Savoring your food

A fellow I met on the golf course yesterday asked me what I do besides play golf. Of course, I have a big list, but I didn’t feel like getting into it. I said, well, I cook, read, swim. He said, “You obviously don’t eat much.”

The day before, my neighbor asked what I did for a living prior to retirement, and she was surprised I wasn’t an engineer. She said, “You’re tall and skinny.” Like that’s a prerequisite for any kind of job, let alone engineer. I’m pretty sure engineers have to do math, so that ruins my chances.

A communications major is God’s way of saying geometry isn’t for everyone.

I guess people assume skinny is a compliment, and anyone anywhere saying anything nice … I’ll take it, but I find it odd near-strangers think it’s OK to comment on my body. I don’t believe anyone would say, “You’re short and fat, so I thought you were an engineer.” Or, “You like to cook? No wonder you’re so fat.”

Anyway, I’m not complaining. It just surprises me. This happens to be what my body looks like at this point in my life. I don’t diet or do anything special, which is also surprising, since I was a thin child who packed a bunch of pounds in high school. Weight gain led to depression and probably an eating disorder.

Although I tried every fad diet on the planet, I finally lost the weight for good in my early 20s, when I started cooking, eating quality food and exercising. I’ve maintained a healthy weight since. Still, body issues are not easily dismissed. If someone asked all the fat girls to take a giant step forward, I’d probably jump in line.

I love food, and I love my body. I’m a scarred-up mess from two bouts of cancer, but I view them as survival badges. And I especially love that food is not my enemy. I know there are people with serious food allergies and sensitivities, but I personally am tired of all the gluten-free hoopla. I do not believe any real food should be demonized.

As for me? I’d like extra gluten, please.

I’ll eat just about anything, but I try to make smart choices. I don’t waste calories on stupid food. If it’s decadent, it had better be good. For example, I would never buy a packaged scone, but making them from scratch? I’m in!

Linda at Retired Introvert is a fellow retiree who likes to cook. She shares lots of great recipes, including these lemon blueberry scones. I made the scones yesterday, and we had them for breakfast this morning. Presentation is part of the dining experience, so I dragged out this Franciscan Desert Rose plate from the cupboard. There’s just one – I like to buy remnants at discount stores. We call them the designer plates.

The scones were delicious! I ate two, which I normally don’t do, but they were scrumptious. I tried to savor the experience and eat the scones slowly to appreciate the textures and flavors – making sure to alternate with little sips of coffee that added to the complexity. The lemon glaze is like nectar – sweet but tart from freshly squeezed juice.

Food is one of life’s greatest pleasures. When I struggled with my weight in high school, I ate for emotional reasons. I really didn’t care what I put in my mouth, as long as I was poking something down. Thankfully, that time is gone. Savoring the best of what our planet offers is a true delight, and it’s my contention the more you focus on the food itself, the better off you’ll be.

Thank you, Linda, for the inspiration!

The game that never bores

Budget-friendly golf

I couldn’t wait to retire so I could play more golf, and it has been so much fun. Aside from stereotypes about golf and retirement, it’s an excellent activity for retirees, especially if you walk. I live in California and joined a public course with an annual walking pass for $2,000. For that, I can play unlimited golf. It’s a little more if you ride.

The downside is most people know the sport is incredibly frustrating, infinitely challenging and occasionally rewarding … but all that keeps us coming back!

Oh, and the people. I’m never bored.

Hoo-ha exposure

I’ve been putting a little more effort into my golf attire, and one of the more accomplished golfers in my women’s league complimented me on my outfit. I bought a couple of inexpensive skorts at Marshall’s, but I cut out the shorts, which were too short for me. I bought longer yoga-style shorts to wear underneath, and it looks pretty cute. The shorts are long enough so I don’t have to worry about them riding up as I walk the course.

She said it was better than what some of the LPGA players wear, because you can practically see their hoo-ha. Am I spelling that correctly? I assured her she would not see my hoo-ha, and I think we’re good. But by and large, I like seeing women athletes celebrate their bodies with great-fitting clothes. I simply recognize I am not one of them, so extra caution is required.

A little nip?

A couple of weeks ago I played golf with a group of women, one of whom struggled mightily on the first hole. She scored a big number and was very bummed. She said, “You’ve played with me before, you know I can play! What am I doing wrong?”

I NEVER give advice. I said, “Your swing looks perfect. Just relax. Your game will come back.”

And it did! She ended up with a two birdies and a solid score. On almost every hole, I saw her pull out a small flask from her bag and take a tiny slug. I have no idea what was in that flask, but Dale said you usually don’t fill those things with lemonade. I’m guessing she found a way to relax.

Although I’ve enjoyed plenty of relaxation juice over the years, I’ve become more cautious about drinking on the golf course. I’m mostly about staying hydrated, so water is my beverage of choice. A couple of weeks ago, one of our playing partners had her first eagle … a 2 on a Par 4. It was very exciting for everyone. Our friend insisted on buying Bloody Mary’s for us at the turn.

The Bloody was absolutely delicious. I don’t know if it was because we were at elevation or maybe I was a bit dehydrated, but after only drinking half of it, I was kind of sloshed. I had been playing pretty well up to that point but then sleepwalked through three holes, basically wrecking my round. I stopped drinking the Bloody and focused on my water, finishing reasonably sober.

The love birds

More people-watching yesterday. I went out as a single and got paired up with a threesome – a married couple and their friend. The married couple appeared to have a large age difference. It’s hard to tell, but he looked to be about 20 or 30 years older than her.

I’ve played with them before, and I nicknamed them the love birds. Every other word is babe this, babe that. They walk off the green holding hands. I know … how awful … a loving couple having fun together. Imagine! I guess I’m a little more buttoned up when it comes to public displays of affection.

Aside from all my judgmental observations, they are quite nice to play with. Interestingly, they don’t putt anything out. One putt, and if it doesn’t go in, they pick up the ball. I have no idea how they score, and I’m guessing they don’t care, which is kind of cool. I wish I were that laid back. The other thing is he stands behind her on nearly every shot and gives “feedback” on her swing. I’d kill him, but that’s me.

I was busy trying to play my game and didn’t give them much thought until the drive home. I was thinking love has no age limit. I don’t know the backstory, so I started imagining various scenarios.

What if she had been dying in the hospital, and he was her doctor? He saved her and taught her to play golf so they could live happily every after. Or perhaps she was a victim of human trafficking, and he was the private detective who found her and saved her from a life of ruin. I guess I had that whole Pretty Woman thing in my head. She could have been the one who rescued him from an otherwise miserable life. Or maybe they met on the golf course a month ago and haven’t fallen out of love yet.

Then I thought, maybe she just looks young. Maybe they’ve been married forever and have a passel of children and grandchildren. Of course, none of this is any of my business, and in the grand scheme of things, I don’t care. I just like to fill my head with idle speculation about other people’s lives. It’s actually an improvement over the rest of the voices in my head.

Anyway, you can have a lot of fun playing golf in retirement. You don’t have to be good, and you don’t have to be rich. I’ve dabbled in many sports and hobbies over the years, and nothing has seduced me like golf. I always thought it was the game itself until I started writing this and realized it’s the game and the people.

They say golf can be a metaphor for life. Certainly, I’ve encountered some annoying people on and off the golf course, but I’m learning to appreciate the characters out there, and I am all the better for it.

A recap of sun protective clothing

What to wear in the sun

OK. Here I go again with the abbreviated version of my post about sun protective clothing. I’m not super-sensitive to the sun, but it’s not getting any cooler out there, so I do what I can to protect my skin.

The first photo is what is often called a sun shrug or shawl. You can wear one over a shirt, as I’m showing, or under. I tried several of them from Amazon, but all the sleeves were too short for me. I went with SP Arms, a brand favored by the LPGA. Never mind I had the most putts of ANYONE in league play yesterday, but at least I looked spectacular.

Sp Arms America is offering a 30 percent discount and free shipping through the end of the year with this code: LPGA30OFF. For reference, I’m 5’7″ and wearing the medium. The color is gray, but it’s actually bluish gray. I might get another one in black or white.

In the last picture, I’m wearing One Pair UV Protection Cooling Arm Sleeves. Affordable and effective! I’ve heard some of my golf buddies complain that sleeves fall down, but these don’t. I don’t even notice they are there.

Oh, and the hat. I went for a bigger brim because I do spend a lot of time in the sun and now use a Retinol product on my face. This hat is from Outdoor Research. I purchased it at REI. Even with the hat, I use SPF 50 on my face.

Solar power

Speaking of the sun, we have contractors coming today to give us a quote on installing solar power. Our accountant said this is the last year for the 30 percent federal refund, so if we’re ever going to do it, the time is now.

We’ll have to see about cost. I’ve read you should be able to recoup your investment within five years. We expect to live here that long, but you never know what will happen. We’re paying a lot to the utility company and like the idea of spending some of our savings to stop the bleeding. Solar power should certainly be good for resale when it comes to that.

When a post goes missing

Some of you may have seen a post I wrote yesterday about sun protective clothing. The links got messed up and were giving me fits, so I ended up deleting the entire post. Of course, I should have saved it to reprint later, but that would have been too smart.

I’ll try and recreate the article, but I’m just not into it right now. I’m rather annoyed with myself and feeling kind of down about the state of the world. So many terrible, violent and racist things going on, and on top of it, sun protective clothing reminds me of global warming and all the people who refuse to believe it.

And in the face of all this, I wonder if anything I’m writing about is worthwhile. Maybe I write because it was a childhood passion, but the world has changed since then, and maybe my voice isn’t relevant. To my blogging friends, do you ever wonder about that? What keeps you going?

As far as the U.S. goes, Dale believes it will get better, but I have my doubts. I just can’t imagine our future if Trump is re-elected. I’m not going to move to another country, but I may have to hunker down, ignore the real world and enjoy my little bubble of a life. I might do that anyway.

Anyway, sorry to be so negative. I’m sure I will snap out of it, but that’s my explanation for the missing post.

Older women and #MeToo

According to the New York Times, older women are furious about past injustices. I tried to summon repressed anger in the spirit of solidarity, but it’s just not there. Certainly, I have a few bad memories recorded in the great big picture book of moral crimes and misdemeanors, but I choose to let it go. I find myself too happy to be enraged.

I do understand and support the #MeToo movement. I feel empathy for those who hurt. Still, I like to think we can feel and express our anger in real time and then challenge, litigate or move on. Not to excuse bad behavior, but life will throw you curve balls, some of them quite horrific. One woman in the article said she was still furious, still dealing with residual rage, after being asked how fast she could type.

Everyone owns their own experiences, but in my view, a sexist expectation about typing hardly ranks in the Tower of Troubles. Even if it was particularly horrible for that person for some reason, dwelling on it 40 years later doesn’t seem healthy to me.

Even as a child, the idea that nothing bad would ever happen to me seemed ridiculous. My family life was dysfunctional and emotionally abusive. It was a slow start, but I climbed my way out, and the trajectory only goes up from there. I experienced sexual harassment and other injustices along the way, although I’ve never been assaulted. My trajectory flatlined twice with illness and then with a sociopath who tried to destroy my career.

Working with the sociopath was the worst year of my life, and I’ve had cancer twice. Oh, and by the way, the sociopath was a woman. But as I think about her now, I just feel sad it had to go down that way. I was treated badly. Lots of people stood on the sidelines and watched with a knowing eye. I felt like someone should have saved me, and no one did. So, I saved myself. I cut my losses and got the fuck out of there.

All that said, I just can’t get too fired up about it anymore. It happened. It’s over. I have a good life. I’m exceedingly grateful. Maybe the anger women are expressing now is a variation of the same helplessness I felt when no one saved me from the sociopath. Are they looking for a savior? Social media to the rescue? They can hashtag all day long, and they might get clicks and likes, but I’m pretty sure no one will come.

I do not condone the behaviors documented by the #MeToo movement, and it doesn’t matter if you are 25 or 75 years old. I totally support addressing the issues by any means necessary. I’m glad older women are speaking up. And maybe that will help alleviate the repressed anger.

My point is that it’s equally important to take care of yourself from within. With professional help or without it, talk about it all you want, but fight to keep these experiences from cracking your core. Maybe this sounds naive, but I’ve reframed my entire life’s experiences as ingredients in the recipe that created the marvelous person I’ve become.

In the words of the Pet Shop Boys, happiness is an option.

How not to buy a toaster

We keep appliances until they are absolutely, positively dead. The Betty Crocker toaster finally croaked, and we were trying to remember when we bought it. Was it when we lived in South Carolina? Mount Pleasant? If our memories are correct, that would make it about 25 years old.

The toaster has served us well, and now it’s time for a new one. This is where Dale and I take completely different paths. Although he sometimes lacks motivation to get other things done, he is Johnny Mission when it comes to replacing broken appliances.

I was gone all day, but Dale immediately went out and shopped for toasters at Bed, Bath & Beyond. He didn’t buy one, though, because he thought I’d want a vote … which is a polite way of saying he figured I wouldn’t like whatever it was he bought.

Dale does not appreciate my approach to purchasing new appliances. I get online and do research. I check Consumer Reports, Good Housekeeping and The Wirecutter. Oh, and Amazon reviews. I want to know test results, best overall, best value, unusual quirks.

My process served me well when our hand blender died, because I learned the biggest and baddest would not have worked for my small-batch mayonnaise. A simpler and smaller model was perfect.

I was like this before I retired, but now I’m more zealous than ever. I liked being in charge when I was working, and I guess I still like it. Dale also liked being in charge when he was working, and I don’t think he appreciates the idea of reporting to me. Sometimes in marriage and in life, you will lead, and sometimes you will follow. Retirement is an opportunity to work on the follow part. I’m getting there.

We had the toaster discussion last night. He said I know you. You’ll get online and try to find the perfect toaster with all the bells and whistles. And then I surprised myself. I said, yes, that is what I would normally do, but I’m not going to do it this time. The toaster is in your court. Whatever you choose is fine with me.  

Really? Yes, really. And when I let go, I felt good. It’s just a toaster, but it’s my husband’s free will. I mean, that’s how we ended up with a red food processor, and life hasn’t come to a screeching halt. Let him be the natural born predator that he is. Set him free to hunt it down, kill it with a credit card and drag it home.

This morning I asked him about the toaster he liked at Bed, Bath & Beyond.

Did it come in colors?

Yes.

OK, what colors?

White and chrome.

Which one did you like better?

White.

That’s cool.

I was thinking chrome, but I kept my mouth shut. We will soon be celebrating the arrival of a brand-new white toaster of unknown origins. I have nothing to do with it. Just following along.

Words, friends optional

When the game Words With Friends first came out, I was hooked. I was also quite good at it, and soon enough some of my friends didn’t want to play with me anymore. I decided to play with a random partner.

We began the game, and I used all my letters two turns in a row. The person at the other end went ballistic, sending me messages through the app about cheating. Called me horrible names even I with a foul mouth would not repeat here. I did whatever you did back then to end the game so it counted as a win for the other person.

Apparently, that was not enough. More horrible messages. I shut down the game. Somehow the person managed to send me messages anyway. I finally had to delete the app. I’ve never played again. Dale said I was a bit obsessive anyway, so it wasn’t all bad.

Then along came the NY Times, which I am still reading for free through this link. I have an account, and I have the NY Times app on my phone. You do not need to subscribe to anything to have an account.

To read for free, I log out of my account, click to redeem the code and then log back into the app. That gives me about four days of reading pleasure, and then I simply do it again. It just takes seconds.

Soon enough I was seduced by the puzzles. I now subscribe to this section only for about $20 a year. My favorite is called Spelling Bee. The goal is to make as many words as possible using the letter in the middle. You get little rewards along the way … starting with beginner and ending at genius. Extra points for using all the letters in a single word. My goal is to find the pangram and make genius by 5 p.m.

So, yes, I can be a bit obsessive. But it’s fun! It’s like Words with Friends but you don’t actually need friends. The perfect game for a loner (but not the serial killer type).

It’s not that I don’t have friends, but they seem to be scattered all over the world. Dale and I are not good at making new friends. We’re not joiners, we don’t have children and we don’t go to church. I guess you could say we don’t thrive in large group settings. I wonder why we both ended up in the Army. But that’s another story.

Anyway, there is hope.

I met two women playing golf. We all liked each other and thought our husbands might like each other, too. None of the men played golf, which is unusual. All are studious types who enjoy reading, music, cooking and gardening. We set up a dinner date!

Honestly, I wasn’t sure we’d know how to behave. It has been so long since we’ve mingled with anyone as a couple. Dinner was at one of the couple’s home Tuesday evening. We had a fantastic time. The men are all unique characters, but they had so much in common it was almost creepy. I knew it was good when they started quoting lines from Commander Cody songs.

It’s funny. We didn’t really want to go because we are so used to our little routines. But it was great to socialize, and now we want to branch out. Maybe it will be our turn to host the next dinner.

All in all, I think the first step to being social is changing your mindset. We’ve become reclusive. I mean, I freak out if the doorbell rings. Step 2 is the hard part. How do you actually make new friends? Have you been successful? What’s your secret?

A slacker’s guide to retirement

I am in awe of retirees with monthly goals and quarterly accomplishments, but all that sounds too much like work to me. I’m more of a slacker.

Goals and accomplishments lead to performance appraisals, which nearly always pissed me off. In my experience, the powers that be are compelled to find some sort of flaw, because after all, no one is perfect, but they never actually picked a valid criticism. It was like a grab bag. Oh, look! Here’s something she’s good at. Let’s call it a development area!

The best advice I ever got was no matter what they said … good, bad or indifferent … just act earnest and say thank you so much. I love this job. I’ll work hard to improve. Then go home and brood.

My goal in retirement is to lighten up. So far so good. I keep a little note card on my desk to remind me of the general stuff I try to do on a semi-regular basis. I don’t do everything every day, but I check it out and go, oh, I forgot to do weights or oops, the kitty needs a brushing. Better get on it.

You can tell by my list I’m the planner slash social director. Dale just won’t do it, so it falls into my court. Exercise takes up a significant chunk of time … especially golf, the ultimate sink hole.

Everything on the list should be self-explanatory, with the possible exception of the rebounder. That’s a mini-trampoline, and I try to do a couple of hundred jumps when I think about it. Astronauts use them to improve bone density after space flight. Since my estrogen was strip mined 20 years ago with my first cancer, I have bone density issues and do what I can to help out.

Although I don’t want to over-orchestrate my life, I do keep a separate list of specific short-term actions, most of which relate to home improvement. And although we don’t have a big travel Jones, I keep a spreadsheet of ideas for local road trips and other potential adventures.

Everyone is different, but I had a couple of readers ask about my planning. This is really the extent of it. I’m pretty happy with how it’s working out. Yes, some things slip through the cracks, but I try not to fret. I will eventually get to it.

It’s a small world after all

Foodie Finds

I was out of town last weekend, was comatose Monday and then played golf Tuesday and Wednesday. Today was the first time Dale and I had an opportunity to do something together. Something involving lots of pork.

We drove into Sacramento on a foodie excursion. First, we stopped at Morant’s Old Fashioned Sausage Kitchen. The butcher is a certified German sausage meister. We bought three different types of sausages, including the beautiful brats in the picture. Dale is grilling the brats tonight, and we’ll have them with marinated cucumbers and sweet onions.

Then we headed to the Mercado, where we bought local lard and Pasilla chiles. Lard sometimes freaks people out, but it’s no worse than butter. And it’s not like we’re gulping it down by the spoonful. We buy fancy lard from the farmer’s market for biscuits but the cheaper stuff for schnitzels. You know they make it fresh when you can smell the chicharrones frying.

The chiles are for his homemade chile sauce, which we use in a variety of Mexican dishes, including enchiladas and huevos rancheros. At the cash register, I saw pumpkin candy, which I’ve adored since I was a kid, so I couldn’t resist.

Next stop was Corti Brothers (thanks to a tip from Christina at Tahoe Girl). What a treat! Dale’s like, this isn’t going to be cheap, but I said, it’s our hobby! He laughed, and we did get out of there for under $40. So many tempting items. The most gorgeous Berkshire pork chops I’ve ever seen, but we didn’t get any. It’s only a 30-minute drive, so we can go back.

We love Molinari pepperoni, which is hard to find. We also love anchovies on pizza and Caesar salads, and Dale has been wanting to try salt-packed anchovies for a long time. Bingo! There they were. Another impulse buy were these little Tarallini crackers with garlic oil and hot red pepper. We opened them and ate them in the car on the way home. Yum.

Amazon Returns

Have you returned anything to Amazon lately? I have had an unusual number of returns over the past week, and everything is different. It seems they don’t want you printing labels anymore. Larger items still have to be boxed and sealed, but others don’t even require the original packaging. They send you a code, the UPS person scans it and you’re done. You also have the option of returning it unpackaged to a participating Kohl’s.

It’s fine, change is good, blah, blah, blah, but you have to be careful to make the right choices when you start clicking around. I accidentally clicked Kohl’s … it may have even defaulted to that. But I thought I selected UPS drop-off and found out the hard way I goofed.

I had to come home, cancel the return and then start over. I also had an item that was free if I did the code, but there was a shipping charge if you printed the label. My only other beef is that I liked just dropping off the package. Now I have to wait in line, but it does go fast.  

It’s a small world after all

I always love small world stories, and I think they are even more special as we get older. My friend, Lisa, and her partner run a restaurant on Long Island. I’ve known Lisa 30 years but haven’t seen her in maybe 15. We catch up on the phone every so often. She was trying to reach me while I was in Reno, but I wasn’t paying attention to my messages. We finally connected, and here’s the story.

She and her partner have friends who frequent the restaurant, and they brought along another couple, Warren and Barbara, who were visiting from out of town. When the restaurant quieted down, Lisa joined them for a glass of port. As she was getting to know them, they discovered common ground. Warren spent years working for the Army in Germany. She knew someone who worked for the Army in Germany. She lived in Cairo. He knew someone who once lived in Cairo.

Soon enough they discovered they both knew me! Warren was my first boss after college, when I worked as a civilian in an Army public affairs office. He was a great boss – and a delightful friend – but I haven’t connected with him in years. It’s hard when you move around so much but always a pleasure to find each other again one way or the other.

Do you have a small world story? Why do you think they are special?

Attractive men storming my house

It has been an interesting week. I went to Reno for a few days to play golf in a member-guest tournament. There was a practice round, silly but fun games and then the tournament itself. The course was very difficult – much harder than what I normally play – and there were lots of big hitters. I’m not super long off the tee, and it was humbling to see these women blast the ball.

We didn’t win anything, but I’m proud to say I held my own with the big girls. In situations like that, my greatest challenge is lack of confidence, so I just tried to play my own game and focus on what I know I can do. Reno is dry and windy, and the course was mentally and physically exhausting. I got home Saturday with seriously chapped lips and just wanted to sleep for two days.

And then it hit me, I can! I don’t have to go to work! I’m retired!

So, I was enjoying a restful evening. I decided to start watching Downton Abbey from the beginning, since it is now free on Amazon Prime. I had the headphones in and was watching it on my Kindle Fire, when Dale starts hollering, “Donna! Donna! There’s a fire in the backyard!”

We both jump out of bed and threw on some clothes. By the time we got downstairs, four firetrucks were parked out front and a slew of firemen were in the backyard dousing the fire.

Note: Firemen are very attractive. It’s not just the fire that’s hot.

Back to the story. There’s a ballfield behind our house and some brush in between. Apparently some kids were back there smoking, and the brush caught fire. They ran off and left their scooters behind. I kind of wanted one of the scooters for my yard art, but the firemen took them as evidence.

All the neighbors were out, peeping over the fence. We just had our fence repaired, so I’m kind of pissed about that. It should be relatively inexpensive to fix … probably not even as much as the deductible on our homeowner’s. My neighbor, on the other hand, is thrilled. Her fence was in bad shape, and the firemen broke through it to get to the yard. She’s excited at least part of her fence will be paid for.

While I was out there, I chatted up the neighbor’s son. He’s in community college and works at the local grocery store where we frequently shop. I’ve never really talked to him, but he made an effort to snag me one of the scooters. The firemen said no way. While I had him, though, I talked to him about the comment card I filled out at the grocery store. I’ve been surprised no one has responded. It has been at least a month.

Dale thinks it’s hilarious that I expect a response. It’s a good store with great customer service, so I absolutely expect a response. Michael, our neighbor’s son, asked me what my feedback was. I said I suggested they peel and core ripe pineapples to sell whole, so you can just cut slices for the grill. He thought it was a great idea and said he would follow-up.

I’m calling that a win-win-win. A minor fire with no injuries and no significant property damage, attractive men storming my house and a possible solution to my pineapple concerns.

Then there are the stupid kids who started the fire. I told Dale they should have to spend at least one night in jail, just to scare them. Their parents should pay for the damage and reimburse the fire department for their expenses. However, we don’t know who they are. I thought about putting up signs that say, “Did your child lose a scooter?” And then see who bubbles to the surface.

Maybe those cute firemen will figure it out. Perhaps they will need my assistance? They did an awesome job and kept us informed throughout the evening’s events. I was impressed and happy to pay taxes for their excellent service.

As for Downton Abbey, I got to the episode where Lady Mary finally figures out she loves Matthew Crawley, so I slept well, although poor Mr. Bates. And that awful O’Brien. She reminds me of someone I worked with, and it made me all the more glad to be done with that nonsense.