A happy retirement Monday

Just another happy retirement Monday. It’s lovely outside now, but we should see rain later. I like it better when it rains at night. However, I also like when it gets dark and spooky during the middle of the day. Life is easier when we make peace with the weather, whatever it is.

My back and knees and other miscellaneous body parts are in harmony. I have a good book (The Lincoln Highway by Amor Towles). I’m swimming and walking and will be playing golf this week. And today I’m cooking one of my favorite dishes. Moussaka. It is an all-day affair, which reinforces the joy of not working and having the time to make delicious food.

The recipe I use is from David Rosengarten. Some of you may remember him. He was on the Food Network when they first started up. He had a show with Donna Hanover, one of Giuliani’s exes. Kind of a shame, because she seemed better than that. Although he seemed better in those days, too, didn’t he?

Anyway, sometimes you see David these days as a judge on Iron Chef America. We have his cookbook, Taste. Among our other favorites from the book are Singapore Crab and Spaghetti Carbonara.

I love eggplant in all forms. In Egypt, we used to get these little skinny white ones, which were fantastic. This recipe makes a big-assed pan of Moussaka, so it calls for four eggplants. I’ve tried cutting the recipe in half, but it doesn’t work as well for me. Fortunately, it makes great freezer food.

While I’ve seen many variations of Moussaka, with this one you roast the eggplant first and then brown slices on the cooktop. You make tasty tomato sauce and brown ground lamb with onions and garlic. Then all that is mixed up and simmered for an hour.

A lot like lasagna, the dish is layered with fresh breadcrumbs, the lamb mixture, cheese and béchamel sauce. The recipe calls for a Greek cheese I can’t find, but I follow David’s recommendation and substitute Pecorino Romano.

I like to get everything going early and have it all done up and ready to go in the oven by happy hour. There’s some white wine in the lamb mixture, but I’m thinking this is more of a red wine thing. As the house Silmarillion, I’ll have to make a decision.

But such a decision is a pleasure. I didn’t have to put anyone on a Performance Improvement Plan. I didn’t have to fire anyone. I didn’t have to get up at the crack of dawn and drive to work. No crazy executive called to make unreasonable demands. Retirement is good.

Oh, and a pro tip for you female cooks out there. Wrap your apron tie around the back and then bring it to the front for a final knot. If you should so happen to leave the apron strings dangling down the back, it’s entirely possible you might forget they are there if you should have to pee, and it could get messy. Not that I have any personal experience in such matters, but I’ve heard things.

The repair crew

Nice easy walks and gentle swims … you’d think I was fully recovered from overdoing it a bit in January. However, just when I thought all my body parts were working in harmony, out of the clear blue of the western sky comes excruciating knee pain that brought all my good efforts to a halt.

After a few days of rest, heat, ice, Tylenol and Advil, it seems to be fine. I did a short test walk yesterday and a slightly longer test walk today, and so far, so good. But still, I’ve been exercising regularly for 50 years, and it shocks me how quickly things can go wrong.

When I complained to my husband about the pain, he said, “Ah, yes. The repair crew.”

Sometimes the guy is genius. When something hurts, and I start to feel sorry for myself, I think, calm down. It’s just the repair crew, and I am in need of repairs. They’re trying to fix this mess. Certainly, there are many ways to cope with pain, and I suspect most of us will dabble in those dark arts more and more as we age.

Growing older is not easy, but let’s consider ourselves lucky if we can get through it in reasonably good cheer and enjoy the time that is given to us.

Interestingly, I just finished a fantastic book that explores the possibilities of navigating adversity with dignity, grace and humor … so maybe some of it rubbed off on me. Historical fiction at its finest, “A Gentleman in Moscow” by Amor Towles tells the story of Count Alexander Rostov, a Russian aristocrat living under house arrest in a luxury hotel for 30 years.

One of my favorite passages (and there are many) is when a friend talks to him about wanting to leave Russia and experience the conveniences of modern life. Count Rostov replies:

I’ll tell you what is convenient. To sleep until noon and have someone bring you your breakfast on a tray. To cancel an appointment at the very last minute. To keep a carriage waiting at the door of one party, so that on a moment’s notice it can whisk you away to another. To sidestep marriage in your youth and put off having children altogether. These are the greatest of conveniences, Anushka — and at one time, I had them all. But in the end, it has been the inconveniences that have mattered to me most.

I loved this book. It’s literary without being too fancy-pants. Just a fantastic story in a spectacular setting with great characters and thoughts and ideas that might haunt (or inspire) you for decades. If you should be so fortunate.

In other news, rain, rain and more rain. And so one’s thoughts turn to food. Dale roasted a chicken earlier in the week. I’m making stock out of the carcass, and he’s making chicken tortilla soup with the leftover meat. His soup is tomato-based, and then we top it with fried tortilla strips, crumbled queso fresco, chunks of avocado, chopped cilantro and a squirt of fresh lime.

Tomorrow I’m making venison meatloaf, sour cream and chive mashed potatoes and asparagus. I haven’t decided if I’ll roast or steam the asparagus.

I also took my sourdough starter out of the fridge to get him ready for bread. I just need to feed him for a couple of days, and then he’s good to go. I started him at the beginning of the pandemic and named him Gollum because I wasn’t sure this would work out, and I was reminded of Gandalf’s line from the movie, Lord of the Rings.

My heart tells me that Gollum has some part to play, for good or ill, before this is over.

Luckily, Gollum has performed admirably. I was thinking of some sort of stew to go with the bread. Although, meatloaf sandwiches don’t make me mad.

Something lost, something gained

I dreamed last night Tiger Woods was at a big event planning to introduce me as his new girlfriend. I was wearing a skimpy gold workout outfit, and I looked hot. Except I was still old, and people were kind of noticing that, wondering about Tiger’s choice. He was about to explain when I woke up.

That was probably for the best. Some things you just don’t need to know.

Although I didn’t watch the Grammys, I’ve watched replay after replay of 80-year-old Joni Mitchell singing Both Sides Now and a graying Tracy Chapman performing Fast Car with Luke Combs. Kind of noticing they are getting older, and in a good way.

Both Sides Now speaks to me about youthful optimism, wisdom and regret. What a song, and she was so young when she wrote it. How did she know? I think my favorite line is, “Well, something’s lost, but something’s gained in living every day.”

Aging has it challenges, but you know, it’s not all bad. As for me, I’ve lost a lot of my fearlessness, but I honestly don’t want it back. Sometimes it was hard to keep up with myself. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve gained a (mostly) quieter mind and am happy with less.

Joni and Tracy inspired me to charge up my ear buds and listen to music when I walked today. Lately, I haven’t bothered, but then I think about stuff the whole time, and no good can come of that. But today I came home singing along to Papa was a Rolling Stone, and that’s better than coming home pissed off about one thing or another. So many things to choose from.

Rain is good, I get that, but it gets old. I’ve gotten to where I don’t mind walking in light rain, but golf is a different story. It sucks to get all your gear wet, and the course is a muddy mess right now. Not much golf going on, except in my dreams.

Math is not my strong suit, so I’ve always avoided Sudoku, but atmospheric rivers will make you do crazy things. And, actually, Sudoku isn’t based on any learned math as far as I can tell, even though numbers are involved. For me, it’s more about patterns and logic.

Anyway, I’m actually quite pleased with my progress and can now do a medium difficulty puzzle in 30-45 minutes. A hard one takes me an hour, and I usually have to guess at least once. My goal is no guesses. I’ve learned some solving techniques including the tricksy hidden pairs and hidden triples, but try as I might, there other strategies I don’t yet understand.

I’ve been looking at books on Amazon, but I can see where that might be a slippery slope. I guess I want one book to rule them all, and I’m not sure which one to get. Any recommendations?

Return of the lost sock

After searching relentlessly throughout the entire house for my lost sock, I had pretty much concluded our sweet fluffy cat, Riley, had turned criminal and taken it for ransom. But then I made one more last-ditch effort to turn up this woolen treasure, and I’m pleased to report Riley has been falsely accused.

I found the sock in my husband’s pajama drawer. How it got there, why it got there – inquiring minds want to know, but Dale is keeping quiet. He was as surprised as anyone and probably liked it better when the cat was our most likely suspect.

In other news, I personally, am not thinking about Taylor Swift.

As far as food goes, it’s not like we’re eating chicken by-product meal. Dale made kimchi, and tonight is its debut. The kimchi has been fermenting in the refrigerator for three weeks. I’m surprised he didn’t bury it in the backyard, but these are modern times, after all.

I love kimchi, but I do have to be careful with all the cabbagy hot stuff. Gastrointestinally speaking, I will pay a price if I eat too much. Dale is making Korean-style barbequed beef ribs and white rice to go with. Beer will be involved.

Speaking of rice, I see Bobby Flay on TV making crispy rice all the time, and everyone absolutely loves it. Crispy on the outside, still creamy on the inside. I thought, how hard can it be? Dale made beef and broccoli earlier this week, and there was leftover rice, so I browsed recipes online and figured it was a slam dunk.

I put some oil in a nonstick pan and pressed the rice together to make sort of a cake. I read to let it brown on the bottom and then flip. I didn’t let it brown long enough, and by the time I was done, crispy and creamy exited the scene at a high rate of speed.

It was OK, but clearly, I won’t beat Bobby Flay. Dale thinks I should try again with another kind of rice – our leftovers were long grain, and I think a shorter grain might be stickier.

Dale and I both gained a couple of pounds at Christmas and have been more careful than usual. But here we are, almost to February, and we are both craving something fried with cheese oozing out of it. It’s primal.

We rarely see eye-to-eye on a movie, so we sort of gave up and agreed to watch a bad monster movie every Friday night with pizza. But some of them are so bad, we can’t watch the whole thing. I’m looking at you Invasion of the Bee Girls. Last night was Bride of the Monster with Bela Lugosi, and it was awful enough to be entertaining but good enough to watch through to the end.

One of my favorites was Eegah. Free on Amazon Prime! Dale wasn’t too keen on it. Here’s the promo:

On a trip through the desert, a teen girl discovers a prehistoric giant. An investigation to find the giant causes it to spread terror throughout Southern California.

But Eegah was actually kind of sweet, and I enjoyed seeing Richard Kiel in what I believe was his first movie. Over seven feet tall, he’s the guy who played Jaws in a couple of James Bond movies. He was also in Happy Gilmore.

I’m thinking tonight should be Oppenheimer. We both want to see it, and there’s a theme. You know, atomic bombs, kimchi. So much potential for disaster.

That’s good, that’s bad

It has been an annoying few weeks, and I’ve put writing on the bottom of the list. Today, I thought, if you want life to go back to normal, then why not do the normal stuff you do … such as write? I’m telling you, friends, the brain is a dangerous thing.

Speaking of dangerous things, I’m told by my sister, who is not a doctor but plays one on the Internet, that Advil isn’t good for us older adults. We do use with caution, but still, Dale calls them blue buddies. I mentioned this to one of my golf partners, and she said, “Advil is my favorite drug, and I’ve tried most of them.”

So, it has been a mix of Tylenol and Advil, but even then, sparingly. Ice. I won’t go into all the gory details, but I messed up my knees trying to be the athlete I was in my 30s. I’m in less pain than I was even a week ago, so that’s good.

The same golf friend, who was a teacher, often quotes a children’s book called, That’s Good, That’s Bad. It comes up a lot in golf. Let’s see how it works here.

I messed up my thumb pushing my golf cart up a hill. I was distracted for a moment, and the cart rolled back toward me, sort of squishing my thumb. The result was an ugly cyst-like thing. That’s bad.

The cyst hurts occasionally but not all that much. That’s good.

I finally got an appointment with a hand specialist, and he said it’s an arthritic cyst that can pop up at any time for no good reason. Or it can be the result of an accident such as mine. He said it could go away on its own. That’s good.

But it might not. He could surgically remove it, but there’s a good chance it will come back since the underlying cause – our friend arthritis – hasn’t gone away. He recommended I do nothing, but if and when I get tired of looking at it, to go for the surgery. That’s bad.

I’ve been using cannabis cream on the cyst, and it looks smaller to me. Virtually no pain. That’s good.

I was diagnosed with osteoporosis two years ago but didn’t go back for another bone scan until this month. I wasn’t going to go at all, because after a lot of reading, I’m deeply suspicious the whole thing is a racket dreamed up by the people who make the scanning machines and the drug companies. That’s bad.

But I’ve been taking vitamins A and K for two years, and I wanted to see if it made a difference. That’s good.

My numbers were overall quite stable. That’s good.

However, my primary care physician said I might want to consider medication. That’s bad.

There’s a lot of nasty stuff associated with bone density drugs, so my hope is to avoid them. But then I thought, maybe it’s time to hear what experts have to say about the latest and greatest in bone density treatment. My doctor referred me to an endocrinologist, and I made an appointment for January 18. That’s good.

Except when I arrived, they said my appointment was for July 18. That’s bad.

The receptionist was quite sympathetic, and I said don’t worry about it, I wasn’t all that excited to be here anyway. She laughed. That’s good.

Then there’s the curious case of Donna’s favorite sock. I recently purchased three pairs of wool socks that are really great for keeping my feet warm during cold-weather walks and long rounds of golf. That’s good.

Late one afternoon, I was getting ready to take a shower and took off my workout clothes, draping them over the hamper. They were still reasonably clean – passing the sniff test with flying colors – and I figured I could wear them again the next day. I left the socks on the floor by the hamper. In the morning, one of my socks was gone. That’s bad.

At first, I sort of blew it off. Like, oh, I must have misplaced that sock. But then I started a legitimate search and rescue. I went through every item I have worn in that past month to see if it got stuck in a sleeve or leg. I checked the washing machine and the dryer. I checked Dale’s stuff. I’ve gone through all my drawers, to no avail. That’s bad.

I thought, well, it would be atypical, but maybe our cat Riley had a sudden hankering for a tasty sock. I checked under all the beds, his treehouse, anywhere he might have stashed it. I warned Riley he was in big kitty trouble if he messed with my sock. But it appears he’s innocent. That’s good.

Dale suggested poltergeists are responsible. This would be the first sign of them, and I’ve actually Googled this, but it’s not looking like poltergeists steal socks. That’s good.

That’s the end of my little rant. My knees are on the mend. My thumb is fine. My bones are hanging tough and on hold until July. I’ll live to write another day. That’s good.

But my sock is gone. That’s bad.

Retirement math

Last year was my fifth year of retirement, and I’m pleased to report I’m getting better at accomplishing very little. In 2023, I read a lot of crime fiction, wrote a bunch of blog posts, took a few road trips, watched a couple dozen shows on TV, walked, stretched, swam, cooked and ate delicious food. Dabbled at art.

I’d say it was a fine year. As a recovering over-achiever, it feels good to enjoy simple pleasures and chill. I don’t really like to keep count, as my last job was all about metrics gone wild. That said, you may be interested to learn I also enjoyed 21 blissful hours of full-body massage and about 100 rounds of golf.

Now for a “deep dive” into retirement math.

At an average of 4.5 hours per round, that’s 450 hours of golf. If one assumes a 40-hour work week, 450 hours converts to 11.25 weeks of golf, and that is the equivalent of playing golf for more than two months of the year!

My massages added up to $1,960. However, I don’t dye my hair, so let’s deduct $125 per month from massage expenditures. That leaves us at $460, which a working person such as myself might have spent on makeup, shoes, dry cleaning or even Botox. So, let’s just wipe the slate clean and accept that in retirement math, my massages are free.

There might be something to metrics after all. Seriously, I don’t think I’m playing enough golf.

Biscuits, Bacon and Bloodies

Cheers! We started the day with what we call Triple B. Biscuits, Bacon and Bloodies. Not a bad way to ring in the new year.

Great breakfast notwithstanding, I’m kind of a pessimist at heart. Sometimes it feels like we’re on the downhill stretch speeding toward Armageddon, but I’m keeping one foot pressed on the pedal of hope. In 2024, I’d like to see peace, kindness, clean air, normal Republicans. That sort of thing.

In a sign of good tidings, my cat curled up in a rarely exhibited but favorite pose, a position I call Hot Crossed Paws. It’s like seeing Jesus on toast. There he is on the kitty couch, in all his splendor. Riley, king of cats.

I had a bit of a health scare just before Christmas. My left armpit had been hurting, and since I had a mastectomy for breast cancer in 2015, I immediately thought of lymph nodes. Let’s just go with the worst-case scenario, shall we?

The ultrasound revealed normal nodes, so that was a relief. I mentioned it to my massage therapist, who said it was my pectoral muscles. She worked on them a little more than usual, and I almost immediately began to feel better.

Then I remembered I had the same symptoms shortly after my mastectomy. I still had the exercises in a little binder, so I dug those out and started doing them again. Like magic, it’s all getting better.

During that same massage, she said my left hip flexor was stiffer than normal, and I mentioned I recently had a small sciatica flareup. She asked if I was still swimming, and that’s where I hemmed and hawed a bit.

The short answer is yes, but only sporadically since it got cold. The pool is outdoors but heated. However, I am a slow swimmer and a wuss. She suggested I get back to swimming regularly, that she could see and feel the difference in my flexibility. So, back to the pool I went, and she was right! It makes a huge difference. I’ve been wearing a rash guard, which adds an extra layer of warmth and will hopefully guard against unseemly rashes.

Although I don’t make resolutions, I am more committed than ever to keeping my body reasonably fit and flexible. From all I’ve heard, it’s not going to get any easier as I age, but I am not going down without a fight. Food is always a top priority in my life, but I would say it’s food and fitness for 2024. That looks almost like a resolution if you squint.

As for reading, I started the J.D. Robb series featuring New York City detective Eve Dallas. The novels are set in the near-future, which makes for an interesting twist. I like them so far, and there are more than 50, if you can believe that, so I shouldn’t run out of material anytime soon. My only real beef is her love interest – he’s filthy rich, and it’s a little too Pretty Woman for me. Still, the sex is fairly graphic, in a good way, and it’s not often you find that in a murder mystery!

I’m still enjoying my PBS Masterpiece subscription. I finished Miss Scarlet & the Duke. I believe a new season launches this month. I also started watching the Frankie Drake Mysteries, which takes place in 1920s Toronto. I wasn’t too thrilled with it at first, but then along came Moses, her black boxing instructor. The relationship seems a bit risqué for the times, and of course, that’s what I like about it. All things prurient. That should be a show on PBS.

Speaking of which, I ended up liking All Creatures Great and Small. It’s nice bedtime TV. No gruesome murders. Fuzzy animals. The people who care for them. There’s something to be said for the absence of malice.

Juicing for lightweights

As advertised, I attended the golf league Christmas party and had a pretty good time … although I seriously need to work on my conversational skills. One of the women asked me if I was all done decorating for the holidays, and I said, “We don’t decorate.”

Definitely a little Wednesday Addams. A bit abrupt, at best. She actually looked kind of devastated. Like I poked a hole in her Christmas stocking. I’ve been practicing do-overs. Such as, “Almost! How about you?”

In hindsight, I can see that’s a better choice.

It looks like we’re headed for a week or two of rain, and it should start late this afternoon. We had the gutters cleaned yesterday, so that was good timing. No tall ladders for us anymore!

We’re happy to see wet weather. To celebrate, I’m making cabbage rolls tomorrow, and Dale is making rye bread to go with. Good rainy day food.

I played golf with a woman last week who doesn’t allow bread in her house. Jeez. Ours is like a bread factory.

My mother wasn’t much of a cook. I use her recipe for cabbage rolls, although I jazz it up some. For one thing, I use ground bison instead of ground beef. Way more flavor. As for spices, I don’t think she knew there was anything beyond salt and pepper. We had one tiny bottle of Tabasco sauce that lasted my entire childhood.

The recipe is on an old notecard in her handwriting. I love reading, “A half a small glass of vinegar.” For years I tried to calculate the exact measurement, but now guess what I do? I get out a small glass, and I fill it halfway with vinegar. Problem solved.

Last night was turkey soup from the freezer along with blue corn muffins. Last time, I forgot to put baking powder in the muffins. They were edible, but kids, don’t try this at home. The muffins came out great this time.

Dale’s making cashew chicken tonight. He likes this cookbook for Chinese take-out recipes.

Years ago I bought a juicer. I thought it would be a good way for me to poke down more fruits and vegetables. I figure real food ought to be better (and tastier) than those pills they advertise on TV.

The juices were delicious, but even with all the fiber removed, a big old hanging glass of that stuff was too much for my sensitive stomach.

I recently decided to try again. Fresh juice doesn’t stay fresh for long, so I froze 4-ounce portions and thawed one out every other day to drink and see how my stomach responded. To be safe, I stuck with non-cruciferous vegetables – mostly combinations of spinach, carrots, beets, celery, apples, grapes, and cucumbers.

I’ve had absolutely no problems and don’t always skip a day. I’m starting to branch out with 6-ounce portions and other fruits and vegetables. Green juice sounds like it would be awful, but it’s really delicious, and hopefully, a healthy addition to my diet. And depending on what you put in there, it’s not always green!

Once I knew I would stick with it, I bought a new juicer. The old one was a Breville Juice Fountain. They’re about $100. It’s a centrifugal juicer, which features a fast-spinning blade to chop up fruit and vegetables against a fine mesh filter to separate the juice from the pulp.

The Breville worked great, except it’s hard to clean that mesh filter, and it doesn’t quite get all the leafy greens, so there’s more waste. There’s also more froth, and the juice oxidizes faster.    

My new one is a NAMA J2 Cold Press Juicer. I had a discount code, and the total came in at right around $500. This type of juicer is also called a slow or masticating juicer. It uses a crushing, squeezing element known as an auger to extract the juice and separate the pulp and fibers. The result is less waste, less oxidation for slightly longer shelf life.

And the best part of all – it’s way easier to clean. I mean, you have to disassemble the whole thing and wash it all by hand, but all the leftover food is easily rinsed off, and you don’t have to scrub that mesh screen. I let it air dry on a towel. And because I make the juice in larger batches and freeze it, I don’t have to drag the machine out all that often.

The juice is perfect. With smaller servings, I can still enjoy the benefits of juicing without burning through tons of produce every week or becoming a slave to the machine.

Dale wants no part of it. I made him take a sip of my spinach-grape-apple-celery juice, and he said, “Well, it’s not poison.”

Beds don’t make themselves

For a retiree with nothing to do, I’ve been busy. I passed on golf so I could get cracking on the Christmas cookies we send to Dale’s sisters in Maine. It’s quite the process making the dough, rolling it out, cutting the shapes, baking the cookies, making the royal icing, decorating the cookies and then letting the icing dry for a day or two.

I finished them yesterday. The cookies are drying on racks, so that monkey is off my back. Tomorrow, I’ll put them in tins, and Dale will add a few things to the box and get the packages shipped. That’s on him.

Years ago, my sister and I happily agreed to no gifts, and I’d like to spread that around.

This week starts with golf on Monday, golf on Tuesday and golf league party on Wednesday. I haven’t been to the party in a couple of years … well, since Covid. But I thought I’d put my life on the line and hope for the best.

One of the women in my group once said I dressed for golf like I was going on a hike. Not an insult, per se, but my goal is to show up at the party looking like something other than a hiker.

I donated to Joe Biden’s campaign. I hate all the begging that comes after, but I didn’t want to face myself if Trump wins, and I did nothing to help stop it. I do believe our democracy is at stake, so if there’s ever a time to step up, this is it. If I can find some sort of volunteer job with the Democrats that doesn’t involve getting shot at by Republicans, I’ll probably sign up for that, too.  

Last week’s household drama was about making the bed. I like a tight bed with hospital corners. I want to slip into bed like a perfectly folded letter slides into a crisp envelope. I sleep with two pillows and sometimes put a quilt over my side of the comforter for extra warmth.

Dale doesn’t believe beds should be made. Why bother?

I believe our differences are rooted in our military experiences. Dale and I met in the Army. He was an officer, and I was enlisted. His training included a place called summer camp, if you can believe that. How lovely for them. Enlisted people go to basic training, which sounds more like it, no?

He may have mastered strategic warfare or whatever, but this much I know. Only one of us learned to make a proper bed.

You, of course, know it’s important to redistribute the bedding. Sometimes, during the night, one person will steer the bedding to his or her side, a practice we call Grand Theft Covies. Another issue is fluffing the comforter so the filling goes back up to the top, where it keeps you warmer.

When making the bed, all that has to be fixed. It doesn’t take long, but you’ve got to commit.

I was kind of cold one night and realized the comforter filling was all down at the bottom. Dale was the last one who made the bed, so I asked him in the morning.

Did you fluff the comforter?

What?

I explained the finer points of comforter fluffing, but even as the words left my lips, I was thinking it was probably a case of too much information. However, he surprised me. Later that afternoon, I heard the delicious plop, plop of the comforter being fluffed! Oh, clever me.

Over dinner that evening, Dale said there was something he needed to say. As the proprietor of D&D Lodging, he regretted to let me know he was charging $1 for comforter fluffing, and an additional dollar because he had to remove the quilt prior to fluffing. So much work. Then he said, “And as you know, I have long waived the fee for the extra pillow.”

So, after all that, we had a great laugh. Of course, there are no fees, but just the same, he planted a seed. Like somehow this is going to cost me. Now when it comes to making the bed, I’ve been racing to get there first.

Maybe he is smarter than me after all.

Softening with age?

This head cold or whatever it was kicked my butt. I wondered if I got false negatives on the Covid tests, but I guess it doesn’t matter now. I’m recovered, except for some lingering sinus issues. That’s probably related to seasonal allergies, which everyone is complaining about. I’ve taken to the neti pot, and that helps clear the congestion.

Dale caught my cold, and all that congestion made his snoring worse. One night it was so bad I almost called 911. But then I thought, oh, just put the pillow over his face and be done with it. I’m pleased to report he survived the night and has a bright future. The things I do for this man!

I finally felt good enough to go back to swimming. It had been a few weeks, and I felt stiffness in my left arm. I thought, kick a little harder and take the pressure off the arm. So, now I have muscle cramps in my leg. No good deed goes unpunished. It’s better today, so I assume this, too, shall pass. I’ll probably do a short walk just to keep it moving.

That’s kind of my philosophy about all these age-related aches and pains – just keep moving. Although I love to read, I start to feel sluggish when I lie around for hours at a time. I always feel better when I get outside and do something. Of course, I’d play golf if I was on death’s doorstep. And, in fact, have. I played regularly when I was on chemo for stage 3 ovarian cancer. I didn’t want to fall behind just in case I lived.

I subscribed to PBS Masterpiece. I’ve always liked my crime dark and hard-boiled, but I must be softening with age. Like a ripe Camembert. Probably more like an old cucumber.

There’s a lot of great content on PBS Masterpiece! I liked Miss Scarlet & the Duke, a Victorian mystery about London’s first female detective. I’m told All Creatures Great and Small is excellent, so that may be next on the list.

My sister’s goal is to watch every single Hallmark movie aired between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I might be softening up, but that is her dream, not mine. I do like Elf and Christmas in South Park, so I’m not a complete grinch.

As for reading, I’ll go out on a limb here and share I am absolutely loving The Thursday Murder Club series by Richard Osman. The books features friends in their 70s and 80s who meet at their retirement home and commence to solve murders.  They all have unique backgrounds that come into play.

I’ve read some bad reviews, but I find the novels laugh-out-loud funny and yet quite sensitive about aging and all things associated. I’ve read two, and there are only four, so the good times will end soon.

Do you dream about work? I had a weird one last night. Six years, and I still can’t get that business out of my head. But it’s not all bad. When I was working, I put all the money I could into various savings plans, and two of them are set up to make annual distributions for five years. This was year two, so I got my little cash infusion, and I forgave them for the bad dreams.

Who knows what got into me, but I put my name in the hat to be a volunteer at the library. As soon as I did it, I started thinking about all the negatives. Like Covid, shooters, children. I want nothing to do with any of them. I think it’s just shelving books, but still.