My sister and I were latchkey kids and spent a lot of time in front of the TV watching cartoons, eating candy and assorted crap. We both have the teeth to prove it.
Oh, what’s a few cavitites, when you have all those memories? For my latest piece of art, I went nostalgic and tried to capture some of the iconic images from shows I actually watched. I’m pretty happy with the results, although I always zoom in on the flaws.
My sister, noted junk food authority, loved the Ding Dong but said that doesn’t look like any Twinkie she ever saw. The so-called Twinkie is on the left, just to the right of Fred.
Also, this is reclaimed wood, and I think it was maple. Some parts were darker than others, and the colors didn’t always turn out as I expected. I won’t tell you what it’s supposed to be, but the circular item also to the right of Fred came out too dark. My sister knew right away what it was. That’s probably because she knows I’m a sucker for compressed dextrose.
At first, I was worried about trademark issues, but I read it’s OK as long as you don’t try to sell them. I’m good there.
See what you think. Maybe it will stir up some fun memories of your own.
I’m coming up on my eight-year retirement anniversary. Knowing what I know now, would I do anything different?
Hard to say. What I know now isn’t any better than what I knew then. I just have more time to ruminate on it. Occasionally I wonder if I have it in me to work again. Part of me says yes. I’m certainly capable, and I wouldn’t mind putting on real clothes, but I don’t see how I could sustain my lifestyle.
Unless I have a tee time, it takes me a couple of hours to get going in the morning. I revel in the slow start. Breakfast, coffee, news, constitutionals, puzzles. Of course, it takes time to get my blood pressure back to normal after reading the paper, so there’s that.
Although I was minimally fit during my working years, I’m in way better shape now. But it’s a commitment, and I find it easier to stick with the program when I don’t have to make decisions that interfere with happy hour.
I try to get all my exercise in before lunch because … well, lunch.
Dinner is just one more meal away. It creeps up fast, and you’ve got to be ready. I like to be involved in that whole business. I suppose my husband, Dale, could go back to being the primary for meal planning, but the older he gets, the more he eats like a 10-year-old boy. The man needs supervision.
It’s true I’ve gotten a little older in eight years. Haven’t we all? It now takes a village to maintain my aesthetic standards. Facials, massages, pedicures, haircuts. While I would have benefitted from all that when I was working … looking sharp for all those high-level personal interactions … there was no time for such indulgences. In my career, they didn’t hand out prizes for most chilled.
Now I have the time, except these days I’m talking to the cat. And seriously, he’s not interested in anything I have to say. Unless I’m coated in kibble, I don’t think he cares what I look like. It’s just me and the mirror. My steady date.
Finally, there’s the problem of my inside voice. As it is with so many retirees, what used to be my inside voice is now my outside voice, and it does not always reveal my best side. However, I think it’s like toothpaste. No going back.
All in all, I don’t see how it would be possible to go back to work. Which means I will continue to focus on the simple pleasures of retirement, which is my favorite job so far.
In other news, it turns out the goo in my car was probably my fault. The dude at the dealership said I must have spilled a soda down into the console. I said I haven’t had a soda in 20 years, but I did not mention my PBJ burritos. Apparently, the culprit was marionberry jam. That will teach me for being a food snob. Grape jelly wouldn’t pull a stunt like that.
Messy eating cost me $200. They had to clean it all up and replace a switch, because the goo apparently went everywhere. No more eating in the car. And there you have it, another pro tip from Retirement Confidential.
I will leave you with Number 45. The wood was tough to burn, and I got fed up with it. By coincidence, it occurred to me that pallet scraps are probably treated with chemicals and shouldn’t be burned anyway. I wear a mask, but still.
While I found the rustic pallets charming, and I liked the idea of transforming them into something unique, they can be frustrating to burn when I’m working on small, detailed designs. My skills have improved over the past few years, and better wood will give me an opportunity to try new things.
So, yay. Farewell my pallet friends. You had a good run.
Although I play golf at least twice a week, I almost never ride. I don’t like to ride in carts, I play better when I walk and my body feels better when I walk. Yesterday I agreed to ride and by the end of the round, my knees were screaming. These are the knees that have been devoid of pain for months now.
The moral of the story is walk if you can. Always. Except tomorrow. I have another tournament where it really is best if I ride, but after this, I’m staying away from any event or course where I can’t walk. It’s called Make Donna’s Knees Great Again.
And for tomorrow’s event, our four-person team will be wearing matching outfits with a floral top that for me at least, will never see the light of day again. I believe I may be expected to wear a plastic lei. I’m all in. Our team won last year, so you know, whatever it takes.
In a moment of weakness, I accepted the role of co-captain for our league, with the expectation I will be captain next year. I’ve been wondering if I’m the right choice, so I asked my playing partners this week what they thought.
I acknowledged I can be aloof, but they didn’t seem to think that was a problem. Our current captain is absolutely perfect, so finding a replacement has unique challenges. Apparently, the first priority is finding someone who is willing to do it. Qualifications include being alive and upright. Check.
The next big thing is to avoid being a jerk, bitching out women on the course for rules violations and stuff like that. I’m proud to say I actually put some effort into not being a jerk, so I’m feeling pretty good about all that. Additionally, I hate the rules and would rather take a 10 than argue with someone over the proper way to drop a ball out of the hazard.
All in all, I’m optimistic. I got this.
In spite of all the bad craziness going on out there, my new mantra is keep calm and eat well.
In that spirit, on Sunday I made pasta with pesto sauce. Pesto is so easy. I just eyeball it these days. Lightly toasted pine nuts, a big bunch of fresh basil, a couple of garlic cloves, grated parmesan cheese, a dab of butter and enough olive oil to whiz it all together in the food processor. I even made the pasta from scratch.
I used to have the hand-crank pasta machine but recently upgraded to the KitchenAid pasta attachment, and it is worth every penny. It’s a whole lot easier when you can use both hands to feed the machine and guide the pasta as it comes out.
For a fancy little accompaniment, I made sardines fried in beer batter. This was a first, and all I can say is it won’t be the last. Damn, they were good. And yes, just regular canned sardines packed in olive oil, although I did use Matiz, which are imported from Spain.
The best part was I had an early morning tee time, and Dale got stuck with the mess.
Yesterday we had tacos from the freezer. It was a selection of chicken, bison and pork. The pork tacos are new, and they’ve become my new favorite. The pork filling is made in the slow cooker with pickled jalapeños and a good bit of the brine. And a little bit of brown sugar. Then it’s all shredded up at the end.
I’m not really into pulled pork sandwiches, but it sure does make great tacos. I make the kind with crispy shells. We freeze those, and Dale revives them in the oven quite successfully. A little bit of his homemade scorpion pepper salsa is a great addition, but one does have to be careful. Not him, of course. He’s a pepper machine.
We went to the corn place today. It was not pick your own, so we were disappointed. But I believe it was picked this morning, so we have high hopes. We’re just going to have corn with a couple of grilled sausages.
I’m not sure there will be leftovers, but I have corn chowder on my list. A little trick I learned last year is to make the stock from the shucked corn cobs. I may also try a bit of crispy pancetta as a topping. And some homemade bread to dunk.
My sourdough continues to improve, but I’m not quite there yet. Today I’m timing my starter to see how long it takes to reach its peak.
I’m aiming for six hours, so I can feed it at 8 a.m., go about my day, and then make the dough around 2 p.m. I store the starter in a temperature-controlled keeper and had it set at 78 degrees. At that temperature, it was peaking too soon, and by the time I get ready to make the dough, it’s somewhat bubbly but not full-strength.
Today I have it set at 75 degrees, to see if that improves the timing. It sounds obsessive, but it’s really one small detail that is keeping me from perfect bread. Not that imperfect bread is a bad thing.
Speaking of imperfect, I finished number 44! It was fun to do, and I’m very happy with how it turned out. I always tell myself it’s OK to deviate from the norm. It doesn’t have to be hyper-realistic.
Not that it hasn’t been fun to watch the biglicious brawl between Trump and Musk, but I’m not sure any of it is real. I’ve long suspected Elon was worming his way into Trump’s good graces to ultimately push him out of office so the tech right can get their boy JD in place. Sure, it’s a bit of a conspiracy theory, but I wouldn’t rule it out.
On the other hand, it could be a distraction not unlike staged professional wrestling matches, and that would explain why Linda McMahon has a job. While we’re watching the sideshow, Republicans will line up behind their man and pass his horrid spending bill.
Me? I’m hoping the breakup is real. I was reading all about it yesterday at my desk and moved to the couch to make myself more comfortable for the duration. The only thing missing was popcorn. I couldn’t wait to get up this morning, figuring those whack jobs were up all night, but it looks like they actually went to bed at some point. You know, nothing good happens after 10 p.m.
So, yes, I’m eager to see the Epstein files, but then I never gave up on the pee pee tapes, either. Just a crazy kid with a dream. It’s not a stretch to imagine Musk had access to a lot of dirt while ferreting through our government records.
I seem to remember Tom Arnold saying someone had tapes of Trump using the n-word while filming his TV show. I believe Amazon has the rights to all footage and outtakes, so I wouldn’t bet those will ever see the light of day.
But you never can tell. All I know is that I know nothing. Nothing. It’s like living in Bizarro World. I am so sick of these people.
Time to focus on simple pleasures. I have a few achy breaky body parts right now, but it’s nothing serious, and I’m moving my way through the pain. I had a nice walk this morning. As my massage therapist says, motion is lotion. She was complimenting me on my exercise regime, and I said, well, it’s all good, but geez, I still hurt. She said that’s because you’re alive! You’re moving, and you’re getting stronger!
Thanks, I needed that.
Dale made fajitas, as promised, and we ate outside. I followed through on my commitment to set the music up in advance, and we started with The Clash, probably my all-time favorite group. We even danced a little. Glad there are no tapes of that.
Then we switched to Bruce Springsteen, another favorite. He has been a strong voice for democracy, and it made me realize more than ever how art can make a difference. Creative people have been having a field day with all this Trump stuff, and I love it. No matter what happens, there will always be artists to bring reality to life.
That revelation inspired me to start a new piece of woodburning art. This is a work-in-progress. I typically use pallet scraps, but this is wood I purchased. It’s nice, but I sort of like the rustic nature of pallets. This piece is larger, so it has been fun to go big.
I’ve burned all the images, and now I’m beginning to paint. I usually start with the things I want to reproduce in their colors of origin. For example, I know I want the cherry on the hot fudge sundae to be red. I get that sort of stuff done first, so I know where those colors are. Then I can go crazy with pink cats or whatever.
As you can see, there’s a huge sunflower up and front. I copied it from the internet, but yesterday I saw an actual sunflower, and mine doesn’t look like that. Let’s just say mine is a loose interpretation of what a sunflower could be.
Although my sister and I were raised Catholic, my mother had a loose interpretation of her role in our religious upbringing. I have a vague memory of being confirmed around age 13 but a vivid recollection of my mom’s reaction.
Once that box was checked, we could decide for ourselves how to proceed along our spiritual path. Her job was done. With no further ado, I opted out of all religious activity and never looked back.
All that to say I was surprised by my reaction to the new pope. I’m a little weepy with joy. Normally, I would not give a hoot one way or the other, but this guy arrives at a time when a compassionate American voice with over a billion followers is much needed and more than welcome.
Someone whose spiritual beliefs run deeper than mine said it was like God said whoa, these people need some help. While I’m still suspicious about all things religious, it does give me hope to believe that not everyone in the public eye is full of hate and retribution.
Make America nice again!
In other news, Dale and I have both been nursing creaky body parts. Knees, back – you name it. I attribute it all to stress. We’re both fiery balls of anger these days, and it’s not a good thing. We thought a punching bag might be useful, I mean, a real one not just each other. But I figured that would lead to more injuries. Maybe a rage room?
I’ve been working hard to lighten up. Balance civic responsibility with simple pleasures. Forgive, forget. All that. And it helps! Dale, ever the stoic Mainer, refused to say he’s doing anything different, but I drop little positivity bombs on him when he’s not looking, and I think they help him, too. We’re just not meant to be this mad all the time.
We’re talking about more local travel. Trying restaurants again. Maybe we’ll get lucky. I quickly realized my golf attire is probably not suitable for going out. Which means I went shopping. I haven’t worn jeans in years, mostly because I love all the stretchy stuff from Atheta. But I actually went into real stores and discovered denim has come a long way.
I guess skinny jeans are still there, but the choices are much improved. One current look I love is the loose-fitting wide-legged jean. I bought one high-end pair at Nordstrom and one inexpensive pair at Kohl’s. They are both lightweight and will be great for summer. And I bought new t-shirts to go with. If and when we venture out again, I will be ready!
Since I’m such an insecure shopper, I had to text my young stylish friend and get her opinion. If you can get past my filthy bathroom mirror, you will see these are the Paige jeans from Nordstrom. I couldn’t get the full-length view, but they are quite flared and slightly cropped. My adviser approved! I had buyer’s remorse that night, but I’m keeping them.
It has been so long since I did any serious shopping in a store, but it does make a difference to actually see the clothes and try them on. I loved the selection of jeans for normal people. Shorts were in short supply, so I went for flowy pants.
Maybe this is all part of my turning-70-this-year phase, but I want to look a little better when I’m out and about. I was at the library in my workout gear and a hat because my hair looked so bad, and there was this older woman in nice jeans with her hair all groomed, and I thought, OK, I can do better.
Next stop is the hair. I’ve been growing out the bob, and the question is whether I go back to it or keep going so I can wear it up. I did love it when my hair was longer and I could always count on a quick updo when I needed to go somewhere. The bob was cute and suited my hair type, but it requires a daily blow-dry, and you know, I’m retired. No time for that!
Finally, I finally finished Number 43, which took a year. What with the election and all. It’s not my best work, but I like it nonetheless. The duck is a tribute to my favorite golf course duck that died last year.
I experimented with an engraver (the two globes on the right) and didn’t like it much. I might try again with different wood.
