Category: Current Events

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.  

Bread and tomatoes

I had to turn off the Trump fountain of falsehoods. At least for a few days so I can feel peace in my heart again. But before I quit, I read a quote from my Republican congressman, who said with regard to Epstein, he didn’t know and didn’t care. Well, now, surely he needed to hear from a constituent about that.

So, yes, I called his office and spoke with one of the gang who answers the phones. I was polite. I was! I said his quote disturbed me because aside from political theater, there are victims here. Young girls were trafficked and abused, and if Congressman McClintock doesn’t know or care about that, then something is wrong with him.

All they ever say is thanks, we’ll share this with the congressman. Right. But I feel better for having said it. While there are lots of groups being marginalized, as a woman, I can only speak of my own experience, and it feels like we have been relegated to the trash heap of history.

I said I was over it, but news … I can’t quit you.

We’ve had gorgeous weather, and I’m planning to do a nice long walk today. When I was younger, I defaulted to cardio, because I was always worried about my weight and thought that was the best way to burn calories. Strength training was never a priority, and that has definitely been a bite in the ass as I’ve aged.

Now I default to strength training and fit in cardio where I can. I’ve made remarkable progress in a year and a half. And I’ll go out on a limb here and say it’s possible my shoulder injury is improving. This has been going on since March.

The physical therapist and the sports medicine doctor agreed I needed to do resistence exercises through the pain. This is another idea that caught me by surprise. I figured if it hurts, stop. Depending on the injury, there is some truth to that, but current thinking seems to be strengthen as you heal, and eventually strength will win.

I might actually be on the cusp of winning. We shall see.

What I’m eating

Bread and tomatoes. Is that the secret to happiness? The tomatoes are getting better and better. We had Greek salads again. When we ate them in Crete, the wine was always served in what looked like a small juice glass. We still do that! You know, for atmosphere. Although we no longer drink Domestica. Not that there was anything wrong with it …

Dale made bread to go with the Greek salads, so he whipped up some grilled cheese sandwiches the next night. He makes a killer grilled cheese. A mix of American and Cheddar with a schmear of yellow mustard on the inside of the bread. The outside of the bread is buttered well and then grilled in a cast iron pan until golden brown and delicious. We usually serve it with Kosher pickles or pickled cucumbers Dale makes from scratch.

I sometimes feel embarrassed about how much bread we eat, but I took an oath to share the unvarnished truth. Here it is …

We had paninis the next night. We didn’t want the tomatoes to go bad. That’s our story, and we’re sticking to it.

Dale bought some ciabatta rolls for the paninis. Whole milk mozzarella cheese, tomatoes and fresh basil for the filling. He schmears the inside of the bread with balsamic vinegar and the outside with olive oil. I know – lots of schmearing going on. Simple but fantastic.

Tonight I’m making a variation of an Indian dish called Kheema. The recipe I use is from Indian Instant Pot by Urvashi Pitre. This is one of my favorite cookbooks. This particular version doesn’t use peas, but I’ve seen a lot of Kheema recipes that do.

She uses ground beef, but I use ground bison. The dish is loaded with garlic, ginger, onions and spices, along with spinach, tomatoes and coconut milk. Almost like a stew. That should take care of this week’s tomatoes. I will also make naan to go with. More bread drill sergeant!

What I’m watching

I finished Ballard, and I liked it a lot. Harry Bosch was in a few episodes, and when I see Titus Welliver in that role, I feel such respect and gratitude for what actors can do. He’s the perfect Harry Bosch. Anyway, the show ended with a cliffhanger, and that always annoys me.

PBS Masterpiece has a new show called Patience, which is an English version of Astrid, the French show featuring an autistic detective. I like them both, but I’m thinking I preferred Astrid. I read the actor who played Astrid is not autistic, but the actor who plays Patience is. Might just be me, but I think Patience is a little more mainstream, and perhaps that’s what they wanted to show. I guess that’s why they call it a spectrum.

What I’m reading

I just picked up Carl Hiaasen’s Fever Beach from the library. It’s pretty funny, as all his books are, but still, kind of depressing. It’s about incredibly stupid young white nationalists in Florida, and the unlikely folks who seem to be their undoing. I love where this is going, but it makes me mad to think there are douchebags out there like that.

Some distractions are better than others

Well, well. What to make of the Epstein fuss? After careful deliberation, methinks I will stick to mediocre golf and good food, as the more I read about this business, the weirder it gets. Not that I don’t appreciate the entertainment value, but I fear it’s just another distraction, and Trump will once again slip away without a hitch.

I look forward to being wrong.

Some distractions are better than others. I prefer golf to pedophiles, although it’s looking like golf is a little less predictable. In my women’s league, last week I was DFL in my flight. That stands for Dead Fucking Last. This week I tied for low gross over the field.

I don’t understand why I can’t play well all the time, and it used to make me so mad. But now there’s The Great Big Picture Book of things to be mad about, so it was time to make peace with the ups and downs of recreational golf.

It’s better this way. Honestly, I’m just happy to be healthy and able to play. Double bogeys pale in comparison to masked men grabbing you off the street.

A friend of mine in Los Angeles is Mexican-American, born in the United States. I met her when we were both in the Army. She went on to get a PhD and taught at the university level. She’s retired now and recently wrote that she might start carrying her passport when she goes out. Because her skin is brown.

This was supposed to be about golf and food, but I seem to be combusting, so let’s just go with it. Among the multitude of things that fire me up are the little cross necklaces some of these despicable people wear for show. Pam Bondi for one. Karoline Leavitt for two.

Not exactly models of Christianity. Unless their bibles have a special section on the merits of fascism, viciousness and hypocrisy.

I have a special grudge against Karoline. In my career as a professional communicator, I often served as the company spokesperson. In some ways, it’s like being the conscience of the company.

Even when the news is bad, you have to find your organization’s truth and tell their story, and you have to tell it in a way that builds trust with your stakeholders – the public, customers, etc. We weren’t perfect, but we were always respectful to the media, and we didn’t blame them for our failures.

Karoline and these other spokespeople who work for Trump have made a mockery of this ideal. I think, well, they aren’t the conscience of the company, but then again, if the company is Trump, maybe they are. But it’s still a dagger to the heart of what I thought was an honorable career.

Back to food. Tomato season is in full swing. I made tomato pie, I start with a homemade biscuit crust and add well-drained sliced tomatoes, grated cheddar cheese, fresh basil, chopped chives and a sauce made from mayonnaise thinned with a little lemon juice. Top with more crust, slash and bake. 

It’s like tomato shortcake. We ate half of it Thursday, and we’re eating the other half tonight.

Our Saturday night show of late has been Poldark on PBS Passport. It’s one of the few shows Dale will watch, so that’s good. But then we had an argument about it, so that’s bad. I can’t understand how we can be so combative over things that don’t matter.

There’s a character in the show named Verity. The family doesn’t want her to marry the love of her life, and it’s turning out to be a very big deal. I couldn’t understand why, so I Googled it. I explained some of my findings to Dale, who was pissed. Why wouldn’t I just wait to see how the story unfolded?

OK, he’s got a point. I don’t know why I jumped the gun, but I guess I won’t be doing it again anytime soon. Without Dale’s expert guidance, I’ve been managing to watch Ballard on Amazon Prime. It’s a Harry Bosch spin-off, which is never a bad thing.

Speaking of Harry, I’m on the waiting list at the library for Nightshade, a new Michael Connelly book featuring a detective on Catalina Island.

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.

No cons, no clowns, no kings

We went to a local No Kings rally last weekend. Dale thought we only needed one sign between us, and I agreed. But then we couldn’t agree on the sign. This is standard operating procedure for us. Sometimes it’s hard to believe we’ve been married 46 years.

It was a struggle to get there, but we finally went with, “No cons, no clowns, no kings.” And for a couple of hours we felt good about the future. Now, well, not so much.  

There are so many things to be mad about. War. Obviously, that’s not good. But some of the small things bother me just as much. Wiping out history because the regime doesn’t like admitting it happened? 

New signs at national parks and historic sites include QR codes, urging visitors to report any signs or information “that are negative about either past or living Americans or that fail to emphasize the beauty, grandeur and abundance of landscapes.”

I know you get this news from other sources, and I suspect you are sick of hearing about it from me. I made the mistake of looking at my blog statistics, and they have gone down a little each year since COVID. More so since Trump 2.0.

It’s true I’m not as cheerful as I used to be, but I write about retired life and getting older and stuff I’m experiencing, and what’s happening in our country is part of the package. Plus, I think it’s important to speak up while we still can. So, statistics be damned.

JKW. Just Keep Writing.

We are anxiously awaiting the arrival of fresh tomatoes. There are several farmers markets near us, and yesterday we went to one of the larger ones in hopes of a sneak preview. Our favorite tomato vendor didn’t have any yet, but there were was one stand featuring a few tomatoes, so we took a chance.

I was craving a big messy bison burger with lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, onions, mayonnaise and mustard. No ketchup ever. It was as advertised – big and messy – and the tomato was OK. I call them iceberg tomatoes. The real ones aren’t here yet.

We learned about a place where you pick your own corn, and they even have a corn hotline so you don’t have to drive out there until you’re sure. I rather love that. They are only open Tuesdays and Saturdays. I called the hotline, and it said corn was ready, so I believe we will be making the trek this week.

I don’t know whether it’s turning 70 in a couple of months or politics or something else, but I’ve been reflecting on the past and wondering about some of the choices I made. Some of it wasn’t necessarily a choice but rather who I was at that time in life and now wishing I’d been different.

Having been raised by wolves, it took me a long time to figure out how to navigate work and life. I had a great career, but it could have been better if I hadn’t been such a mess inside.

Also, I’ve never been the most sociable person on the planet, and to some extent I blame that on the wolves, but it’s on me, too. I should have tried harder to make and keep friends.

While I’ve accepted wear and tear on the body as part of aging, I still resent it. What was I doing when my body was in peak form? Oh, that’s right, working my ass of at a 24/7 job so I could make enough money and retire before I totally crap out.

Actually, my body is feeling pretty darn good, especially my knees, and I’ve been daydreaming about long-distance walking trip. But geez, will they hold up? I’m continuing to do my exercises and slowly adding mileage, so I guess we’ll see. I don’t want to book anything until I’m reasonably certain I can do it.

As for other choices, the big one is my life partner. No lie, Dale and I do get on each other’s nerves, but after all these years we’re getting better at agreeing to disagree, and I don’t doubt my choice there. We’re both outspoken, independent and non-traditional, and he has never tried to clip my wings.

No cons, no clowns, no kings.

It seems to me I compromise more than he does on the small things in daily life, but we’ve been together so long it’s starting to seem like some of those things were my idea in the first place.

Like no ketchup on a burger. Whose rule was that?

Art will find a way

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.

Art will find a way.

Not quite broken

Maybe I’m dreaming, but it’s like something switched over in me, and I’ve become quite good at managing the daily Trump dump. I know it’s there, this brutal attack on democratic values, and I refuse to look away, but I found a place to park it in my brain where it doesn’t drive me crazy every single day.

Oh, and don’t ask for help because I have no idea how I finally got there or if it will last. All I know is that it felt like everything was broken, and it occurred to me I didn’t survive cancer twice to be this miserable over things I can’t control.  

I’ve been feeling good. Not quite broken after all. We are planning to join a June 14 protest. This would be in opposition to Trump’s multi-million dollar, tax-payer funded military parade in Washington, D.C. for his 79th birthday. I am reminded that my mother died on her birthday.

What I’m eating

My sourdough has been giving me fits. The last few loaves tasted good, but I wasn’t getting the rise I want. I did a bit of troubleshooting and came to the conclusion my starter isn’t strong enough. When you feed starter, you are also supposed to discard some of it. I always felt that was wasteful, even though I know you can save the discard and use it for other things. So, I didn’t do it.

But discarding some of the starter each time you feed it strengthens the brew. I guess mine was too diluted. I went back to discarding, and sure enough, my starter perked up. This last loaf looks great to me!  

I made spanakopita this week. That would be layers of buttered phyllo dough stuffed with spinach, feta cheese, eggs and yogurt – and then seasoned with onion, garlic, dill, mint, lemon zest and nutmeg. And sprinkles of Pecorino Romano cheese between the layers. Baked until crispy golden brown. It’s normally an appetizer, but I cut larger pieces, and we ate it as an entrée.

Both of us have quite a Mexican Jones going on most of the time. This week, I made slow cooker jalapeño pulled pork and used the filling to make oven-baked taquitos. Dale made a white queso for dipping, plus we had some homemade salsa verde.

There was a wee mishap with the slow cooker. Mine came with a temperature probe, which I have never used. In one of my fuzzier moments I put the probe in the bottom of the base unit for safe keeping and then put the ceramic liner on top. I never realized the probe was still there.

The pork was perfect, but when I took out the liner so I could put it in the dishwasher, I saw something odd stuck to the base unit and then icky brown stuff around it like blood from a crime scene. I thought, why, that looks like the probe!

Dale was able to pry it off, and while the probe is toast, the slow cooker seems no worse for the wear.

What I’m watching

Many thanks to Sheila, a friend here at Retirement Confidential, for alerting me to a new season of The Mountain Detective on PBS Passport.

I confess to watching Reacher on Amazon Prime. That was part of my stress epiphany. Per my boycott, I’m still spending next to nothing on Amazon, but I love my digital content and decided Jeff can have a few bucks if it makes me happy.

What I’m reading

I mentioned Jar City in an earlier post. This is the first in a crime series by Icelandic writer Arnaldur Indriðason featuring Inspector Elendur. I’ve since read two more, and I believe there are 11 in the series. This might be my favorite new-to-me series.

The Cold, Cold Ground is the first Detective Sergeant Sean Duffy novel by Adrian McKinty. The setting is 1980s Ireland. Complex politics, sometimes hard to follow, but I liked it very much. There are eight books in the series.

I’m a fan of the Irish crime series by Benjamin Black featuring Quirke, a pathologist in Dublin during the 1950s. There’s also a Boston connection. Christine Falls is the first of seven. The Silver Swan was number two, and I have number three by my bedside.

World of Trouble was the finale to The Last Policeman trilogy. The story is about what happens to people and families when they believe an asteroid will destroy Earth in a matter of months. For a grim subject, it’s an entertaining read. At first I didn’t like the ending, but it haunts me. There is darkness, yet there is light. Detective Hank Palace is a character you will not soon forget.

Just this morning I finished The Summer Guests by Tess Gerritsen. This is second after The Martini Club about a group of retired CIA agents in Maine. Highly entertaining. Now I want to explore her other novels.

I’ve read three of the Veronica Speedwell novels by Deanna Raybourn. The first was A Curious Beginning. The setting is Victorian England, and Veronica is an adventurous natural historian who specializes in butterflies. Due to unforeseen circumstances, she partners with another natural historian to solve crimes. He also happens to be sort of hunky. Such great escapism, and there are nine in the series. Yay.

Last but not least, I started the Maisie Dobbs series by Jacqueline Winspear. The first is actually titled Maisie Dobbs. A former servant, she evolves to become a nurse during World War I and returns home to continue her education and become a private investigator slash psychologist. If I got this right, there are 18 books in the series. Double yay. 

Make America nice again

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.

One small step and then another one

One day this week I opened the morning newspaper and just laid my head down on the table and cried. The sad part is I don’t even remember what it was. There’s something new every day, and there’s no bottom.

Like so many people, I’ve overcome a lot in life, and after the drama of youth, I’m happy to be happy. On the cusp of 70, I want to enjoy my time on the planet and ignore everything that isn’t pleasant. But there’s a tiny problem. I have all these quotes dancing around in my head, and one of them is about what happens when good men do nothing. Something about the triumph of evil.

I keep singing Guns of Brixton. The Clash.

The money feels good
And your life you like it well
But surely your time will come
As in Heaven as in Hell

Or maybe a little Pink Floyd. Wish You Were Here.

So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from hell? Blue skies from pain?
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell?

So, I guess I’m in it. Not happily, I’ll admit that. I try not to think about it all the time. I try to remember I still have a great life, and there is much goodness and beauty to behold. Dale and I still make each other laugh. I’ll write what I need to write, say what I need to say, donate money to organizations fighting the good fight and otherwise protest when I can.

One small step and then another one.

For the record, NostraDonna predicted weeks ago that Trump and his cronies were using tariffs to game the stock market. I Googled it multiple times and found nothing to support my suspicions. Even Dale said, oh, no, that’s a stretch. Now, insider trading news is all over the place, and I hope somebody somewhere gets nailed over it.

What I’m eating

We had leftover roast chicken, so Dale made chicken tortilla soup yesterday, and it was spectacular. I grew up eating Mexican food in Southern California, but I had never even heard of this until sometime in the 90s and had my first bowl in South Carolina, if you can believe that.

Ours is a spicy base made with fire roasted tomatoes, garlic, onions and poblano peppers seasoned with a Pendery’s chili powder called Fire and Smoke (not for the feint of heart). The shredded chicken goes in toward the end. We serve it in big bowls, and then we each do our own toppings – crumbled queso fresco, chopped cilantro, avocado chunks, fried tortilla strips and a wedge of lime. A frosty beer to go with!

The recipe makes four servings, so we freeze half of it. When that second one goes, we’re always thinking about roasting another chicken just so we can have the soup again. We never get sick of it.

Over the weekend, Dale grilled a chuck roast. We called it Chunk ‘O Beef. I am sometimes known as Side Dish Mama, so to live up to the hype, I made zucchini sauteed with onions and mushrooms along with potato halves stuffed with sour cream and chives and topped with cheddar cheese. It was warm enough to eat outside, which was great.

I know the price of eggs is all the rage, but someone needs to investigate the price of chives. I should really try growing my own.

What I’m watching

I canceled Amazon Prime but still have access until mid-May, when it expires. That means I’m squeezing in Bosch Legacy. It’s good, but I’m pretty much done with that series. I’ve missed my shows on PBS Passport.

Dale doesn’t watch much TV, but we are both enjoying Matlock with Kathy Bates. I like her as an actor, and I also feel a personal connection. Like me, Kathy is BRCA-positive and has had both ovarian and breast cancer. There aren’t many of us walking around.

What I’m reading

I read Countdown City, the second book in the Last Policeman Trilogy by Ben Winters. An asteroid headed for Earth is expected to destroy the planet within months, and the story follows a young detective as everything around him devolves. One might think it would be depressing, considering our current situation, but I have not found that to be the case. It’s interesting to see how people cope, particularly how they cope with the unknown. There are lessons to be learned. I can’t wait to see how it ends.

Previously, I’ve mentioned Kills Well with Others by Deanna Raybourn, and it turns out she’s quite a prolific writer. I thoroughly enjoyed A Curious Beginning, the first in the Veronica Speedwell mysteries. The setting is Victorian England, and Veronica is by her own definition an “old maid.” However, she’s also a butterfly expert and world traveler with a mysterious past that begins to unravel. Yes, there’s murder. And perhaps a bit of romance?

I have three library books by my bedside, and the clock is ticking, so I need to get moving on them. Our library has done away with overdue fees, but for me, that pressure to get them back in time will never go away. I’ll report on those books in due time. Get it??? Due time?

Our first protest

Dale and I went to an April 5 Hands Off protest! Neither one of us had ever been to a protest before, although once back in the 80s, we joined a small group of women and drove our Fiat 124 Spider convertible through the streets of Chambersburg, Pa. shouting, “Hey, Hey, What Do You Say? Ratify the ERA!”

A lot of good that did.

I signed us up, but I didn’t really want to go. I was looking for an excuse to get out of it, but Dale persisted. He gets points for leading the way, but I clearly outperformed him on signage. We both feel like we could do better next time.

The signs were amazing, and some were downright hilarious. Much to my regret, I didn’t get any good pictures, but I think my favorite was a picture of Trump and the words, Does this ass make my sign look big?

There were two nearby events. One required going into downtown Sacramento. We are complete novices on the downtown area, so we went with the one in Roseville, another suburb. The protest was outside a big mall, so parking was a breeze. It’s about a 30-minute drive from our house.

Roseville is fairly conservative by California standards, but the streets were packed. My guess is several thousand were there. It was incredible. Lots and lots of people drove by waving, thumbs up and honking in support. A few flipped us off, but that’s OK. I’ve flipped off plenty of anti-abortion protesters in my day.

We stayed almost two hours. They warned us there would be no bathrooms other than in the mall, so without doing a full Cory Booker, we decided to leave when we had to pee.

Dale and I both had tears in our eyes much of the time. Just to know that so many of our neighbors understand the threats we face was so gratifying. There were also a lot of signs with variations on Hate Doesn’t Make America Great or Make America Nice Again.

After a hard day of protest, we came home and Dale grilled up some bison burgers, and we went to bed early.

We will do this as many times as we have to. If for some reason you can’t quite see yourself in the streets, depending on the location, you might be able to drive by the protest site and honk in support. Such a simple act, but we could feel the energy.

The people are rising!