Rambling Thursday #2

I saw this sign on the back of a truck when I was driving home from golf. Stopped for a red light anyway, so I snapped a picture through the windshield.

Food

Whipped from walking 18 holes of golf two days in a row, I am happy to stay home and hang around the house today. Dale made breakfast tacos with his Mexican-style chorizo made from scratch, scrambled eggs and homemade salsa verde. Delicious! When my mother found out he could cook, she said, “Keep him.”

Contrary to my last post, it’s clear Dale is quite motivated. Just depends on what it is. I hope everyone knows I write about our spats in the spirit of fun. Even if we were angry at the time, the stories make us laugh. If I were really mad at him, I certainly wouldn’t whine about it in public. I’d take a more devious approach.

I’ve been making the Jim Lahey no-knead bread with great success and wanted a “heartier” loaf, so I combined a couple of recipes from Jim and others I found online. We had oats, barley, sesame seeds and sunflower seeds, so I was good there. Jim’s recipe called for flax seeds. I didn’t have any, so I used hemp seeds, which is a so-called superfood I use for soup and in my granola.

The last ingredient needed was millet, which I didn’t have. I was rummaging through the shelves, when I found an almost empty bag of farro, a grain I’ve used in soup. I figured it would work as a substitute, but in hindsight, I’m not so sure.

I haven’t made the soup in awhile, but as I recall, farro took a long time to cook. The bread was delicious although a bit crunchy. As in maybe tooth-cracking crunchy. I attribute that to the farro. Dale named the bread Colon Blow, so obviously, I’ll be working to refine the recipe. He said next time leave out the rocks and marbles.

Measles

I’ve been reading about the measles outbreak and began to wonder about my own immunity. I researched it, and it turns out if you actually had measles, you are immune for life. With certain vaccinations, you may need a booster.

Good news, as I had measles when I was a child. I asked Dale if he had measles, and he said yes, remember, I had shingles? It appears one doesn’t get shingles if one hasn’t had measles. But I had no recollection of him having shingles.

You? Shingles? When? He said when we lived in Columbia, S.C. Remember that patch on my arm? I’m like, what, those baby shingles? You’re counting that? All he said was, “Yeah, well, I’m sorry I didn’t die.” Then we laughed.

We’ve both since had the shingles vaccine, but Shingrix is a new one they are recommending even if you’ve had the first one. It’s not cheap. But apparently even baby shingles are terrible.

Correction: In the comments section, a reader let me know there is a relationship between shingles and chicken pox … not measles.

DIY Pedi

I did not get my first pedicure until I was at least 40. It cracks me up now, how this is so routine in today’s beauty culture. I feel like an old lady bragging about walking to school barefoot in the snow, but these young girls have no idea what it was like to live with poorly groomed feet.

Gave up getting my toes painted when I was swimming a lot. Chlorine took its toll. I still got regular pedicures, but I had them buffed shiny. They usually charge an extra $5 because it’s so hard to use arm muscles, I guess. But the results are worth it. Bonus … you can get out of there faster because you don’t have to wait for your toes to dry.

Because I go minimalist, I don’t need a pedicure often. I’ve been going about every six weeks to about $30 a pop. Yes, it’s chump change, but it’s pretty much wasted chump change, since they aren’t doing anything I can’t do myself. I rather embrace the role of frugal retiree.

This week I got out my tools and went to work. No pictures for your protection, but they look pretty good to me. I may go to the salon for a special occasion, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be sticking with the DIY Pedi.

A Fan

I love unusual names with a certain ring to them. There’s no set of criteria, other than it just pops out at me as a great name. I’ll see one, and say, “I’d change my name to that.” It’s an ongoing joke at our house.

One of my all-time favorites is Fan Bingbing. Who wouldn’t change their name to that? I’m pleased to report the Chinese actress has reappeared after a year’s absence.

Chores and wars

My husband and I have very different ideas about how chores should be done around the house. Before I retired, we didn’t argue about it much, mostly because I was gone a lot and didn’t have the energy to fight. Now that I’ve been retired for more than a year, I’m tanned, rested and ready.

Let’s just say we have had a few unpleasant disagreements over housework, yard work and home maintenance. I’m kind of a worker bee, and he is anything but. During one of our altercations, I accused him of being lazy, and he came back with, “I’m not lazy! I’m unmotivated.”

It came to a head this week because I said we are finally going to fill those small holes in the drywall leftover from a previous owner. He’s like, whatever, dude. Let me know when it’s over.

Simple project, right? I filled the holes with Spackle, and let it dry. I didn’t sand it smooth, because our paint is textured. I tried to dab it on in the same fashion as the texture. In a motivational peak, Dale found some paint in the garage labeled, “Downstairs.” I gave it a big stir and used a paper towel to dab over the Spackle.

I did the first hole, and it looked great, except it was the wrong color. Upon closer inspection, it would seem there are two colors on the downstairs walls. One lighter and one slightly darker. I used the darker paint on the lighter wall.

Of course, I did.

Suddenly, Dale goes all Sherwin-Williams on me and says we’ll have to paint the whole room. I said, no, really, these are small holes, and if we can get something close, I’m sure it will look fine. He said you’re always such a perfectionist. It won’t be good enough for you.

Then I said, “I am not frozen in time. People change and evolve, and I am less of a perfectionist than I used to be. Look at that caulking around the kitchen floor tile! Have you heard me complain? I just squint and look the other way.”

He seemed doubtful but pried off a tiny chip of paint from a corner of the wall where the movers dinged it, and he wrapped that in plastic. And off he went to the store. This might be when I said his favorite part of chores is to put on a clean shirt and go bye-bye in the car.

Dale returned to reveal that in order to match the paint, they need a chip the size of a quarter. Again, he starts up with this thing about painting the whole room. I said that’s crazy talk! Just do the best you can. I’m sure it will be fine. He went back to the store and returned with a quart of paint.

I dabbed it on with a small wad of scrunched up paper towel, and it looks about perfect to me. Because I had all that crap out anyway, I went around the downstairs – the lighter color rooms and the darker color rooms – and filled and painted to my heart’s content. The previous owners were hole-crazy. In some places, it looks pretty damned fabulous, but in others, it’s just fabulous.

I’m attributing my new tolerance for imperfection to art, where I continue to have fun under-performing. But some of it is age and expected longevity, I think. I want to be a responsible homeowner and enjoy a nice house, but I really don’t worry anymore about resale. Whatever happens, happens.

By the time we leave this home, we’ll probably be dead or moving to assisted living. Somebody younger and more anal-retentive can take over. In the meantime, I believe Dale is feeling a wee bit guilty and is now on board with my yard work strategy. Details to follow.

Rambling Thursday

You may have noticed in my posts I try to focus on a theme and tell some sort of a story rather can describe my week or day or whatever. I think of this blog as a column, the old-fashioned kind we used to read in newspapers.

However, there are times when I am inclined to ramble, and change is good. Introducing “Rambling Thursday.”

I’m not selling coasters on Etsy. I can’t think of a way to earn enough money to make it worth my while. I enjoy the art. As I’ve said many times before, I hope those days of trading time for money are gone. If I had to, I would, but our finances look good for the long-term.

AND – if I had to work, it would be a jobby job. Something to make ends meet. No purpose, no passion. Pray there would be no meetings, no team building, no performance appraisals, no sociopaths. None of those “if you can dream it, you can have it” bosses.

What a demanding list of priorities! I’m clearly unsuitable for work. I have some highly amusing stories about the insanity of the workplace, but I probably won’t tell them for a while. I’m not sure how to do it without getting sued. Plus, thinking about it gives me bad dreams.

Death by PowerPoint

I had the dreaded work dream this week. This time I had an armful of binders, and I kept dropping them (dropping stuff is a recurrent theme). The binders are probably related to a job when I was kind of like chief of staff to an executive. He had to present quarterly results to corporate, and one of my tasks was to build the presentation. And then travel to headquarters for the big event.

For whatever reason, we couldn’t just do this thing electronically. I had 17 binders to schlep. If I could fly with the executive on the company plane, it was easier. But sometimes that didn’t work out, so I flew commercial. I’d check a small bag with my clothes and fill a carry-on bag with the binders. God forbid they should get lost.

Sometimes the finance folks made last-minute changes, and I’d get new charts when I landed. I had just enough time to print new charts and “slip sheets.” Then I had to transport said binders to the conference room at exactly the right moment. Not too early, not too late. It sounds like entry-level work, but I was actually a director. I had a suitcase with wheels, but still, a 50-something gray-haired woman rolling that through HQ drew unwanted attention.

Coasters, I can’t quit you

I’m maybe taking a break from crafting coasters, as I don’t have a solid plan for what to do with them. There are a few ideas rolling around in my head. I thought, what if I change the theme and focus on cats? I love cats as much as I love beer. Easy switch. I could then donate the coasters to a cat shelter, and they could sell them to raise funds. Aren’t I the decent human being? If there was a beer shelter, I’d be golden.

I contacted the local cat shelter, but I haven’t heard back. I may never – I mean, they don’t know me. I realize I should probably volunteer and get to know them before suggesting this idea, but I don’t want to volunteer at a cat shelter, so there’s that. I’ve been working on cat designs just in case.

Whilst researching crafting opportunities, I spent a good deal of time reading about other charitable efforts. Most involve sewing and needle crafts for homeless shelters, hospitals, etc. Sewing is not my thing, but one never knows. My sister is a talented fabric artist, and we have genetic proof we really are sisters, so maybe there’s something inside me yet revealed.

The purpose of ripe strawberries

The strawberries are finally here! I’m such a fruit snob and always struggle with what fruits to eat over the winter months. While there are plenty of choices, this year I ate frozen blueberries with my homemade granola and yogurt. The berries were delicious and predictable. Oh, the disappointment of unripe fruit.

To keep strawberries fresh, I learned a little trick from a vendor at the farmers market. Line a rectangular tub with a paper towel. Lay the unwashed strawberries in a single layer over the bottom and cover with another paper towel. Store in the fruit/vegetable bin in the refrigerator. Mine last the entire week.

The joy of ripe strawberries! Such a simple pleasure, but lately I’ve come to believe that’s what it’s all about. Advice columnist Carolyn Hax recently wrote a column about purpose, suggesting it’s OK to not have one. She talks about the pleasure of coffee and the satisfaction of completing a chore.

These are tiny pleasures. Connecting one to another to another across a day might not feel grandly productive, but the constellation it creates is pleasant enough to behold.

I’ve been slouching toward purposelessness since I retired, but sometimes I’ve wondered whether I was moving in the right direction. Realizing others are seeking the same path helped validate my own experiences. Such a relief to realize we don’t have to beat ourselves up forever.

My purposeless life is brimming with pleasurable hobbies and satisfying activities. I made a list, which is in no particular order because that would be too purposeful.

  • Golf – Practice & Play
  • Cook
  • Arts & Crafts
  • Walk & Lift Weights
  • Read
  • Write
  • Yard work
  • Housework
  • Home Maintenance & Repair

I estimated the number of hours a week ideally dedicated to these activities. It added up to exactly 40! So there you have it. Being purposeless is a full-time job.

Did I mention I hate meetings?

I’m still making coasters. It’s fun and relaxing. I added four new ones to the gallery – my first attempt at a more artistic approach. Color! I’m not saying they are good, but I like them. While I’ve been gifting coasters to friends and family, I’ve also been thinking about selling them on Etsy.

Still on the fence about the whole thing. Leaning strongly toward no. While money is always nice, I don’t really need the little bit of cash I might make on Etsy. Maybe I would break even on art supplies – that might be cool. But my career was all about trading time for money, and I want this chapter of my life to be about choosing creative opportunities that are right for me.

But … I’ve been a bit of an entrepreneur over the years, and I’ve sold stuff before. And I did it when I had a demanding job. I started a golf shirt company. I guess it was 2000 or 2001 that I came up with the idea of a women’s golf shirt with an embroidered logo.

Although I didn’t do a formal business plan, I did a lot of research and consulted with a group of retired executives who advise entrepreneurs. There were so many things to do and learn. Getting a business license, establishing an online store, setting up a payment system, buying blank shirts, getting the logo professionally designed, digitizing the design for embroidery, finding vendors, shipping, taxes – I still can’t believe I did all that while I was working.

I didn’t expect to make big bucks, but I always felt words were my strength, so I found an intellectual property attorney and trademarked the logo, some other slogans and the company name, which shall all remain nameless because of what happened next.

My eBay store had been humming along for several years, and just as I was about to break even, someone offered to “buy” one of my trademarks.

You don’t actually buy trademarks. The owner “assigns” them for a fee. It’s pretty much the same thing. The first offer was for $5,000. I was open to the idea of giving up the trademark, but I had that much invested already, so I said no. We eventually settled on $50,000!

Rather than just accept my good fortune and move on, I started up another company selling golf shirts and then t-shirts after that. Inventory was a challenge. By the time I quit, thrift shops and landfills were enjoying my unsold goods. A few dozen coasters would be nothing compared to our den with stacked up piles of shirts in various sizes.

As I’ve been pondering the Etsy dilemma, I’ve learned a couple of things. Once I started thinking about business and marketing, my creative focus changed and not in a good way. It was no longer about creating as a form of expression but trying to make something that sells. I suspect I could work through that and get to a nice balance.

However, the other thing I learned is I truly have evolved in my retirement. I’m taking control of my life … questioning old assumptions and actually thinking through what makes me happy and how I want to spend my time – not doing things just because someone else thought it was a good idea or it might be profitable. These are small signs, but I see both as positive movement:

  • After golf yesterday, I thanked the women I was playing with for the game and then said I wasn’t coming in for the social hour. One of the other players said, “But it’s the meeting!” Exactly! The league has periodic member meetings, and I guess they like us to participate. I hate meetings. I said yeah, well, I did meetings for 35 years. I’m done.
  • A guy on LinkedIn contacted me about being interviewed for some research related to my former profession – and I said no thanks. Then he offered money, $250 for an hour of “consulting.” The money got my attention. I’m totally up for a consulting gig, but this particular opportunity didn’t appeal to me right now. I decided it was OK to say no. Doesn’t mean I won’t say yes next time.

What is it they used to say? If you stand for nothing, you fall for everything?

A cookie to kill for?

Although I have occasional sugar indulgences, I actually don’t eat many sweets and mostly stick to savory dishes in the kitchen. However, Dale was craving these cookies, so what’s a girl to do?

We watch a lot of cooking shows on TV, and you often hear people say, “It’s to die for.” Dale says you shouldn’t have to die for good food. Better to say, “It’s to kill for.” Although neither one of us is a killer, these cookies might inspire greedy but non-violent behavior.

What I love about these cookies is they are so pure. I think of them as the health food of cookies. No flour, no oil, no butter. Mostly just chocolate, nuts, egg whites and sugar. The egg whites form a slightly crispy crust, and the inside is deliciously gooey.

You can use plain old Hershey’s Cocoa, which is perfectly yummy, but I like to mix it about half and half with cacao powder. I think it makes for a richer tasting cookie. The original recipe calls for crushing the chocolate much as you would the walnuts, but I have had no luck at all in the chocolate chopping department. Whole chips work fine.

I tell friends who crave sweets to always go for the absolute best. Don’t eat chocolate pudding from the cafeteria (I’m talking to you, Monica) or some stupid cookie from a package. Focus on eating the real deal, and usually the real deal is hard to find or hard to make, so you don’t have it as often and you end up appreciating it more.

This advice applies to a lot of foods, including french fries. Make them from scratch, and you won’t get fat eating french fries. Which reminds me of Dale’s secret fantasy. No, nothing like that. If he had an unlimited supply of money, he would have an outdoor deep fryer and a cleaning service to keep the oil fresh. That’s my guy!

This recipe is inspired by the original from Jacque Torres. A special thanks to Linda at Retired Introvert, who turned me onto this recipe plug-in.

Chocolate Chip Walnut Cookies

Inspired by the original recipe from Jacque Torres, these cookies have no flour or oil but plenty of pure chocolaty nutty goodness.
Print Recipe

Ingredients
  

  • 1 1/3 cups Cocoa Powder I like to mix regular cocoa powder with cacao powder about half and half.
  • 4 1/4 cups Powdered Sugar
  • 1 1/3 cups Dark Chocolate Chips I like Guittard Extra Dark Chocolate Baking Chips (63% cacao)
  • 1 cup Walnuts
  • 1/2 tsp Salt
  • 1 tsp Vanilla Extract
  • 5 Egg Whites Use large eggs NOT extra large or jumbo.

Instructions
 

  • Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Spray a cookie sheet with cooking spray. Place a sheet of parchment paper on top and spray again with cooking spray. 
  • Put walnuts in a sealed plastic bag and roll with a rolling pin until crumbs. Set aside.
  • In a large bowl, whisk together the Cocoa Powder, Powdered Sugar and Salt until there are no lumps. Switch to a wooden spoon, and stir in Egg Whites, Vanilla, Chocolate Chips and Walnuts. Mix until combined. The dough is very stiff.
  • Use an ice cream scoop to scoop dough and drop onto the prepared cookie sheets. Bake for 12 minutes. Cool the cookies completely on the cookie sheet. 
  • Store in the refrigerator.
Keyword chocolate chip, cookies

Ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm

I was out in the garage making coasters and listening to Bob Dylan … because I am retired, and I can. Even though I know every song, sometimes music slaps you in new ways. It was as though I had heard Maggie’s Farm for the first time.

I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more
No, I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more
Well I try my best
To be just like I am
But everybody wants you
To be just like them

Listening to the whole song, I thought about what a miserable existence that must have been, working on Maggie’s farm. Aside from the pressure to conform, he encounters mean people in the way of Maggie’s Pa and her brother. And one gathers Maggie, herself, was no saint.

I was thinking about my own jobs and decided to start referring to my entire career as Maggie’s Farm. Maybe that sounds negative, but when I’m feeling especially happy about my retirement lifestyle, I find myself singing, “I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more.” It’s my new anthem.

Jobs rarely live up to expectations. Some of the best career advice I ever got infuriated me at the time. I was so naïve and wanted to think the world of business doesn’t operate this way.

The first was from a senior State Department official. He said, “Donna, let me tell you how to get ahead. Keep all your good ideas to yourself. Do everything your boss wants, and someday you will be boss, and everyone will have to do what you say.” Although I never subscribed to his theory, I eventually saw his truth in action and probably would have fared better if I had gone that route.

The other advice was from a lawyer for an investor-owned utility who had left the company over a beef of some sort, went to work for a competitor that ultimately merged with another company – leaving her with a golden parachute. She came back as a consultant, and we collaborated on a project.

She said, “You have to decide what you’re willing to do to get ahead. If you really want it, you have to suck up and keep sucking up. When you think you’ve overdone it, and they will call you out for being a suck up, suck up more. Those at the top have an insatiable need. And if you aren’t prepared to meet that need, then settle for something less.”

That was when I adjusted my career goals. I never was good at the whole suck up thing but figured I could go pretty far without it. Just not the top. And that turned out to be fine with me.

My days at Maggie’s farm are over, and I have no regrets. I did good work, had some amazing experiences, lived reasonably well along the way and earned a decent retirement. I read all this stuff about people not adjusting to life post-career, and it doesn’t surprise me, because we’ve been programmed since we were kids to find a job and earn a living.

I would guess we started compromising on how we’d spend our lives by the time we reached middle school. You were already trying to figure out what you were good at, what gave you pleasure and how you might convert that into a paying gig. And somebody was already whispering in your ear, “You can’t do that.”

Retirement is not a return to childhood. It’s better! This is probably the freest we will ever be. It’s so cool and fun to experience this transformation and imagine the possibilities, and I fear this is something lost those who dwell on the downside of aging.

Are you enjoying your freedom?

When the candy is handy

It has been a cold and rainy winter, and I fear some of us have gained a bit of weight. I’ve put on two or three pounds, but I try not to worry, because it’s not much, and I know my activity level is increasing. I eat less when I’m out and about. Pretty soon, I’ll be back to normal.

I lost about 50 pounds when I was in my 20s and another 10 just a few years ago. With lifelong weight maintenance, I have found it’s important not to panic and over-correct. Just keep exercising and get back to eating well, focusing on portion control and healthy choices. Trust your body to know what it needs.

The truth is, I’ve been uncharacteristically undisciplined. Before I made a serious change and eliminated junk sweets from my diet, Easter was my favorite candy season … tricksy, as this is also the time when one might be trying to recover from winter weight gain.

Easter, our cruel mistress, brings all that chocolate, but I show up for the sugar. The joy of jelly beans, marshmallow peeps, marshmallow bunnies and chicks (like Circus Peanuts) and why, yes, those hard marshmallow Easter hunt eggs.

I never met a marshmallow I didn’t like, but I have avoided them for several years. However, I was feeling sorry for myself. I try so hard to be careful and do everything right, but the rewards are elusive. I’m thin and fit, yet I have to worry about blood sugar and blood pressure. Age and genetics and definitely not fair. All good reason to indulge in self-sabotage, right?

The incident involving my face on the pavement pissed me off, so I bought two bags of the Easter hunt eggs. Just so you know – Walgreens didn’t have them, but CVS did. In case you want to follow me down that slippery slope. I allocated four each night in a little bedside bowl so the candy was handy. The white ones are my favorite.

That first marvelous crackly sugary bite. It’s like heaven. But heaven with a taste of hell, because there’s just no excuse for eating these things. And once you start, it’s hard to stop until you’ve overdone it, and your throat is oddly parched with a sugar hangover, and there’s not enough water on the planet to quench your thirst.

If I’m paying attention, I don’t feel right when I eat poorly, and it seems there’s new thinking that supports my theory.

There are four eggs left, and I am throwing them away. No more handy candy. I’ve had my little party.

Happy cats

I hope you didn’t somehow land on this blog expecting exciting travelogues and other adventures. You might find my retired life rather dull. Deliciously boring (but not bored). This, too, could be yours! For some of us, our work life was intense, and it’s fun to just hang out and be happy cats.

Although we have enough money for the occasional trip, we’re not big travelers anymore. We moved more than 20 times for jobs. We lived in Germany for six years and Cairo for 2.5 years. There are plenty of places we’ve never been, but we were avid tourists back in the day and saw a lot of the U.S. and the world. Still, I expect some sort of adventure in my future.

I was thinking about how much I like my boring life, much as I used to like boring politics, when a couple of former colleagues shared a bit of work news with me. That got me thinking about my old job and questioning my decisions. Did I bail out too early?

The answer is no. While I had a rewarding career and was rather obsessed with my job for many years, toward the end, the workplace and all the nonsense that goes on there didn’t seem worth the trade of time for money. I wanted to live differently.  

I pulled the plug at age 62 – not exactly early retirement – and went in search of myself. What sparked intense curiosity? What made me happy? It would have been easier to keep working and never face down my essence. At least you get paid to avoid self-reflection. Just keep slogging along and buying more stuff and taking expensive vacations so you have to keep slogging along.

Since I retired, I’ve learned a lot about what I need and don’t need, mostly from the comfort of my living room. My hair is wild. I have one or two outfits I wash and wear over and over. I’m slowly discovering what gets me up in the morning. Aside from golf and nice long walks, I’m excited about food. We cook almost everything from scratch, and it’s tremendously satisfying. I have intense curiosity about dinner. And possibly sourdough, the next frontier.

I’m keenly interested in crafting techniques I can learn to enhance my obsession with coasters. I love to walk to the library and browse the shelves and think, “What might I want to learn about today?” I rather like the idea of picking some crazy new subject and immersing myself in it. Being an expert at something appeals to me. There’s still time.

Yet, I wonder if I’m wasting my life … that old programming that says produce, produce, produce. These are the same doubts I had when I was working – but now the stress is gone, and I’m doing things that make me happy. All other things being equal, doubt will always be there, but retirement wins.

Retirement can be whatever you want it to be. I prefer mostly uneventful days, but you might seek more action. Find your happy place and go there. As for me, I like to pretend I’m an eccentric Bohemian heiress (perhaps a bit reclusive and frugal) who spends her life dabbling in things that amuse her. And you know what? I look forward to every single day.

Diversifying your portfolio of fun

Following my fall from last week, the good news is my chin looks fabulous (if chins ever look fabulous). The stitches are out, and it’s almost healed. Doesn’t look like I will have a scar. The bad news is a few ribs took some of the impact, so I’m not able to play golf. I am grateful nonetheless. In the grand scheme of things, this is a tiny nuisance.

It rained today, and for some reason, if I can’t play golf, I’m always happier if no one is playing golf.

From the outset, one of my retirement strategies was to balance my activities and focus on building both physical and intellectual reserves. Think of it as diversifying your portfolio, except this is about fun not money. Not that money can’t be fun.

Reading, writing, cooking and artistic pursuits counterbalance golf and other outdoor fun. I figured at some point I would be reminded you can’t have it all. Being down for the count after my accident seems to validate my strategy. I’m annoyed I can’t play golf, but I have plenty to keep me amused at home.

I made a batch of no-knead bread. I’ve been experimenting with the technique, and I love it! The dough rises for at least 18 hours. We keep our home pretty cool, so it has taken more like 24 for mine. I noticed today’s batch had a better rise, as it has gotten a bit warmer. To get me started, I got Jim Lahey’s book from the library.

The book is great, but I probably won’t buy it. I’ve made it a few times now, and there are tons of free recipes for no-knead bread on the Internet, so I think I’ll make do with what I have. One more cookbook might make our whole house implode, and no one wants that.

The rest of the afternoon I hung out in the garage making coasters and listening to Amy Winehouse. The garage is exactly the same as the shower … I sound just like her. A super-pleasant afternoon.

As for the coasters, I have no idea what I am going to do with them. Some will be gifts. I just keep making them. The process relaxes me, and I feel happy as I’m out there puttering away.

I’m currently on a drink theme. They are coasters, right? I’m giving myself permission to go with whatever my brain comes up with. I’m not allowing that nasty bitch masquerading as my inner voice to stop me with her harsh criticism. My current approach is fake Shakespearean advice. I uploaded two new ones to the gallery:

  • Quench thy thirst with a pure and earnest alchemy of barley, hops, water, and yeast.
  • Behold the gift of fermentation, and seek ye the merry pleasure of beer, wine, and cheese.

A note for word nerds. Over the course of my entire career in corporate communications, we used the AP Style guide for grammar and punctuation. I adopted AP Style for my personal use, because I figured at least I’d be consistent. Even personal emails, letters to my mother. It’s a sickness.

In AP Style, one does not use the Oxford comma. That’s the last comma in a series such as beer, wine, and cheese. You will notice I used the Oxford comma. A hundred little communicators just dropped over. I decided the Oxford fit better with this style. So, guess what, AP Style? I’m over you.

One last punctuation nit. This is how I’m wired. There’s a comma after fermentation in the sentence above, “Behold the gift of fermentation, and seek ye the merry pleasure of beer, wine, and cheese.” That’s because they are independent clauses. The two parts can stand on their own, so they should be separated with a comma.

I forgot to add the comma when I made the tile. I know, big deal, but I do plan to fix it next time around. I guess that means I still have a ways to go when it comes to balance, but you know, baby steps.