Staying fit with cannabis

Some people don’t like exercise, but some of us practically live for it, and retirement gives us the opportunity to enjoy a variety of activities. I would give up writing and everything else just to focus on sports, but I don’t like putting all my eggs in one basket. I personally think it’s important for all of us to seek balance among creative, intellectual and physical pursuits. In my case, there may come a day when I can’t do all this stuff, and I’ll be grateful I can still put words together. And hopefully, you will be there to read them!

There’s no expiration date on fitness, although some things just don’t work like they used to. I wrote about running. I really saw myself as a runner, but within a few weeks, everything started hurting. It just wasn’t worth it to me, so I went back to walking and hiking.

I almost always walk when I play golf. Several of the women in my golf group are in their 80s. I played with an 85-year-old the other day, and she can hit the ball. She shot a 109, which is not great, but it’s probably what some of the men I play with would score if they actually kept score. There’s an 83-year-old who walks 18 holes with a pushcart.

The walker said she has aches and pains like everyone, but she just keeps going. She’s my inspiration! I want to be just as active in my 80s as I am today. Aside from physical ailments, I figure the biggest risk to my plan is drinking enough water. Staying properly hydrated is an ongoing challenge … and the more you drink, the more you pee, and that comes with its own set of problems.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I’ll share that I haven’t had an accident yet, but I did buy bladder control pads for long walks and no restrooms. So far, I’ve just tried to make sure I’m completely empty when I go out and hope I make it back in time. I really don’t know what else to do.    

Then there are the aches and pains. I keep moving, stretching and using my cannabis balm. I have not used CBD-only products, so I can’t say how they work. I make my balm from a strain of cannabis relatively high in CBD, so I suspect the results might be similar.

I use my homemade balm twice a day on various body parts. Sometimes I think, well, I’ll skip my knees because they don’t hurt right now. Then I think, well, maybe they don’t hurt right now because I use cannabis balm. I don’t skip my knees.

My back is a mess on the MRI, but it usually doesn’t hurt. I rub the cannabis balm up and down my spine as far as I can reach and along the hips where I sometimes have sciatic pain. I would swear in a court of law the cannabis balm is saving my back.

While I also use the balm for pain across my mastectomy scars, an interesting twist is the introduction of swimming. I swam laps years ago, but access to pools varied over multiple moves and demanding jobs. I used to be kind of a snob about swimming, like why bother unless the pool is Olympic size? Our pool is not big, but this year I decided 20 minutes of laps would not drive me too crazy.

I mean, there is some wall-bashing involved if I don’t pay attention, but I like it. I’ve noticed a big difference in my post-mastectomy pain. Maybe it’s helping my back, too. I just do the crawl – my competency in other strokes is nil. I originally was only going to swim in the summer, when I can use our pool, but now I’m thinking I will have to find an indoor pool for winter swimming. Swimming makes my body feel good, almost like it’s longer, leaner and stronger.

As you may know, I did not have reconstruction after my mastectomy. I’m flat with a few scars. I swim topless, which feels rather decadent to me. My own version of lemonade out of lemons. I suppose I would cover up if I head to a public pool. Of course, I would. Right?

Wear the jewelry, use the good china

I have some nice jewelry – not diamonds or gold – mostly unique silver pieces from when we lived in Egypt and silver, turquoise, coral and sugilite from the American southwest. I viewed them as wear-to-work or out-for-dinner, and I’m not doing much of either these days. My retirement wardrobe is functional and not particularly stylish.

For some reason, I worry about what happens to our stuff when we die. We have wills and all that, but there’s this weird dark side of me that considered selling everything little by little, so that by the time we die, all the good stuff will be gone. My dad used to sell our toys if we took a bathroom break, so I’m thinking this another oddity from the gene pool.

So, yes, I thought about selling my jewelry, among other household items, but silver isn’t all that valuable and I don’t really want to part with the stones. As they say, you can’t take it with you. I’ve decided to start wearing it, possibly even adopting the look of a crazy lady who wears all her jewelry at once. By the way, this does align with my vision of pretending I am a Bohemian heiress who spends her later years dabbling in what amuses her.

I’ve always leaned minimalist, and it was not hard to follow Coco Chanel’s advice about removing one piece before you leave the house. Why not add one piece before leaving the house? Or two? I’ve also decided items I reserved for special occasions can now come out to play. Kind of like using your good china, because it’s just sitting there otherwise.

My silver concho belt with a rash guard and denim shorts? Birkenstocks? Why not? I shined up the belt and wore it to the grocery store. We were walking down the aisle, and Dale said, “That belt looks beautiful.” Wow, so that was worth it, right?

The bad news is I need to polish up the rest of my silver, but I’m excited about wearing some pieces that have been tucked away for quite a while. And wondering how I am going to mix it up … unusual combinations I hadn’t previously considered.

I’m also thinking about new ways to wear some of the work clothes I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of. And, oh, those cowboy boots from Texas.

If we do it right, retirement can be all about freedom. Maybe with aging, we lose the fear of being judged. Wear what you want, think what you want, say what you want, do what you want.

Just live your life. Wear the jewelry, use the good china.

Five essential cheeses

My second summer of retirement, and it has been fantastic so far. I’m playing a lot of golf, swimming and eating exceptionally well. Spending a lot of time thinking about cheese. Dale said I was wasting too many brain cells on it, but it’s better than thinking about work or Trump chumming it up with Putin, laughing about election interference.

To be fair, I asked Dale today to confirm the next election is in 2020. Is it really that far away? I mean, we have to listen to all these Democrats until then?

Cheese is way more fun.

So, here’s how I’ve been squandering my time. What if you had to make a list? Only 10 kinds of cheese for the rest of your life. Oh, but that’s too easy. What about only three? That’s also easy, because you have to pick the best of the best. Your go-to cheese. You might not pick one of the most delicious but less versatile cheeses.

I settled on five … you only get to eat five different kinds of cheese. You’re on a desert island, and this is all you get. Of course, you would have full cooking privileges on this island.

You have to think about how you use cheese and how you eat cheese and what’s most important as you whittle down the list. Five gives you a place for the standards yet room for indulgences. Still, as a cheese lover, it’s very difficult. Not difficult as in working for living but a challenge nonetheless.

After much deliberation, here’s my list … in order:

  1. Sharp Cheddar
  2. Whole Milk Mozzarella
  3. Parmigiano Reggiano
  4. Feta
  5. Muenster

The Sophie’s Choice of cheese. The runners up for me included Manchego, Queso Fresco, Pecorino Romano, Havarti, Gorgonzola, Gruyere, Camembert, Chevre and Jalapeno Jack. I’m sorry, cheese, if I left you off. You know I love you all. Even Cheez Whiz has a special place in my heart … but only from a jar, never a can. And only at dusk.

I know there are people who are not into cheese. We, on the other hand, have a drawer in the refrigerator dedicated to cheese. But we also have a tortilla drawer, so that says a lot about us.

What’s your list of five cheeses? That’s all you get. For the rest of your life. In order, please. Additional cheese talk is always welcome.

Summertime and the preserved radish is jumping

Maybe this post should be titled, “How I spent my summer vacation.” But preserved radish is on my mind.

I’ve been watching the Deadwood series free on Amazon Prime. I loved it, but the series ended abruptly, leaving me between books and stuck with a lackluster watchlist. I settled on the old Rodgers and Hammerstein musical, Flower Drum Song. I was astonished to discover I knew most of the songs.

old Movies

The movie is dated, and I suspect the Asian community would find it a stereotypical caricature at best. I originally thought it was an all-Asian cast, but I recognized Madame Liang as the same person who played Bloody Mary in South Pacific. Turns out she was African-American. The music and dancing was a great escape that kept me from brooding about the state of the nation as I drifted off to sleep thanking God I am not Trump’s type.

art

My art endeavors have taken a back seat since we transitioned to summer. I’ve been spending more time golfing and swimming. Maybe art will be a seasonal thing for me? Dale always said I needed a winter sport to get through the dark, cold and wet months. As if making pot pie is not a sport.

reading

In theory, I’m reading a history of the California Gold Rush, but I’ve had to accept a harsh truth. I prefer historical fiction. I’m not proud, but there you have it. I like rollicking stories loosely based on fact, which should put me in good stead with the current administration.

golf

Golf is my little crack cocaine of hobbies. Although I am in a women’s golf group, it’s quite regimented, and I’ve discovered I often prefer going out by myself. It feels more like an adventure. Like, ooh, look at me, I’m exploring this lush landscaped universe with strangers and a ball – who knows what will happen? As opposed to, “Ladies, there is an 8 a.m. shotgun start, and all players will be in place at that time.” Way to spoil a party.

cooking

Meanwhile, I’m thinking about food. We both love to eat, but more importantly, we both love to cook, which is a great retirement hobby. You have time to explore recipes and shop for ingredients. You can squander an afternoon making an obscure dish from your travels. You will likely eat well, save money and improve your health.

After enjoying a particular food in the U.S. or overseas, Dale and I often figure out a way to make the recipe at home. Among successes that regularly appear on our table are schnitzel from Germany, stacked enchiladas from New Mexico and Greek salad from Crete.

The Greek salad we enjoyed in Crete is different than what you might typically get in a restaurant. You need summer tomatoes, which we have yet to see this year. Do you have any yet? Soon, I believe. When they come on, we will be ready. Tomato sandwiches! Tomato pie!

As for the salad, coarsely chop tomatoes, cucumber and onion and arrange on a plate. Top it with a hunk of feta cheese, sprinkle with oregano and garnish with Kalamata olives. Serve olive oil and red wine vinegar on the side so everyone pours their own over the salad. Don’t forget crusty homemade bread for dipping.

I’m gearing up for a couple of dishes that are on the waiting list to try. One would be Shrimp & Grits and the other is Pad Thai. I bought stone-ground grits and made jalapeno cheese grits as a trial run – figuring why waste shrimp until I know what I am doing? Good thing, because my grits were too thin. Grits, damn you, life was easier when I thought you were cream of wheat.

The Pad Thai is a new recipe from the Washington Post. I ventured off to the exotic food store for ingredients we didn’t already have. For us, that store would be 99 Ranch Market, which is truly amazing. It’s like a Viewer’s Choice Chopped basket gone wild.

I visited 99 Ranch on Sunday. I’m still in the hunting and gathering stage for Pad Thai, so I didn’t buy any fresh ingredients for the dish. My list included:

  • Rice noodles
  • Palm sugar
  • Dried shrimp
  • Sweet preserved radish
  • Tamarind concentrate

The only thing I couldn’t find is sweet preserved radish. I could make the recipe without it, but what fun is that? I spent forever in the store looking for the radish. Dale, proud Luddite, even charged up his phone to see if I would call home … that’s how long I was gone. I came up empty-handed.

Easy solution. When I got home, I ordered it from Amazon. It should get here today.

How’s your summer going?

Simple and inexpensive skincare

I describe myself as aging-indifferent. I don’t have an aching desire to look younger and don’t care much about wrinkles, but I do want clear skin. Sure, I’m just a crazy kid with a dream, but I also don’t want to burn up my retirement savings on fancy products that feed the illusion of youth.

While I acknowledge my skin looks better without the benefit of the evil magnifying mirror, I do seem to be experiencing mild acne, which I did not have when I was young. Why now? I don’t know, but I kept saying I needed to visit a dermatologist so I could get a professional recommendation on a simple and inexpensive skincare regime.

Then I concluded most derms have their own fancy products and procedures to sell, along with inbred anti-aging bias, and the chances of me getting out of there with a minimalist game plan were slim to none. I started reading.

My objective was to find reasonably priced products I could purchase at my local drugstore and a simple routine even an aging-indifferent minimalist could love … something more gender-neutral, as opposed to beauty-focused. So, first, I settled on a regime. Then I looked at specific products, and ladies and gentlemen, there ain’t no shortage.

I like Neutrogena, even though they are owned by corporate giant Johnson & Johnson, which has some splaining to do over asbestos in its talcum powder of yesteryear. Alas, I’m not a black and white sort of person and mostly swim in the gray areas of life. Sort of like Mayor Pete, who said he didn’t approve of Chick-fil-A’s politics but kind of approves of its chicken.

Better for me to squint and carry on with money in my pocket than to search for some pure and magical potion made by holistic skin fairies in France. I just need some shit for my face.

Here’s where I landed:

Morning

  1. Cleanse – Neutrogena Ultra Gentle Daily Cleanser
  2. Vitamin C Serum – Neutrogena Hydro Boost Hydrating Serum
  3. Moisturizer with Sunscreen – Neutrogena Healthy Defense Daily Moisturizer (SPF 50)

Evening

  1. Cleanse – Neutrogena Ultra Gentle Daily Cleanser
  2. Retinol Cream – Neutrogena Rapid Wrinkle Repair Serum
  3. Moisturizer – Cera Ve PM Facial Moisturizing Lotion

Buying a product with the words “wrinkle repair” rather offended my aging-indifferent sensibility, but all my reading suggested retinol would help clear up my skin, so I caved. I started the regime a few weeks ago, and I have been astonished. My face has pretty much cleared up, and despite my best attempts, I look younger. Seriously, my skin looks visibly firmer and brighter.

And, I confess, I like it.

Although I read tons of articles, mostly using search terms dermatologists and skincare, here are the two that resonated with me:

Six Top Dermatologists Reveal Their Skincare Routines

The Simple Skincare Routine Dermatologists Recommend

Are you using retinol? Vitamin C serum? I knew about retinol but missed the day on Vitamin C. According to reports, Vitamin C is an anti-oxidant that protects the skin from the damage of ultraviolet rays and pollution. It also helps the skin absorb collagen, which contributes to your skin’s firmness.

A typical day of retirement

An actual LinkedIn conversation:

Hey, Donna, how are you? It’s great connecting with you. I came across your profile, and it was very impressive to me. If you don’t mind me asking, what is it you do for a living currently?

Stephanie

Hi Stephanie,

I am retired. I mostly read, write, cook, play golf, hike and putz around in the garage making art (or something like it).

Thanks for your inquiry,

Donna

Hi Donna,

Nice! I’m a business owner expanding in the area. I’m looking for like-minded individuals who are wealth-building focused or extra income could help.

Are you looking for an opportunity to make extra income?

Stephanie

Hi Stephanie,

No, thank you. I appreciate your interest.

Donna

As I have said many times, I would go back to work if I had to for financial reasons or if something struck a passion. In the meantime, school’s out for summer!

Here’s how I spent yesterday, an ordinary Friday. Proof you don’t have to travel the world or spend a fortune to enjoy retired life (unless you want to).

  • Scanned the news and did the NY Times mini puzzle in bed. Got up around 7 a.m.
  • Breakfast of fresh strawberries, yogurt and homemade granola. Coffee and juice. Newspaper.
  • Computer time.
  • Scrubbed the shower.
  • Wiped down the plantation shutters upstairs.
  • Walked for an hour.
  • Had Dale videotape me from behind whilst swinging a club and wearing my new golf skort to ensure no butt exposure. There was more exposure than I intended, but I’m going with it anyway!
  • Practiced putting on the putting mat out in the garage.
  • Brushed the kitty. Fur bombs everywhere.
  • Got a new Indian Instant Pot cookbook from the library the day before and began to compare and contrast recipes from the Indian Instant Pot cookbook I already own. Discovered you can cook rice at the same time as the main dish if you have the right tools, so spent some time researching on Amazon.
  • Accompanied Dale to the market to buy cheese for the evening’s menu and sushi for my lunch.
  • Watched several hours of U.S. Open golf tournament. Repeated, “Phil, you fucking idiot” many times. Had supermarket sushi and a light beer for lunch on a TV tray while I watched the Open.
  • Did my upper body weight routine.
  • Swam in our pool for about 20 minutes. Bobbed around for a while. Dried out under the sun and then came in to get cleaned up for happy hour.
  • Watched more golf and then helped Dale with dinner – pizza on the outside pizza oven.
  • Opened a bottle of Zinfandel we buy at a local winery for $7 a bottle.
  • Listened to some music while we enjoyed pizza on the patio. Dug into the vinyl vault for Kansas (because we love Dust in the Wind) and a little Clash because you can’t go wrong there.
  • Went to bed early. Like 8:30 or so. It was a cool night, so the windows were open.

Just another day of retirement! Work? Not missing it.

Aging in front of each other

There’s a monster cottonwood tree behind our house. I believe this tree is also known as a poplar, but it is not popular in our area, because it drops fuzz bombs into our pools. The annual dropping of the cotton is about over, and thank goodness. One can scoop the pool and an hour later, it looks like a feather bed.

I made up a song to lighten the mood (sung to the tune of Here Comes Peter Cottontail). You can sing it while you scoop … a fun exercise for the aging homeowner!

Here comes Mr. Cottonwood,

Fucking up the neighborhood.

Aging in front of each other

One of the weird things about getting older is watching your partner get older while you remain impossibly young. Just kidding. We’re both aging – aging well – and grateful for the opportunity – but still, once you’ve purchased pre-moistened butt wipes, you kind of see the world in a different way.

Dale came home from grocery shopping with a nice haircut, and I complimented him. He just turned 70, and I said, “You don’t look 70 at all!” He got all puffy and happy, pleased with the positive feedback. Something compelled me to add:

“Although you do look old when you run.”

Ouch. I felt bad, but he got me back a few days later. Dale was cooling off after a run and said, “Just so you know. I tried to run like I was 69.”

The man is hilarious. And a helpmate.

Babs, it could be your hippocampus

Dale alerted me to an impending disaster involving my hippocampus, a part of your brain that has nothing to do with the amount of weight you gained in college.

The hippocampus is apparently integral to spacial navigation. Evidence suggests relying on GPS turn-by-turn directions gives the hippocampus a free ride, but it needs to be active to protect against cognitive decline. You can read about it here.

I have never had a good sense of direction and happily celebrated the advent of GPS. A little voice telling me where to go and how to get there? What could be so wrong? Now, however, I’m left wondering if my hippocampus is congenitally deficient, and does that mean I have a higher risk of Alzheimer’s?

Dr. Dale doesn’t think so. I just need to exercise it more, you know, run like I’m 69. He suggested I use my cellphone GPS to get directions but put it away and drive from memory.

This week I played golf at a course I’ve been to before, but I always use GPS to get there. I did what Dale said, and I was there and back again with no detours. I do think it’s a good thing to pass on the turn-by-turn, unless I’m in a completely unfamiliar area. At that point, it’s a safety issue.

All this pleases Dale, and not just because he cares about my welfare. He likes real maps with grids and weird directions like north, south, east and west. And all that nonsense about where the sun rises and sets. I liked it better when the voice just told me which way to go. Left or right.

Trash to treasure art project

In the continuing adventures of a retiree dabbling for the first time in visual arts, I present Gladys, the sun goddess.

We found Gladys in the backyard while having our fence repaired. She was stuck behind a tree, and the fence guys pulled her out and set her aside. I immediately thought, “Trash to treasure!”

Steps:

  1. Wash
  2. Air dry
  3. Sand (I used a Dremel tool)
  4. Wipe clean
  5. Spray with anti-rust metal primer
  6. Apply Gesso (Liquitex) acrylic primer
  7. Paint with acrylics
  8. Cure for 72 hours
  9. Seal with Liquitex varnish

Now, I guess it’s just a matter of finding a place for her in the backyard. She’s not perfect, but I like her. The biggest lesson learned was about primer. Metal primer alone is not a good foundation for acrylic paint. You still need acrylic primer to get a glossy coating.

Also, my hand is not all that steady for detail work, and I have no freehand skills to speak of. But that’s OK. I’m having fun and taking advantage of retirement as an opportunity to explore a whole new side of myself.

If you’re thinking about dabbling, I am reminded of these words by a colleague who was also a talented artist. I asked him how he knew he had artistic talent. He said, “There’s no such thing as artistic talent. You either do art or you don’t.”

Saying what you think

Most of us adapt to idiosyncrasies of the workplace to earn a living, but what happens to those behaviors when you retire? Do you still sound like the person from work, or is your inside voice blurring a bit with your outside voice?

My inside/outside voice conflict goes back many years, when an Army lieutenant alerted me to the possibility I might not need to say everything I think.

I was an enlisted journalist in the Army and worked in the Public Affairs Office at Ft. Bragg, N.C. We were part of the 18th Airborne Corps, which was often sent to global hotspots to assist in disaster relief. They’d usually send a journalist to help with press releases and such. I never got to go.

One day, I approached the lieutenant in charge and asked him why I wasn’t selected for these assignments. He said, “Pekar, it has something to do with what’s between your nose and your chin.”

Although I never did get asked to go, I managed to get out of the Army unscathed and eventually learned to keep my mouth shut, which was definitely career-enhancing.

Retirement reduced my exposure to annoying situations, but it’s hard to avoid them completely. I recently played golf with a woman who announced she was extremely sensitive to sounds. She had rabbit ears and could hear even the tiniest whisper, requiring absolute silence when it was her turn to play. Even the rustling of a potato chip bag was terribly disturbing to her.

I got paired with her again a few weeks later, and she got into a snit about scoring. Rules for the women’s golf club events are rather persnickety. We all keep each other’s score, and you have to capture that information at the end of each hole played.

Around the fourth hole, she got a little huffy about our process for swapping scores and announced her demands for how it would be done going forward.

Good thing I spent my career learning “advanced” communication skills to get through challenging scenarios without injury or lawsuits. Please select the best response:

A) Thank you for sharing that. Let’s collaborate when we get to the next hole and get some consensus on a win-win solution.

B) I appreciate your perspective – and to build on that – I recommend we circle the wagons on the next hole and get input from the rest of the team.

C) Great idea! Let’s pulse the team and see if everyone’s on board.

D) Who died and left you in charge?

I chose D, haunted by the voice from the ethics videos we used to watch, “That is not your best choice.” Still, shit like this goes on in my head all the time, but I’ve learned to suppress it. Even on the golf course, I allow myself to be bossed around because it’s easier than conflict.

When we got to the next hole, she said, “Did you just ask me who died and left me in charge?” I said, yes, I did. She never spoke another word to me.

I hope I wasn’t too much of a jerk, and I hope I’m not put to the test again any time soon. However, it’s kind of interesting how it turned out. I shot my best score ever. What’s up with that?

Ugly shoes and lazy entertainment

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I worked for a gas and electric utility and was in charge of planning a year-long celebration of the company’s 150th anniversary. My boss’s boss was something of a terror and legend, and we were summoned to brief her on our progress.

I had this fat binder with notes, plans, drafts – all organized with plastic tabs. These were pre-technology days, at least for me.

The boss and I sat in big boss’s big office at the top of our high-rise, where she fired question after question. I flicked through tabs and answered every inquiry. I knew my shit, and I was en fuego. My boss looked pleased.

Then big boss paused. Took a deep breath and looked down at my feet. “Donna,” she said, “Wherever did you get those ugly shoes?”

I mumbled something about them being in style, but of course, they weren’t. I’ve always had a penchant for ugly shoes. Thick soles! Chunky heels! Oxfords! Clogs! Man repellers.

And so it would appear in retirement, I haven’t lost my touch. I usually wear Crocs or Birkenstocks around the house. The rest of my shoe wardrobe is pretty much more Birkenstocks and Keen. 

Although I’m stingy with my retirement dollars, I shelled out $50 for the Hoka Recovery Slide. These things are heavenly, especially after a really long walk. Better arch support than my Birkies and just super comfortable all around. It actually never occurred to me they were ugly until Dale said something.

Yeah, OK, they’re ugly. The thing is, he knows I don’t care. And really, he doesn’t care either. Just an opinion, like so many others, he feels the need to share … and I feel compelled to ignore.

Lazy Entertainment

While I do get plenty of exercise, I also enjoy lazy retirement entertainment. I just started watching the original Deadwood series, which is free on Amazon Prime. I’m hooked on it now, although South Dakota in 1876 was dark, violent and lawless. I like to think the universe led me to this show so I could compare and contrast and realize things today aren’t as bad as they seem.

I started watching Deadwood because I heard about the new HBO movie and wanted to see the original before I went down that path. I also heard some cast members playing songs on Sirius Outlaw Country. The song Katie Cruel sung by Karen Dalton absolutely blew me away.

Dale started watching a YouTube channel called AvE, in which a foul-mouthed Canadian tears apart electronics to see if they’re worthy. I got sucked in because I could hear Dale snorting over there, and well, you know, he had me at snort. It doesn’t seem like anything I would care for – I know nothing about electronics – but the guy is hilarious.

Oh, and Tanya Harding won Worst Cooks in America: Celebrity Edition. She seemed vulnerable and likable, and I am happy for her. May there be redemption for us all.