Month: December 2021

Walking inspiration

My sciatica seems to be calming down, and I’m beginning to feel almost normal. I haven’t played golf due to the weather, but I’m continuing to walk. I wanted inspiration … something to think about besides every little muscle or nerve twitch, so I dug out my ancient iPod and charged it up.

I stopped using the iPod during my days as the self-appointed Safety Scout. For some reason, I was trying to reduce risk in my life, and wearing headphones on a walk seemed fraught with peril. That was back when E. coli was the worst thing you could drag home from the grocery store, and Omicron was just a letter of the Greek alphabet.

We’ve had a couple of years to rethink risk. I’ve concluded wearing headphones on a walk isn’t the scariest thing out there. I made some walking playlists years ago, and lo and behold, they’re still on the device and working properly. It was fun to walk and listen to some of my favorite music. I may even branch out to audio books and podcasts.

A sampler from the playlist:

  • Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum – Bob Dylan
  • Big Ball in Cowtown – Bob Wills
  • Train of Love – Doc Watson
  • Refugee – Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers
  • Beer Run – Todd Snider
  • Jobel-Liebe – Margret Almer
  • Rehab – Amy Winehouse
  • Waitress in the Sky – the Replacements
  • Love Shack – the B-52s
  • Used to be a Cop – Drive-by Truckers

All dated but still great as far as I’m concerned. Margret Almer is a yodeler. I love a good yodel.

I honestly can’t remember how old the iPod is. Maybe circa 2006? I’ll keep using it until it doesn’t work anymore, although I suppose I should have a backup plan in place. Your recommendations are most welcome.

There will be a bit of a learning curve, as I haven’t downloaded music in years. I’m not even sure I know how anymore. Do you still go to Apple? But updating my portable music tools and adding some new tunes might be a good little activity for me.

Also in the spirit of cheering one’s self up, I decided I would walk better in the cold if I looked cuter. Today I wore leggings, a fleece top and a puffy vest … as opposed to baggy track pants with long underwear for extra padding. A black and gray knit beanie kept my ears toasty.

I’ve decided I need a more colorful beanie. I also decided I need another pair of leggings. I ordered these from Athleta. They’re a little thicker than my normal pants, so they should help keep me warm without being too bulky. Some days I feel like the Michelin man out there.

We usually have Dale’s homemade pizza on Friday night and decided to stick with our plan even though it’s New Year’s Eve. Tonight’s toppings will be Italian cold cuts and sliced green olives. The olives add a nice brininess to balance the richness of the meat.

Today we went to the local Asian supermarket, 99 Ranch, which is a spectacular place. We bought two live Dungeness crabs. Dale steamed them and picked out all the meat for crab rolls tomorrow. We’re off to a good start.

Happy New Year!

Grumpy times

It has been a weird couple of weeks. They’re calling this back thing sciatica resulting from a herniated disc. I’m calling it bullshit, but that’s me. Anyway, I can’t sit for very long, so that’s why I haven’t posted much lately.

The weather is miserable by my wussy California standards. We need the snow up in the mountains and the rain down here in the valleys and foothills, so this deluge is a great thing but rather miserable. I’m more of a drought kind of gal.

Continuing with the grumpy theme, I may as well report it has also been quite cold compared to the typical weather we see this time of year. I think the high today is 42 degrees. It may as well be zero.

The golf course is unplayable in terms of mud and lakes where there aren’t supposed to be any. Plus, I have to be desperate to play golf when it’s in the 40s. Even my 85-year-old diehard golf buddy who plays no matter what canceled for the week. Somehow, that made me feel better. But here I am, stuck in the house with my loving life partner, trying not to get mad about something or everything.

I can’t quite make myself go to the club and swim, even though the pool is heated. However, I have been walking every day. Seriously bundled up but walking nonetheless. Which reminds me of this song by Jesse Dayton: MAY HAVE TO DO IT (DON’T HAVE TO LIKE IT). Check it out. It’s a good song for these unprecedented times.

I got my first Social Security payment this month. That was fun. I do like to be on the receiving end of money. Forfeiting? Not so much. A guy I used to work with called to tell me about the sweet exit package he got for being forced to retire. I did not get that package.

However, two days earlier I heard that a big jerk I had to deal with had some sort of crisis and is no longer with the company. And justice finally caught up with an ex-boss who helped inspire me to exit the scene at a high rate of speed.

While I didn’t hang in there long enough to see it all go down, the fact that I worked with some particularly toxic people and walked away with a wonderful retirement sort of makes me feel like last man standing. I’m just not standing over there anymore.

I’m torn about physical therapy. I still believe in the Dr. Sarno approach, which assumes most pain is repressed anger and rage, and we must work hard to bring those feelings to the surface to make the pain subside. He thinks you should bypass anything that focuses on the body instead of the brain. Most of what I’ve read says time heals most sciatica. Not a lot of evidence that interventions help.

So, there’s that. Then there’s COVID. The therapist I saw last week had a droopy mask and when I suggested he get a better fit, he said, “That’s OK. I’m good.”

Yay for you, buddy. What about me???

Until Omicron passes, going back to the physical therapy place seems like high risk. Loose masks, people huffing and puffing, etc. I may go one more time to see if they can do some actual therapy instead of putting me through a battery of tests to see what hurts. Let me make this easy for you. Everything.

That leaves me with an upcoming haircut. I’ve been loving my new hair and want to keep it up. I know my stylist is fully vaccinated, boosted, masked and careful. Others will be wearing masks as well, and I’m thinking I could probably get in and out pretty fast.

Fucking COVID. While I did have some drama in my childhood and beyond, with the help of professional counseling, I worked through most of those issues the first time I had cancer. I’ve had a few other ah-ha moments of late, and I am grateful for that bit of introspection, but I think this stress is related to the pandemic.

I know I have it easy compared to many, and I am beyond grateful for all my good fortune. Like everyone else, I miss my old life, but I have this sense something has fundamentally changed, and there’s no going back.

Anyway, this is as long as I’ve been able to sit in quite some time, so maybe I am getting better. I did express anger, didn’t I? Still can’t quite summon the rage. There’s plenty of that going around. Honestly, I don’t think rage needs me. Maybe I can get away with just being a little pissed off.

Managing chronic pain

According to the neurosurgeon, most of my back problems are typical age-related degeneration. I have one disc bulge that is squeezing the spine (if I’m even saying that correctly). Basically, the result is spinal stenosis. He said that’s why I have pain in my lower buttocks. Hey, but ask Dale. He already knew I was a pain in the ass.

The neurosurgeon said I was way better off than most people with this degree of stenosis. He attributed my good fortune to physical fitness and encouraged me to keep doing whatever I’m doing. I was happy to hear I can still walk, swim and play golf, and even happier to hear him say it’s unlikely I’d ever need surgery. That’s good, because after multiple cancer surgeries, I have already fulfilled my surgical obligations.

In the meantime, I’ve been working on the mind-body connection. I started with Healing Back Pain by John Sarno. He believed repressed emotions cause most chronic pain, but other than understanding that concept and accepting it, he didn’t offer much in the way of advice.

Dr. Sarno was seen as a bit of a quack in his day, but there’s new research that vindicates him. It seems lots of medical professionals now believe chronic pain starts and ends in the brain – you just have to work a bit at reprogramming your physical responses to emotions such as anger, fear, shame and guilt.

After reading some of the newer articles like this one, I signed up for a program at Curable. There are all sorts of brain exercises and training modules to help navigate through chronic pain. Within a couple of weeks, I was virtually pain-free.

Then out of the blue, it cranked up again. There’s an emergency section of the app for when you have a flare-up, and it walks you through some ideas to help get you back on track. I thought I had dealt with all my emotional baggage and couldn’t imagine what was left.

After doing the module this morning, I’ve discovered a few more unresolved issues. Nothing big – she says – just the granddaddy of them all. Who am I? Why am I here? How much time to I have on this Earth, and what should I do with it?

I never really thought about those sorts of things when I was busy earning a living. It was just grind, grind, grind, and in retrospect, there’s something to be said for that mode of existence. In retirement, I have the pleasure of waking up in the middle of the night to engage in existential discussions with myself. But at least I can sleep in.

As long as I’m moving, I’m fine. Sitting is the worst. What else do I do when I sit? Why, write, of course. Since I haven’t written anything in a couple of weeks, I’m wondering if there’s a connection.

As I try to get rid of this butt ache, which is really, I think, an aching for knowledge, wisdom, value or purpose, choose one or all of the above, it would seem I have some work to do. I’ve decided that’s OK.

I try not to think of life as a game to win or lose. Things seem to work better for me when I forget about being MVP and just show up for practice.

P.S. If you’re looking for some great reading featuring a strong (and I mean badass) female protagonist, I highly recommend the Jane Whitefield series by Thomas Perry. Jane is a Native American who helps people disappear when bad guys are after them. Vanishing Act is first in the series. And joy of joys, there are nine of them!

The haircut I didn’t want

Yes, a haircut. I wanted long wild goddess hair. I swore I would never get the classic middle-age bob, but at 66, I’m beyond middle age, so I’m going in. Now I have what I hope is a stylish version of the haircut I didn’t want, and I love it!

I have such fine hair to begin with, and it is thinning as I get older. I think this cut makes the most of what I have. Sometimes you just have to accept reality.

With this cut, I gave up the tail. Meaning ponytail. I will not miss it. I was wearing my hair up most of the time because it looked so scraggly, and I won’t miss that, either. I will add a little care and maintenance.

I told my stylist I’m willing to spend 10 minutes a day on it, and I’m OK using a blow dryer. But I only want to use my head as a tool for shaping – no curling or smoothing tools, just blowing it back and forth and a little bit of a round brush to get the right look. I shocked my stylist when I said I would accept a haircut that required trimming every six weeks. She’s used to seeing me once or twice a year.

I got it cut yesterday and was stunned to wake up with great second-day hair. So, maybe 10 minutes every other day?

Now that I’m getting Social Security, I feel a little more generous with my spending. I mean, I didn’t really need those checks to get my hair done regularly, but something in me embraced the idea of a minimalist retiree who never goes to a salon. But I’m over that.

When she finished, I said, “Yeah, that looks like a woman ready to burn through her Social Security.”

It’s not really about the Social Security, although I do like to joke about it. Actually, I’ve been so sick of all the miserable news in the world, and the new kitchen lifted my spirits beyond anything I ever expected.  

Except for golf, I’ve been holed up for two years, and even if it’s another two years thanks to the Ohmygod variant, I decided it’s time to make more of an effort. In some form or fashion, I aim to rejoin the land of the living.

I even pushed back my cuticles and buffed my nails. Filled in the bald patches on my eyebrows. And got dressed in real clothes just to hang around the house.

Living large.