CBD for “Hippie Hour”

I was cruising my local dispensary last week and asked if they had any flower high in CBD. I still have enough Harlequin and CBD Shark for one more batch of cannabis balm, and then I need replacement weed! Better get cracking.

The budtender, the person behind the counter, was a nice young woman who made me feel welcome. She pointed me to Harle-Tsu, which is bred by the Southern Humboldt Seed Collective. Harle-Tsu is a high-CBD hybrid cross between Harlequin and Sour Tsunami. The CBD to THC ratio is 20:1.

My Harle-Tsu was packaged and sold by Flow Kana, a company that buys cannabis from farmers in Northern California and then takes care of processing, packaging, marketing, etc. I assume other companies sell Harle-Tsu, but I’m not sure.

Anyway, it looked good to me! I bought one gram for $12. That’s about two small buds.

When I got home, I put some crushed up flower into my PAX 2 vaporizer and let it heat up. You can see in the photo how small the compartment is for the flower. The PAX is not designed for coneheads who want to do mass quantities. For me, it’s a convenient tool for microdosing without the hassle or potential breathing issues associated with smoking a joint.

Because the THC level is minimal, you’re unlikely to get high from this product. I took three or four hits from the vaporizer and felt a sense of calm and relaxation. I had been struggling with my previous blog post, but then all of the sudden I felt focused. I began to write.

If you are interested in the therapeutic benefits of cannabis or are just canna-curious, a high-CBD product is the way to go. I don’t think you can get Flow Kana products outside of California, but if you live in a state with legal cannabis, you should be able to ask for a high-CBD strain at your local dispensary.

Additionally, if you don’t want to invest in a vaporizer and don’t mind smoking, most dispensaries offer their products as pre-rolls. That’s the fancy new term for what we used to call a joint!

I like Harle-Tsu a lot and imagine I will be purchasing more to vape at “Hippie Hour” as well as for my next batch of cannabis balm.

While some readers live in states without legal cannabis or just aren’t interested in cannabis, others are experimenting with CBD-only products. Because I live in California, I have a wide selection of cannabis to choose from and enjoy the whole plant.

I learned more about the whole plant last year, when I attended Oaksterdam University and earned a certificate of achievement in cannabis education. Although CBD is powerful by itself, there is more power in the “entourage effect” of all the cannabinoids in the plant.

That’s why I don’t really mess with CBD-only products, but I am still quite curious and would love to hear about your experiences. Seems like the right product could be just as pleasant as Harle-Tsu for “Hippie Hour.”

Taco shirts, shrines & emergency preparedness

The Shrine

Years ago, dealing with baggage from my family history, a friend suggested I set aside an area for pictures, as a way to remind me even though my family was messed up, we’re all connected, and loving them and honoring them brings forth positive energy that can reinforce my sense of self. Kind of groovy talk, but it worked. I call it The Shrine.

The Shrine gets bigger all the time. I’ve added friends, cremated pets and a few mementos. I come from a long line of non-breeders, so there aren’t any children. But I do try to keep up with furry friends.

I realized I didn’t have a picture of my sister’s dogs, Rags and Scraps, so I asked her to send me one. The box arrived a few days ago, and Cheryl’s precious doggie friends have been added to The Shrine.   

Dale’s Taco Shirt

Also in the box was a taco-themed Hawaiian shirt she made for Dale, two pot holders of the same fabric, organic wheat flour from a local farm and a Stealth Angel emergency car kit. Not that her dogs aren’t adorable, but I think Dale looks pretty darned cute! Oh, and now he claims to be in dire need of tacos.

Emergency Preparedness

As for the emergency kit, well, yes, because I’m always a worst-case scenario kind of gal. Cheryl and I have talked before about how to get out of a car if it’s sinking or mistakenly flies off a bridge … just a few pleasantries to pass the time.

Among other things, the kit includes a flashlight, whistle, compass, fire starter and a carbine-tipped pen that can break glass. My sister has an additional escape tool she clips onto the shifter in the car – you can use that little guy to break the glass and cut off your seatbelt.

Who knows when you’ll need these tools, but it seems some sort of danger is always lurking. You’ve no doubt read about electric outages across California. The power company, PG&E, is attempting to reduce the risk of wild fires associated with high winds and dry weather. PG&E equipment has triggered these fires in the past, and in the case of Paradise, some 85 people were killed.

Cheryl’s power is out – and she lives way up in the northern part of the state. My massage therapist lives in the same town we live in, and she canceled my appointment for today because she has no power. We, on the other hand, are lit up like a Christmas tree.

We’re hoping to squeeze through without disruption, but we recognize anything can happen. My sister and my massage therapist both work from home, so an outage is more than a nuisance for them. We’re retired and don’t require special medical equipment, so we might be inconvenienced, but that’s about it. Depending on how long it stays out, we could lose a lot of food in the freezer.

I read there was a long line at Starbucks, and I thought, well, this is it. People will not tolerate such abuse.

Dale and I need to get smarter about an emergency bag. As in maybe have one. My sister could retire and offer her services as a personalized emergency bag adviser. Or she could put them together and sell them. She is super-prepared. Hence the Stealth Angel.

Cheryl had a few hour’s warning before the power went out. She sent me an email that all was well, but she was going into prep mode. Cheryl lives in an area with frequent earthquakes, so I don’t see this as overkill.

“We are definitely losing power as of midnight tonight. We have been told to prepare for it being off at least until Friday. Because they have never done this before and don’t know how the turning on process will go, it could be even longer. Got an emergency call from the water company saying to limit water usage, including toilets, because the sewers are going to have to be pumped manually … God bless those people.

I did laundry, a load in the dishwasher, charged everything I could think of, unplugged stuff with this computer going next, and checked all of my emergency lighting for batteries. I even filled my WaterBob (a liner for the tub) with water just in case. The main issue will be the refrigerators. The one in the garage should be OK as the fridge only has drinks, and the freezer has a block of ice in it so it should last. Won’t open the freezer upstairs and pray for the best. Will limit opening of the upstairs fridge.”

She just emailed me a few minutes ago that her power was back on, but the smoke alarm went crazy. Annoying, but all is good. I assume this is the first of many planned outages, so I am seriously going to get smarter about some sort of kit. I mean, no matter where you live, it’s always something.

Are you prepared? What’s in your kit?

Does working longer keep you healthier?

I’ve read quite a few articles suggesting people who work longer stay healthier. Maybe. But I don’t think they’re evaluating people who have brutal jobs with long hours and insane politics … jobs that interfere with sleep, relaxation, exercise and proper diet. Most of those I know from that world look worn out. I certainly was.

On multiple occasions, my boss said I couldn’t take vacation. Part of our business was building and launching satellites. She finally said I couldn’t take vacation the week before a launch, the week of a launch and the week after a launch. That left only a few weeks a year when I could presumably tune out. I was not mission-critical, and I could only imagine she felt insecure and wanted her flock on hand if something went wrong.

When I retired, I had more than 30 days of vacation paid to me because I never got to use it.  Yo, girlfriend, guess who’s on vacation now?

Some people like the intense workplace, and I salute them. However, it was not good for me. I started thinking about this topic because I saw a few people from work at an event I attended yesterday, and several commented on how healthy and happy I looked.

Even the True Believers who will be there to turn off the lights have stories that make me glad to be away from such toxicity. Maybe they are stronger than I am. I lasted a long time but eventually concluded time and freedom is more important than accumulating money and stuff. I got what I needed – no more, no less.

I hope those who are thinking about retirement will ignore blanket statements that working longer keeps you healthier. Maybe – especially if you really love what you are doing – but that has not been my experience or observation.

If you’re already retired, don’t worry. Retirement doesn’t automatically mean a decline in health or well-being. Those I talked with yesterday said, oh, man, all you retirees look so great. Yes, because if you’re doing it right, whatever that means for you, what’s inside is shining through.

Me? At 64, I believe my health and happiness is shining through. My retirement job is invigorating, life-affirming and not the least bit stressful. That job is to keep moving, eat well, learn, love, enjoy simple pleasures and use cannabis wisely. Oh, and sleep. Plenty of sleep.

New shoes and cold water blues

I had to take it easy for a few days because I overdid it pruning hydrangeas. It’s more than a little annoying when a simple garden activity knocks you down, but I suppose I’d better get used to it.

The body is both delicate and resilient and only more of the former as we age. We don’t bend and bounce like we used to. I am reminded of my favorite golf role model, Gail, who plays in our club. She’s 83, I think, and walks 18 holes. I played with her yesterday, and she said, “I’ll just keep doing it until I can’t.”

supportive walking shoes

My golf shoes are starting to attract attention. I avoid riding in a cart if at all possible. For me, all that walking requires a cushioned and supportive shoe. Most golf shoes do not meet my criteria. For all the shoes I wear, including golf, that means a thick, non-flexible sole. My back and knee problems are greatly minimized by sticking to these standards.

It seems like every time I play, someone says, “Are you wearing Hokas?” Most people don’t deviate from standard golf shoe brands. I used to wear Ecco golf shoes, and they were among the best, but I wanted something even more supportive.

While some say these shoes look too pillowy for golf, I like the Hoka One One brand. I’ve experimented with different styles over the years for regular walking shoes and this summer tried the Speedgoat 3 for golf. Some reviewers complained the shoe is too narrow. I do not have a particularly narrow foot, but this style fits me like a glove.

The Speedgoat is a trail running shoe, so the soles have traction and look very much like a golf shoe on the bottom. I might be wrong, but it seems the traction also helps with overall stability and might help prevent a fall.

Now I wear the Speedgoats for everything. I keep two pairs of the waterproof version in the car for golf and just got a brand-new pair (non-waterproof) for regular walks. If you’re not religious about cleaning them up after a game, grass from the golf course sticks in the treads and can leave a mess on the floor. Just throwing a little money at it to reduce housework.

swimming in cooler temps

I’m probably going to swim today. My club has two outdoor pools. One is heated year-round to 78 degrees, and the other one is heated year-round to 85. The colder pool has lane makers and is reserved for adult lap swimmers. The warmer pool is for families and water aerobics. In the family pool, there are lanes painted on the bottom but no dividers. If there’s an empty lane, lap swimming is OK.

So far, I’ve been using the somewhat chilly lap pool, but it’s about to get testy.

The thing is … I’m a notorious wimp about the cold. Even when it was warmer outside, I got a chill following my swim. As I see it, I’m going to have to duke it out with the kids in the warmer pool or man up and deal with the colder water. If I can stick with this through the winter, I will consider it one of my life’s greatest achievements.

I bought a thermal swim shirt, which I am hoping will make my core feel a little warmer. A wetsuit seemed like overkill.  The fit isn’t perfect, but I’m keeping it. As a flat and fabulous breast cancer survivor, there seems to be a spot for breasts I am unable to fill. I wonder if those gaps translate to less warming action, but I think it’s better than nothing.

Reading

After re-reading The Handmaid’s Tale, I requested the sequel at the library, The Testaments, and it came in yesterday! I was so excited, and when I got to the library, I saw there was also a copy on the “hot picks” rack. These are a selection of new books in high demand. I felt a little cheated after thinking I’d scored when it turns out any old person could check it out.

I started the book last night, and I’ve had a hard time getting into it. I’ll give it another whirl today.

Dale is re-reading the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and he almost has me ready to try them again. I loved the movies but have always had a hard time with the books. Dale said to skip the preamble about the history of hobbits, as well as all the little songs and such scattered throughout.

The Staff of life

We’ve kind of overdosed on bread this week. Dale has no internal bread meter to tell him when enough is enough. I accused him of eating too much bread once, and he said in a voice filled with shock and disgust, “Bread is the staff of life.”

I don’t rule out anything food-wise, but I do have an internal meter that tells me to move on to something else, say vegetables. Still, I made baguettes, and we ate them for dinner with cold cuts, a ripe brie and good olive oil. There was one baguette left, so Dale thought it would be good with bacon for breakfast the next morning. And it was.

Then, when you’d think we’d had enough, Dale made a mixed-grain bread, and we had that with Greek salads the way we ate them in Crete … just a mix of coarsely chopped tomatoes, onions and cucumbers garnished with a hunk of Feta and Kalamata olives. Olive oil and red wine vinegar over the top, with plenty for bread-dunking.

THEN, because we had bread, Dale made grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner last night. He makes a killer grilled cheese. At least we had marinated cucumbers on the side.

I’m in charge of dinner today, and as God is my witness, there will be dark green leafy vegetables.

Less worry, more fun

We were fondly reminiscing days after the flat tire fiasco when Dale said, “You want to know what was worse?”

I meant no but said yes.

“We only had 16 miles left in the tank.”

And then we began to laugh, because we both know that would have put me over the edge. I can’t bear a low gas tank. He may as well have said zombies followed us home. So many things to worry about. Gas, zombies, impeachment … there’s no end in sight.

I am a worrier, but I am trying to lighten up. It’s not that retirement and aging aren’t scary, but I say let’s do our best to tame the fear and live joyfully.  

Money is the big one, the big “worry bead” as they used to say at work. It’s funny how I fretted about money the whole time I was working, but now I have confidence in our finances and hardly give them a thought. Of course, I only got this far because I spent 35 years worrying we would not have enough money to retire, so I focused on saving and investing.

Saving and investing worked! Sure, there’s always a risk, but mostly I can relax as long as the world doesn’t blow up or one of us does something radically stupid. Living within your means and knowing there’s enough money to get by as long as you don’t go crazy makes for a happy retirement.

Growing up in a family with very little money, I always feared not having enough. It’s like near-empty gas tanks. I can’t take it. My friends would quit jobs because they were too stressful, and I used to say the stress of a job is nothing compared to the stress of living paycheck to paycheck. I endured some miserable jobs, but I never bailed until I knew we had enough to make a clean break.

Maybe there’s no such thing as true financial freedom, but we feel pretty good … reasonably secure. We paid off our mortgage in May, and that also reduces stress.

I know there are lots of fancy formulas that help people decide whether it’s smart to pay off their mortgage. Some financial experts say if your interest rate is low, then it makes more sense to invest your cash. I am not a financial expert. This is how a liberal arts major does retirement math. 

Our payment was about $1,000 a month, roughly $12,000 a year. About half of that was property taxes, which we now pay separately. Let’s assume that frees up $6,000 of cash flow, and then I’m not even going to include what we saved in interest, because calculating interest hurts my brain.

I kind of think that’s $6,000 I can spend on fun stuff I didn’t want to sign up for when we had a mortgage. Here’s my annual commitment so far:

Unlimited golf pass $2,000
Fitness club membership $1,020
Massages $1,500
TOTAL $4,520

I’ve got nothing else on the horizon, so there’s actually a surplus! I ran the math by Dale to see if he thought I was loco, and he said, no, I get it. Makes sense. I’m sure someone could deconstruct my logic. After all, the money is being spent one way or the other.

But the thing is, a mortgage is an unwavering commitment. It doesn’t go away unless you pay it off. Without a mortgage, however, indulgences are optional. There’s much greater flexibility in how you spend your retirement income. If we find ourselves short on cash, I can always back out of my sports memberships and massages. Life is still good.

And then there is the peace of mind in knowing you don’t owe anybody anything. If the shit hits the fan, we could sell this house and downsize in some form or fashion. The proceeds can continue to fund our retirement.

Having had cancer twice, I am all too aware the bubble could burst in a flash. But for now, we are healthy and solvent, and that adds up to less worry and more fun … which is not a bad retirement mantra.

How to change a flat tire

We were about half-way to the winery when the front right tire blew. The roads out there are relatively narrow, but Dale was able to find a wide spot on the side. Still, the car was not level, its right side tilted down slightly on the gravel ditch, and I didn’t like anything about this situation. 

I asked Dale if he wanted me to call Triple A, and he said yes. Smart! I dialed the number and never spoke to a human. They texted me a link to a map that showed estimated arrival time in an hour. That’s when Dale decided smart wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

The sun was blazing, and I sat in the ditch on matting we pulled from the car to access the spare tire, which is actually one of those weenie wheels. Dale wasn’t going to wait an hour when he could do it himself. This from the guy who is nursing a bad back. I sat quietly on my mat, sweating and brooding.

Dale got the jack in place and was able to raise the front just enough. He was struggling with lug nuts, when I saw the jack slip. I said, I know you don’t like me to comment, but you should be aware the jack is not stable, and it seems to me the car could fall on you.

Later, as we argued about what happened, I would apologize for trying to keep him alive. My bad.

He did listen to my report on the instability of the jack and stopped to reassess and maybe to get his breath back from the lug nut effort. Just as Dale started tinkering with the jack, a strapping young man in a pickup truck stopped and asked if he could help.

Turns out the guy was an off-duty fireman. With a dazzling smile and effusive good cheer, he stabilized the jack, manhandled the lug nuts and replaced the tire. Before he left, he gave us each a can of cold sparkling water. First responders are special people.

I had a heck of a time figuring out how to cancel the Triple A call. I tried the same number I called the first time, except now it didn’t recognize my cell phone or our account number. The queue to speak with a person was 20 minutes. Finally, I went back to the link they had texted and revisited the map, where there was a cancel button.

All this while headed to the winery, because Dale was adamant we would continue on our original path. By this time, I just wanted to go home, and ever the worry wart, I wondered how far we should drive on the weenie wheel.

I was also pissed I had to deal with Triple A as he manned up and insisted on changing the tire himself. And, of course, I was continuing to ruminate on what would have happened if our fireman-savior hadn’t come along.

The winery turned out to be a pretty good idea.

It wasn’t until later in the evening that we began to deconstruct the events. I originally blamed Dale for the whole thing, principally because I had to deal with the Triple A drama while he played around with the tire. However, I realized mid-way through the argument I was equally culpable.

I wanted to rely on Triple A roadside service, and I was angry I didn’t get my way, which was clearly more sensible. Dale acknowledged he hadn’t changed a tire in 30 years, and maybe at age 70, jacks and lug nuts were a bridge too far.

We talked about having control issues associated with retirement, work or lack thereof. Dale and I both had jobs with lots of responsibility, and the attributes that made us good at those jobs don’t go away simply because we aren’t working anymore. We’re getting better at talking about it, and that’s progress.

I like to think we both learned something about flat tires or possibly life, although I suspect I learned to say, “I’m calling Triple A.” I suspect he learned to say, “Oh, lug nuts, I had a little trouble last time, but I got this.”

A puzzling injury

Birthday Lasagne

Every year for my birthday, Dale makes Sausage and Wild Mushroom Lasagne with Red Pepper Tomato Sauce. We don’t always have it exactly on my birthday. I wanted to wait until my food-borne illness had passed and maybe until the weather was a bit cooler. We got both, so today’s the day!

This is not a quick meal you throw together. We split up the duties. I’m the sous-chef and clean, chop and weigh everything in advance. Dale cooks and assembles. I suspect we’ll run the dishwasher twice.

If you love mushrooms, this is your dish. The recipe calls for 1.5 ounces of dried porcini mushrooms, but we use 2.5 ounces.

Rain

I got rained on twice this week during golf. The weather report said 0 percent chance of rain, so go figure. I have rain gear and such but left it all in the car. That will not happen again. My question is about weather forecasts. Is any of it real or are they just making it up as they go? Has anyone ever measured their accuracy in predicting weather?

Climate Change

Speaking of weather, I continue to be amazed by the Trump administration and their efforts to roll back anything we ever did good for the environment. I mean, these people have children and grandchildren, right? Do they not care what happens to them?

My guess is it’s a combination of trying to undo anything Obama did and pandering to those who are against government regulation of any type.

The news that really put me over the edge was after Trump’s visit to California. At the same time he’s saying California can’t have stronger emissions standards for cars, he wants to fine San Francisco for allowing homeless people to pollute the environment.

While I do agree we’ve got to come up with a solution for homelessness, and certainly human waste and drug paraphernalia is a problem, Trump doesn’t care about the environment. It’s just that homeless people are an eyesore.

And don’t get me started on his comments about Cokie Roberts. She wasn’t nice to him! I hope there’s joy in the afterlife for those who went down in history as someone who wasn’t nice to Trump.

A Puzzling injury

I’ve written before about my love of the NY Times puzzles. I enjoy the mini-crossword, Spelling Bee and Letterbox. I wrote the puzzle editor a note and was pleased to get a response!

Hi there!

I love Spelling Bee and Letterbox. I especially love how Spelling Bee has a goal, and you are awarded genius for getting there. And yes, I know that is pathetic. Can you do something similar for getting Letterbox in two words? I feel so unrewarded.

Thanks,
Donna Pekar

Hi Donna,

Thanks for taking the time to write in, glad to hear that are enjoying the Bee! That certainly is an intriguing idea, I have logged it for our developers to consider as we move forward.

Thanks again, and happy solving!
John

While I believe the puzzles are good for my retired and aging brain, they are apparently not good for my wrist. I thought my wrist was sore from a previous break, but now I’m thinking it’s carpal tunnel from holding my phone hours at a time in an effort to reach genius level. Is it possible I’m not really a genius if it takes me all day to get there?

A puzzle injury? Who gets that? I am a little obsessive about puzzles and had to go cold turkey on Word with Friends. I’m not going to stop doing the puzzles, but I’m no longer doing them on my phone.

I did the mini and Spelling Bee this morning on my laptop, which I think will be better for my wrist. Dale has never been a fan of me doing the puzzles in bed, but he was kind enough not to say, “I told you so.”

Is it safe to vape cannabis?

Wow, we had surprise rain today! I had an early tee time when the weather hit, and I got soaked to the bone. I quit at the 8th and made a beeline for the car. Put on a fuzzy robe when I got home, made a cup of coffee and sat around waiting until lunch seemed like a reasonable option. Heated up some leftover risotto, and did that ever hit the spot.

Then I cleaned up the mess I made in the garage and put my clubs out on a beach towel to dry. I finally got dressed and am headed to the gym to do my new strength training exercises. I’m hopeful I can keep up with the training without hurting my wrist, which is weak from when I broke it several years ago. I talked to the trainer about it, and we took out curls and anything else that might aggravate it.

A quick note about cannabis vaping. I’m pretty sure most of my readers are not cannabis users, but my blog stats show plenty of clicks on cannabis posts, so I continue to share what I’ve learned for those who may be lurking.

First, it’s not up to me to say what is safe and what isn’t. I guess the jury is still out on what has caused the recent lung issues, but from what I’ve read, it’s mostly flavored vape juice and black market cartridges that have been tinkered with.

I occasionally vape. Here’s the deal: I live in California, where cannabis is legal and tightly controlled. You can see the packaging above for a liquid cannabis concentrate you screw onto the end of a vape pen. This is a legal product purchased from a licensed cannabis dispensary. I have nothing to do with black market weed.

If you are in doubt about vaping concentrate but still want to vape rather than smoke, there are other devices and other options. I have the PAX 2 vaporizer, which can only be used to vape flower. It’s a cool little machine that makes it easy to microdose. And you don’t ever have to worry about tainted juice.

I mostly used the cartridges for sleep, and now I prefer the Kiva blueberries anyway, so I’m probably going to pass on vaping concentrates until all this is sorted out. I personally believe the legal cartridges are safe, but I tend to be risk-averse. No harm in laying low for awhile.

If you live in a place where cannabis is not legal but you are somehow getting buds, my advice is to vape the buds instead of juice. You can buy a PAX or a similar device online.

No reinvention required

I turned 64 today! My favorite cake is the cheap stuff from the supermarket with buttercream frosting, buttercream between layers and big fat roses. I haven’t had a cake in several years, but this time I said yes. Dale and I went to Safeway together to order the cake, because sometimes they screw it up, and after waiting all this time, I didn’t want that to happen.

One year they put red roses on it. Their mistake. Dale knows better. I believe other icing freaks will agree with me – never red. There’s just something about the taste of red icing. Plus, the telltale residue on your tongue …

Another year the roses were flat, presumably because the decorators don’t know how to make the puffy ones. This time I took visual aids. I had a picture of plump roses on my cellphone and asked them if they could replicate. The answer was yes, and I’m super-pleased with the results.

I usually eat a slice or two and freeze the rest in individual pieces, which are gone before spring. Sometimes before Christmas, if it has been a rough year.

Applying the rough year scale, I’m thinking this cake might last until summer. My birthday also marks two years of retirement, and it has been fantastic. Now that I’ve settled into a simple lifestyle focused mostly on exercise, cooking, reading and writing, I find it hard to believe I thought everyone was supposed to reinvent themselves once they retired.

It seems to me there’s a bias for work, as though work is inherently better than leisure, and unless we figure out some sort of livelihood after we retire, we’re headed toward doom and demise. The headlines are all about having no time to retire or reinventing oneself for your next act. I’ve used some of those words in the past. But now I think it’s more complicated than that and have been thinking about different type of people and their relationship to work as they age.

True Believers

They love their jobs and can’t wait to tell you about it.

Worker Bees

People who simply want to work, even at what many of us would call crappy jobs, but they are still jobs that matter, and these dedicated souls are proud to do them without much fanfare.

The Walking Wounded

Maybe they like their jobs OK, but maybe they don’t. Either way, they aren’t particularly happy or unhappy, but they can’t quite let go. What else is there? They will be there to turn off the lights.

Endurance Athletes

Those who keep working partially because their careers are gratifying but partly because they don’t have the financial resources to survive without a job. They do what they have to do.

Happy Retirees

We left the workforce hopefully on our terms and hopefully with enough money to make it to the end. Some of us will find other work because we want to or because we need supplemental income, but some of us are done with paying gigs.

While these archetypes are just simple generalizations, and I don’t claim to have captured everyone’s relationship to work, there’s a broad spectrum of people getting older and thinking about retirement. We all have different resources, different expectations and different personal demands. There’s no magic bullet.

And that is my long way of saying how much it annoys me when people proselytize about working or staying busy or whatever it is they think we need to do with our time.

Busy is not the gold standard of retirement happiness. As an official ambassador for the Happy Retirees, I enjoy a peaceful pace of life that engages my brain and body without a boatload of stress.

I win! No reinvention required.

Sickbed reading

My cravings for oysters on the half shell are over. I apparently picked up a food-borne illness during our trip to Tomales Bay. Dale had a touch of it, too, but I’ve lost five pounds in three days. I’m glad the last ones I will ever eat tasted good at the time.

Oysters have always been risky. We stopped eating warm water oysters on the half shell many years ago. After reading up on oysters and the vibrio infection resulting in part from warmer waters, I see no reason to eat them raw anymore. As most of us except maybe Trump might know, the ocean isn’t getting any colder. And I’m not getting any younger, so it’s time to limit the risk.

Good news? I’ve had some quality reading time. I was trying to characterize what I like to read, and it’s hard. I enjoy many different genres but lean toward crime fiction. While I don’t like it cozy and prefer dark and noir, I avoid excessive violence. Let’s just get that murder over and done with so we can find out who did it. My favorites feature a private detective with rough edges and a complicated personal life. Probably surrounded by lowlifes, grifters and cons.  

I am trying to broaden my horizons, so I downloaded the Mystery Writers of America Top 100 Mystery Novels of all Time. Although I’ve read many of the books on the list, it was a long time ago, and I thought I might start going through them again, one by one. I began with The Maltese Falcon, which I still had at home in paperback. While I liked it a lot, I’ve become accustomed to contemporary fiction, so it took some getting used to. Last night, I started The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler.

Although the other books by my bedside are not on the list, they are older and easy to get from the library. I tried to read the first book in the border trilogy by Don Winslow, and I just couldn’t take it. Maybe another time when the world seems less grim. I read his other books classified as surf noir, and I enjoyed them very much.

Still grim but not too terribly violent were The Ice Harvest by Scott Phillips and Winter’s Bone by Daniel Woodrell. I liked both, especially Winter’s Bone, which features a great protagonist … a 16-year-old girl named Ree, in search of her meth-making father, who has skipped bail and left the family home as bond. The book is sometimes classified as rural noir.

I’ve never read the Jack Reacher series by Lee Child, but one of my golf buddies swears by them. I mean, she swears a lot anyway but really likes these books. I have a hold on it at the library and was waiting until I could leave my bathroom for a few minutes to go and get it. Today is feeling bright!

Also on my hold list is The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood, which I read many years ago. I want to read it again before I read the new sequel – The Testaments, which I also have on reserve. And I’m 7th in line for The Night Fire, a new Harry Bosch by Michael Connelly.

I’m feeling pretty good today. Tomorrow I have an introductory appointment with the personal trainer at my new fitness center, so I’m excited about that. And Friday – I have a 90-minute massage!! I haven’t had a massage in years and can’t wait.