Keeping the body retirement strong

I went in search of a year-round pool for swimming laps and ended up with a fitness center membership. In the defense industry, we might have called that “Mission Creep.”

Although I didn’t want to go down this path, the gym is close to my house and offers lots of amenities. The cost is $85 per month – I got a discount of $65 a month for six months. No contract, and I can cancel at any time.

I still adore our backyard pool, but it takes me six strokes to traverse. A 25-yard pool at the fitness center will be a luxury. The facility is beautiful with all the standard equipment, as well as yoga, cycling, sauna, steam and a variety of cardio classes.

“Gentle Yoga” sounded like something I might try. The last time I dabbled with yoga was more than 30 years ago, and I got a crick in my neck from looking up at the instructor trying to figure out what to do. I don’t see myself signing up for dancing classes, as I never seem to know which way to turn. Line dancing was a colossal failure for me, even with copious amounts of beer, but still, I might give Zumba a go.

Perhaps I’ll meet some local people at the gym … if I don’t scare them off. It seems I’ve lost the art of conversation. While I’ve always been kind of a loner and am quite content to be by myself or with Dale, I think it’s healthy to make new friends.

Thinking about friends always reminds me of Young Frankenstein, when Gene Hackman is the blind priest praying for a visitor, and he gets Frankenstein. So funny. I can probably recite the entire movie script from memory.

Speaking of Frankenstein, the gym should prove interesting when I change in the locker room. During my tour, everyone was nonchalant in various stages of undress, which is fine with me, as I have no issues with nudity. But I remember the first time I saw a picture of a woman with no breasts, and it’s kind of jolting. I’m so used to it now after my mastectomy four years ago. I forget I look different. I’m certainly not going to change in the stall, and maybe it will be educational for some!

Oh, and I got a hot new swimsuit that will transform me into the athlete I’m not! I have good endurance, but I’m a slow swimmer. At least I’ll look fast. As they used to say at work, fake it ’til you make it.

I do feel a little guilty, as I seem to spend money, while Dale doesn’t. But he said in the grand scheme of things, it’s not that much money. We saved and saved for so long, that we find ourselves in the unusual position of actually spending it. As homebodies, our travel budget is minimal, and we rarely dine in restaurants.

That said, we are doing an overnighter to the beach for oysters this weekend – and nothing there is cheap. Still, it’s not a trip to Italy.

While I understand travel can be intellectually stimulating, I am more likely to spend money on things that keep my body retirement strong and ready for action, as opposed to visiting monuments or buying lots of clothes. I guess it’s about individual priorities and whatever makes you happy.

Anything can happen to anyone, and I know exercising is no guarantee of a long and healthy life. But I’ve seen so many people decline physically because they wouldn’t or couldn’t get out there and move. I read an obituary of a 72-year-old who died of natural causes, and I am reminded of the 83-year-old in my golf group who walks 18 holes weekly. She’s my inspiration, and I’m just going to keep at it until I’m no longer able.

Staying fit and healthy is my retirement gig.

On the food front, I’ve rediscovered dates. How could anything be so delicious? Better than a candy bar! They’re high in sugar, so I only eat one or two, but they are also loaded with nutrients. When the dates are gone, I’m probably going to switch to prunes, as they are just as tasty and good for bone density, always an issue for the estrogen-free among us.

Born to retire

Well, it isn’t Rambling Thursday, but I guess I’ll ramble a bit anyway. The photos should give you a hint. We’ve both been baking. More on that in a few.

NY Times Subscription

First, I finally subscribed to the The New York Times online. There’s a deep discount right now – $4 a month for a year. Then it goes up to $15 a month. I made a note in my calendar for next year, so I either cancel or re-subscribe, but the price doesn’t shock me.

I made kind of a mess of this whole thing. I used to subscribe and then canceled in a cost-cutting move. I started using the free access code I shared earlier. Then I got seduced by the puzzles and subscribed to the puzzles only. But then I got booted out of the free code offer, since they now considered me a subscriber.

In the end, it’s all good. As a journalism major and concerned clinically depressed citizen, I appreciate the work they do, and I know it doesn’t come free. I also like the The Washington Post, and both newspapers are doing a good job keeping tabs on Trump.

By the way, I’m not really clinically depressed. I have PTSD … Post Trump Stress Disorder.

Island of the Sea Women

I finished Island of the Sea Women by Lisa See. It’s about the friendship between two women who live on Jeju Island in Korea, where historically women were the breadwinners free diving for urchin, octopus and other treasures. The book starts just before World War II and finishes up in modern times. The story is compelling, and I learned a lot about Korean history, which is quite tragic. Of course, I cried at the end.

Two of my other favorites by Lisa See are The Tea Girl of Hummingbird Lane and Snow Flower and the Secret Fan.

Throwing money at the plumber

The toilets were installed today, and they look great! The cost was almost as much as the toilets themselves, but this was money spent in the interest of relationship preservation. Dale and Donna installing toilets together? Nothing good can come of that.

I did a pre-clean so the plumber wouldn’t be grossed out. The toilets are Dale’s job, and let’s just say he needs a performance improvement plan. He doesn’t scrub under the rim. Or if he does, it’s a minimal effort at best. Since we have brand-new toilets, I asked him to take more care when he cleans, and he did not appreciate my developmental feedback.

This seemed like a good opportunity to buy new toilet bowl brushes, and I learned something new on Wirecutter. You’re supposed to replace them every few months. I went with their recommendation, the Oxo Good Grips Compact Toilet Brush and Canister. One for each bathroom, so Dale doesn’t drip stuff all over as he is wont to do.

The brush heads are replaceable. I replace our toothbrush heads quarterly, so I guess I’ll replace the toilet bowl brushes at the same time. That should be plenty. I mean, previously it was every five or 10 years or maybe never, so anything is an improvement.

Baking

I made raspberry scones from the blueberry scone recipe at Retired Introvert. They look yummy, although I was probably a little over-zealous with the raspberries. Something about a single cup. So sad and tiny. Clearly, the raspberries needed more raspberries for company.

The blueberry scones I made earlier went into the freezer, and it was so nice to have those little goodies at hand. One minute in the microwave at 50 percent power and they were perfect! We gobbled those up, so I thought I’d try raspberry … Dale’s favorite. What is it they used to say at work? Three positives to a negative when giving feedback? Maybe the scones will get his scrubber moving.

Dale made rosemary olive bread, which was out of this world delicious. A big rise made it perfect for the sandwiches we made with leftover grilled lamb, goat cheese and arugula tossed lightly with olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

Oysters

Our oyster lunch last week was profoundly disappointing. The oysters hadn’t gone bad or anything, but they didn’t taste fresh from the sea. And the shucker basically destroyed them. The Bloodies were pretty good, so there was that. To recover, we decided to do an overnight trip to Tomales Bay, where the oysters are splendid. That’s next week, and we’re excited.

Labor Day

I guess this weekend is Labor Day. It’s hard to keep track when every day is a vacation! I am so happy I don’t have to mess with a job anymore. And I’m still in shock we pulled it off financially. Although I was quite dedicated and had a good career, I don’t think I was born to work.

Reading, writing, golf, hiking, cooking, taking care of our nest … I spend most of my time these days focusing on simple pleasures.

Maybe born to retire?

Cannabis as preventive medicine

I’ve been swimming in our backyard pool all summer – 20 to 30 minutes of laps (freestyle). It takes me six strokes to get across the pool. Not ideal, but you can’t beat the convenience.

Soon enough it will be time to find a pool for the colder months. I’ve built up a solid conditioning base, and I’m not going to give it up for winter. That was my original plan, to just swim seasonally. However, I’ve seen a huge improvement in my back pain, as well as my chest muscles, which are messed up from the mastectomy.

There are three options. Two are outdoor pools that claim to be open year-round. I need to go check them out. Even if it’s heated, the idea of getting into a pool when it’s cold outside is hard for me to fathom. Of course, that’s California cold, which isn’t all that bad.

The other pool is part of a gym membership, which I don’t want to pay. I’ll be 64 in a couple of weeks. I’m told Silver Sneakers doesn’t kick in until you’re 65. Depending on what the gym costs, I could do it a year and then switch to Silver Sneakers once I’m on Medicare.

The more I move, the better I feel. I played golf in the mountains yesterday and rode in a cart. Normally, I walk 18 holes two to three times a week. My knees have not bothered me. A few hours of riding in a cart, and my left knee was burning. I put some cannabis cream on it when I got home, and it’s back to normal this morning. Truth be told, I use the cream daily. Some parts just need more attention than others.

Cannabis truly is part of my aging badass lifestyle. When I first retired, I started using it because all of the sudden I could! But I also used it to treat pain and anxiety. I was nervous about retiring … money, moving, everything. But I’ve calmed down and rarely stress over that stuff anymore.

Although I occasionally imbibe for pleasure, I think of cannabis as medicine. I am lucky to be in great health now, but I previously used cannabis to treat the side effects of chemotherapy. Now I mostly use it as a preventive supplement, in maintenance doses, not unlike Glucosamine and other products favored by aging boomers.

For example, I used to put two dropperfuls of tincture into a glass of juice. I’d feel a slight pleasant feeling within an hour. But I didn’t want the cannabis to affect me if I was driving, and my anxiety and pain were quite manageable. I still believe in using cannabis as a whole-body anti-inflammatory, so now I put one dropperful in my juice every morning like a vitamin. I feel nothing, but I believe it contributes to my good health.

A dropperful, by the way, is what you see in the picture. That’s what you get with one full squeeze of the bulb. Dale misunderstood my guidance, and when it only filled up part-way, he poured it into a glass like a drink. Another pour, because I suggested two, and he said all he did was sit and stare into outer space for a couple of hours.

Kids, don’t try this at home. Go slow.

Although I have not used CBD-only products, I understand the lure, especially where cannabis isn’t legal. However, I live in California, where legal cannabis is strictly controlled, and I like that. I’ve read there’s a good bit of fraud in the CBD market, so you often don’t know what you’re getting. Additionally, evidence suggests the whole plant has greater therapeutic value.

Dustin Sulak, a physician and Reiki healer in Maine, has been practicing cannabis medicine since 2009. Dr. Sulak is among those who believe THC is the primary health agent in cannabis.

“The idea that THC is recreational and CBD is medical is far from true,” he said. “THC, milligram for milligram, has a much greater therapeutic effect than CBD. You could treat pain with 3 mg of THC, but it might take 15 to 30 mg of CBD to attain the same relief.” Dr. Sulak recommends the whole plant for overall well-being and to prevent disease.

He’s the one who introduced me to the concept of micro-dosing cannabis … just enough to get the benefits without the high. I’m sold on it, and I hope cannabis continues to keep me healthy through a long and active retirement!

Cancer in my pocket

Sometimes I am surprised by the power of blogging. Sometimes it feels like a thankless compulsion, and sometimes it feels like a life-saving jolt through the heart.

For those who may remember, I wrote a blog from 2008-2012 called Rock the Silver … about gray hair and aging with style. I was never particularly good at the style part, what with my preference for all black until something darker comes along, but it was a fun blog with a core group of loyal readers.

One of those readers was Maru, a stage 4 endometrial cancer survivor. As a stage 3 ovarian cancer survivor, we shared similar medical histories and were both graduates of the Taxol School of Hard Knocks. Maru’s cancer survival tips are essential reading.

Maru found me again when I started this blog. She is healthy and strong and getting closer to retirement. We were exchanging emails, and I said, “We are so lucky to have survived – did you even think you’d get this close to retirement?”

Funny, Maru said, she and a bunch of her cousins all turned 60 around the same time. They bemoaned the milestone, as Baby Boomers often do. Maru, on the other hand, said she couldn’t have been happier to turn 60.

“And every year ongoing has been delicious. As you once put it: cancer in my pocket.”

I was completely blown away – I published that post on February, 18, 2012. The words meant something to someone I have never met, and she remembered it all these years later.

Sadly, I know only too well not everyone is lucky when it comes to cancer. I grieve for those who have passed and those who are suffering. While we survivors and caregivers get to live a bit longer, we owe it to our loved ones to seek joy and carry on with this mystery called life. We live in their honor.

Here’s the old post:

Thursday, I visited the dermatologist for my annual check-up. I go every year for the big naked look-see, because I respect cancer. I figure, well, I got it once when I least suspected it, so I should be vigilant about everything.

I saw this particular doctor for the first time last year, and I remember him being amazed I was an ovarian cancer survivor. I actually had primary peritoneal cancer, which is pretty much the same thing as ovarian. If it’s a drive-by, I say ovarian. If I’m sitting next to you on the airplane, I’ll tell you everything if you ask nicely.

The doctor walked into the room as I sat there naked and draped in a flimsy paper robe, and the first thing he said was:

You’re the ovarian cancer survivor.

Yes, 13 years next month.

Wow. You’re lucky.

I know.

They must have caught it early.

No, it was advanced. Stage 3.

You’re really really lucky.

Believe me, I know.

But sometimes I have to be reminded! He asked me a lot of questions about my surgery and treatment and was surprised they had Taxol “back then.” I said absolutely, I had a chance encounter at a golf course of all places with a researcher who helped develop the drug, and he said I was the poster girl for Taxol. It was approved for use in 1992, so by the time I needed it in 1999, they had worked out the optimum cycle.

Following the surgery to remove as much cancer as possible, I had a cocktail of Benadryl, Taxol and Carboplatin infused every 21 days for six months. I’ve been fine ever since. Benadryl is an anti-allergan, and I am pleased to let you know it was one hell of a rush when shot directly into your vein. The rush didn’t last long, but I looked forward to it just the same.

Anyway, I passed the dermo exam. It was a good visit, and I’d go back again right this minute just to hear him say how lucky I am. Sometimes I imagine that I carry around cancer in my pocket like an emergency dollar bill. And sometimes I just have to reach in my pocket and fish it out to remind me that every minute of every day is a gift.

I wish I had learned all this important stuff in some other way, but I ignored all the little sticks. It was the big stick that got my attention. For those of you who are better with sticks, I think the thing to remember is that whatever we’re doing, wherever we’ve been and wherever we’re going, no matter how bad it gets, we’re lucky. We’re really, really lucky.

Cat love, music, oysters & bloodies

He likes us, he really likes us!

It seems our cat, Riley, has suddenly taken a liking to us after four years of domestic bliss. He has always enjoyed hanging around, but he’s not a lap cat. All of the sudden, Riley likes laps. Dale’s anyway.

I am known as the Scoopatola at our house – always looking for opportunities to scoop the kitty. He usually runs, but this morning I scooped him, held him like a baby and he didn’t want to be put down. Oh, and there’s Kiss Patrol.

We all change as we grow older, so why not cats? I honestly can’t imagine life without a furry companion. Dale calls them cat food-powered entertainment centers. Yes, it’s a hassle when we travel, but we don’t travel much. Got most of that out of our system moving more than 20 times and living overseas for almost nine years.

By the way, a new study is out revealing a shocking truth … cats know their names but are ignoring you.

YOu can make work out of anything

Although I’ve been playing decent golf, I’ve had a couple of bad rounds and concluded I’m taking the game too seriously. You can make work out of anything, and since I retired, golf has sort of taken the place of work. I even started to think, well, if I practiced or played every day and took weekends off, that would still give me time on weekends to hang out with Dale … it would be just like it was when I had a job.

I’ve decided to lighten up. It’s hard with some of the Rules Nazis in my club, but I can play under less formal conditions and enjoy the game more. Tomorrow, I’m not going to keep score. Why would that be such a big deal? I am results-oriented, which is why I was successful in my career. Now I have to find what makes me successful in leisure! Regardless of your hobby, there’s a lesson in this for all of us.

Subscribers

Speaking of results, I happened to check my blog statistics and now have 53 subscribers. I know that’s not a lot, but I started with zero. I value all 53 of you – and anyone else who stops by to read – so it’s positive reinforcement for writing, which I can’t seem to stop doing. Thank you!

“Hey, guess what?” I asked Dale.

“What?”

“I now have 53 subscribers. I went over 50!”

“Does that make you an influencer?”

“Um, no.”

Music

Dale and I have both subscribed to Sirius radio for years. But our favorite channel (The Loft) is only available streaming, so we can’t get it in the car. We’re both pissed and will probably not renew our subscriptions. In the meantime, I’ve been listening to Outlaw Country, which is a carryover from our days in Texas. Dale has been listening to Classic Vinyl.

I don’t know if I can stand listening to regular radio. While I should start sampling various stations, we have a lot of CDs, so I’m postponing that adventure. We’ve both been digging into the CD vault in anticipation of canceling Sirius. The downside is we aren’t hearing new music, which is important to us. Not that older music is bad. We were out and about the other day, and Dale had Rusted Root playing. That was good music!

The deck in my car is currently loaded with Steve Earle, Johnny Cash, Leonard Cohen, Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Alabama Shakes and Dave Alvin/Jimmie Dale Gilmore. The last one, Downey to Lubbock, is a recent purchase, and it’s so good I can hardly stand it. Dave Alvin, from The Blasters, is my age and plays a mean guitar. From the song, Downey to Lubbock:

Well I’m a wild blues blaster 
from a sunburnt California town 
And I gotta loud Stratocaster 
that can blow any roadhouse down 

I turn that up high in the car, and I have to set cruise control so I don’t get too crazy. Then you have Jimmie Dale Gilmore, who sings like an angel. So, there is good new music out there, but I’m doubtful I will find it on AM/FM radio.

An outing

Dale usually doesn’t eat lunch, although I don’t miss many meals. We’ve both been craving oysters on the half shell, which is a light lunch for Dale and a snack for me. We’re going to a seafood joint we haven’t been to for oysters and bloodies. There might be naps after.

1.28 arguments per toilet

Retirement home

Prior to retirement, we were living on the outskirts of Silicon Valley.

As in cha-ching.

While I had the income to support a hefty mortgage, we knew we’d have to move when I retired. Lots of factors went into our decision. I wrote about it here. We are quite happy with our choice, but we both made compromises that sometimes come back to bite.

I wanted a new house, because I didn’t want to deal with maintenance issues. Dale wanted an older house, because he likes well-established neighborhoods with trees. He doesn’t want to deal with maintenance issues, either, but trees! Golly, they’re green! I caved, and now we fight about maintenance issues.

replacing toilets

Our 20-year-old house is in great shape, but we are gradually upgrading original appliances. The current project is replacing all three toilets in our home, and so far, we’ve only had 1.28 gallons per flush arguments per toilet.

The toilets are heavy, and neither one of us should be schlepping them around. We’ve been buying them one at a time, and we managed to get them in and out of our Honda CRV without cruel or unusual punishment. We used leverage to scoot it up and down from the back end of the car and then drag it into the garage.

Two down and one to go when the brawling began. I just don’t know why this stuff is so hard for us. We can’t get through it without some sort of disagreement. The big one this time was about the downstairs toilet, where there are size limitations.

We already knew we’d need a round (not elongated) bowl. As for height, we like standard, although that’s increasingly hard to find. It seems most people like chair height or so-called comfort height. Depending on which brand you select, the difference is only an inch or two. However, the downstairs toilet has a ledge over it, so an inch or two could make a difference.

I went out to the garage and looked on the boxes of the other two. The height from floor to top of the tank lid is 30 ¾. We measured our current toilet, which is just over 28 inches tall. I didn’t think we could stay with the same style, because you have to be able to get the lid on and off, but Dale said it would “probably” work.

This is where I struggle. I’m like, what if we’re wrong? That will not be pleasant. I just wanted to talk through options, but he was annoyed with me for venturing into territory I know nothing about. However, I view this as my strength. While it’s true I know next to nothing about most home maintenance issues, that leaves me without preconceived notions, so I’m willing to explore previously unentertained options.

Except Dale does not find any of this entertaining. He got snooty with me, and I got snooty with him. I truly did not know the answer, but I wanted to talk through the questions. What if we unpacked one of the others and just set it up to see if it would fit? The cuckoo birds came out when I said that.

Then I had a scathingly brilliant idea. I’ll go to the Lowe’s website and compare all the measurements. As it happens, the other two toilets we purchased were comfort height. The same toilet in standard height is 28 ¼ inches floor to top of tank lid. Perfect for our space!

Dale agreed and off we went to Lowe’s. He won’t shop at Home Depot anymore because the co-founder is a Trump supporter. I’m not willful enough to do it on my own – I’m a slave to convenience – but if Dale is doing it, I’m proud to follow along. Anyway, Lowe’s had the toilet. We also purchased wax rings and supply lines, and as Gandalf said, my heart tells me they have some part to play, for good or ill, before this is over.

Now all we have to do it get a plumber in for the job. We could probably do it ourselves, but this is one of those situations where our relationship is more important than the cost savings. Time to throw money at it.

Neither one of us behaved particularly well, but Dale made up for his part of the drama by making breakfast tacos with homemade chorizo. Sure, feed me, and I’ll gladly fight with you about toilets. I made up for my part by getting out of his hair and playing bad golf in the mountains. Something about bad golf whips me back into submission.

Oh, and he got bonus points for trimming the Sego palms … a difficult job with lots of sharp pokeys. I regret to say he’s probably used to sharp pokeys after living with me for 40-plus years.

electric cars

Since we’re talking about technical things my girl brain doesn’t understand, I thought I’d share this article about electric vehicles written by John Kent, a wonderful friend I used to work with. He is obviously putting his retirement time to good use. John’s writing is great, and he has almost convinced me my next car will be electric.

Oh, the drama of hair

Oh, the drama of hair. I always remind myself I did just fine when I was on chemo 20 years ago and didn’t have any hair. What’s to complain about?

Plenty, I guess. It needed to be cut, my stylist did exactly what I wanted her to do, but I really don’t know how to fix it anymore. Letting it air dry as I did for the picture in my previous post did not produce the results I expected.

Although I dreaded it, today I went back to the salon and bought styling gel. I wet my hair, added the gel and put some leave-in conditioner on the ends. Then I dragged out the blow dryer. More work but better. With the shorter length, I can probably get away with blow drying it periodically. I previously avoided heat because I was pushing the limits of what my hair can do.

Maybe I like this. It looks more modern, don’t you think? A bit thicker and less frizzy? There’s some extra forehead showing, but I don’t really care about that. It is what it is. I do not want bangs. All in all, I believe I can accept this hair, but I’m not sure it’s me. A little too conventional, perhaps.

That said, my hair was really starting to look bad. Something needed to be done. At least with this length, I can still wear it up or in a pony with a hat for golf and other sports. What do you think? A keeper or keep trying?

Giving up on goddess hair

My retirement hair is one length, no color, long enough for a ponytail or bun. Cheap and easy, like my men.

Just kidding. Dale is anything but easy. Although I will hand it to him … he might qualify for cheap. Dale doesn’t spend much money. His big trip out is the grocery store, where he goes wild. He is a good but obsessive shopper. I think it’s his military background in logistics.

the great feta cheese crisis

For a few weeks, it seemed there was no decent Feta cheese anywhere to be found. We tried multiple stores, among them Whole Foods, and we wasted money on several different brands, including some sort of cult Feta from Berkeley. It was the worst!

Even one of the Greek brands sucked. It turns out we like Bulgarian or Israeli Feta. In brine, in chunks, not pre-crumbled. Such snobs! Now Dale cruises the cheese aisle every time we go to the store to ensure as God is his witness, WE NEVER RUN OUT OF CHEESE AGAIN.

The cut

I get my hair trimmed about three times a year. This week, I asked her to take off more length. My hair is fine, and the ends were getting scraggly. All that to say it needed to be done, it still looks kind of cute under a hat, I can still pull it back or up, and I know it looks good … but … I wish I had my hair back.

So, yes, I must accept I don’t have goddess hair. Seriously, I knew that a long time ago, but hope springs eternal. I will probably let it grow back just a bit, as I almost always let my hair air dry, and I believe it falls better and looks less frizzy with a little more length.   

My other option is to go short, which I’m not opposed to, but I hate the idea of spending more money and more time in the salon. I may end up there, but we shall see. To me, mid-length hair is easier all around.

Swimmer’s hair

While I was at the salon, we talked about swimming. That’s one of the reasons I had so much cut off – the pool is killing my hair. I bought some anti-chlorine shampoo, which was OK but left my hair like straw. My neighbor swims, and her hair is gorgeous. But then she is one of the goddess people. She uses Aveda Sun Care, which I bought and like much better than the other stuff.

My stylist said the anti-chlorine shampoos are good, but they strip your hair of moisture. I would need a moisturizing masque. Whereupon she escorted me to the product rack. She said this one will last you forever. I said, “That’s code for it’s expensive.”

She laughed. I really like her, and she did exactly what needed to be done to my hair. I can still mourn the goddess, right? Anyway, I only use a dime-sized amount of the conditioning masque, so I believe she is right about it lasting forever. It should. The jar was $63.

To be fair, it’s a fancy jar. Pretty enough for my ashes, since it now seems likely we’ll both be here for the end. On the bright side, it fixed my problems with swimmer’s hair.

playing outside in the heat

We’re having a hot spell, and the women’s club championship started this week at the golf course where I play. I had all my sun gear and walked with my pullcart and my UV sun umbrella, even though it was supposed to be 104 degrees. I had an 8:30 a.m. tee time, so I figured I’d be spared the worst of it.

It was toasty out there, but I felt fine. Drank a lot of water along with my electrolyte beverage. I also took a spray bottle and sprayed myself down every few holes. What a difference that made! It’s like personal air conditioning.

For the record, I have no possible chance of winning. I’m pretty much a bogey golfer with a handicap of 18. I’m just playing for the experience. My goal is to not be DFL – dead fucking last. I shot an 88, which is not my best but certainly acceptable by my standards. We have to play two more times for the championship, so hopefully I’ll keep the streak going.

It’s funny how golf giveth and taketh away. I had a lesson on how to get out of the sand. The good news is that it worked. It’s a great shot to know, and it’s useful elsewhere on the course. The bad news is it aggravated my old wrist injury. I’m taking a couple of days off from golf and wearing a wrist brace. That usually fixes things.

An outing!

Dale and I are actually going on an outing today. We haven’t camped or traveled since he hurt his back earlier in the summer. He’s coming around, but we are still taking things easy.

Today’s outing is a trip to the Folsom History Museum, where there is an exhibit on the Chinese legacy in Folsom. It’s just one town over from where we live. This entire region is so rich with history. Even driving up 80 toward Reno, I get excited when I see signs for the Donner Pass.

I especially love all the Gold Rush stories. I’ve read about the Chinese in California during that period, and I want to learn more. While I’ve always assumed my strength is journalism and personal essays, I am tinkering with the idea of writing some sort of historical fiction.

When it comes to motivation, I often think of the movie, Cross Creek with Mary Steenburgen. The movie is based on the life of Marjorie Kinnen Rawlings, who wrote The Yearling.

She was basically a talented but unsuccessful writer who didn’t find her niche until she was inspired by the rural people she got to know after moving to an orange grove in Florida. Once she found out what she was supposed to write about all along, everything fell into place.

All that to say, you never know what will inspire you to try new things or achieve something you never thought you could do. That’s why I keep looking.

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.