I’m always on the look-out for new crime fiction – books, movies or TV – and thought I’d share a couple of good novels, as well as a TV series with lots of potential.
Although he has been writing for years, I just discovered
Michael Koryta. How did I find him? I’m a big fan of Harry Bosch, the character
created by Michael Connelly. A lot of writers have blogs, and Connelly’s
included a list of current reading. He had high praise for Koryta, so I gave it
a whirl.
I just read Koryta’s most recent novel, If She Wakes. It’s about a college student injured in an accident. They think she’s in a vegetative state, but she’s actually got it all going on inside. However, she can’t speak or move. Bad guys are worried she will wake for real and talk about what happened during that accident. There’s a great female detective with some bad-ass driving skills trying to put it all together.
Loved it! Now I’m going through his catalog.
Another writer I enjoy is Attica Locke. I just finished Heaven, My Home. This is the second novel featuring Darren Mathews, a black Texas Ranger. Bluebird, Bluebird was the first in the series, and it won the 2018 Edgar award for best novel. The writer confronts racism head-on, and sometimes it’s hard to read, but she’s a great story teller, and Darren is a complex and flawed man – which always sucks me in.
About TV. I’ve set my DVD to record USA Network’s new series, Dare Me. It starts tonight, so you’d better get cracking if you want to see it from the beginning. I have no idea if it will be any good, but the series is based on a book by Megan Abbott, who I’ve been reading for years. Among my favorites are Die a Little and Bury Me Deep. But Dare Me is by far the best.
Dare Me is about cheerleaders. Snarky ones. Oh, and a murder, along with a suspicious cheerleading coach who is seemingly perfect, but alas, things are not as they seem.
If someone had told me I’d enjoy a book about cheerleaders,
I would have said they were nuts. But this is great stuff. I’m hopeful the TV
series will capture the dark weirdness of Megan Abbott’s writing.
Next on the docket is Bearskin by James A. McLaughlin. I found this one listed among the best debut novels of 2018 on CrimeReads. I haven’t started it yet, but it’s set in the mountains of Virginia, where a dude with a secret past goes to hide from bad guys. However, he runs into poachers, and everything changes.
As you know, I’m not much on planning, but since I retired, I started keeping a spreadsheet of books I want to read, and then I reserve them at the library. A series will always bring out my OCD tendencies, so I list them in order on my spreadsheet and go about it methodically.
Oh, is it time for the Year in Review? My apologies. I’m not
one to document goals, accomplishments or disappointments. If I wanted to do all
that, I would be working.
Nor do I develop a complex plan for the upcoming year. Commitments, metrics – it starts to feel like performance management, and that’s enough to give me nightmares. What a horrible process that was. It gets ugly when you become a leader and see how the sausage is made. I almost threw up the first time I had to change someone’s rating because there were too many in that tier. It’s called forced distribution, and it sucks.
On the receiving end, I always got positive reviews, but you know how it goes. They have to find one thing. You gotta learn to take it. No matter what my boss wrote or said, I learned to respond, “Thank you so much. I love this job and can’t wait to work in collaboration with the team to accomplish even more next year.” Period.
Then whine about that one thing all night until Dale shuffles off to bed, turning to 600 pages of U-boat lore for solace.
I just can’t mess with laying all that judgment on myself anymore. I’m not perfect, but despite the rumors, I’m pretty cool. Life is great! My career felt like a 35-year race, and retirement feels like I made it to the finish line. It’s not as though I’m done with life, but I don’t have to run that particular race anymore. Now I can go to the party tent and drink beer.
Some people need big ideas to push them, and if that’s what makes you tick, I’m all about embracing it. I’ve seen some impressive 2020 goal-setting, and I seriously do find myself thinking, damn, I’m a slacker. For some of us, however, all that structure is oppressive. I actually get a lot done, but I try not to make a job out of it.
I keep a list of priorities on a 3 x 5 note card and call it a year.
If you’re feeling pressure to reinvent yourself in retirement or set up quarterly productivity metrics, I invite you to come over to the dark side, where we have a few priorities and the occasional short-term list to make sure things get done, but having clean jammies to hang out in is often the highest expectation of the day.
Aside from waking up without an alarm clock, my favorite times are when I play hard outside and come home to a great dinner. Maybe more of those in 2020? Dale? Dale? Anyone?
As for New Year’s Eve, we don’t make a big deal out of it.
Our joke is nothing good happens after 10 p.m., when you should be home with
the doors locked. For dinner, I’m making baguettes, which we’ll have with some
fancy cold cuts, smoked salmon, cheese and champagne.
I assure you. If I see midnight, it’s only because I got up
to pee.
While we’re feeling clean, warm, well-fed, happy, fortunate and generous, I thought I’d take a moment to talk about charitable contributions. When we were working, many of us contributed to charities through workplace payroll deduction programs. I always did.
But I confess … when I retired and the paychecks stopped, I should have found another way to contribute to charities, and I didn’t.
I’m back. This year, I chose to support the local food bank. I did my research on Charity Navigator, which is a great tool for helping us evaluate charitable organizations. Will they spend my money wisely?
For example, I was torn between a food bank in the county where I live and a food bank in the greater metropolitan area. My local food bank scored average on financials but had a rather poor showing on accountability and transparency.
The metro food bank had good scores. I went to the website,
where I learned they provide other human services such as clothing and legal
support for immigrants. That appealed to me, so I donated online and was
emailed a receipt. The contribution is tax-deductible.
Lots of people have charitable contributions baked into their lifestyle through church or other service organizations. If you’re like me and counted on payroll deduction, retirement is the time to take the next step.
Find something that matters to you and do a little research before you give because there are charities that sound reputable but aren’t. Decide what you can afford to give and build it into your retirement planning.
The deadline to claim a tax deduction for 2019 is Dec. 31, 2019. While giving is from the heart and not about taxes, it’s no shame to claim the deduction. I think of it as a little extra bonus for doing the right thing.
NOTE: Please read the comment from Dave about tax deductions. A great clarification and heads-up!
The tree is up, but it’s a wee bit tilty, and I’ve been feeling down. I don’t know why. Some of it is the tilt.
I worry about the tree falling over. That, and the Russians, the election, impeachment, climate change, wind blowing furniture into the pool, slippery roads. Sounds like a control thing to me, what with all the wet, windy, tilty, crazy things happening that I can’t fix.
It had been more than a week since I’d added my high-CBD cannabis tincture to my morning juice, so I got back into my daily dose, and it’s like a miracle for anxiety and excess rumination. I can look at the tree now and not panic.
Nice tree, good tree.
Tincture might be making a comeback. I read notorious cannabis
enthusiast Willie Nelson has given up smoking due to breathing issues but is
still enjoying cannabis through tinctures and edibles. If anyone can put tincture
on the map, it’s Willie.
Whilst in my slump, I also increased my dosage of schmaltz. There are a couple of videos that never fail to make me cry and cheer me up at the same time. Susan Boyle’s first appearance on Britain’s Got Talent is like a rescue inhaler. I also love Tara Lipinsky’s 1998 skate for the gold.
Opening the cat’s presents
For Christmas, Dale bought treats for our cat, Riley, and for his sister’s cat, Earle. The clerk described the treats as crack for cats. Dale wanted to open the package to see if Riley agrees. I was shocked. I mean, isn’t that what he’s getting for Christmas?
Dale said Riley wouldn’t know, but I’m sorry. There are some things you just don’t do, and you don’t go opening your cat’s presents before Christmas. Maybe Christmas Eve, but only if it’s pajamas. Having to explain all this to Dale was exhausting. You can see why I need extra tincture.
Our 41st
So, yes, 41 years of love and exhaustion was celebrated on Saturday. We drove into “the city” and spent the night at a hotel with a highly acclaimed but unpretentious restaurant on the ground floor. We don’t like to dress up, and nice jeans and boots were more than appropriate. We’re also not real slick about navigating urban settings, so having the restaurant in the hotel was perfect. No scary walks at night.
We rarely dine out, mostly because we’re excellent home cooks and almost always disappointed with our meals in restaurants. When we do go out, we find some local haunt, and our bill is usually in the $60 range. And then we’re pissed that we wasted it. For our anniversary, we said, what about going big? Maybe you can buy your way to exceptional food.
Although we were mentally prepared to spend some bucks, it’s always hard for us. We have a comfortable retirement and can afford it, but like many retirees, after saving for so long, it actually is hard to fork over the cash. Fortunately, dinner was spectacular.
Follow the food
For an appetizer, I had grilled octopus with mandarin oranges,
shaved fennel, Japanese mustard greens, spicy green sauce and charred avocado.
Dale had roasted bone marrow with short rib marmalade, pickled pepper relish,
herbs and grilled bread.
We both chose duck for our entrée. It was not planned, but there’s duck history between us. When we were dating, he wooed me from the kitchen of his Bachelor Officer’s Quarters with Duck a L’Orange. Oh, and then there was the benchmark pressed duck in Rouen, France. The wild duck at the fancy place in Paris.
Paris, Rouen … those were our youthful globe-trotting days, before we got loaded down with responsibilities and understood the concept of compound interest. When paychecks were for spending!
This time around it was seared duck breast with onion cream sauce, roasted brussels sprouts leaves, Thumbalina carrots, miniature cannelloni, shaved truffles and duck jus.
I ate every bite and would have licked the plate if I
thought I could get away with it. We were both quite full, so we didn’t order
dessert. We enjoyed a bottle of Pinot Noir with our meal.
With tip, our bill was $280. The room was $155, plus $32 for parking, so that’s a total of $467 for our 41st wedding anniversary celebration. Seems like a lot, but if anything, we should do it more. Maybe skip on mediocre neighborhood fare and follow the food.
I never get sick of retirement. Even when I read the news,
and it’s all horrible and depressing, I think, well, at least I got to sleep in
for two years.
Jury duty did not materialize. I called the automated line
the first day, and they said call again tomorrow. I called again the next day,
and they said you’re done. I was relieved to be set free but ready to do my
part for democracy, if there should be any shreds left when all is said and
done.
The Medical maze
Good news regarding my wrists. As you may recall, I fell off my bike in 2012 and broke my right wrist. It was in a cast. A couple of years later, I fell at work and x-rays were taken. My left wrist had an old fracture. I never knew it was broken, but I recall an anger management incident whereupon I pounded my fist on the arm of a chair, and I remember it hurting for weeks.
My wrists still hurt occasionally, and I attributed it to the fractures, although I also suspected carpal tunnel syndrome. Then in September, I did a fitness assessment that involved push-ups and other weight-bearing tests. They haven’t been the same since.
My primary care physician ordered x-rays and said my right
one showed no signs of a fracture, and my left one had multiple fractures. She
sent me to an orthopedic specialist.
I saw the ortho Monday. I will say that over the past couple
of weeks, my wrists were starting to feel a lot better. I’ve continued to swim
and play golf, wrapping my wrists in sports tape, which was hugely helpful.
Apparently, my primary care physician does not know how to
read x-rays. The ortho said both wrists show signs of old but healed fractures.
There is no evidence of arthritis. No symptoms associated with carpal tunnel.
He said my wrists look good and saw no reason for an MRI. The worst thing would be to immobilize them, so he said to keep doing what I’m doing. Play golf, swim, do weights, whatever. Tape them, don’t tape them, take Advil occasionally, whatever works. I asked about these little bands called Wrist Widgets, and he said sure, try them.
Later, I started having imaginary conversations.
“What about bat’s
blood? Do you think that would help?”
“Sure, give it a whirl.”
It kind of reminds me of when we lived in Egypt. You’d have horrible diarrhea and go to the medical clinic, and the first thing they’d ask is, “How long have you lived in Egypt?” And no matter what you said, they always replied, “That’s normal.” We started making up stuff.
“Doctor, there’s purple puss pouring out of my nose, and I’m
vomiting baby chickens.”
“How long have you lived in Egypt?”
“Two years.”
“That’s normal.”
Anyway, I’m happy to be given the green light to play golf
and swim and do weights, and as I said, both wrists are getting better, but I
was a little surprised by his complete lack of concern. I guess that’s a good
thing.
No signs of a Christmas tree
My Christmas tree experiment backfired on me. I reminded Dale once that Christmas would come fast following Thanksgiving, because I know he procrastinates, and if he wanted a tree, he’d better hustle. I would rather skip the whole thing, so I never said another word, hoping he’d forget.
He did seem unmotivated, and there were no signs of a tree. That’s when I started to feel bad. The tree makes him happy. I should encourage that, not secretly hope time gets the best of him. I finally said, look, I was hoping you’d forget about the tree, and I feel terrible if my bah humbug attitude brought you down. He said I was completely absolved. The tree is his deal.
Still, there’s no sign of a tree. Our neighbors got one yesterday, and it’s parked temporarily on their doorstep. It’s small but nicely shaped. I said, hey, check out Mike’s tree on their porch. I wonder where he got it? Dale nodded but didn’t say anything. By this time tomorrow, I’ll be begging.
A tree, for God’s sake, just get a tree already!
Retirement reading
I read where Tahoe Girl was re-reading one of her favorite books, “The Historian” by Elizabeth Kostova. I got it from the library and dove right in. First off, I will say it’s a beast of a book, weighing in at some 650 pages.
The story revolves around a group of academics studying the
lore of Dracula and eventually their travels in search of his tomb. The principal
narrator is the daughter of an academic, but part of the story is told through the
father’s eyes, as well as through letters from another professor who went missing
in the midst of his research. There’s even a love story tucked inside.
I liked it a lot. The history is detailed and quite
interesting. I admit to speed reading here and there. But all in all, I found it
hard to put down. I had a bad vampire dream toward the end of the book, and I
finished it in the parking lot of the library, because I wanted the book out of
the house.
Now that vampires aren’t stalking me in my sleep, I’m between books. I have a hold on the new Grisham book, “The Guardians.” Oh, and I got a nice note from Jay Harrison, our friend at BoomSpeak. He likes the Kristen Lepionka books I recommended. The character, Roxane Weary, is a private eye in Columbus, Ohio. She’s also bisexual.
I usually don’t like it when the author gets too cute with the private eye’s background. “He’s a retired clown who lives with witches on a mountain in Mongolia …” All that to say Roxane’s sexual preferences are an interesting sideline that don’t interfere with the integrity of a good private eye story.
California Dreaming
Since I didn’t have jury duty, I went to my golf club’s holiday luncheon. I blew out my hair and wore nice wool slacks that haven’t seen the light of day since I retired. Black pants, white shirt, denim jacket and black booties. For me, that’s festive.
As I was driving to the event, it was overcast and drizzling. I could hear the Mama and Papas singing, “All the leaves are gone, and the sky is gray.” And something about driving among the barren trees through California’s winter gloom to celebrate the holidays with a bunch of old lady golfers made me crazy happy.
Now I’m getting sentimental. I guess that means I will go with Dale to get a damned tree.
I finally broke down and watched the Peloton ad, which has been much maligned for being sexist. I’m usually the Top Gun of my class when it comes to identifying sexist bullshit, but I just can’t get excited about this one.
Husband buys wife a fancy exercise bike. She starts exercising. Changes her life. I guess because he gave it to her, and I guess because she didn’t request it, that implies he wants her to change in some way, and the bike is a not-so-subtle message to get off her ass and ride?
It’s a stretch, even for me, a lifelong feminist. I’m thinking,
yay, a present! A bike seems more realistic than a car or diamonds, and no one
seems to get upset about those ads. Maybe there’s a minimum.
I’m not seeing dark forces at work here, and now that I know what the fuss is about, I’m moving on. There was a time when I would get fired up about everything, but like Leonard Cohen, I found over the years that cheerfulness kept breaking through.
Still, in the spirit of sexist conspiracy theories, I vote for the Trintellix ad, in which a woman is depressed while dealing with dirty laundry, two small kids, a husband who doesn’t seem to do much, an office job with a bunch of men standing around looking important and a broken copy machine she has to fix.
There’s a pill for that.
Ortho consultation
I’m a bit apprehensive about the upcoming week. I finally get to see an orthopedic specialist on Monday. I broke both my wrists in 2012, and since then I’ve experienced periodic pain. I’ve never been sure if the pain is related to the fractures or carpal tunnel syndrome.
Usually when my wrists act up, I wear braces for a couple of days, and I’m fine. This time, I put a lot of pressure on both wrists attempting push-ups during my new member “fitness evaluation” at the club I joined, and my wrists pretty much hurt all the time now.
The interesting part is that I’ve been playing some of my best golf ever and swimming, so it’s not incapacitating. I’m fearful the doctor will tell me I can’t completely recover without a lot of downtime, meaning no golf. I’ll do what I have to do, and it’s better to deal with it in the winter when golf kind of sucks anyway, but I’m hoping I can play through it.
I definitely don’t want surgery.
Jury Duty
I got a summons for jury duty. I’ve only been summoned once before, and that was in Texas. Move around enough, and it takes them time to find you. In Texas, I went to the jury selection room, where more than a 100 people were being processed. When they finally got to the end, it was down to me and four others. They said we could go home.
Of course, I’m proud to do my civic duty, and it could be
interesting, but I dread it just the same. The summons has a little warning
about dress code. “Jurors are to dress appropriately as an officer of the
court.” Whatever that means. No tank tops, shorts or bare feet, so I’m good on
that front.
I’m instructed to call tomorrow to see if my appearance at the court house is confirmed, postponed or canceled. If it’s on, I have to go in first thing Tuesday morning. Ugh. Maybe I should have submitted an excuse:
I’m retired. I can’t start anything at 8:30 a.m., and I no longer have a relationship with appropriate attire. Can I watch it on TV and text you my thoughts?
Place gelatin into the bowl of a heavy-duty stand mixer along with 1/2 cup of the water. Have the whisk attachment standing by.
In a small saucepan, combine the remaining 1/2 cup of water, granulated sugar, corn syrup and salt. Place over medium high heat, cover and cook for 3 to 4 minutes. Uncover, clip a candy thermometer onto the side of the pan and continue to cook until the mixture reaches 240 degrees F, about 7 to 8 minutes. Once the mixture reaches temperature, immediately remove from the heat.
Turn the mixer on low speed and, while running, slowly pour the sugar syrup down the side of the bowl into the gelatin mixture. Once you've added all the syrup, increase the speed to high. Continue to whip until the mixture becomes very thick and lukewarm, about 12 to 15 minutes. Add the vanilla during the last minute of whipping. While the mixture is whipping, prepare the pan.
Combine confectioners' sugar and cornstarch in a small bowl. Lightly spray a pan with nonstick cooking spray. I use a square silicone cake pan, but you can also use a glass or metal 9×13 pan. The smaller cake pan yields taller marshmallows, which I prefer. Add the sugar and cornstarch mixture and swish around to completely coat the bottom and sides of the pan. Return the remaining mixture to the bowl for later use.
When the marshmallow mixture is ready, pour/scrape into the prepared pan, using a lightly oiled spatula for spreading evenly into the pan. It's very sticky, and you won't be able to get every last bit. Dust the top with the remaining sugar and cornstarch mixture to lightly cover. Once covered, you can use your hands to press evenly into place. Allow to sit uncovered overnight.
Turn the marshmallows out onto a cutting board and cut into squares with a sharp knife or pizza cutter dusted with the sugar and cornstarch mixture. Once cut, lightly dust all sides of each marshmallow with the remaining mixture to ensure no side is sticky.
To decorate, put some cold water in a small bowl, and put your sanding sugars in separate bowls. Very lightly dip the top of the marshmallow into the water and then press into the sanding sugar. If you want to coat the entire marshmallow, paint the water on with a brush and then roll around in the sanding sugar to evenly coat. Allow to dry a couple of hours on a sheet pan lined with parchment paper.
Store in an airtight container for up to 3 weeks.
With apologies to Darlene Love, it’s a marshmallow world in the winter. Except I’m not talking about snow. This marshmallow starts in the kitchen.
I’ve been making marshmallows for years, but I just started coating them with sanding sugar to get more of the peep-like effect. It’s probably too much sugar for some, but for those of us who love peeps, there’s no such thing as too much sugar.
Quick question for peep lovers … fresh or stale?
While I prefer coarse sugar over fine, these marshmallows are also delicious unadulterated. Dale normally doesn’t like marshmallows, but he loves these without the extra sugar. They would also make a great gift with hot cocoa mix and maybe a cute mug.
These will be packaged up and gifted. I usually use cellophane bags tied with a ribbon, but I might poke around and see what else is out there.
Oh, and yes, it makes a mess, but when it comes to cleaning up sugar, hot water is your friend.
My cannabis plant looked healthy, but I didn’t see any growth over a week’s time and concluded it needed more light. Dale originally thought there was plenty of light but changed his mind because, oh, I don’t know, it’s practically winter? Dark and gloomy? What a shocker.
I went ahead and purchased an LED grow light and nearly blinded Dale during the installation. He said he would help put it up, but then he started backtracking. Like maybe there was something easier that didn’t involve ladders and finding a joist in the ceiling.
Neither one of us could find the joist. I said I would call a handyman, but Dale thought that was ridiculous. He said they don’t even pull into your driveway for less than $100, making homegrown cannabis not such a bargain after all. I explained I’ve been frugal about this whole project, but sometimes you just have to throw money at it.
Except I didn’t want to spend the money, either. I said I was going to return the light, which I purchased on Amazon – free shipping both ways. He thought that was best. I did the return online, and this particular item had to go to Kohl’s to get free shipping. Lowe’s is on the way to Kohl’s, so I figured I’d return it and then shop around for alternatives.
Dale suggested we go to Lowe’s first, to look for some sort of stand that could hold the light. I said I already initiated the return. What? He didn’t know how an Amazon return works. It’s a small thing, but it’s like discovering he doesn’t know where babies come from.
Lowe’s didn’t have anything that looked promising, and Dale finally agreed we should call the handyman service. I had to cancel the return, which is easy enough, but I hate doing and undoing. I accused him of making it up as he goes, saying whatever’s convenient, and he said I didn’t understand science or nature.
On the way home, I said what about asking our neighbor? He’s a contractor. Surely, he could find a joist. Dale said look, I know it’s legal, but I’m not sure our neighbor needs to know we’re growing pot. I said what if I remove all the evidence and just say we need a hook in the joist so we can hang a plant? Dale agreed that might work.
Our neighbor came over and even he had a hard time finding the joist, but mission accomplished! Dale put in the hook, and we hung the light. We couldn’t find the switch, so I said maybe you just plug it in. That’s what I did, and it worked great, but at that precise moment, the light was pointed directly at Dale’s face. He was fine after a few minutes, but still, I felt bad.
Everyone is happy again. The plant has been growing for 30
days. I think it’s a little behind schedule, due to the light issues and it not
being particularly warm in our house. When it was all said and done, we had our
usual “repair the damage” conversation. We misinterpret what each other says
and both need to ask better questions to be sure we’re on the same page.
Hugs and kisses all around. Our anniversary is this month – 41 years – and sometimes it’s hard to believe we’ve pulled it off. We occasionally make things harder than they have to be, but we do eventually work it out and are on track to ride out eternity together.
With all the recent rain, we both felt cooped up and to accelerate our recovery, I played golf this morning, and Dale went for a run … as in must get out of house, preferably alone. The sun actually appeared! Perhaps the secret of a long and happy marriage, particularly in retirement, is finding that sweet spot between togetherness and personal space.
Our Thanksgiving was great, although the turkey was a little overdone. We had delicious turkey sandwiches last night on Dale’s homemade bread, so it couldn’t have been all that bad.
There was an incident involving the oven. Dale roasted a pork belly the night before, and apparently grease splattered, creating a lot of smoke when I was getting ready to put in the cheesecake. I had to turn on the fan and open windows. Luckily, it didn’t affect the food, and after the oven cooled, Dale wiped down the inside so we wouldn’t have a smokefest when he started cooking the turkey.
We didn’t argue about it, but I could tell he was annoyed that I was annoyed with smoke. He thinks I overreact, and that might be true, but I don’t see any advantage to embracing smoke and fire as a byproduct of cooking inside the home.
Dale went to bed early, but I stayed up watching the Downton
Abbey movie. I love the series and felt like I was reunited with old friends –
oh, look, there’s Anna! And Mr. Bates! And Mary’s hair … so chic. But all in
all, it was pretty disappointing. I have this vision of the actors putting on
their old costumes and laughing hysterically. As in, “Can you believe we’re
getting paid to do this?”
My pumpkin cheesecake was fantastic. I’m experimenting with freezer action. Once the pieces are firm, I’ll wrap them in plastic and put them in a tub or or add another layer of foil.
I am not a Christmas person, but I’m not going to get all
grumpy about it, either. I’m just happy to be here. Dale is more into it than I
am, but he doesn’t want to put up a tree until about a week before. However, if
you don’t go soon, the trees are gone – especially with Thanksgiving coming right
at the end of November this year.
Dale is not exactly methodical about getting things done, so I’m not saying a word. I’m hoping he procrastinates until there are no trees to be had. The only potential downside is my annual holiday tradition of drinking single malt scotch while he decorates the tree. I feel certain I could find another excuse to enjoy a wee bit of scotch, if the tree shortage should come to pass.
I finished all my books, and as it turns out, the library is open today! I’ve been avoiding crowds, but the library is reasonably safe. I suppose I’ll have to find something to wear other than jammies and head over there this afternoon, hopefully before the rain kicks in.
Yes, it’s California, but the rainy season is finally here, and it is quite chilly by my standards. I am proud to say I’ve walked about an hour every day. In terms of motivation, I had to dig deep, as I am such a wuus about the cold. But it was fine once I got started.
The rain and cold also affect my golf schedule – what Dale
calls, “The Tour.” He usually asks me on Sunday what the tour schedule is this
week. I didn’t play last week at all. I’m going to try and squeeze in a round
early Tuesday. The rain is supposed to start in the afternoon. I welcome the
rain, but I’m already sad about the unpredictability of winter golf.
When golf season is in full swing, I hardly bother with
crafts projects. But now that the rainy season has started, I’ll resume my activities
in the artist’s studio garage. I still have all the stuff for coasters, as
well a piece of discarded fence I think will be interesting to play around
with.
My little cannabis plant looks healthy, but it doesn’t seem
to be growing much. I think it needs more light, so I caved and purchased an
LED lamp. It should arrive today, and Dale said he would help me hang it – the guidelines
suggest about one foot above the plant. For some reason, I was thinking of
Robert Frost:
My little plant must think it queer to grow without a light source near.
Dale wants to take a turkey break today, but we have yet to discuss what we’ll have instead. I always make soup out of the carcass, so I’ll probably do that Sunday or Monday. Rain tonight, I think, and tomorrow looks like a washout.
I’m looking forward to next week, when everybody else goes
back to work!
We watched Office Space, which might be up there with Young Frankenstein for most times watched. I still love the scene where the consultant tells Peter he has been missing a lot of work lately.
Peter replies, “I wouldn’t say I’ve been missing it, Bob.”
Ditto!
In the work world I used to inhabit, Thanksgiving was at least a four-day weekend. Sometimes I would take a few extra days of vacation to get the whole week off, but as I advanced in my career, that became harder to do. More money equaled less time off, and in the end, the 24/7 work culture motivated me to retire. I never bought into the idea they owned me body and soul.
Even when I had time off, almost as soon as it started, I was stressed about it coming to an end.
I worked for a good company that paid me well, so I stayed fully committed and used to tell myself, “Don’t retire until you retire.” But the more hours I put in, the more I began to think about my exit strategy. I’m glad I hung in there, but I’m also glad I got out in time to enjoy retired life.
Now I’m entering my third year of retirement. The 365-day weekend. My third Thanksgiving without the dread of wondering when the call or email would come that some sort of crisis demanded my immediate attention. The biggest event today happened when I was toasting pecans and did a taste test. A few were rancid, so I had to throw out the whole package and send Dale to the store for more.
I know there are those who need more excitement or greater challenges, but I’m kind of done pushing that rock up the hill. Ambition served me well, but I don’t feel that need to prove myself anymore. Maybe it will come back, but for now I’m happy reading, writing, playing golf, walking, swimming, cooking – the usual suspects.
It got cold and windy and rainy here, so I’m going through my annual period of denial and staying inside with a couple of good books. I forgot I now have a gym membership, because I mainly just use it for the pool, but I could easily drive over there and hop on the treadmill. I might do that if this weather keeps up.
As for reading, I discovered a new writer – Kristen
Lepionka. Her character is Roxane Weary, a private detective in Columbus, Ohio.
There are three books, and I’ve now read them all. The characters are great,
the stories interesting and I love her humor. Roxane is also bisexual and has
an on-and-off girlfriend, as well as an on-and-off boyfriend. You know, all
things prurient …
I’m about half-way through the new Janis Joplin biography by Holly George-Warren. It’s actually quite sad. Janis tried so hard to be conventional and fit in to her family’s expectations, but she just couldn’t make a go of it. I’m glad she went with who she was and shared her rare talent with us, but I wish she had been able to leave the drugs alone.
The Downton Abbey movie is available to stream for $19.99 on Amazon. I’m trying to justify it by suggesting it would cost more than if Dale and I went to the theater to see it and got a big bucket of popcorn. The thing is, he doesn’t really want to watch it, so my justification is weak.
That means I’m just going to do it anyway. My popcorn is pretty good, too. Olive oil, I swear, there’s no turning back.
