburban coyote

As I was cleaning up cat barf this morning, I happened to look out the back window, only to see a coyote snoozing by the spa. I can’t believe my furry little puker missed that one, as he sat staring out the front window, desperately seeking squirrel activity.

I took a picture through the window and watched him awhile. I figured he would just move along at some point, but Dale said sometimes they can’t get out. I gingerly propped the gate open and came back in the house.

Then the coyote moved to a shady spot by the pool. I opened the sliding glass door and snapped a shot of him trotting away. He jumped to the top of the fence and looked like he decided next door was a better option. I was like, dude, they don’t cook … the food is better over here, but he wasn’t buying it. I put on a mask and went over to alert our neighbors, because they have a dog and a cat that both go outside.

Coyotes do live around here. You can hear them at night. Still, I hope he’s OK. He might have heard the pool is open for the season – registering yesterday at 81 degrees! Of course, I’m being sexist here. It could be a she, but I’m thinking it’s a boy coyote that would run away from home and camp out in someone’s yard.  

Swimming

I’ve started swimming in our backyard pool. It’s not a huge pool, so swimming laps is not ideal, lots of head-bashing, but it’s the only option I have right now, coyotes and all. I need to decide if I’m going to keep my membership in the health club. I would definitely not use the weights or the locker room. I’ve been doing free weights at home.

I would like to use the pool at the health club and have a plan for how to do it safely if or when it reopens, but if I swim twice a week, that’s about $10 a swim. Not sure it’s worth it. Although, my back did feel better after just one swim. Decisions!

Cookie Madness

I’ve decided to allow myself one peanut butter cookie a day until I no longer want one … which might never happen, so perhaps I will be eating one every single day for the rest of my life. I can’t believe one cookie could be all that bad for me. And they are so easy to make.

The recipe yields about a dozen and a half – depending on what size scoop you use, and the only ingredients are peanut butter, brown sugar and an egg. A smattering of sea salt. I prefer them without chocolate chips. What can I say? They bring me joy.

Books & TV

Today is a library curbside pick-up for Dead Land, the new Sara Paretsky novel featuring V.I. Warshawski. This is book 20. I think I’ve read them all.

I’m done with the current season of Bosch, and I finished the Longmire series. Both were excellent, although I did not like how Longmire wrapped up. I won’t spoil it for you, but it just didn’t feel right to me. I do think he’s a cutie and hope to see him in something else soon.

While I’ve yet to pick a new crime series, I have a long list of options. None are calling to me. I’m currently watching Vida on STARZ. It’s about two Mexican sisters who return home to Los Angeles after their mother passes away.

The mother ran a bar, and it turns out she was a closet lesbian – at least closeted to her daughters. The daughters start to run the bar and become immersed in the local scene. Warning – strong sexual content and not necessarily your routine stuff.

The last argument

Although we are still being cautious, we went to Home Depot for two things needed for a small improvement project. While it was not a good experience for us, it did result it what we are calling, “The Last Argument.” I wanted to order online and have it delivered to the car. Dale wanted to go in and buy weed killer. I conceded.

We put on our masks. There was a line, and they were counting people as they entered. Still, there were a lot of people entering, and most of them were not wearing masks. Dale got annoyed and didn’t want to buy weed killer after all. We got the two things we went for and got out of there as fast as we could.

Later, Dale said he was angry that I insisted we go to Home Depot to buy things for an optional improvement project. I said, if you will recall, I wanted to have it delivered to the car. The only reason we went inside is because you wanted to.

He was like, oops, I forgot. Sigh. We’re just humans doing the best we can. Kiss and make up. We agreed – talk everything through in advance, make sure we understand each other’s expectations and don’t fight about anything ever. It sucks.

Stress behavior

People are stressed, and stress behavior can be ugly. I played golf, and one of the women in my group was a complete bitch. She didn’t mess with me, but she was so rude to one of the other players. I don’t know where that came from, other than she’s just pissed about life in general.

I almost didn’t play but had a golf dream telling me to relax and let my swing flow smoothly. I wish I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard something about a smooth swing, but I finally figured out why it doesn’t stick.

Sometimes you do herky-jerky things, and you get away with it. Smash a drive or whatever. You begin to think that’s the secret, so you start trying it on purpose. Nothing good comes of this. Smooth is always the answer. I said to myself, just go, be at peace with the universe, stay calm and be smooth. Do not introduce extra movements to the momentum of the swing.

It worked! I played well … much better than I’ve been playing, even with my exposure to the bitter bitch. I hope she chills out. I feel stress and constantly have to work at managing these challenges in a positive way, but I’m mostly successful and certainly happier.

It’s hot, and if there are no coyotes in backyard, I will be taking a dip today.

Stay chilled.

Living the dream, drinking the bleach

A piece of bench I scavenged from last year’s fire on stand-by for a yard art project.

An arachnoid presence

While you have been studying Renaissance art or harvesting yeast from the backyard, I’ve been busy doing important things like playing an epic game of Spider Solitaire.

For those who are familiar with Spider, I play with four suits and choose only games at the Grandmaster level. I have one goal – win all games. Purists will have to close their eyes, but that means I use the undo feature with wild abandon. Since adopting this approach, I have not lost a game.

My last attempt was a test of moral strength. Undo, undo, undo. Nothing I tried was working. The game automatically saves, so I’d just close it after a good butt-kicking and then go back to it the next day. I am proud to say I won it yesterday after – hold the applause please – 33 hours, 14 minutes and 23 seconds.

Spider is a good way to waste time, but I like to believe it’s also good for the brain and soul. If you believe all games are winnable, then you keep going until you win. Sometimes my original assumptions don’t hold up, and I have to abandon them for new strategies that are often counter-intuitive. Are there parallels between Spider and real life?

Yes. In the words of the Canadian philosopher, Corey Hart, Never Surrender.

More yard art, please

Now that my brain is freed up from the tyranny of Spider, I’m starting a new art project. Many of you know I’m not much of an artist, but I’ve been experimenting in retirement and boldly display my work here. I’m particularly fond of Gladys, the sun goddess I rescued from heaps of rust. Her smiling face watches over us.

I have this piece of bench from the fire a year or so ago (when all those cute firemen showed up). This is actually my neighbor’s debris that I scavenged from a pile headed for the dump. While creating beauty seems like a natural antidote for our current reality, I’m open to ugly.

This morning, I woke up thinking whatever I do with this piece of bench will somehow be an expression of my feelings about the pandemic. I have no idea what that means in terms of a deliverable, as we used to say at work, but I’m going to try and let my emotions flow.

Less whining, more wine

We drove out to our favorite Amador County winery. The tasting room isn’t open, but someone is there, and you can purchase bottles. We were only going to get six, but all wine was 40 percent off, so we doubled that. We wore masks, and they added a plastic shield over the wine bar, so it seemed like a pretty benign process.

I asked the guy who works there what phase they were in as far as opening, and he just laughed. No idea.

Golf or something like it

I’ve decided golf is reasonably safe, at least the way I do it … only courses where I can walk with my personal pushcart. I have three masks at the ready. One for the beginning, when people are waiting to tee off. One for the turn, when I use the restroom. And one for the end, when people are gathered in the parking lot. I steer clear of everyone and keep hand sanitizer in my bag.

The CDC is saying the virus isn’t easily spread through surfaces, so that’s promising. But just in case, I grabbed a stack of scorecards with a tissue and took them home to “cool off” in the garage.

I played with the women’s league last Wednesday. My favorite guy was at the cash register and asked me how things were going. I said, “Oh, you know, living the dream, drinking the bleach.” We had a good low-emission chuckle (not the bad droplet-spreading laugh).

During play, I had to ask one of my partners to back off. She looked at me with surprise, like I was making this up. She said, “Do you know anyone who has the virus?”

My response?

“No, but I’ve had cancer twice, and I know what it’s like to be sick and face death. I’m not taking any chances.”

In conclusion

I continue to be amazed by all the conspiracy theories floating around about this virus. I wonder if people believe this stuff because no one believes the news anymore, and science is for sissies.

One thing confirmed for me through this pandemic is that we are in big trouble when everything you know you read on Facebook. The anti-intellectuals seem to be winning.

I’m no stable genius, but I’m starting to think basic intelligence is my super power.