Category: Health & Wellness

Zoomies for bakers

My back is better. While the exercises don’t keep it from occasionally acting up, I recover much quicker since I’ve been doing them. I call that a win. It’s kind of sad in a way, I mean, what happened to that daredevil who could do anything, but I now think of building and maintaining strength as one of my most important retirement jobs. I can feel a difference going up and down the stairs, which is a low bar, but it’s important!

Something about the light in September changes how I feel about food. Even though it’s still quite warm here in Northern California, I’m thinking about the end of summer and the beginning of fall food. Such a beautiful transition.

This week I got the bakies – not unlike the zoomies, when our pets sprint about the house like circus animals on speed.

There are those who would say baking is bad. Cookies won’t make America healthy again! Yes, even when it comes to what we eat, it seems like everyone is fired up about this, that or the other thing. While Dale and I eat little to no processed food, we kind of give ourselves a free pass if we make it at home. Good food is pure pleasure.

And cookies might make America happy again.

While others may be spurning sugar or gluten, we say bring it on. In moderation, of course. We like to keep a batch of homemade cookies in the freezer. That’s usually a toss-up between peanut butter chocolate chip or black pepper cookies. I wanted to try something different, so I went with these iced oatmeal cookies from the NY Times.

I tweaked them by adding one-half cup dried cherries. I wanted sour cherries, but all I could find was sweet, so that’s what I went with. I also added orange rind to the icing, along with a little of the freshly squeezed juice from the orange, a pinch of Kosher salt and a tablespoon of Jack Daniels.

Oh, hell, yes.

It’s not beef tallow, but dag, these cookies are good. Dale and I each had one after dinner that night. I enjoyed another one the next day and then they went straight to the freezer. But it makes me happy to know they are there. Not as happy as I would be to see RFK Jr. voted off the island but happy enough.

Then I went with the original plum torte, also from the NY Times. You can find it here if you can’t get past the NY Times firewall.

I first had something similar to this in Germany, where they called it Zwetschgenkuchen. We usually start to see the Italian prune plums in late August or early September, so this is the time to make it if you can find them.

One version of the recipe called for 1 cup of sugar, and one called for three-fourths cup. I went with three-fourths. I also questioned whether the plums should go face down or face up. The recipe called for face down, so that’s what I went with. 

The torte is absolutely delicious and even better the next day as those juices slowly drip into the cake. I froze most of it in individual servings, just as I do with scones. Sometimes I like a sweet baked treat for breakfast, so this should be right up my alley.

My next baking dilemma is whether I will make my own birthday cake, as I’ve done for the past few years. Coconut layered cake is my usual, and it is pretty effing spectacular. Another go-to is the cake I typically make for Dale’s birthday. I didn’t make it this year, so this would be my mulligan.

A friend gave me the recipe many years ago. I love that it’s in her handwriting. That always makes a recipe special. She called it Creole Chocolate Cake. It’s two layers of chocolate sponge. Between the layers is a pile of freshly whipped cream topped with a gooey mixture of walnuts, dates, evaporated milk and sugar, almost like a praline. Then the whole cake is iced with a frosting made from melted semi-sweet chocolate and sour cream.

As I write this, I believe I’ve made my decision. We know who’s dish is on the chopping block.

Kids, don’t try this at home

I will be 70 in a couple of weeks, and I’ll just say this. It’s not getting any easier.

As you may recall, I am religious about my strengthening exercises. I timed my routine the other day, and it takes me about an hour to do them all. Some days it feels like a lifetime, so I was surprised. An hour? That’s not too much to ask.

I’ve made incredible progress in the 17 months I’ve been at it, and I got a little carried away this week showing Dale how good I am at squats. Admittedly, this was after a couple of beers and The Clash blasting on the turntable.

Let me be the first to tell you party squats are never a good idea. Kids, don’t try this at home.

Everything seemed OK, but the next morning I was loading the dishwasher and pow! My back went out. It’s not too terrible, but I’m taking a week off from golf and trying to remember gentle is good.

I picked a perfect week to be stupid, as we are headed for several days of triple-digit weather.

What I’m Watching

I just finished The Hunting Wives on Netflix. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen anywhere. A nice Boston girl moves to Texas with her husband and gets mixed up with a secretive group of wealthy women with guns.

Sleazy beyond compare, the husbands make money but are otherwise worthless, the women are vicious (although very much enjoying sex with each other) and the scene featuring one of the male-female couples having their version of sex still haunts me. Some things I just didn’t need to know.

While no one would compare this to Masterpiece Theatre, I found it strangely addictive. There’s a murder mystery in the midst of all that sex, and our poor Boston girl is somehow caught up in the middle of all that, so it’s not just about the kink.

The end was a complete shocker, and there’s something to be said for the art of surprise.

Next up was The Thursday Murder Club, which premiered on Netflix this week. I didn’t know at first it was a movie not a series. It was OK but a miss, I think, and not nearly as funny as the books. The author’s descriptions and observations were so witty, and his unique humor didn’t translate to the screen.

It’s hard to say if it’s the writing, casting or acting – but none of the characters hit home with me. The whole thing just made me want to re-read the books.

I also started season six of Unforgotten on PBS. I do love PBS, but for some reason, it doesn’t show that I watched season five, so it was quite the hassle to figure out where I was in the series. Back in the old days, we got one season a year, which was easy enough for this old-timer.

That said, I do love the streaming options we have today, so no more complaining from me.

What I’m Eating

Dale roasted a whole chicken this week. One of my favorites. I know it sounds crazy, but I don’t care all that much for fried chicken. Give me a roasted bird any day. All plump and juicy with crispy golden brown skin and succulent meat.

We always go for the leg quarters on the first night, mostly because the breast meat is better for leftovers. Dale used up most of the white meat the next night on a batch of chicken tortilla soup, and half of that went in the freezer.

All is well with the world when you have good back-up soup.

We ate the chicken with broccoli and his New England-style stuffing, which is made with ground potatoes, onions, bread and seasonings. It sounds odd, but it’s quite delicious. He puts it in the bird. Same with Thanksgiving turkey.

I made Slow Cooker Tomato Lentil Soup from the NY Times. They promoted it as a summer soup, since it uses fresh tomatoes, and I would concur. It was like the best tomato basil bisque you’ve ever had. The red lentils pretty much dissolve but add heft and flavor to the base.

The comments are always interesting in the NY Times food app. Quite a few people didn’t want to use heavy cream. Jeez, I lust for heavy cream. Some substituted coconut milk, which I also love, but I didn’t want to change the flavor profile. The only change I made was to double the garlic.

I was going to make Brown Butter Skillet Corn Bread to accompany the soup, but I saw a half a cup of maple syrup and decided it was too sweet for our taste. Instead, I made our old standby blue corn muffins. Blue corn has a delicious earthy taste, and I believe it’s actually a little better for you than yellow cornmeal.

Recipes abound on the Internet, but you might have to resort to Amazon to get the blue corn meal. I get stone-ground blue cornmeal for the muffins but blue corn masa for tortillas.

I also made tuna noodle casserole. Such a flashback but still worthy after all these years. Mine is from Valerie Bertinelli. I have a few modifications. I add garlic, celery, peas and two cans of oil-packed tuna instead of one. She calls for medium shells, but I use large. Valerie also likes flavored potato chips as the topping, but I use plain.

This time I used Gibble’s, a brand we love from Pennsylvania. Dale gets them in the mail. He’s quite serious about his chips. These are fried in lard. If there’s such a thing as a lard-based potato chip in your local store, I say go for it.

The casserole was yum and four servings made it to the freezer. We have the best freezer food.

What I’m Reading

I’ve been on the waiting list at the library for The Tainted Cup by Robert Jackson Bennett. I just got it yesterday, but I started it and like it so far. It’s a sci-fi murder mystery and Hugo award finalist, so I have high hopes.

Weirder than normal

I’ve been feeling weirder than normal, which is saying something.

It started with a jaw ache. I mentioned it during my regular visit to the dentist and after x-rays and all that, he said nothing looked amiss. Then he asked if I was clenching my teeth. I said probably. Lots to clench about these days.  

He fitted me for a mouth guard to wear as I clench my way through the night. I pick it up next week. When I mentioned it to Dale, he said that might explain why his jaw hurts. It looks like we’re in this together. ‘Til death do us clench.

Then I was reading about the new Republican ideal woman. Thin, white, obsessed with healthy eating. Geez, that sounds a lot like me, with some obvious omissions on the healthy part. But my hair could pass for Republican. It scared me at first, but I’m not surrendering in advance. They can take my bob when they pry it out of my cold dead hands.

Fortunately, I realized it doesn’t matter anyway. The thin, white, Republican women they were talking about are young. Uterus-forward. Having babies, they hope. Childless cat ladies of a certain age are already off the radar for anyone who cares what women look like. And you know what? I’m good with that. I’ll just ride this whole thing out under cover of agedness.

Let’s see. Oh, pop culture. It turns out everything I know is dead.

On the bright side, I’ve been trying to be more sociable and had a tiny win this week. As an introvert, I’m terrible at chit-chat and just want to be alone with my puzzles. I went back to the basics and asked a question. Several of us were relaxing after golf, and someone mentioned music. I said, “What was the best concert you ever attended?”

That started a fun conversation, and one of the women said and I quote, “Great question!” See? Now we’re talking positive feedback. You, too, can improve your social skills with one quick lesson from Retirement Confidential. Call now for this exclusive offer!

The other weird thing is my car. Sometimes on the way to golf, I eat a PBJ burrito – peanut butter and jelly rolled up burrito-style in a small flour tortilla. I got gunk all over my hand and my cute white skort one day and assumed some of the jelly squirted out as I was eating. I wiped up what I could.

But then it happened again, and while I did not do a taste test, I realized it was not jelly at all. That’s the good news. I can eat and drive. But it appears some sort of adhesive is bubbling up through the center console. I dropped the car off at the dealership this morning, and the service guy gave me the side eye. Like, seriously, lady? I have to waste my time on this?

He said they would take a look at it, but he wasn’t sure what they could do. I said I don’t know a lot about cars, but I imagine you could remove the console, clean up the mess, apply new adhesive and replace the console. He said probably.

For backup, I was prepared to say, “I’m sorry, but the car is less than two years old, and I’m new to sticky substances bubbling up through my ride.” My backup backup is for when they try and charge me for all this. That’s when I’ll be ready with, “Oh, toxic messes leaking from the console is considered normal wear and tear?”

I’m hoping we won’t have to go there.    

So, Substack. I have to say something about Substack. I started reading The Contrarian on Substack after Jennifer Rubin left the Washington Post. That led me to Robert Reich, Paul Krugman and Heather Cox Richardson, who are reputable writers with important content I’m not seeing in the mainstream media.

Nothing wrong with Substack, per se. But there are also lots of people you’ve never heard of pumping conspiracy theories that are sometimes consistent with my world view. And I’m like, oh, goodie, that explains it. I want more! Except you don’t know who or what to believe. Now I understand how people get sucked into this sort of thing.

I had been thinking of either switching to Substack for this blog or at least sharing some of my content on the platform. Even though there’s some high-quality reporting to be found, the feed (Substack Notes) is no better than Facebook, X or any of the other social media sites. As I see it, there’s really no way to filter out misinformation.

I’ll still read the stuff I read – but after clenching my way through several nights, I decided I’m not going to play in that sandbox.

Weirder Than Normal. That could be my legacy. The leading candidate is currently She Tried Hard.  

Tune out the noise

As soon as I said I would just keep writing, I just stopped writing. Life is weird. You heard it here first.

One of my issues is that I self-censor. I think, this is bad or this is boring or this is too political or whatever, but I am going to try harder to tune out the noise and just say what I have to say. Some posts won’t resonate with some readers, and that’s OK. Most of you keep coming back!

The other issue is that I am distraught over what is happening in our country, and sometimes it feels like a choking haze that affects every aspect of my life. It’s death by a thousand cuts. We feel some impacts immediately, but others will unfold over time … the attack on education, medicine and science, climate change denial. This is the legacy these people want to leave their children and grandchildren?

In spite of it all, I am fine and happy to be standing upright. About 26 years ago, I survived cancer with roughly a 30 percent chance of living five years. I later wrote a piece called, Cancer in My Pocket. You can read the whole thing here, but the gist of it is in these words:

Sometimes I imagine that I carry around cancer in my pocket like an emergency dollar bill. And sometimes I just have to reach in my pocket and fish it out to remind me that every minute of every day is a gift.

I wish I had learned all this important stuff in some other way, but I ignored all the little sticks. It was the big stick that got my attention. For those of you who are better with sticks, I think the thing to remember is that whatever we’re doing, wherever we’ve been and wherever we’re going, no matter how bad it gets, we’re lucky. We’re really, really lucky.

So, yes, I’ve been digging around in my pockets, where I usually find used tissues, but that’s another story. I’ve been so disappointed in the Supreme Court, but I was excited to see a federal judge navigate through the rulings and find a way to at least temporarily stop the assault on birthright citizenship. Although it doesn’t seem like the courts will save us, they just might.  

In other news, Dale, at age 76, was diagnosed with psoriasis. He’s blaming Trump. Well, the stress induced by Trump. May as well, since Biden gets blamed for everything else.

It’s a miserable ailment, and he was not a happy camper. Fortunately, the flare-up has passed but geez, you’d think he was the first guy who ever had an itchy spot. And then there’s his complete lack of experience with moisturizing. Seriously, it’s not that hard. Anyway, now I know what they mean by the heartbreak of psoriasis.  

My achy breaky body parts are doing reasonably well. Every morning is like roll call.

Knees?

Here!

Back?

Here!

Shoulder?

Present!

There’s always a joker in the midst. The shoulder is my new loudmouth, but I’m committed to getting through this. My knees are the best they’ve been in decades, and that took more than a year of dedicated physical therapy. Now I’ve got a slew of shoulder exercises, and I truly believe eventually I will have a stronger more resilient body that can hold up to the pressures I put on it.

With the knees feeling so good, you may remember I talked about doing a multi-day walk. I was getting all excited going down that rabbit hole, when it occurred to me I might just relax and enjoy normal activity without knee pain. What a concept!

All in all, it is hard to watch our country slide down the shame spiral … I mean, masked federal agents? Who thinks that’s OK? But we still have life, and it is a beautiful thing. Now if Trump is awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, then we know everything, absolutely everything is rigged.

Maybe I got it wrong. I’ll bet it’s the Nobel Pizza Prize. That would make more sense. I’m sure he eats his share.

Trigger points

Just a little question for other bloggers … are you getting AI comments? Mine go straight to the spam folder, but the first one looked so real I unspammed it and responded. Then I started getting more, so I now just delete them.

The level of detail is quite amazing. Sort of like my best friend commenting on every single thought I shared in the post and asking probing questions to stimulate dialogue. If that really is you best friend, I apologize for comparing you to artificial intelligence.

This is probably why I was never popular.

I’ve had some promising news on the creaky body parts countdown to eternity. As background, I exercise, stretch and strengthen religiously, but I still have a multitude of issues. I suppose it’s age, but I also wonder if my cancer history plays a role. No estrogen since 1999, and I believe that contributes to musculoskeletal problems. But hey, I’m alive, so yay!

I used to say I had three areas that needed constant attention – knees, back and wrists. I’ve been in physical therapy for about 15 months, and we’ve made excellent progress on all three.

But then my shoulder and arm started bothering me three months ago. Simple things like putting on a sweater is excruciating, but golf is OK. I finally got in to see the sports medicine doctor, who believes the issue is trigger points in my shoulder referring pain down my arm.

I don’t completely understand it all, but I guess trigger points are muscles that knot up for various reasons, including overuse. That’s probably me. I got new golf clubs this year, and I went to the driving range way more than I typically go, and hitting off mats doesn’t help.

It seems the solution is to somehow get the trigger points to release. Massage helps. Rolling up against a tennis ball – anything that puts pressure on those knots. I’ve also been doing a slew of exercises to strengthen the shoulder.

For some immediate relief, the doctor used dry needling. It sounds horrible, but I never saw the needle, and it didn’t hurt. He finds those tender spots, inserts the needle, and you can feel the muscle twitch and pulse. It’s wild. The doctor said it could be a case of one and done, but I might need to come back for a tune-up.

The shoulder and the arm are much better, but I will probably have to go back. I was afraid he was going to tell me to stop playing golf, but he said do everything you can possibly do. No restrictions. I might have some pain along the way, but as an active “aging” adult, some pain is to be expected. But he can help get it from a 7 to a 2 on the pain scale and to think of it as something that can be managed.

I like that mentality. In the absence of illness or serious injury, just keep going. I played golf two days in a row this week. I usually try to skip a day but thought, what the hell? I was no worse for the wear, but it did get a little weird.

A friend and I were paired with two women we didn’t know. One of them was decidedly unfriendly. Talk about trigger points! She made everything harder than it had to be, and it was frustrating.

As we reached our final hole, she looked us dead in the eye and said, “This is the last hole.” We’re like, yeah, OK, sure. Then she said it again is this creepy Grim Reaper voice.

“This is the last hole.”

My friend looked up and said, “Ever?”

I cannot stop laughing about that. Seriously, I have tears in my eyes right now.

And on that note, I leave you with fresh cherry scones with lime drizzle.

My physical therapy journey

This month marks a year since I started physical therapy. I thought I’d share the highlights of my journey … you know, just in case your body isn’t functioning as advertised. If physical therapy is an option, this might help you weigh the pros and cons.

I originally started physical therapy after several bouts of debilitating sciatica, presumably caused by spinal stenosis. Other body parts soon cried out for attention, and my PT helped me work through those issues as well. Medicare is my primary insurance, and Tricare for Life is my secondary. Other than deductibles, I have paid zero out-of-pocket expenses.

When I first started, I went weekly. Since then, I’ve averaged twice a month. During my 30-minute visit, we review my home exercise program, and the PT uses manual therapy to treat whatever hurts the most that day.  

My home program started with exercises to strengthen my core. There’s no universal prescription, but my routine includes dead bugs, forearm planks, Pallof holds and slow sit-ups using a resistance band to help get me up and down. It takes about an hour to complete them all, and I usually do them every other day. It’s a commitment.

It took about six weeks of regular exercise to feel any difference, but I’ve had very little back or leg pain since. I had one flare-up around Christmas, but it only lasted a couple of days. Early in my treatment, he massaged the glutes to relieve sciatic pain, but my back has been remarkably responsive to the exercise regime.

My other bad actors are knees and wrists. We shall start with wrists. I broke both of them about 15 years ago, and they haven’t been the same since. I’ve had tests and seen specialists, and the only thing they found is thumb arthritis.

I usually wear thumb braces at night, and they help a lot. My PT also massages my wrists and the base of my thumb, and that is hugely helpful. I try to copy his technique between visits. One of the exercises for my back also helps my wrists, and that is the marching carry. I do high-step marches around the house for a few minutes with my arms hanging down but carrying 8-pound weights. I started with 5-pounds and am working my way up.

My wrists are better. I just have to be careful – it’s easy to over-do an exercise and go back to square one.

Both knees have been abused for many years overdoing it in sports activities, but the right one is mostly OK. The left one hurts a lot, and we’ve spent months working on some relief. We started with lunges and squats to strengthen the quadriceps, and that was working well. By September, I had graduated to leg extensions on the machines. But it was too much, and my knee went batshit crazy.

I am no stranger to pain, so believe me when I say this was bad. But there was no popping or anything like that. Just intense burning pain that would come on fast and then go away. The doctor ordered an MRI, which shows cartilage damage and a possible meniscus tear, but the she said that could be degenerative and not necessarily an acute injury.

The worst of the pain was gone by late November. I was back to whatever passes for normal by the beginning of the year, so the PT put me back on leg extensions but this time at home first using no weights at all and then adding 2.5-pound weights. I just increased to 5-pound weights, and so far, so good.

This is the best my knees have felt in a long, long time. As I’ve read about chronic knee pain, you  have to think of it as “cartilage time.” Nothing happens fast. My PT wants me to keep working with the ankle weights with a long-term plan to go eventually back to the machines. I suspect lunges and squats are in my future as well.

I was thinking today – geez – what’s this weird feeling? Oh, yeah, my body feels pretty good! It has not been a perfect journey. That little setback with my knees was brutal, and I wanted to give up. But I knew quitting wasn’t going to get me out of this hole. I did not want to be hobbling around on bad knees forever if I could do anything about it. I saw the solution as a matter of patience and persistence.

And that’s my final thought if you are considering physical therapy. It’s not a spa. You have to make yourself do these damn exercises, but the results for me have been worth it. I’m active … walking, swimming and playing golf, sometimes with a little pain and sometimes not, but I’m still active. The only thing I take for pain is the occasional Advil and have so far avoided surgery.

If this is as good as it gets, I’ll take it, but I am hopeful continuing PT will bring further improvement. I keep joking with the PT that I’ll be 70 in September — he’s got until then to get me fixed up. Maybe it’s crazy talk, but I want to start my 70s feeling strong.

Put your oxygen mask on first

In the continuing adventures of Comrade Trump Goes to Washington, I find myself angry and depressed. I know what you’re saying … hey, lady, take a number. Still, I continue to ruminate because I am not happy being unhappy.

Today I thought I’d share where I am headed because you can read about Outrage of the Day anywhere, but maybe a nugget or two on how to stay sane might be a good way for me to contribute.

Like many of you, I am healthy and have a good life. I do not take any of it for granted. While I want to do my part to stop this madness, reading about it and thinking about it is probably worse than living it. Yet here we are.

I rejected my first option, which was to drink heavily and stay in bed until it’s over. Instead, I asked myself, is there a way to compartmentalize? To do the right thing but somehow enjoy life?

Here’s where I landed:

  • Turn off the fire hose. I’m all about staying informed, but I don’t need to be convinced. All of it is bad, and some of it is worse than the rest. Immersing myself in news and opinion does not make it better. Seriously, it wrecks me. I can feel it in my body. I can feel it in my brain. I don’t sleep well. So, I’m reading enough to be articulate, enough so I can share my opinion when it has the potential to make a difference.
  • Accept the burden. No one is coming to save us. You can hope the courts will fix it or the Republicans will implode, but in the end, each of us must stand up for Democracy. We can all help in different ways, but we can’t look away and hope for the best. I’ve already said I’m not much of an activist and don’t want to be, but this is reality. Sign on the dotted line.
  • Know your limits. Even the smallest gestures count. I may not be a superstar in this opposition, but I can participate in some way without guilt or shame. I’m donating to organizations fighting it all in court. I’ve been writing and calling my elected officials. I had to let go of all the “why bother” doubt about whether my effort makes an impact. My new mantra is assume it does and then do it again.
  • Enjoy simple pleasures. We might be hanging on by a thread, but I still believe in the inalienable rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. That’s kind of what this whole thing is all about, but it was still a bit of a shock to realize it’s OK to tune out and enjoy yourself.

In other words, put your oxygen mask on first.

No big thoughts here

I scheduled my colonoscopy for Jan. 20, which is inauguration day. Sure, I could have watched Donald Trump take the oath of office, but I went with a good old-fashioned colon blow … the extended edition that includes a partially sedated anal probe.

No regrets.

I’m continuing to focus less on what’s actually happening in the world and more on what’s happening in our kitchen. Since I retired, I’ve learned that I’m a happier and calmer person when I quit trying to think the big thoughts and direct my energy into simple things that make life pleasurable. Food is always at the top of the list.

I made some excellent bread in 2024, especially sourdough, but this year I’d like to push a little harder and try some different recipes. Bagels, brioche, you name it. I also want to try making croissants. Not for the feint of heart, as I understand it.

We ate our share of sweets over the holidays, so I’m trying to cut back on sugar. No plans to give it up – I just want to be more mindful. Save it for when it counts! I’ve been eating a lot of oatmeal, which is good. But I’ve been hammering it with brown sugar, which is, shall we say, not my best choice. Does oatmeal even need to be sweet?

I Googled savory oatmeal, and there’s a lot out there with stuff I really don’t want to eat in the morning. I kept it simple and made a batch with just chopped walnuts and a little salt. Very good. Then I tried it with chopped walnuts, currants, olive oil and a dash of sea salt. Yum!

While I might still do the sweeter variety of oatmeal from time to time, I’m enjoying these other options. What about something with sesame oil ? Some toasted seeds?

One of my other breakfast treats is an egg cooked in olive oil. I heat a couple of tablespoons of olive oil into a small nonstick pan and then add an egg as though I’m frying it. But it almost poaches in the pool of oil. When the egg is done, I pour the whole thing – oil and egg – on sourdough toast. It’s so delicious. I’m wondering if it might be good on oatmeal, too.

I’m starting my sourdough tonight, and we’re having that tomorrow with balsamic glazed chicken thighs with burst tomatoes and green beans. I put a bottle of Gewürztraminer in the fridge. People think Gewürz is a sweet wine, but we buy a dry variety from Navarro Vineyards. We love it..

Pizza tonight. A replay of a pizza Dale made for the first time a few weeks ago. He said he was experimenting with new toppings, and it was going to sound weird. Hot Italian sausage, anchovies and red onion. I said, what’s weird about that? It sounds wonderful.

And it was seriously one of the best pizzas he has ever made. The anchovies sort of melt into the sausage, and it’s an umami flavor bomb. A little crunch of the red onion, and a sprinkling of parmesan, and you wonder where this has been all your life.

No big thoughts here, but a toast perhaps?

To you, may your pleasures be simple and your food simply delicious.

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.

Cancer in my pocket

Sometimes I am surprised by the power of blogging. Sometimes it feels like a thankless compulsion, and sometimes it feels like a life-saving jolt through the heart.

For those who may remember, I wrote a blog from 2008-2012 called Rock the Silver … about gray hair and aging with style. I was never particularly good at the style part, what with my preference for all black until something darker comes along, but it was a fun blog with a core group of loyal readers.

One of those readers was Maru, a stage 4 endometrial cancer survivor. As a stage 3 ovarian cancer survivor, we shared similar medical histories and were both graduates of the Taxol School of Hard Knocks. Maru’s cancer survival tips are essential reading.

Maru found me again when I started this blog. She is healthy and strong and getting closer to retirement. We were exchanging emails, and I said, “We are so lucky to have survived – did you even think you’d get this close to retirement?”

Funny, Maru said, she and a bunch of her cousins all turned 60 around the same time. They bemoaned the milestone, as Baby Boomers often do. Maru, on the other hand, said she couldn’t have been happier to turn 60.

“And every year ongoing has been delicious. As you once put it: cancer in my pocket.”

I was completely blown away – I published that post on February, 18, 2012. The words meant something to someone I have never met, and she remembered it all these years later.

Sadly, I know only too well not everyone is lucky when it comes to cancer. I grieve for those who have passed and those who are suffering. While we survivors and caregivers get to live a bit longer, we owe it to our loved ones to seek joy and carry on with this mystery called life. We live in their honor.

Here’s the old post:

Thursday, I visited the dermatologist for my annual check-up. I go every year for the big naked look-see, because I respect cancer. I figure, well, I got it once when I least suspected it, so I should be vigilant about everything.

I saw this particular doctor for the first time last year, and I remember him being amazed I was an ovarian cancer survivor. I actually had primary peritoneal cancer, which is pretty much the same thing as ovarian. If it’s a drive-by, I say ovarian. If I’m sitting next to you on the airplane, I’ll tell you everything if you ask nicely.

The doctor walked into the room as I sat there naked and draped in a flimsy paper robe, and the first thing he said was:

You’re the ovarian cancer survivor.

Yes, 13 years next month.

Wow. You’re lucky.

I know.

They must have caught it early.

No, it was advanced. Stage 3.

You’re really really lucky.

Believe me, I know.

But sometimes I have to be reminded! He asked me a lot of questions about my surgery and treatment and was surprised they had Taxol “back then.” I said absolutely, I had a chance encounter at a golf course of all places with a researcher who helped develop the drug, and he said I was the poster girl for Taxol. It was approved for use in 1992, so by the time I needed it in 1999, they had worked out the optimum cycle.

Following the surgery to remove as much cancer as possible, I had a cocktail of Benadryl, Taxol and Carboplatin infused every 21 days for six months. I’ve been fine ever since. Benadryl is an anti-allergan, and I am pleased to let you know it was one hell of a rush when shot directly into your vein. The rush didn’t last long, but I looked forward to it just the same.

Anyway, I passed the dermo exam. It was a good visit, and I’d go back again right this minute just to hear him say how lucky I am. Sometimes I imagine that I carry around cancer in my pocket like an emergency dollar bill. And sometimes I just have to reach in my pocket and fish it out to remind me that every minute of every day is a gift.

I wish I had learned all this important stuff in some other way, but I ignored all the little sticks. It was the big stick that got my attention. For those of you who are better with sticks, I think the thing to remember is that whatever we’re doing, wherever we’ve been and wherever we’re going, no matter how bad it gets, we’re lucky. We’re really, really lucky.