Exceedingly competent

Throughout my career, I was never the smartest girl in the room, and I certainly wasn’t the savviest. There are things you just don’t know when you are raised by wolves. But one thing about the wolves – you learn to figure things out on your own. That’s how I became exceedingly competent, and I eventually got paid exceedingly well to solve other people’s problems.

But that was then, and this is now. Retired. No one is paying me to solve their problems, and I sort of miss it. When it came to my job, I had education and experience, and I knew what to do. After a couple of decades, you have authority. People listen and follow your lead.

It doesn’t quite work that way at home. For 47 years in a row, I have failed to convince my husband, Dale, that he reports to me. He is cocky and resistant to feedback. He might agree today but then change his mind tomorrow. That’s fine. Really, it is. He wasn’t my dream employee, anyway.

But he is my dream partner, so I have to let all that slide. That has never been easy, but it was a lot easier until I turned 70 and the shit hit the fan. One day everything was good. The next day Dale fell off a ladder, and nothing has been the same since. He tore his ACL while recovering from a fractured pelvis. I broke my arm.

Now, I have problems I was not prepared for. I made it through my recovery OK, but he is still struggling to walk. Dale is smart in Mr. Wizard ways, but I’m the fixer, so it falls on me. What kind of mobility aids does he need? How do I sanitize a bedside urinal? That was not on the final exam.

And after all this time with Dale being less than fully able, it seems I am the project manager for our household. I’m calling contractors about things I absolutely positively do not understand. I spent hours studying the irrigation manual just so I could ask good questions.

At first, I just wished my husband would do what I told him to do. But now I have no faith that I’m right. In fact, sometimes I am confidently wrong. What do I know about all this stuff? We now have three walkers and two scooters because I have no idea what I am doing.

We are improving, but there’s no quick fix. For years, I let him do things I wanted no part of, and he deferred his unwanted tasks to me. I think they call that learned dependence.

A small win was when we disagreed on what to do about an electric problem. Neither one of us is particularly handy. I know zero about electricity, and he knows just enough to be dangerous.

After much deliberation, we agreed we needed an electrician, but he didn’t want to make the call. He hates that part. I finally found someone and got an appointment, so I made a deal with Dale. You can be the guy who deals with the electrician in person and whatever you two decide is fine with me. I’ve done my part. He was like, yeah, that sounds good.

I think he meant it. Maybe figuring out what each of us can stand doing is its own kind of competence.

Some version thereof

Returning to golf triggered my sciatica, which came back in a roar. I’m on week two, and it’s improving a lot, but still. I just told Dale, you know, a couple of weeks ago I was doing the sit-to-stands where you pop up out of the chair 10 times in a row, and now I can barely wiggle my way up with my arms holding onto something for support.

But then I said, maybe those exercises helped me. It could be worse. And we both said at the same time, “Who fucking knows?” And then we laughed like lunatics, because it helps. Really.

Just because there isn’t enough drama at our house, I also have an incredibly intense stiff neck. This isn’t very Stoic of me, but let me tell you how I did that. It’s a classic case of no good deed goes unpunished.

When I had breast cancer, they removed lymph nodes for biopsies, which puts me at risk for lymphedema. It has been 10 years, but the risk never goes away. I had some swelling in the armpit where my fracture was, so I asked about that and was referred to the lymphedema clinic.

They said I don’t have lymphedema, but since I have compromised lymph nodes it might be prudent to do a few exercises to encourage drainage. She gave me a pamphlet with the exercises, which looked easy peasy. And so like the good girl that I am, I went home and did them. She knew I was recovering from a fractured proximal humerus, but even if she had said be careful, you aren’t who you used to be, I would probably have blown that off. These exercises did not look threatening.

The next morning I couldn’t move my neck. It feels like I aged 20 years. Maybe just a little too much considering what my body’s been through? Stress? Who fucking knows? It’s getting better, but in hindsight, why did I eagerly agree to a solution for a problem I didn’t have? I need to work on that.

And then there’s Dale’s knee. Partial ACL tear and some other stuff. We finally got to see a doctor, although we can’t see the “specialist” until August! But we saw our regular sports medicine guy, who we like very much. The doctor agreed with the “conservative management” plan, which means no weight bearing for at least six weeks and no surgery likely. He wants to see Dale again before we finally gets to the mother ship in August.

Dale feels pretty good, especially after seeing the doctor, who is an osteopath. I love me an osteopath. Dale has been referred to the same ortho I went to for my arm, which tells me it’s just a case of monitoring.

Just as I was whining about being able to do the sit-to-stands only a couple of weeks ago, Dale said I know! I was walking two miles after fracturing my pelvis, and now this. But we managed to turn on our inner Stoics. We are strong and resilient. This is just a minor setback.

A friend in the healing business told me it’s the year. This year. 2026. She said the shit has hit the fan with just about everybody she knows except her college-age daughter, who is having the time of her life.

Oh, sure, to be young and perky.

I was never too worried about aging, happy to be alive and all that, but whatever happened to you 20 or 30 years ago will be worse when it happens after 70. You heard it here first.

Dale and I have discussed it ad nauseum, and we’ve accepted this is our current reality. We also concluded this isn’t the beginning of the end. We didn’t go from healthy to doomed in a matter of months. We’ve led healthy, active lifes, and this is simply a string of bad luck. We will push through it and return to our former glory, or at least the creaky but glorious 70-somethings we were before all this went down.

Or some version thereof.

A good way to cope with bad politics?

When I started studying Stoicism just a few weeks ago, I was hoping it would help me with lot of negative emotions, and one of the big ones was how I cope with politics. Watching democracy rot from within has been horrible, but there I go already, bemoaning the state of the world when it is well outside my control.  

I’m still very new to Stoicism, so believe me, I am no expert. And I am woefully imperfect, but there is a lot to this philosophy that makes it easier to process what is happening in our country and in the world.

The most important Stoic concept for me is the distinction between what is within my control and what is not. I do not control elections, politicians, headlines or what other people think. I do not control what laws are proposed or passed, what people post online or what happens tomorrow.

What I can control is me. My actions. I control whether I pay attention or tune out. Whether I speak up or stay silent. Whether I vote. Whether I support a candidate I value or give aid to someone in need. Whether I act with integrity. Whether I let anger consume me.

Everybody thinks Stoicism is about not caring, but that’s not true. We just need to spend less energy on outcomes and more energy on our character. Honorable effort. Good choices. How we behave.

As I intepret it, we can believe what’s happening is harmful and do our part to affect it, but we can’t expect to bend the universe to our will. Lately it does seem as though it’s going in the complete opposite direction of what I want, but I take some time during the day to contemplate the pillars of Stoicism – wisdom, courage, discipline and justice. How can I use the resources of being human to stay steady and preserve my tranquility? To not let the bad stuff diminish the joy that comes from being alive?

At first that felt like surrender, but now I see it as accepting reality. And I am much calmer.

I’ve been thinking about small things. Making a call. Donating. Being kind to people. Reaching out to my neighbors. Focusing on what I can control. Do one thing and then the next necessary thing. Do what I can today and leave the rest to time.

Media consumption is another issue. I spend a lot of time reading the gloom and doom on Substack, so I deleted the app to make it harder for me to access it. I didn’t delete my account because I value some of the independent journalism on Substack, but I don’t need to immerse myself in it.

Same for the New York Times. I also made a vow not to use my phone to pass the time when I’m waiting somewhere. Instead, I pack my Kindle and read a little from my Stoic library.

It’s not a perfect solution, but it helps me.

Here are a few quotes from notable Stoics:

Marcus Aurelius

You have power over your mind—not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength.

Waste no more time arguing what a good person should be. Be one.

Epictetus

Some things are up to us and some are not up to us.

Make the best use of what is in your power, and take the rest as it happens.

Seneca

We suffer more often in imagination than in reality.

Begin at once to live, and count each separate day as a separate life.

Art to the rescue

Although my husband, Dale, has the hearing aids of the future, sometimes things get fuzzy, and what he hears is not what I said. Sometimes that’s selective and I end up annoyed, but other times he genuinely mishears, and it’s actually pretty funny.

I mentioned the other day that Barney Frank died. I didn’t mention he was in the House of Representatives. I just said his name and that it was cool he was openly gay when that was not common among prominent people. Dale said, “Seriously? Barney Fife was gay?”

Well, seriously, we are still laughing over that one.

Dale’s meniscus turned out fine, but the MRI revealed other issues with his knee, including a partial ACL tear. We are purposely avoiding medical discussions until we see the orthopedic team.  Dr. Google is on vacation.

In other news, I completed two sewing projects. The first one was an old pair of pants that I turned into shorts. Not very exciting, but I really like them. The stitches are a bit erratic, but you can’t really tell unless you look closely.

My second project is kind of cool. I took one of Dale’s old shirts and cut off the sleeves. I also cut a bunch of the length to make it sort of cropped. With the dropped armholes, it can be worn at a shirt with a tank or something underneath. Or it can be worn as a vest. The stitches on this one aren’t exactly straight, either, but they are better than the first time around.

I enjoyed playing around with something that was already made, but I think my next project will be something from scratch. Something easy. I’m still remarkably unskilled with the sewing machine!

On another artistic front, I was getting very frustrated with my woodburning. I couldn’t get a solid line to burn and figured my tool was messed up. Dale hates AI, so he would shoot me if he knew, but I described the problem to the bot. The bot suspected my tips needed replacing, and sure enough, that solved the problem. So, I’m back in the woodburning business.

Creating art is one of the simple things that keeps me from going completely nuts during these bizarre times. And I will leave that up to you to decide if I’m referring to our personal lives or the country overall.

Philosophy 101 revisited

It has been a rough few months at our house. Dale fractured his pelvis in December, I broke my arm in January and just as both of us were recovering, Dale seems to have torn his meniscus. The medical system sucks in case you didn’t know, so a week ago he was told to rest and ice and not put any weight on it and wait for the MRI – which isn’t until next week.

The whole thing has been one big stress bomb, so I decided to shop around for a better way to cope with the challenges life throws at us. I’m 70, Dale turns 77 this month, and I don’t suppose this will get any easier. I keep wishing we could go back, that somehow this didn’t happen and certainly won’t happen again.

It turns out we can’t bend the universe to our will. I’ve spent a lot of time brooding about that. I wanted to explore a different perspective, but self-help books mostly annoy me. The chat bot recommended The Antidote: Happiness For People Who Can’t Stand Positive Thinking by Oliver Burkeman.

It’s a pretty good book, scholarly but humorous, although I still haven’t finished it. The chapter on the Stoics spoke to me as nothing previously had. Burkeman says Stoicism was invented in ancient Greece but perfected in Rome. I am a complete novice, so before you read any further, please accept my apologies if I got it all wrong.

Up until now, I didn’t have a guiding philosophy, Greek, Roman or otherwise. I took Philosophy 101 in college, and it appears that didn’t stick. If I had to guess, I’d say if anything, I was an Enlightened Hedonist … someone who pursues pleasure but is guided by reason, foresight and self-awareness.

There’s some overlap between Enlightened Hedonism and Stoicism, so it’s not like I have to ditch one for the other. But as I see it, the Hedonists are not really there for you when the chips are down. Stoicism helps you develop calmness in the face of trying circumstances.

The big wake up call for me was that being a Stoic doesn’t mean we have to be the miserable grin-and-bear-it type. Ideally, a practicing Stoic is joyful. Tranquil. We can pursue pleasure. We can have nice things. We just can’t define ourselves by those things or get too attached.

Tranquility is the ultimate goal. Not fiery electrocutions of happiness. Stoics believe tranquility is achieved by using the human power of reason to develop a calm indifference to whatever happens in life. It’s not about outcomes or whether something is good or bad.

The Burkeman book cites this example :

“A relative’s illness is bad only in the view of your belief that it’s a good thing for your relatives not to be ill. Millions of people after all get ill every day and we have no beliefs whatsoever about most of them and consequently don’t feel distressed … if you didn’t judge a relative’s illness to be bad, would be you distressed by it? The judgment is within our control.”

Whew – this stuff gets deep, and I’m just scratching the surface. To start, I memorized the four pillars of Stoicism and think about them throughout the day. Wisdom, courage, discipline and justice. The original Stoics used the word temperance for what we now call discipline or moderation.

I might reflect and ask myself, what is bothering me?  What was I expecting to happen? Were those expectations within my control? How can I use the pillars to shape a better response and stay tranquil?

The original Stoics such as Marcus Aurelius, Seneca and Epictetus are profound, and it will take years for me to read and fully appreciate their works. I’m reading bits of their stuff already, but I wanted beginner’s introduction, so I’m reading A Guide to the Good Life: The Ancient Art of Stoic Joy by William B. Irvine.  

The Daily Stoic by Ryan Holiday is another book that is often recommended. I’m on the waiting list at the library.

Yes, life is messy. I’m learning that the Stoic response is not about pretending everything is OK. It about trying to separate facts from the self-induced suffering caused by any number of emotions, including anger, selfishness or fear. The question becomes, “What part of my suffering comes from demanding that reality be different from what it currently is?”

Stoicism doesn’t ask you to like it, it just wants you to accept, adjust and do the next necessary thing.  

Healed!

In the category of a little good news at last, I visited the orthopedic doctor yesterday, and he declared my fractured proximal humerus fully healed. As you may recall, that’s a break in the arm up near the shoulder. No restrictions other than to use pain for a guideline as I return to activities.

He also said my range of motion was excellent for this stage, which is four months from the day I tripped over a power cord and went down onto a hard tile floor. I did my physical therapy religiously, and it’s nice my hard work paid off.

Of course, I still do have pain and expect more, but it’s not awful and I don’t have to fear the bone anymore. It’s all soft tissue recovery at this point.

I set up the golf net in the garage when I got home and hit a few wiffle balls. Today I will start with some sort of a program to re-enter the golf world. There are also lots of little things around the house I was avoiding due to restrictions on how much weight I can lift, but now I can get to those, too.

Again, I’m being mindful and taking it slow. I mentioned I’ve been studying Stoicism. In my last post, I had a little fun with it, but I am serious about this and have started to feel much better about a lot of different things. I’ll write more as this progresses, but I’m eager to share my experiences because I think it’s going to be a game-changer for aging and navigating the next phase of retirement.

I remind myself many times a day to live up to the four pillars — wisdom, justice, courage and moderation.

A Stoic’s guide to chow mein

This sounds defeatist, but things rarely turn out the way I like. There’s this nagging disappointment that follows me along like a lovesick puppy, but I always bounce back. It’s not exactly the power of positive thinking, but I remember things could be worse, and I get by OK.

But as always, I never leave much of anything alone. It was probably the chow mein noodles that sent me down the path to learn more about Stoicism, an ancient Greek philosophy that teaches us to focus on what is within our control and accepting that bad things in life is just the way shit goes down (my words).  

True learning will take some time, which I may or may not have if you believe the Stoics. They claim you should be ready for death at any moment. I admit, I’m not quite ready, and other than admitting I actually prefer to live, I don’t have much progress to report except I started reading Meditations by Marcus Arelius.

Eventually, if you want, I can put together a reading list. There are some interesting titles like How to Stubbornly Refuse to Make Yourself Miserable About Anything – yes, Anything! and Happiness for People Who Can’t Stand Positive Thinking.

But all this came after the chow mein noodles.

I’ve long been interested in cooking Asian noodles, but I didn’t know much about them. We live near a great Asian supermarket with all manner of fresh noodles, so I wanted to take advantage of a local resource. Appreciating nature – that’s another Stoic trait.

I found a couple of recipes for Chicken Lo Mein, which is what I might describe as a stir-fry with noodles, chicken, baby bok choy and a selection of aromatics. What could go wrong?

Since there’s really no such thing as lo mein noodles, you buy chow mein noodles. Sure, why not? Accepting reality is another goal here on the Stoic journey, so I quit bitching and purchased a bag of fresh chow mein noodles along with everything else I would need to make a spectacular dish.

One recipe called for cooking the noodles first. One recipe did not and the bag said to rinse them off first with hot water and then cold water. Something like that. I really really wanted to do what the bag said, but something told me not to. I went with straight out of the bag and into the wok.

Even though the noodles were “steamed” and sealed in the bag, they were quite dry and fluffy. The recipe called for 750 grams of noodles, and I will tell you now that is a shit ton of dry noodles. I stuffed as many of them as I could into the wok at the appropriate time and proceeded with the recipe.

The chicken and the other stuff was tasty, but so many noodles! And thick and gloppy. Not good. We ate what we could, and I put the rest of it along with the unused noodles down the garbage disposal. I had a hard time getting them to go down, but down they went.

The next day the garbage disposal was clogged. I went to get the plunger, but Dale said he’d do it, what with my broken arm and all. He cleared the path, and all was well. But the thing about reality, it that you never know when it will bite.

As it happens, Dale has had a minor setback on his road to recovery. Elvis the fractured pelvis is doing just fine, but Dale twisted his knee at physical therapy and now has a torn meniscus. I’ve had a torn meniscus, but you know, it doesn’t count because I’m not a man.

Anyway.

He’s having a hard time with the steps and decided to take a shower in the tiny little bathroom downstairs that we used when he first came home from the Skilled Nursing Facility. I retrieved the shower chair from the garage and went to set up everything for him, and there was this gross pile of foul-smelling crap all over the bottom of the shower floor.

What fresh hell is this? I got on my hands and knees to get a good look and all of the sudden it hit me. It was the chow mein noodles! What a disgusting mess, but I cleaned it up, with my good arm, and just prayed the drain wasn’t clogged completely.

Prayer is probably not a Stoic standard. I’m too new at this to be sure. But it seems to have worked. He has since taken several showers, and no more noodles, but my journey toward all things Stoic is coming in handy just the same.  

I mean, bad dinner and a plumbing incident. Who needed that? There’s Dale’s knee. My arm, which I broke, in case anybody forgot. Dale said at this point, how could anyone forget, a comment that at first made me mad, but then I remembered to accept good and bad with equal indifference.

Perhaps it is all as it was meant to be. See, I’m getting the hang of it. I’m once again in charge of dinner until Dale can get around a little better, but this time around I will be way smarter about everything. Slow, mindful. No more injuries for this little whiner.

And to celebrate, I’m making Lo Mein Noodles with pork and baby bok choy. This time around, I bought dried chow mein noodles at the regular grocery store, and I’m just going to do what the bag says.

Many small things

Today I bought a sewing machine. Nothing fancy. Just sewing machine, one each. I purchased it online from Costco. Price was $160. Free delivery. It’s coming tomorrow.

You might ask what I am going to do with said sewing machine, and my answer is, huh? I don’t know, but I’ve been wanting to try something new for ages. I actually do have some sewing experience, but it has been many, many moons since I messed with needles and thread.

But rusty skills was not the primary issue for me. I resisted because I thought, oh, that’s the last thing I need. One more toy. The garage is full. Why throw money at something that might not stick?

But that’s the thing with me and why I enjoy retirement so much. Very little sticks. While I envy those who find a singular purpose and excel at it, I have always been someone who tries many small things. Few of them are permanent.

It’s not that I lack focus, per se, but my focus is sequential or rotating. And it felt like time to throw something new into the rotation. Don’t worry — I’m not giving up art or cooking — just adding one small thing to the mix.

So, I told myself, start cheap. You do not need the sewing machine of the future. The Sewmaster 5000. It’s not a lifelong identity. I will not necessarily be good at this.

It’s an exploration. A hunt for creativity and fun. For provisions, my sister suggested Costco, and boom! I hunted it down and killed it with a credit card like the bloodthirsty predator that I am. She sent me another list of accessories I will need, and it doesn’t look like it will cost me an arm and a leg. Good scissors, thread, a few other niche tools.

I feel better now that I’ve decided I will never find that ONE BIG THING that drives some people to success. That quest was mostly driving me nuts. The key for me is many small things, which I guess could be put under the umbrella of keep moving, continue to learn and stay curious.

And then, of course, write about it.

The need for distraction

Although I’ve been playing golf for 30 years, I didn’t realize until now what it does for me psychologically. I love the game, but it turns out I need the near complete distraction golf provides in my life. It seems I have been replacing it with doomscrolling, and um, just so you know. That doesn’t work.

Somehow golf hits the sweet spot for focus, movement, being outside and just enough mental challenge to occupy my mind. I don’t think about much of anything else when I’m playing, and believe me, that’s a good thing. You really don’t want to know what else goes on in there.

I’m 13 weeks post-fracture, so I’m guessing the earliest I might be able to play is June. More likely July. Although I am going to start putting and perhaps hit a few wiffle balls into a net at home. Now that my pain is quite manageable, I don’t want to do anything to mess that up.

I really can’t think of anything that so efficiently replaces my need for complete distraction. What in your life scratches that itch?

Art occupies me in some ways, but there’s a lot of time to daydream. And let me be clear. It’s not that daydreams are bad, it’s just that my daydreams are bad. My other hobby is ruminating on all things horrible.

Reading is a nice immersion experience, but again, my mind wanders. A good hike where you watch the scenery but also your footing might be close, but I’m still a long ways off from that, too.

The next best experience might be cooking. It’s missing the outdoorsy component, although I believe that’s a topic deserving of more thought. A long, complicated dish that takes all day to cook might come close to 18 holes.

These days I have to be so careful I don’t miss ingredients, and sometimes I improvise, so I’m giving cooking a few stars for focus and mental challenge. I should be awarded an advanced degree just for figuring out how to get my sourdough starter to rise with regularity.

Cooking and golf both offer the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. Golf is particularly good at defeat.

So, I’ve probably got another few months before recreational defeat, I mean golf, becomes an option. Cooking will have to be my lifeline. I celebrated my decision by going to the store and getting everything to make moussaka tomorrow. That will take all day. I usually fry the eggplant on the cooktop, but this time I’m going to try roasting it in the oven.

Earlier this week I made spinach pie. It was not the Greek style with feta cheese in phyllo but a variation with Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese and puff pastry. This was my first time using frozen puff pastry. It was easy. I did have to roll it out a bit but it wasn’t too firm like my cookie dough and didn’t aggravate my arm.

The recipe called for frozen whole leaf spinach, but I could not find that. I ended up buying chopped, and it was fine. It has been a long time since I bought frozen spinach. I wonder where the whole leaf went?

I can definitely see an uptick in our grocery bills. The stuff for moussaka came to almost $70. That included two pounds of lamb, four eggplants, a dozen large eggs and a big hunk of Pecorino Romano cheese.

That will make at least eight servings, so it’s not all that bad if you do the math, but I’m grateful we can afford the ingredients we like to make wonderful food at home. I do not take it for granted.