Requiem for a tent

The tent is going back. After painful thoughtful introspection, we realized we’re both less tolerant of bugs, rain, heat, bears, snakes, outdoor plumbing and other unpleasant elements we used to find charming. The other reason is getting a camp site reservation in California is difficult if not impossible.

I know it can be done, but it takes a more dedicated soul than I to plan six months ahead and set the alarm so you’re up the second the sites go live. And then do that for weeks until you land a spot.

Since I didn’t start six months ago and don’t hop out of bed like I used to, I spent the last several days shuffling through the leftovers. The interface is frustrating, and I came up empty-handed. I even tried the far-flung places you’d think no one would visit, the ones where the mosquitos have names like El Hefe, and they’re booked solid for the foreseeable future.

This little exercise pushed us closer to finding our retirement travel mojo … which is surprisingly difficult for some of us. Dale and I have decided we mostly want to focus on seeing the natural beauty of California and other not-too-distant places, but we’re not going to rough it anymore. Sometimes a simple motel in a nearby town and sometimes a resort. Maybe even privately run glamping sites, where you stay in an Air Stream or something like that.

We’ll be spending more money, for sure, but I think we should be able to keep the costs reasonable. I guess reasonable is a sliding scale. What seems reasonable to me now was shockingly outrageous only a few years ago. But the truth is, like many retirees, we are not spending down our savings. It’s a good problem to have, and we’re ready to kick it up a notch.

I’ve planned a few trips, including Yosemite and Death Valley (yes, in the summer). All from the comforts of a resort. With a bed. A pool. Air conditioning. Restaurants. It was shockingly easy to make a reservation once you decide to throw money at it.

In other news, we had our second Shingles vaccine, and it kicked our butts. We’re both better now, but it was a rough night. I had the chills, and we were both quite achy and miserable. But at least we checked that one off the list.

Camping? Maybe.

The weather has been beautiful, and I’ve been taking full advantage. No job and plenty of time to play! Between golf, walking and swimming, it’s hard to make room for my indoors stuff such as reading, cooking and art. Just so you know, hunting through recipes eats up a lot of time.

I’m not complaining. This is not a bad problem to have. I’m always puzzled when people think we don’t do anything in retirement. Best I can tell, most of us have plenty to keep us amused, and I like to think there’s always room for more.

Or is there?

We used to enjoy camping. Sometimes in a tent and sometimes in a small trailer. But shortly after I retired, we got rid of both and have been hoteling it ever since.

Maybe it was the nice weather or perhaps a bit of folly, but I started daydreaming about peaceful quality time in the wilderness with my loving husband of 44 years and asked him if he still thought about camping. He said yes, and I was pleased, but be forewarned, it goes downhill from here.

We’re car campers and like a somewhat boxy tent we can stand up in with plenty of room for a queen-sized air mattress. I refuse to leave the tent at night to pee, so I have this thing called a luggable loo. It’s a five-gallon bucket with a toilet seat. You buy liners with gel that dries everything up and then dispose of it in the morning.

It works great, but Dale is quite fussy about the location of my loo. It can’t be in the main part of the tent, and not all tents have two rooms. Our old one was perfect, but when it wore out, we couldn’t find a suitable replacement. I’ve been looking since the beginning of the pandemic and finally found a tent at REI that I thought would work.

Last weekend, we headed over to REI and bought it.

On the way home, I said, “I’m kind of excited.” He said, “I guess.”

I’m like, what? I spent years looking for a tent, and that’s the best you can cough up?

I willed myself to relax, figuring he’d get with the program soon enough. However, I said, let’s not take it out of the bag until we’re absolutely positively sure we want to camp. It’s OK if we don’t. We just need to be honest with each other. We left it on the dining room table with the receipt in case it has to go back.

After a couple of days, I asked him what he thought about the whole idea. He finally confessed he does want to camp, but he doesn’t want to give up hotels, either. Well, that’s easy enough. I assured him we can do both. However, I said don’t take the tent out of the bag just yet.

I began to research locations and asked him if he had any preferences. Mountains? Beach? He said whatever. Not exactly the big bold clue I was looking for. I was on my own.

The way I figured it, we had a cold winter and the snow is starting to melt, so I thought June was too early for the mountains. The beach was perfect. These northern California beaches are beautiful and kind of cold, but it’s not like we’re out frolicking in the water, and you don’t have to worry about bears or snow.

I presented him with a list of beaches, and he said, “The beach? It’s pretty damp this time of year. We won’t enjoy being in a tent.”

After I accused him of being Big Bird – the one who waits while all the work is being done and then comes in and craps all over everything, I realized he’s probably right. I said I need more time to think.

Um, don’t take the tent out of the bag just yet.

So, the tent was $599. If we camp three times a year, we’ve pretty much recouped our costs if you compare it to a hotel room. I could probably find ideal tent camping spots for each of the summer months – July, August and September. Nothing wrong with being fair-weather campers.

We get outside in nature. We change our routine. We eat great camping food. We snuggle in our zip-together sleeping bags. All is good.

I’m thinking we will keep the tent. And we will find some lovely places to camp with reasonably predictable weather. As I continue to research options, I explained all this to Dale, who happily agreed. I’m feeling pretty good about the whole thing, but I said, let’s think about this for a few more days. Give Big Bird time to reveal his true thoughts.

Lord, what we do for relationships. I think it gets harder as we age, but that’s me. Anyway, we have reached consensus. I see camping in our future, but just so you know, the tent is still in the bag.

Easygoing

A few weeks ago, I got wind of an art exhibition for veterans in my county. I debated whether to apply, partly because I’m not sure critics would view my stuff as “real art.” Anyway, I did apply for the exhibit, which is in May. They accepted me, but then I was miserable for a month worrying and fretting about how others might react to my embellished wood scraps.

I tried to tell myself, do the thing that scares you and all that, but life is already pretty scary, and I don’t need to pile it on. It’s not a popular sentiment, but these days I’m all about making things easier. I fought the good fight and made it to retirement. I used to think big deal. Now, I think, hell yeah, big deal.

Retirement, they say, comes in phases. I’m in the easygoing phase and am doing my best to bypass the harder-than-it has-to-be-phase.

Although I rarely quit anything, I mean, do it until it hurts, I withdrew from the exhibit and feel great about the decision. Art is just a thing I do, no more, no less. I enjoy sharing it with you, but I don’t need to beat the streets seeking new audiences.   

Number 36

I was working on Number 36 whilst churning through all this, and I was so grumpy, trying to make it better. Normally, my mantra, is hey, it was just a piece of scrap wood, now it’s something else. So what if it’s not perfect? But thinking about judges and shit messed me up. I simply need to hang out in my garage and do what speaks to me.

So, number 36. What can I say? I love cats.  

Speaking of easygoing, I hate buying new stuff, but I do appreciate tools that make jobs less of a chore. The weather is starting to get really nice, so I took it upon myself to clean up the patio furniture. I used a brush and garden hose to get some of the dirt off, and then it was all over. You see the difference, clean versus dirty, and what can you do but keep going?

I was worried about my back and wrists, which are both sensitive. I called to Dale, who was conveniently absent for the ritual washing of the patio furniture. I asked about a power washer. Would this clean up without a brush if I had such a tool? He said yes, and I said let’s go.

Off we went to Ace, where we killed it with a credit card and dragged it home. It was pretty easy to set up and worked like a champ. I probably saved my back and my wrists and maybe Dale’s life, because you know, cleaning patio furniture – so not his thing.

Then there’s the lawn. We have a small patch of lawn in the backyard. It used to be thin and scraggly, and we I mowed it with a little push mower. Then late last fall, we had a yard makeover and got new sod. This is the real deal. Thick and hardy.

Here’s the agreement I made. I will mow and blow, but that’s it. Nothing else. Nada. Either we throw money at it, or it’s Dale’s job. Mostly that means we threw money at it and have a service that takes care of the rest. Just another marriage-saver tip from Retirement Confidential.

The new grass had time to grow over the winter, but I hadn’t mowed it yet. When the rain finally stopped, I got out the push mower and almost collapsed. I couldn’t get it through the grass. I did do it, but I had to use my whole body and stop several times to catch my breath. I thought, well, the grass is just thicker because of the rain.

A week later it was a bit easier to mow but still awful. I told Dale I thought we should get a small electric mower. He said nah, it would probably get easier. He reminded me of my father, who used to smoke and drop ashes on the floor, suggesting it was good for the carpet.

I said, OK, will you please try it once and see what you think? And that was when we decided to buy an electric lawn mower. It’s small thing, light as a feather and whips through that grass with ease.

Key word. Ease.  

A hint of spring is in the air

We went to Napa for a one-nighter, and it was lovely, but I don’t think we’ll do it that way again. We stayed in downtown Napa, which was not cheap. The restaurants didn’t excite us, so we ate overpriced burgers at the rooftop bar in our hotel.

One highlight was the Silver Oak winery, which is quite famous for their cabernet sauvignon. The whole experience was ridiculously expensive but thoroughly enjoyable. We now have a special bottle to go with next year’s Christmas roast beef.

The other highlight was the spice shop at Oxbow Market. I’ve been on the hunt for fennel pollen, and they had it. I wanted it specifically for this recipe. I hope you can get through the Washington Post firewall to access it. Or email me, and I’ll send you a PDF.

Anyway, this rigatoni dish with sausage and fennel caused quite the fuss when the Bidens both ordered it at a restaurant. Some people have a thing about not ordering the same food off the menu. Dale and I order whatever we want, and actually, we often order the same thing. I didn’t see what the big deal was.

But I made the dish, and it was exceptional. This was the first time I’ve used tomato passata – pureed strained tomatoes sold in a bottle. Also the first time for fennel pollen, but we love fennel, so I wasn’t scared. The clerk double-bagged it, and yet my purse smelled like fennel for days. It was fantastic.

I would buy fennel pollen air freshener.

As for other wine country trips, maybe I’d stay in Santa Rosa next time and do tastings in Sonoma. We still haven’t been to Paso Robles, so that’s on the docket. Of course, we live in great wine country, so there’s no shortage of options.

I’ve been trying to avoid politics, but sometimes it’s in me, and it got to come out. Please feel free to move along while I share a few of my left-coast perspectives.

Early yesterday I read about Disney snookering DeSantis and thought it couldn’t get any better than that.

While I do understand Disney is no saint, as I understand it, DeSantis wanted to punish them for supporting LGBTQ rights after he passed the “don’t say gay” law. The governor hand-picked a board of conservatives and fundamentalist Christians to control much of the Disney World footprint in Florida. But Disney quietly did things by the book with public meetings and notices, all toward essentially stripping the new board of its power.

DeSantis and his folks didn’t even see it coming. I’m sure some sort of battle will ensue. There’s probably no moral high ground. In the end, it seems most things boil down to profits. However … Disney spoke up in support of the LGBTQ community, so I’m calling it a win for progressive values. And a loss for DeSantis, who in many ways, is scarier than Trump.

Which brings me to my earlier question … can it get any better than this? Well, it could, but I’m delighted Trump has been indicted or as he wrote on his social media platform, INDICATED. In the grand scheme of things, do I think this is the worst of his bad deeds? No, but at least we now have some evidence no one is above the law. He may very well be found innocent, and that’s fine, but at least he’ll go to trial like everyone else accused of such crimes.

To say he has a get out of jail free card just because he was president is unAmerican. You want to be a patriot? I don’t know – maybe you could join the military or pay your taxes.

As for indications, I hope this is the first of many.

Then, on top of it all, the sun came out! We got a blockbuster year of rain and snow to put a dent in the drought, and now we’re headed for some lovely weather. To celebrate, I thought I’d buy a six-pack of Bud Light. You can have all the fancy wines in the world, but nothing says spring like Bud Light.  

In other words, if it’s Bud Light, you must indict.

The upside of losing

I’m a wee bit obsessive about games and hold myself to a high standard. Fear of failure is a real affliction, and I’m not sure I have that, but I do dread losing at anything, and it seems to have gotten worse since I retired. Not getting those wins at work, so I work hard at my play time just to see if I measure up.

Seriously, it’s a curse. If I wake up in the middle of the night, I look at the light outside to see if I can guess what time it is. And yes, I feel good when I get it right.

I especially dread playing bad golf. More so since I retired. When I was working, I could explain it away by saying I don’t get to play enough. That excuse doesn’t fly anymore.

It’s not that I mind other people playing better or winning. But I’m mad at myself for not being as good and just want to go off alone to sulk. On the bright side, maybe I’m finally starting to reverse the trend. Last week our women’s league played on a muddy course saturated by rains, and it was tough. My partners and I agreed ahead of time we would laugh at bad shots.

Let’s just say we laughed a lot. I posted one of my worst scores since I learned to play the game more than 25 years ago. When we got to the parking lot, one of the women said, let’s have a drink for making it through that! She had a little flask and plastic glasses and poured us each a tiny shot of butterscotch liquor (which is delicious). We drank it right there by our cars.

Then I joined the group inside rather than exiting the scene with my head hung low, and we had a pretty good time laughing about how horribly we played. I have to say it was a much better way to end a bad round than my usual pity-fest.

The very next morning, as I was playing Wordle in bed, I lost a game and broke my 159-day streak. I thought I’d be devastated, but I surprised myself. I actually felt relieved. Perhaps the universe was sending me a message. Play for fun – not everything has to be a test.

I wouldn’t say I have a pathological diagnosis, and you probably don’t either, but for some of us, the fear of failure can be greater than the excitement of winning. And it holds us back.

Retirement is as good a time as any to try to recover at least a smidgeon of that wild abandon we had before life knocked us around. However, I don’t want it all back, because I seriously did some dumb shit when I wasn’t scared of anything.

After seeing the upside of losing, I feel kind of free. More relaxed. I’ve always dreaded a complete collapse of my golf game, and it happened. It wasn’t all that bad. The experience helped me understand it’s one thing to fear losing. The trick is to shrug it off and work harder at losing the fear.

Readin’ in the rain

I will always remember the fall of 2017 because I had just retired and read all of Michael Connelly’s Harry Bosch books in order. Such a simple pleasure but hunkering down at home to read after a lifetime of work felt like a precious gift.

That was before the pandemic, before we discovered the dark side of hunkering down. But this staying at home thing … I still sort of like it. To commemorate the miserable rain-soaked winter of 2023, I am burning through all 19 of John Lescroart’s Dismas Hardy books in order. I would describe them as legal suspense with family intrigue, hardboiled criminal investigations and some courtroom drama.

Oh, and the setting is San Francisco.

Early on, I tried to take breaks and read other books in between, but I finally gave up and committed to the blitz. I’ll start number 16 later today and have the rest on hand, courtesy of our local library. I should be done before the rain clears later this week. No one can stop me now.

I’ll be sad when it’s over, the book marathon not the rain, but at least I can diversify my reading material again. However, I do think my compulsive nature rather enjoys the singular focus of one good series at a time. I’ve become immersed in this fictional world, and it’s been a pleasurable escape from the real one. I may just do this again with a new series.

Number 35

On the local art scene, I finally finished number 35. I’m not sure why, but this piece was a bit of a slog. I was so happy to spray on that last coat of lacquer and immediately went to work on number 36. I’m already way more excited about him than I was poor number 35, who never felt the love.

So, today marks 24 years since I was diagnosed with stage 3 primary peritoneal cancer, which is virtually the same as ovarian. I am in a small group of long-term survivors who have been free of disease since their initial treatment. I don’t know why I’ve been so lucky, but I share this information from time to time because somebody somewhere needs to know good outcomes are possible.

Reluctant travelers

We must not be the only ones who don’t have a big desire to travel in retirement, but sometimes it feels that way.

Dale and I traveled a lot when we were younger. Lived overseas and moved more than 20 times, so much of the excitement is lost on us. Our wanderlust peaked in the early 2000s.

It felt like finding a member of my tribe when I read this article about the actor Eugene Levy of Schitt’s Creek – he hates to leave the comforts of home but was convinced to do a show called The Reluctant Traveler.

Has anyone seen it? It’s on Apple TV+, which we don’t get. There’s a free episode, but you have to sign in. I hate that.

As it happens, some of us like to make a nest and hang out in it. I’m not saying I wouldn’t ever visit an exotic destination, but in a lot of ways, our home already feels like a resort. It’s about mastering the art of simple pleasures.

Dale and I don’t have a McMansion or anything, but we have a nice home and live well but within our means. We cook and eat great food, sleep on an amazing bed with deliciously comfy sheets and have a nice little stash of quality wine and weed. There’s space for me to work on my art, and Dale has a small garden. We love our pool in the summer and the spa in the winter.

The other issue is I always thought of vacations as time to recover from work. Now, every day is a vacation, so I don’t need to go anywhere to get away from it all. I can lay around and read all day at home if I want to!

All that said, I do agree it’s important to change your surroundings from time to time and experience new things. I’m the travel planner in the family, and it’s not a job I relish. I finally decided this week to accept my fate in life and embrace the role. No whining allowed.

I bought two books about traveling in California and am starting to get serious about road trips. We like one or two-nighters. I can’t imagine being gone for weeks at a time, but I know many retirees enjoy that lifestyle. I thought, well, if we have some money to spend, why not go to Napa? It’s less than two hours away, and they are happy to take your offerings.

So, I’ve booked us just one night in Napa with one winery visit and a few other stops along the way. Not sure where we’ll eat, but there’s no shortage of choices.

In the meantime, we are continuing to enjoy our little resort. We were going to watch (again) the Lord of the Rings trilogy, but the DVD kept skipping. The player must be at least 20 years old. Same for the DVDs. We figured it was time to buy new, but then Dale remembered for some obscure reason we had two sets of the DVDs.

The other one works without a hitch! That’s on the agenda for this evening. We’re going to split a pan-fried steak accompanied by baked potatoes, salad and some of that tasty wine.

We were jazzed that we don’t have to buy a new player. They’re relatively inexpensive, so it’s odd we’re willing to blow some bucks in Napa but can’t bear to replace the ancient DVD player. I mean, not if we don’t have to, right? The whole idea of wandering through Best Buy trying to figure it all out is pretty exhausting.

In other entertainment news, we like bad Sci-Fi movies from the 50s and have been renting them on Amazon. Below is my watchlist.

  • Cat Women of the Moon
  • Attack of the 50-foot Woman
  • Beast from 20,000 Fathoms
  • The Blob
  • Bride of the Monster
  • Earth vs the Flying Saucers
  • The Man from Planet X
  • 20 Million Miles to Earth
  • The Atomic Man
  • The Incredible Shrinking Man
  • Queen of Outer Space
  • Conquest of Space
  • Rocketship X-M
  • The Werewolf
  • From Hell it Came
  • The Brain from Planet Arous
  • The Cyclops
  • Revenge of the Creature
  • Friend Without a Face
  • Tarantula!
  • Them!
  • The Giant Behemoth
  • I Married a Monster from Outer Space
  • The Thing
  • The Day the Earth Stood Still
  • The Space Children
  • The Flying Saucer
  • The Devil Girl from Mars
  • Curse of the Demon
  • Robot Monster

Does anyone else out there enjoy this genre? Please feel free to share your favorites! While all of the above are from the 50s, we like all the campy classics. I just added Surf Nazis Must Die from 1987.

Bottom line is there are lots of ways to have fun in retirement. Everyone finds their own path, and that’s the joy of it. For those of you who aren’t so much into travel, I hope it’s comforting to know you’re not alone.  

High school. Has it really been 50 years?

The weather is turning gnarly, so I visited the library to load up on mystery novels. I keep telling myself to act like a big girl and read something literary, and occasionally I do, but inevitably I return to my low-brow life of crime.

One might say I’m attracted to the simple and seedy. I grew up in an underfunded and dysfunctional working class family. Certainly, I read my share of literature in school and later, after I hit escape velocity, but it’s not like we sat around the kitchen table discussing Finnegans Wake.

My dad read sleazy pulp fiction, and my mother enjoyed her True Detective magazine. Not saying I didn’t sneak a peek at their reading material from time to time. We children may wander, but sometimes it seems all roads lead back to the source.

I’ve been thinking about connections to the past since I was contacted by two friends I haven’t heard from in decades. They found me through the blog to reach out regarding our 50th high school reunion in Southern California. I haven’t attended any of the previous reunions and can’t imagine going to one, but I was pleased to hear from them just the same.

Both live in California. I joined the military after high school, and most of my friends went to college here. A few went to out-of-state universities, but I’m pretty sure they all came home after graduation. I also returned … 40 years later. Let’s just say it was a circuitous route.

One of my old friends lives in Santa Barbara, so we caught up via telephone. It was a great conversation, and I’m really happy we took the time to share our stories with each other. I always thought she had her shit together, and she always thought I did, so it was fun to confess neither one of us had a clue.

My other friend lives closer, and we’re going to meet in the middle for lunch next week. I’m looking forward to it! Socially speaking, I do better one-on-one or in small groups, as opposed to hanging out with a couple hundred people I barely remember at some sort of party venue. So, lunch. This is good.

What are your experiences with reunions? Do tell! It will be like a Clint Eastwood movie. The good, the bad and the ugly.

Life lessons from Wordle

In his 2022 year in review, the humorist Dave Barry wrote:

Millions of Americans on social media realized — it took them a while, but they finally got there — that nobody wants to know how they did on “Wordle.”

So, let’s just say I knew better, but I went ahead and flashed my Wordle stats at my hairdresser, who then flashed me her Wordle stats, which put my Wordle stats to shame. Aside from a year-long streak, she solves most of the puzzles in three words.

My genius stylist then revealed something I did not know about Wordle streaks. According to Lisa, if you forget to play one day, maybe you actually go outside and (dare I say it) have fun … your streak is gone. Her streak was over 300 days, and she said it would have been more, but she missed a day when she was on vacation.

All that time, sweating over my streak, naively assuming the outcome was binary. Win or lose! The pressure was on, and I was ready to perform with excellence.

But now I know there’s a loyalty clause. Being good is not good enough. Let’s just call it Workle because it’s damn near the same thing.

I went through the stages of grief but emerged stronger for the experience. It’s like a cord has been cut, and I feel free.

Life is different now that I know you can lose without losing. I wish someone had told me this, oh, I don’t know, 40 years ago?

Anyway, that’s a life lesson that needs to come with me to the golf course, where I lost my temper this week. Not only dropped the f-bomb but also the mf-bomb. My profanity was not directed at anyone else, only my charming self, but still, I’m not proud.

I’ve decided to work harder at staying joyful and appreciating pleasant companionship on the course, as well as the unique challenges of the game. It’s not about the score. I repeat. It’s not about the score.

While I usually don’t play on Fridays, due to all the people “working from home,” I booked a tee time so I could practice being peaceful. Lo and behold, I had a better score. Of course, there’s a connection, but now I need to see if I can stay happy when the golf gods fight back.

So much to learn! Become a little less obsessive. Enjoy the game, whatever is is. Accept you can lose without losing.

Just another lesson at the intersection of Wordle and life.

Not messing with my face

I’ve been thinking about Madonna’s face, and I’m guessing that’s exactly what she wanted. Famous people accustomed to the limelight can’t seem to give it up, so why not just maim yourself to get everyone talking? I don’t believe it has anything to do with ageism. I mean, she doesn’t look younger, only worse, but at least she’s in the headlines again.

Personally, I’m more focused on healthy habits and creature comforts than messing with my aging face. Do I sometimes do a little mirror surgery to see what I’d look like with everything tightened right up? Sure, but that’s not how I want to go down.

For example, I went to the dermatologist yesterday and actually had to put on real clothes. Black leggings, black t-shirt, black denim jacket, white sneakers, turquoise earrings, no makeup and a shock of silver hair. I must admit, I looked in the mirror and thought, damn, I look cool.

As I see it, you can dye your hair and inject your face, and that might create the illusion of youth, but I’m pretty sure they know how old we are. My thinking is that silence is a position of weakness, and being silent erodes confidence over time. I refuse to cower.

Aging should be a liberating experience. Wear what you want, say what you think, live how you like and like how you look – perhaps it is the absence of these things that makes aging such a drag for so many people.

But not us! We’re digging it, right?

So, the latest in retirement creature comforts – linen sheets. I mean, if you can afford this, do it before you die. I bought mine here. I can’t quite describe the comfort – soft but not silky. Not warm, not cool. The fabric feels heavier, but air flows through it. Dale preferred silky cotton, but he’s converted now. There’s no turning back for me.

Another indulgence I started this year is a 90-minute full-body massage every three weeks.  I love it. Yes, even though it does hurt a bit when she digs into those trigger points. The pain kind of scared me at first. I thought she had uncovered some sort of rare muscle-wasting disease, and I almost quit going because I thought, well, better not to know.

But now, I just breathe my way through it and it starts to feel good. Aside from the pure pleasure of having my creaky old body tended to, I do think massage is nothing but good news for your immune system, and it helps with stress, circulation, muscle pain and flexibility.

So, back to aging faces. I love the artist Jesse Dayton, and I am absolutely crazy about this reboot of Brand New Cadillac with Samantha Fish. Check out the drummer!

Old and cool. Inspiration for us all.