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.
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.
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.
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.
My cannabis harvest drying in the closet.A “pollen sifter box” used to make kief, a concentrated form of cannabis.
In the continuing adventures of a gentlewoman cannabis farmer, I just harvested my second indoor plant and hung the stalks upside down to dry. Last time, I hung them in the garage, but they’re supposed to dry in a dark place, so this time I hung them inside a closet.
My first plant was smaller, growing in a 2-gallon pot and yielding about 10 grams of weed. This one grew in a 5-gallon pot. Same kind of seed, same location and same light, but the two plants looked very different. The first plant had thicker buds, while the buds on this one look scrawnier. However, there are more of them, so I’m hopeful the yield will be bigger.
“The Original” is what Dale calls my first grow. I planted the seed in November and harvested the cannabis in February after 102 days. The second plant, yet to be named, was 84 days from seed to harvest. I attribute the shorter cycle to warmer weather.
I noticed the smaller leaves are packed with trichomes, the sugary-like powder that contains cannabinoids such as THC and CBD. The leaves are generally assumed to be too rough for smoking, but you can extract the trichomes and make kief, a concentrated form of cannabis.
Basically, you can make kief by shaking the leaves through a filter. I bought what is euphemistically called a “pollen sifter box” for this purpose. I’ve never tried kief, and I haven’t actually used the box yet, so you’ll have to wait for a full report!
I’ve already got two seeds germinating. While I purchased new dirt for my second plant, this time I’m going to re-use the dirt and add fertilizer. We’ll see how it goes. I plan to use the 2-gallon pot to grow one by the window and use the 5-gallon pot outside. You’re probably thinking, geez, how much weed does a girl need?
Truth is, I actually don’t consume much cannabis, but I’d like to get a nice big harvest for my next batch of homemade cannabis balm. Maybe it’s the placebo effect, but I use it daily, sometimes twice daily, on my knees, mastectomy scars and other creaky body parts.
All I can say is for me, it works. I am forever grateful for the healing properties of the cannabis plant.
For those who haven’t read my previous posts about growing cannabis, I purchased my kit from A Pot for Pot. As a first-time grower, I loved that everything I needed came in a box with step-by-step instructions. I purchased the seeds separately (with a discount from A Pot for Pot).
The plant itself is what they call autoflowering, meaning you don’t need a grow tent with alternating cycles of light and dark. The plant has its own internal clock and can be ready to harvest is as little as 80 days.
Dale did a commissary run today for the first time since all this started. He used to go twice a month for the basics, supplementing with specialty items at local stores. Commissaries are operated for military personnel, but retirees and family members with proper military ID can also use them. We save about 30 percent when we shop there. The closest one to us is about a 30-minute drive.
Yes, distance to commissary was on my retirement location spreadsheet!
Although we are in good shape supply-wise, he wanted to recon when we didn’t necessarily need anything as sort of a test. The commissary now requires masks, so that tipped in our favor.
When he got back, Dale said military people are great. “They want you to wear a mask? Done! No whiners.” He went right when they opened, and it wasn’t crowded. It was easy to keep his distance.
Dale said they were out of the same things everyone else is out of but otherwise well-stocked. He bought charcoal, Irish butter, eggs, onions, cheese, mayonnaise and my beloved Trop 50 orange juice. For some reason, that stuff is hard to find. Oh, and back-up to the back-up peanut butter. Which means more of those delicious cookies. How can I not?
If all goes well, Dale is back on the clock as supply chain manager. For me, it was a good run but good riddance. He is much easier to get along with when he has a mission. Pandemic Dale is kind of a drag. Pandemic Donna is no prize, either. We’ve been married 41 years, and this is the first time I ever asked myself why? But then there are moments when we feel closer than ever.
Maybe everyone is feeling it, because people around here are starting to act like the virus is gone. That scares us. Our county has low numbers, and I hope they are right, but we’re not banking on it. We continue to be cautious, and so far, nobody has hassled us. I read where people in some parts of California are saying rude things to those who wear masks, like, “You believe this hype? You’re nothing but sheep.”
All I have to say to that is baa.
Restaurants are opening, but we have no intentions of going. We hardly went pre-pandemic. We might loosen up a bit on short visits to the grocery store, but with masks, social distancing and hand-washing. There’s no place we need to go or want to go that requires us to linger inside.
The only other thing we miss are the wineries. It’s so nice to taste before you buy. And it’s usually a lovely drive out to the vineyards. We hardly ever purchase wine in a store anymore.
I’m not sure how the tasting rooms will re-open. We have been plowing slowly sipping our way through the inventory and look forward to replenishing the rack. In good pandemic news, I accidentally opened a bottle of late harvest Zinfandel. It’s more of a dessert wine, which we don’t typically drink. We must have purchased it on a whim.
I didn’t want to waste the wine, so I put a vacuum seal on it and stuck it in the fridge. I thought about making sorbet but chickened out. Then I decided to start drinking a small glass as an aperitif, perhaps as some drink Port at happy hour? This particular late harvest Zin is not super-sweet and went beautifully with some aged cheddar as an appetizer. Delicious.
So, wine remains to be seen. But if Dale can safely do a commissary run with supplemental trips to the local store, and if I can play golf, this marriage might be saved.
Special items I purchased for pandemic walking include a lightweight mask and a hip belt that holds my phone, hand sanitizer and water.
If you like to walk or walk because what else can you do in the middle of a pandemic or you must walk in order to get where you’re going, my guess is you probably want to live through it. With potentially contagious neighbors out and about, bigger cars, distracted drivers and pedestrian fatalities on the rise, negotiating the streets or trails on foot is risky.
Although I’m retired now and walk for pleasure, I commuted by bus and foot to my job in Silicon Valley. I walked to the Caltrain station from my home to catch the bus and then hopped off a mile or so from my work location to get some exercise, repeating the route at the end of the day. I left my home in darkness, and in the winter months, I returned in darkness.
Safety was and is my number one priority. As a two-time cancer survivor, I’m tough to kill, but I am not going to make it easy for anyone. I live in a suburban area and average about five miles a day on routes that include sidewalks, crosswalks and off-road trails.
Here are my 10 tips for safe walking:
You never know what’s going to happen out there. Wear some sort of a pack, if possible, so you can keep your hands free and eyes on the road. I wear a FlipBelt that holds my phone, hand sanitizer and a small bottle of water.
Current evidence suggests you don’t need to wear a mask when exercising outdoors as long as you keep a proper social distance. While six feet is the standard, I double that during exercise. When it’s crowded out there, I wear a mask. I like the ExerMask from Happi Mask Co. If you don’t wear the mask, keep one in your pack in case you encounter an unusual situation requiring extra protection.
Pay attention. Observe your surroundings. See who is coming ahead of you, and turn around periodically to see who is coming in from behind. Give people, dogs and snakes a wide berth. Stand to the side as far as is safe and let everyone pass. Wait until they’ve gone at least 12 feet before getting back on the path.
Assume cars have the right-of-way no matter what. Sure, the law says cars must yield to pedestrians, but you can’t assume they will, even if you have the signal to go. Look both ways before crossing. Pay special attention to cars on your side of the street, to your left, making a right turn in front of you.
Do not assume drivers see you. Make eye contact with drivers before crossing. Wave to get their attention. I do not recommend thumping the hood of their cars. People do not take kindly to such gestures.
Cross only when the signal indicates. Use your elbow to push the pedestrian button and avoid crossing on a “stale green.” That’s when the clock is counting down, and you may not have enough time to cross safely. Even if you’re super fit, you never know. You might trip or stumble.
Don’t wear ear buds or headphones. Practice situational awareness. Pay attention to the sounds of the street. Cyclists who ride on the sidewalk are a particular nuisance for walkers and runners, but it’s hard to be mad when they’re just trying to have fun and be safe. Listen for them and get out of the way.
Don’t use your cell phone unless it’s an emergency or you’ve stopped in a safe place. Walking and talking is not a good idea, especially when you’re crossing the street.
Wear well-fitting walking shoes (not flip flops or high heels) and add reflective gear at dawn, dusk or at night. If you’re on a budget, orange safety vests and reflective straps are inexpensive. When I was commuting, I wore a full front-and-back vest with blinking LED lights that went over the outside of my pack.
Don’t yell or use hand gestures to express your frustration with bad drivers. You goal is to stay safe and healthy, and you just never know how people will react. Smile and wave when drivers do the right thing.
Even though I am super-vigilant, I’ve had a couple of close calls out there and find that taking precautions and giving up ear buds isn’t all that bad when you consider the alternative.
My husband, Dale, a retired military logistician and foodie-in-residence, was always in charge of groceries, but he didn’t want to deal with online shopping, so we had a little change of command ceremony, and I took over the supply chain.
He’s going to want it back, damn it, and I guess I’ll be ready to hand it over, but I’ve actually enjoyed my new role. We’ve always taken different approaches to menu planning, and this arrangement gave me an advantage. Pre-pandemic, Dale wakes up and thinks, “What do I want to eat for dinner tonight?” Then after persuading me that I want it, too, he would go to the store to buy anything we were missing.
I’ve always treated the kitchen like a Chopped basket. I love digging things out of the freezer and using up whatever we have before it goes bad. Now that we’re shopping less frequently and guessing what we might want to eat weeks down the road, Dale is more amenable to my approach. Food is a precious commodity.
We were discussing options for tonight, and I said we have a ripe avocado, fresh cilantro that won’t last long and queso fresco. We also have chicken tortilla soup in the freezer. In the old days, he might have gone along with my idea but probably would have said something like, “Yeah, that sounds good, but I was thinking burgers.”
And then I would remind him we don’t have any buns, and he’d jump for joy at the prospect of going to the store to buy some. That time is gone. Now, it’s all about using what we have. I even convinced him to help me defrost and reorganize the chest freezer out in the garage so we can find stuff.
Dale uses a visual filing system, and his argument against the reorg was that he knew where everything was. But I didn’t! And now that I’m in charge of replenishing supplies, he went along with it. With all this new-found power, I took the opportunity to “bundle” like items. I don’t see this as neurotic COVID-19 tidying but maximizing the return on our biggest expense and our biggest interest – food.
Rather than miscellaneous pieces of pork scattered throughout, there’s now a large plastic bag for all the pork. There’s a bag for chicken thighs. A nut and spice bag. A special basket for leftovers. I think he was hyperventilating, and I thought if the virus doesn’t get him, this will.
Now that I am monitoring our stock, I have been astonished by how much cheese we consume. And you know what? This is not a reckoning of any kind. I will not be joining the legions of people who don’t eat dairy. It just means I need to buy more cheese.
We love and eat all kinds of cheese, but we hit the cheddar pretty hard. With our last online order, I accidentally selected an 8-ounce package instead of the usual pounder. We started calling it appetizer-size cheese. Seriously, you dip into that, and next thing you know it’s gone. Kind of like box wine.
Here’s another strange but true cheese story. We stopped using grated mozzarella cheese in the package a couple of years ago in favor of whole milk mozzarella in chunks. Somehow, we forgot about one package in the back of the cheese drawer. The “sell by” date was March 2018. It was unopened.
Dale gently and carefully opened it. I stood by for emergency assistance, should it be required. He did a sniff test and looked for mold or other unsightly additions. All looked and smelled good. Then he did a taste test, and declared the two-year-old cheese was great!
Yes, we ate it and bought another one to keep around in case of a pandemic.
I’m gathering quite a collection of masks, and a friend suggested I start posting pictures of them as a fashion statement … to show it’s not such a big deal in the grand scheme of things. Dale and I went to the grocery store today, so I thought I’d make an effort to look stylish.
That’s my hair up in a big sock bun, along with the gorgeous turquoise earrings I bought in Texas. Back when I had cash flow. My sister made the mask. There’s a pocket for a coffee filter. I added a rouge glow to the photo for artistic effect.
It is weird to capture an image of the face without seeing the mouth. Eyes alone can look quite menacing. I tried smiling underneath, but it didn’t seem to make a difference.
It’s funny. I spent years trying to figure out how to smile for the camera, and now I guess I’ll have to figure out how to make expressions with my eyes. My glasses look almost boring, but maybe a minimalist canvas is a good place to start.
Those who wear contact lenses could have fun with decorative eyewear. Perhaps a contrasting scarf tied around the neck almost like a choker? So many things to think about!
I’m prepared to wear a mask in public as long as necessary. I understand fashion designers are getting on board, and there will be lots of choices! I actually enjoyed trying to accessorize with the mask in mind and am looking forward to my next photo shoot.
As a retiree and semi-recluse, the “stay at home” mandate has not been much of a problem. I don’t even have to create excuses anymore. Years ago, I might have said, “I have to wash my hair.” Now I would probably say, “I have to cut my hair.” Not so different after all.
While the weight of the pandemic hits me at odd moments and leaves me feeling sad and angry, most of the time I’m pretty chill. I don’t have a big agenda and don’t monitor my productivity. Aside from chores, I pretty much focus on the simple pleasures that make me happy … reading, walking, cooking, movies and TV.
I’ve started to play a little golf and have fielded a few invitations. This was my response to the latest:
I’m erring on the side of caution and only playing on courses I know reasonably well, where I can walk and where they have documented procedures for reduced touch points, increased social distancing, modified rules, etc. Since I haven’t played that course before, I’ll have to pass this time around. But thanks for thinking of me! I’m open to other courses.
I’ve got my cannabis plant to nurse along, and I have been doing some light handheld weights since the gym closed, but it’s not like I’m not learning to speak Swahili or alphabetizing the appliance manuals. Most of our groceries we order online for curbside pick-up, but we have started to go into the store about every two weeks. We wear masks and try to get in and out of there quickly without any close encounters of the worst kind.
In some ways I feel more peaceful, living day-to-day and trying not to think about the future. Honestly, our highest priority is food and booze, so we do have to plan ahead, but I’ve actually become fond of online shopping. We eat just about everything … nothing diet, not too much and we make almost everything from scratch.
I read where the NY Times health columnist Jane Brody treats herself to ¼ cup of light ice cream, and possibly a graham cracker, and I just can’t get that out of my head. How miserable is that?
People are itchy to go back to normal. I will go out on a limb and suggest some people have different ideas about how this virus behaves, they don’t believe it’s as bad as all that or they are willing to take their chances. Others absolutely need to get back out there and earn a living.
Even as economies open, Dale and I have decided we’re not going to be the guinea pigs. Being retired is a privilege, an earned privilege for sure, but we have the ability to stay home and will continue to do our best to ride this out in safety.
