Category: Health & Wellness

Send in the clowns

It turns out Dale is not the only one around here who can do his own circus stunts. I was going to write about this sooner, but my humor was impaired.

No, that’s not it. It was something about humor not being funny. Oh, yes, I’ve got it now. My humerus was fractured. Which means I fell and broke my arm.

Sometimes I crack myself up.

I was being Super Caregiver, doing too many things at once and tripped on a power cord that should not have been there in the first place. I knew right away it was bad. Dale still couldn’t drive, so I had to get a neighbor to take me to the ER.

Well, you know how all that goes. I left there a couple of hours later in a sling. My neighbor came to retrieve me, and I was already on the phone with the home health care company scheduling help.

I am one-finger typing, so I will keep it short.

This is awful, but we will survive. Dale’s arms are strong, and my legs are sturdy. Between the two of us, we almost make a whole. The pain is manageable. I’ve got to get some follow-up CT scans to rule out surgery. They don’t think I will need it but want to be sure. All I can say is I sure hope not. But I have made peace with whatever happens.

Dale practiced driving today, if you can believe that. Just in the neighborhood, but he is declaring us mobile again. Our home health aide started today. Four hour shifts, three times a week. She can also take us to appointments, the grocery store, etc.

What a lesson in humility. My able-bodied arrogance was a bit much. Now I’m using shower chair I bought for Dale! Oh, and when everyone told me to take care of myself, I thought that meant massages, facials and golf. What it really means is slow down, be mindful, take care not to hurt yourself.

A little late, but I like to share my lessons learned.

I find myself singing Send in the Clowns.

Isn’t it rich?

Are we a pair?

Me here at last on the ground

You in mid-air

Send in the clowns

Isn’t it bliss?

Don’t you approve?

One who keeps tearing around

One who can’t move

Where are the clowns?

Send in the clowns

Just when I’d stopped opening doors

Finally knowing the one that I wanted was yours

Making my entrance again with my usual flair

Sure of my lines

No one is there

Don’t you love farce?

My fault, I fear

I thought that you’d want what I want

Sorry, my dear

But where are the clowns?

Quick, send in the clowns

Don’t bothеr, they’re herе

What’s best for both of us

I’ll say one thing about a family crisis – it diverts your attention away from the news. I’m still aware of all the terrible things going on, but it’s a blur. I seriously do not have the bandwidth to make myself miserable over all that, too.

Dale is doing absolutely great. If I’m counting correctly, it has been 36 days since the accident, and he has been home 11 full days. He can now get in and out of bed without assistance, dress himself, use the bathroom and brush his teeth. He still needs a little help with the shower, but it’s way easier than the fiasco of his first night home.

I bought a caddy that attaches to the walker, and he uses that for trips back and forth to the kitchen. It even has a strap to secure a cup of coffee. We’re trying to get him used to doing as much as he can for himself. Some would say that’s because it’s best for Dale, but I promised to tell the truth here, and I am encouraging his independence mostly because it’s best for Donna.

In reality, mutual independence is best for both of us.

I made a list of all the daily actions, and we went through it together and figured out how to eliminate things I specifically have to do. A simple thing like keeping all his devices charged was solved with an extension cord (safely out of tripping range) and a power strip.   

Dale started PT, which he loved, but then the PT was a no-show today. I guess because of the holiday, but this guy is a professional – it’s his job to make sure we’re all clear on when he is and isn’t coming. Dale is doing a few extra laps around the house, but that hardly makes up for the guided exercises.

In the middle of all this, Dale had a hang-nail like thing on his finger that was becoming discolored, so we made a run to the urgent care. He did really well with the car ride and the transfers and all that. It was infected, so it’s a good thing we went. The doctor drained it and put him on antibiotics. If it’s not one thing, it’s three.

His sister is here until Wednesday. She has been an absolute lifeline, but it will be good when we get our space back. I think she’s ready to go, too.

You would be surprised how hard it is for three people to agree on what to have for dinner or what to watch on TV. I don’t think I’m being judgmental when I say she has odd dietary preferences. I won’t say her foods can’t touch ever, but she definitely prioritizes distinct parcels of protein, vegetable and starch.

As for TV, she and Dale ganged up on me and voted for Cheers and Mash reruns. Dark times.

One night we watched The Monuments Men. What a great movie and so timely. It follows an Allied group of fine arts specialists tasked to find and save pieces of art and other culturally important items before Nazis destroy or steal them during World War II.

The very beginning of the movie has a quote that I later looked up because I think we’re headed in this direction. I mean, some of it is already happening.

“You can wipe out an entire generation, you can burn their homes to the ground and somehow they’ll still come back. But if you destroy their achievements and their history then it’s as if they never existed.”

On a much more banal note, I’m going to play golf Wednesday and hopefully with some regularity after that. My hair has gone native, so I scheduled a haircut for later this week. I’m comfortable leaving Dale unchaperoned. At least I think I am.

I carefully weighed whether to hire a home health aide. At this point, the only real job is babysitting. Well, that’s not fair. Let’s call it monitoring Dale to make sure he’s not doing anything stupid and possibly assisting with light housework. As I understand it, the people who do this work are relatively low-skilled and without credentials that might keep them from going rogue. I have no personal connections, so it’s luck of the draw.

While I’m sure there are some very fine people in the queue, it’s easier to skip it. Dale is further along that I thought he’d be at this point. I can handle the housework. I did most of it before anyway, so it’s just a little extra. If I can get out for walks, golf and self-care appointments, I’ll be fine.

Thank you for all the warm wishes, good vibes, prayers and other words of wisdom. Call me crazy, but I think it’s working.

Home again, home again

When Dale first went into the Skilled Nursing Facility after fracturing his pelvis, the Physical Therapists suggested Skechers slip-ins, since tying his shoes might be difficult for several weeks to several months.

Of course, he scoffed. He’s fine with the shoes he has. Yes he is! A few days later, I talked to him again about the Skechers, and he flatly said no way. We shall not speculate on his reasons, but OK, maybe we will speculate he thinks they are for old farts who can’t bend over and tie their shoes.

The day before he was discharged, I went to visit the PT room, where he was doing his exercises and charming the ladies. The PT said, “Donna, Dale is doing great, and he wants a pair of Skechers.”

“Really?” I said. “Does he now?” Both of the PTs were laughing, so I guess they know. Dale, newly designated old fart, is now the proud owner of a nice pair of Skechers. One of the nurses said to get a half size larger, and she was right.

The trip home went great. He got in and out of the car with ease. He likes the bed! He can get up and down on his own and use the walker to get to the bathroom or the living room, but he’s at high risk for a fall right now, so we monitor his movements. His sister, Coris, is here helping, and I am so grateful. I’m worn out.

The whole set-up I spent so much time on is working out beautifully. Coris gave me a 10 out of 10 in preparation. She’s a retired nurse, so I graciously accepted her accolades. A nurse came to do the pre-assessment for what he will need in the way of physical therapy, home health care, etc. Coris spoke nurse talk to her, and that helped immeasurably. I could easily have unleashed on the poor nurse, and I didn’t. Coris sent me off to make a copy of Dale’s meds, and that was one slick move.

Tomorrow a physical therapist and an occupational therapist are supposed to call and set up an arrival time for his first visit. Once we know how that works, then I will make other plans that include fun time for me.

We did have to modify my award-winning set-up just a tad. The bathroom is small, but we learned the hard way it does not easily accommodate me, Dale, a walker and an open shower door. We were doing a practice run for a shower, and we had to slide around like one of those puzzles with all the squares to get out.

Once we were liberated, a neighbor came to remove the bathroom door, and that gave us much more room to navigate the space.

The shower has grab bars, but Dale was not confident at this point. As it happens, Medicare provided a commode, which has a bowl, but you can take the bowl off and set the whole thing over the toilet. It raises the seat and has arms for stability. I bought a shower seat that swivels so Dale could sit down and swivel to the direction of the water without actually moving.

The only problem is his butt. The fracture is on the left, but it turns out the most significant pain is on the right. He saw the doctor right before he was discharged, and that pain on the right is a hematoma, and not a small one. It’s significant tissue damage, and the doc said it will just take time to feel better and heal. Coris calls it hamburger butt, because that tissue is so chewed up by trauma. Dale calls it hamburger helper.

Sitting in general is a problem, and he’s not yet ready to try the shower stool because it doesn’t have arms. We moved the commode in there because he can sit on that and use his arms to prop himself up a bit and take some of the pressure off.

There’s also a small step up into the shower, and he wasn’t ready to try that. We figure the PT and the OT will help us devise a good shower scheme, but Dale was pretty funky and needed to be hosed off ASAP.

Here’s what we did. I stripped down to my underwear and got in the back of the shower. Coris placed the commode inside the shower. We left the shower door open. Dale got onto the commode and left his feet hanging outside the shower. Coris stripped down to a t-shirt and undies and lined the bathroom floor with towels. Then we got to work. She saved his private parts for me, and she took care of his legs and feet.

It was messy, but it worked, and Dale was a happy camper. I feel certain he will quickly upgrade to the swivel seat and eventually standing with the grab bars. But we worked with what we had. It was actually hilarious and should have been televised.

We don’t want him moving around at night because of the fall risk. He and I agreed to keep our phones by the bed and his instructions are to call me if he needs anything. Sure enough, he’s called me every effing night, but they were legitimate things, and I think we’re working through that. I never had kids, but I kind of feel like a new mom waiting until I can sleep through the night.

Dale is doing better every day. He’s reducing his heavy duty pain meds and supplementing with Advil, per the doctor’s instructions. Once we have a schedule, I want to hire a mini-me to watch over him while I go out and play golf or otherwise goof off. I’m a better caregiver than anyone expected, including me, but I don’t like it.

There, I said it.

What a journey. I so appreciate everyone’s good wishes. Thank you! Long-lost friends, casual acquaintances, golf buddies, family and blog followers have all reached out to help us during this time, and it makes you realize a good life means you take care of each other when you can.

Dinner tonight is a Maine-thing his sister is making for Dale. She baked beans and bread yesterday, and they were delicious, but today they make sandwiches of cold beans and butter on untoasted bread. I am going with Plan B. Not sure what that is at this point, but I can’t quite take bean sandwiches.

News from the mediverse

I actually predicted Trump would do something horrible in Venezuela on Christmas Day, because that’s how he rolls, but I guess he couldn’t get it done on time. What a despicable act by our country, but hey, we’re not thinking about the Epstein files anymore.

Except we are. Because we are not stupid, and we are not looking away from any of these crimes. I called my Republican congressman this morning and left a message. Not that he has a spine, but you never know.

Let’s see. News from the mediverse. Dale is doing much better. I don’t think they ever succeeded in getting ahead of his pain, but the pain finally subsided enough for the meds to work effectively. Ha – caught you, you sneaky bastards.

One evening Dale texted me that the meds didn’t put a dent in the pain. I was ready to go to bed, but I flew down to the facility (on my broom) and explained the situation to the charge nurse. We went together to his room, where he was resting comfortably. She asked him where his pain was on the scale, and he said a 2.

The look on her face. The look on my face. I wish I had that moment captured on film. I’m like, you dragged my ass down here for a 2? I’m sure she was thinking the same thing. Anyway, by the next day, the pain mitigation was working well. We shall pretend the other thing didn’t happen.

He has lost close to 10 pounds. While he welcomes the weight loss, this particular diet sucks.

Dale moves about quite nicely with the help of the walker and the physical therapist. He can get in and our of bed with minimal assistance. Sitting still hurts quite a bit, but even that might be improving. Dale is not exactly Communicator of the Year. I had to have a little talk with him about being his own advocate. I’m still there for him, of course, but he has to speak up if he’s in pain or needs something.

The plan is to bring him home Thursday. Lots of moving parts, but I’m confident this whole thing will work. His sister is coming from Maine to help. We like each other a lot, but you know. Family can be hard. We talked about it, and we’re just going to get over it for now. Too many other things to worry about.

I’m really glad she’s coming. She and Dale have a strong bond, and she’s a retired nurse. I will need reinforcements, and she’s exactly the right person to help.

Medicare covers some of the home health assistance, and I am planning to supplement that with private help, at least for a couple of weeks. The risk of fall is still pretty high, and we want to make sure that doesn’t happen.

Since he fell off an extension ladder and is flat on his back in a nursing facility, watching the clock to see when the next pain pill arrives, hoping the meds don’t cause a complete bowel obstruction, listening to his roommate cry and peeing into a bedside urinal, I suggested we get rid of the ladder.

He said, oh, no, that’s a good ladder. I know what I did wrong.

Dude, are you smoking crack? I said you would actually get on that thing again??????? He said yes, of course. So, I asked my buddy at ChatGPT what to do. The bot said to respect his autonomy but find another place for the ladder until he’s capable of making a rational decision. I was going to ask a neighbor to store it in his garage, but everybody around here maximizes their garage space.

Instead, I found a hidey hole in our garage. Mostly out of sight. You hardly know it’s there. May it rest in peace.

What I’m watching

I’ve been watching The Diplomat on Netflix, but I’m not sure I’ll continue. We worked in an embassy in Cairo, so the diplomatic setting is nostalgic, and of course, I love all the relationship stuff, but the politics is kind of exhausting and maybe a little too relevant right now? Still, I do think the British foreign secretary is hot. Seems to me the ambassador agrees, and I’d like to be there when that happens.

Last night I switched to BritBox and saw there’s a new season of Shetland, so I watched that. I like Vera, but she sort of wears on me at times.

What I’m reading

I had a nice stack of books from the library and returned them all. I just can’t concentrate right now.

What I’m eating

Not much, I will tell you that. I left the facility a little early yesterday and had time to cook something other than a quesadilla or burrito. I was planning to stop at the grocery store, but it was pouring rain, and I wasn’t up for it. It was like an episode of Chopped. I found enough stuff to make my favorite Indian comfort food, Keema. It’s basically a spicy ground meat and spinach stew in coconut milk.

I found bison in the freezer. I ran out of spinach the night before, but I had a tub of the spinach-arugula mix. I didn’t have fresh tomatoes, but I had a can of fire-roasted tomatoes. I had all the spices and one can of coconut milk. I was missing fresh jalapenos but went out in the rain to Dale’s dying jalapeño plant and found a couple in good shape. I even had homemade naan in the freezer.

That’s the best meal I’ve had since this whole thing went down. Drank a beer with that, sucked down a bunch of water, popped a half of a sleep gummy and was asleep by 7:30.

Did I mention holidays are a pain?

Let’s see. I’m angry, sad and tired. But I’m grateful for spinach. It’s truly the wonder vegetable. You can use it for a salad or add it to a bowl of soup or a pasta sauce. Craving something cheesy and delicious but trying to eat healthy? Spinach quesadilla.

And the best part is a tub lasts all week.

So, I’ve pretty much been living on spinach when I come home from being Dale’s companion and advocate at the Skilled Nursing Facility. You might recall he’s there for a fractured pelvis.

But more about me … when I get home, I eat something and struggle to stay up until 7 p.m. Rinse, lather, repeat.

In some ways, Dale is doing great. He can walk now with the walker and the Physical Therapist by his side. He’s cheerful and talkative. He got a new roommate who also hates Trump, and they’ve had some great discussions. I mean, come on, is that karma or what?

But it’s weird. The fractures are on the left. At first sitting was fine. But after almost a week in the nursing facility, his butt on the right side hurts so badly he can’t sit for more than five minutes.

I’ve been going kind of nuts helping to get this resolved. The medical system is complicated, and it’s not for the weary kind.

So far, they think it’s because he’s compensating, putting the weight on his right because the left hurts, but still, you don’t know for sure, and it’s scary. I was ready to get him out of there and back to the hospital, but that comes with baggage, too. Let’s say they find nothing else wrong and want to discharge him. He’d either have to go back to the nursing facility if they still had a spot for him or find another one or come home. And I don’t have his downstairs room set up yet.

That’s in the works, but nothing happens fast. Oh, and did I mention it’s the holidays? Pain doesn’t take a holiday, but people do. The Ortho is on vacation, and so is everyone apparently. No one else can see him right away.

In the meantime, I am pressing for an MRI, and that’s no easy task. I did finally escalate this at the Ortho’s office, and yes, tears were involved, but the supervisor called later to tell me he has an appointment next week, she set it up so the nursing facility can transport him on a gurney so he doesn’t have to sit. She spoke with the on-call doctor, who said if the pain gets worse before his appointment, then I should have him transferred to the hospital.

I feel like that’s a solid plan. Dale’s on board with it. The medical-in-laws are on board with it. Lots of people tell me Skilled Nursing Facilities are horrible, and I need to get him out as soon as possible. Yes, this one is flawed in many ways, but I believe he’s in good hands.

After a long and stressful day, I feel better knowing I got someone in his line of care (as opposed to someone I met at the gas station) to say when it’s time to go back to the hospital. They didn’t dismiss me and actually gave me information that helps clarify the decision for us. For that alone, I deserve a medal. Or at least a Jameson.

We’re going to see how he does over the next few days. They are going to try some different pain management techniques. If the pain doesn’t worsen and he continues to improve, we will try to get him home sooner rather than later. I’m lining up private help to augment what Medicare provides.

His downstairs bed comes tomorrow, and I’m also getting some grab bars installed. The guy flat on his back in the SNF scoffed at the grab bars. I said they’re really for me. Call me crazy, but I don’t want to fall down and go boom.

Oh, and while I’m dissing on Dale, I’ve been after him for years to try protein drinks. He wanted no part of them. He’s not eating well in the facility, so I suggested he ask for protein drinks. I said you can get chocolate, and they are delicious. No, no, no. Not for Mr. Dale.

Then I walked in yesterday, and he mentioned they are bringing him protein drinks in the afternoon. Like this was the first he’d heard of them. “They’re delicious!” I asked him what flavor he got, and he said chocolate. I might just leave him there.

Anyway, that’s it. I’m thinking about dinner. Something cheesy. With spinach.

Adventures in medical care

The hospital was actually pretty nice. My husband had a private room, there was a couch where I could sit and they served Peet’s coffee. I guess the Medicare drill is after three nights, you will most likely be moved to a Skilled Nursing Facility (pronounced sniff) if you aren’t able to go home yet.

When I told my sister-in-law, who is a retired nurse, that he was moving to a SNF, she cried.

They gave me a list, and I had about an hour to decide. I looked to see which ones were closest to our house. I Googled reviews. We got our first choice, which got glowing reviews, high medical ratings, etc. Several commenters even said the food was excellent.

I’m told they are all pretty much the same. It’s not that I made a poor choice, it’s just that, you know, it’s not the Ritz. My first reaction was something between Cuckoo’s Nest and Girl, Interrupted.

The place is packed, and they gave him a bed in a room so tiny you couldn’t even access the bathroom (shared by four people) without moving stuff around. He was in the back, by the window, but you practically had to crawl over his roommate to get to Dale.

After the shock wore off and physical therapy arrived, we began to feel better. I started schmoozing (I was in PR, after all) and the next day got him moved to a much better room with a worse roommate. Dale said it was a worthy trade.

I won’t go into the details regarding the roommate, but aside from being old and sick, he’s mean to the staff, screams about this, that and the other thing and does not have complete control of his bowels. He makes a big production when he has an “accident.” Dale thinks he does it on purpose to get attention.

As I said, it’s not really a very pleasant place to be, but it’s clean and the staff is very kind and attentive and seem to be good at what they do. We both feel like he’s in good hands. The goal is to get him to the point where he can get up on his own, get to the bathroom, etc. Then he can come home. It will most likely be three weeks, the doctor suggested.

The food is pretty awful, but then you know what food snobs we are. The meals are healthy, and there’s good variety. Dale picks at it. He’s on a normal diet, so I’m allowed to bring food, which is a pain in the ass, but he needs more than what he is willing to eat off the tray. Oh, and daily coffee service from Donna’s instead of Peet’s.

He’s in good spirits and understands it’s a long journey. All I can say is if you visit one of these facilities, you will do whatever you can to keep from ending up there. Part of the place is long-term care, and that is just heart-breaking. Some of these poor souls sit in their wheelchairs out in the hallway, snoozing or muttering to themselves. A few scream now and then.

I’m doing OK, except I wish he’d just eat the damned food. But I get it. My new best friend is ChatGPT. I had never used it before, but I love it! I’m asking about beds for downstairs when he comes home, other medical equipment, how to deal with family members … it’s incredible!

While I don’t know what my chat friend’s gender is, I’m saying it’s a her. She gave me some advice about sibling matters, and out of habit, I wrote back to thank her and let her know which path I choose. She approved of my choices and applauded my emotional intelligence.

I was texting my young friend who’s more familar with all this stuff, and I said, “I think she’s sucking up to me.” My friend said, yes, but here’s some language to put in your preferences to let her know you don’t want that.

Although I did it, I sort of liked the sucking up. I promised myself I would not upload my photo and ask my chat buddy how old I looked. Or if my bob made me look like a Republican.

Stay off ladders

I guess I will just come out and say it. On Monday, Dale fell off a ladder getting down Christmas stuff out in the garage. I was not home when it happened. He crawled inside and waited for me. For two hours, maybe longer.

When I arrived, he was lying on a small carpeted area near the entryway. I asked what happened and if I could help him up, but he said he didn’t think he could get up. I said you know I’m going to have to call 911, right?

So, that’s what I did. They came quickly, moved him to a stretcher, put him in the ambulance and away he went to the hospital. The rescue guys told me to go to the ER and tell them my husband was transferred there by ambulance, and they would tell me where to go.

We spent a few hours in the ER. The doctor said it was good news, bad news. He did not break a hip, but he broke his pelvis. He fell off the bottom rung and went straight down onto his butt, so there were no head injuries or any other problems.

The doctor said sometimes people walk out of there the same night. That would not be the case for Dale. He was in a little pain just lying down, but he could not bear putting any weight on it at all.

He was admitted to the hospital Monday night. He’s in good spirits, but it’s very hard for him to stand up or walk. A physical therapist and an occupational therapist have been working with him, and they said he’s doing better than most, that it’s just a matter of time.

Today they will transfer him to a skilled nursing facility for additional rehab. He will be there until he can come home. Maybe a week, maybe two weeks, maybe more. We just don’t know. I do know he can’t come home at this point.

We live in a two-story house, and our bedroom is upstairs. I’m waiting until he gets to the new place to find out what he is going to need. My general plan is to get some kind of a bed and put it in what used to be a downstairs bedroom. We converted it to a walk-in pantry, but there’s room for a bed. There’s also a small bathroom right next to it with a walk-in shower, grab bars, etc.

I guess that’s it. It’s all very stressful, but what can you do? I did blow up on my sister, who isn’t a doctor but plays one on the Internet. I apologized immediately and that night decided I need to bring my best self to this party. Stay calm, stay strong.

As you know, I had cancer twice. The first involved three surgeries, six months of chemo and lots of recovery time. Dale was there for me for both cancers, but that first one was particularly tough. He was my rock, and I need to be his.

The neighbors have been fantastic, and that’s a big help. The kitty misses his daddy, although he never budged from his upstairs nap to see what was going on when his main man was in the fetal position downstairs. Just saying. A dog might have been there for him.

Anyway, that’s all I got. Stay off ladders!

Never surrender

It seems I’ve been in a bit of a funk. Aside from watching all that is good and decent in America being crushed by soulless rat bastards, my traitorous left shoulder joined the party, and all things combined, it just seemed like there was no way up.

Not that I always need to be right, but I “suggested” to medical professionals back in March that I might have frozen shoulder. Don’t ask me to explain what it is. It’s a thing. They also call it adhesive capsulitis. I had it in my right shoulder shortly after my mastectomy in 2015, so I am somewhat familiar with the symptoms.

They all agreed I did not have frozen shoulder. I asked about getting a cortisone shot, and they said no, it most likely wouldn’t help whatever might be wrong with me, if only they knew, but since it’s not frozen shoulder, I should stick with physical therapy.

I did as I was told for close to six months, although I didn’t see much improvement. The PT said it would take a year of hard work. I’m like, fine, bring it on. I couldn’t get back in to see the sports medicine doctor until late January, but I could ride it out until then. I could still play golf, so it wasn’t the end of the world.

Then I couldn’t play golf. I no longer had a swing and couldn’t strike the ball properly. It’s like my shoulder was, oh, I don’t know … frozen?

I brought it up at my annual physical, and the doctor said we probably ought to get an MRI. That’s done, and the results are in. You might be surprised to learn I have frozen shoulder. She referred me back to the sports doctor, who still couldn’t see me until late January, but they got me an appointment with one of his colleagues.

He said, oh! Frozen shoulder! You need a cortisone shot! You could have gotten this earlier, you know.

I got the shot last week, and it really is a pre-Christmas miracle. I can play golf. I can sleep on that side. It still hurts a little, but it’s mostly gone. One shot fixed me last time, and I’m hopeful that will be the case this time around. Now that I’ve had it in both shoulders, I’d like to think I’m done.

Which brings me back to watching democracy rot from within. I don’t know what to do. Part of me just wants to pretend it isn’t happening, but the other part of me says bad things happen when good people stay quiet. I know a lot of good people read this blog, so I suspect you ruminate on this as well.

I quit writing for a few weeks because I just sort of felt like, what’s the point? But I think the point for me personally and for all of us struggling with the political landscape is to never surrender. Do what you can, but don’t torment yourself. Focus on simple pleasures.

I’m no pundit, but I think it’s important that everyday people say what needs to be said. That means I will continue to stand up for liberal values and share my thoughts on what it’s like to be an American right now, because I’m a writer at heart, and that’s what writers do. They write about what torments them.

But I am also hoping to find my sense of humor again – I think it took a sabbatical shortly after the last presidential election. In the meantime, I hope a little commentary along with food and books and movies is somehow entertaining or comforting. We’re all here trying to live our lives as best we can, and maybe it helps to know you are not alone in your anger, sadness or confusion. 

That’s why God made cookies, and that’s what I am making today. I’m gonna turn on some music and maybe even dance in the kitchen.

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.