Category: Rambling Thursday

The unexpected pleasure of dryer lint

One of three shop vacs full of dryer lint.
Even with the shop vac, the technician would have to reach in with his hand and pull more out.

I try not to worry too much about the big stuff – fire, drought, mean people, the Delta variant. When I go to bed at night, I free my mind and visualize playing my favorite golf course hole-by-hole. It takes a couple of weeks to play 18, because I usually fall asleep after one or two holes.

The visualization exercise has been good for my sleep and good for my game. I wonder now what else we can improve through visualization?

The myth of self-esteem

I loved this column by Carolyn Hax. A person who doesn’t feel pretty or smart asks how to improve self-esteem, and Carolyn blows up the whole concept of self-esteem because it’s an irrelevant ranking system.

Carolyn asks, “Do you feel smart around people who are less accomplished? Pretty around people who are less attractive?”

She concludes by saying throw away all measures of value, period. Our value is absolute. We exist therefore we matter. No more than anyone, and no less.

The unexpected pleasure of dryer lint

They say don’t sweat the small stuff, but actually, it kind of works for me. Let us draw our attention to, oh, I don’t know, dryer lint? Allow me to explain.

We bought our home when I retired a few years ago. The house is about 20 years old. That’s like 65 years old in people years. You know, the point at which things start to go wrong.

Actually, the house is in good shape, but just like us, things need tending to. One odd thing we noticed for quite some time were water spots on the sliding glass door that leads to the patio and the same sort of spots on an adjacent window.

We’d clean them off, and they would come back. The door is just under the outside portion of the dryer vent, so we scientifically studied our laundry habits and concluded the spots were related to moisture from the dryer vent. Maybe it was blowing back at the house and onto the door and window?

As it happens, we had a handyman service scheduled to install some lights and a few other minor jobs. We mentioned the problem and wondered if the vent might be clogged. Not that we had any idea how that could contribute to the water stains, but it sounded plausible to us.

Mr. Handyman said a clogged vent could absolutely be the issue, and they could “blow it out.” He said it might work, might not, but we all figured it was worth a try.

Our technician first hooked a hose up to the inside portion of the dryer vent and used a shop vac to suck out the lint. At first, only a little came out. Then he went outside and used a snake-like tool to probe the vent and free up the clogs. He had to go back and forth, between the inside vent and the outside vent multiple times to loosen the debris. He said the vent was packed tight with lint from one end to the other.

Eventually, clumps and masses of lint emerged from both ends of the vent. Twenty years of lint, one might assume. I watched the whole thing with complete and utter fascination, dashing back and forth to watch the latest bomb drop.

I couldn’t wait to see more stuff come out. Kind of like Dr. Pimple Popper. Our technician filled three shop vacs full of lint and then some, declaring the job complete only when there was full air flow through the vents. At the end, it was almost like birds singing.

I’m so glad we had this done. I’m amazed our dryer even worked, and one would have to assume all that lint is a fire hazard, even if it does live in a moist environment.

Cost was about $275. We haven’t done a load of laundry since the intervention, so we don’t know whether it solved the problem. But either way, 20 years of dryer lint is a special kind of entertainment we shall probably not see again in our lifetime.

Life in the slow lane

An old John Deere wagon overlooking the Zinfandel vineyard.

Understanding your limitations

When it comes to competition, some people rise to the occasion and perform their best. Others don’t. I’m among those who typically choke if you tell me there’s a prize involved.

I play in a weekly golf league, but most of the time it’s low stakes and quite manageable for someone like me, who does not embrace competitive sports. When I’m relaxed, I’m a pretty good golfer, but every now and then my league hosts a more formal tournament, and I can barely get through it.

The tournament ended yesterday, and I feel a huge sense of relief. I’m free again! Now, I can just play the game. Of course, more evolved humans can do that anyway, but I have some sort of blockage. When I first retired, I tried like the dickens to enjoy organized golf events, but for the most part, I prefer life in the slow lane.

To spare myself the drama, I may just opt out in the future. Let others scramble for the title while I enjoy a relaxing game of no-stakes golf with people who like to play their best but don’t care about winning or losing.

I view this as a retirement success story. Seek to understand your strengths and limitations and course correct as you go. Eliminate what isn’t useful or pleasant.

Camping

Speaking of the slow lane, Dale and I enjoy tent camping, but more than a year of hibernation put the kibosh on that. Now that we’re fully vaccinated and the range of possibilities is broadening, we decided to go for it. The only thing is, it’s really, really difficult to get a camping reservation in California during normal times, and now everyone has discovered the great outdoors. Places like Yosemite and Lake Tahoe are almost impossible.

Some people are willing to drive five hours for a first-come, first-served campsite. That would not be us. And that is why I spent the better part of a week tackling the reservation system, which includes ReserveAmerica.com, Recreation.gov, ReserveCalifornia.com and a cornucopia of sites managed by individual counties.

I should have started this in January, but I was pretty busy not doing much of anything. Despite being late to need, I finally got one reservation for a Sonoma County beach campground toward the end of June. In July, we’ll be going to Lassen Volcanic National Park. We may have the worst sites in the campgrounds. I don’t know, and I don’t care. We have reservations!

While I may sound like a tough outdoors girl what with tent camping and all, I do not leave the tent at night. We have a great tent with a little screened room attached to the sleeping area, and this is where I store my Luggable Loo. Because even tough girls have to pee.

My low-tech fitness tracker

My low-tech fitness tracker.

Although I avoid competitive sports, I love exercise in general and consider fitness part of my retirement lifestyle. The problem is I found myself doing too much of some things and not enough of others. With some activities, you need to do them at least twice a week to gain any benefit.

I finally made up these little cards to help me see what’s on track and what isn’t. I just started it this week, so we’ll see how well it works. I mean, it’s Thursday, and I can already see some big gaps!

I’m only documenting fitness-related stuff I need to do regularly to maintain some level of proficiency. Some activities are scheduled in advance, and the rest are as the mood strikes me. I don’t like a strict regimen.

My goal for golf practice is only once per week, but for everything else, I’m shooting for 2-3 times per week. The “R” under swimming means I have a lane reservation. I mark the box with an X after I’ve completed the activity. Weights are usually the first thing to slip, so this cheat sheet helps me stay committed.

Wine Tasting

Today was a lazy day, so Dale and I went to a winery. We live adjacent to Amador County, which produces amazing wines just as delicious as those from Napa and Sonoma. And a lot less expensive! They charge $5 for a tasting and deduct that if you purchase bottles, which we almost always do.

This area specializes in the lighter reds – Zinfandel, Barbera, Sangiovese, Primitivo, Tempranillo, Petit Syrah and a variety of house blends. The venues are typically gorgeous, and it makes us all the more grateful to live here.

While we were tasting, Dale spotted the old John Deere wagon facing the Zinfandel vineyard. Kind of cool.

The person who poured our wine asked what we had planned for the rest of the day. I said, oh, not much. Dinner?

I love retirement and the slowness of it all, so we’ll have to see whether my fitness tracker helps or hurts. Surely, we can accomplish a few things without becoming a slave to the schedule. Right?

Right?

Messing with your face

I played golf with some women I hadn’t met before and afterward, we sat socially distanced around an outside table and enjoyed a cold beer. Soon enough, the topic turned to faces and what to do about them as they age.

One woman was an advocate of Ultherapy. She goes annually and pays between $3,500 – $5,000 for a procedure to tighten everything from the décolletage up. The process is painful, she said, and they give her Valium before, during and after. But you walk wobble out looking good.

The other woman was furiously writing notes on her scorecard. She could definitely see Ultherapy in her future, but for now, she was sticking with Botox. I mostly listened, but then I asked a question.

While in the waiting room at the dermatologist for my skin cancer check-up, I overheard a woman talking about some sort of point system, and she wanted her points carried over from a previous provider. What’s up with that?

According to my fellow golfer, points are part of a rewards or loyalty system for Botox and other injectables. The more the merrier!

I’m in no position to judge, but the whole discussion made me sad nonetheless. I mean, life with all its trials and tribulations, and it all comes down to this? Wrinkles? Messing with your face?

Somehow, I think the prettiest girls – the cheerleaders and the beauty queens – have the hardest time accepting the inevitable ravages of age. I was the weird kid with bad teeth who wore men’s corduroy bedroom slippers to school, held my fork like it was a weapon and wrote poetry in spiral-bound notebooks I kept under the bed.

It’s a miracle I’m walking upright. But like good whiskey, I’ve aged well.

Nobody at the table asked me what I did about my face, because I’m pretty sure they could see the answer would be nothing.

Not that I am without vanity. I like clothes and care about how I look overall. In fact, I’ve been thinking more about how I am going to re-purpose my work wardrobe. I have some ideas that may be in the category of corduroy slippers, but I’m willing to give it a go and may even post the results on this very blog.

I might have to consult with one of my young fashionista friends – they always tell it like it is.  

cold-weather comfort food

With some rain expected this weekend, the temperature is supposed to drop into the low 50s, and I think of it as the last hurrah for cold-weather comfort food. And yes, I know 50s is not cold. We call it California Cold.

I’ve been keeping a list and crossing them off as we cook our way through:

  • Stuffed cabbage
  • Macaroni & Cheese
  • New England Baked Beans
  • Venison Meatloaf
  • Beef Stroganoff
  • Porchetta Pie
  • Chile Verde
  • Moussaka

I love eggplant, so I lean toward moussaka, which is a casserole made with ground lamb, browned eggplant, tomato sauce, grated sheep’s milk cheese and bechamel on top. Dale likes it, but not as much as I do.

Nostradonna predicts Dale will vote for porchetta pie or chile verde. I love both, so it’s no big deal one way or the other. I make the pie, which is actually several freeform savory tarts made with chunks of pork, pancetta, carrots, onions, fennel and fresh sage.

Dale makes the chile (along with homemade flour tortillas). He usually roasts the tomatillos and chiles outside on the grill, so rain may alter those plans. An alternative would be his Texas-style chile, made with chunks of pork and beef in a rich sauce and no outside grilling component. We love the chili topped with grated cheddar cheese, finely diced onion and buttered saltines on the side.

My neighbor made fun of me teased me about being busy, so busy, as she said in a not completely flattering way. I’m not sure where that’s coming from, but yeah, my days are full. Not stressful but busy and fulfilling in a good way.

Granted, golf sucks up a bunch of my discretionary retirement time, but so does cooking. All those recipes! What to make? And then shopping for ingredients and actually getting in the kitchen to weigh, chop, bake, roast, simmer and sear. And then being forced to eat such deliciousness.

I can think of worse ways to live.        

Airing of workplace grievances

Some of us chose retirement, and others were squeezed out or forced out of jobs earlier than they had hoped. Or maybe it got so bad you just said, screw it, I’m out of here.

If you’re still sad or angry about what happened to you at work, perhaps it’s time to accept and forgive. Here’s my spin on it. Almost like a variation of Festivus with the airing of workplace grievances. It helps to laugh.

Even though I made it to the finish line relatively unscathed, I had one awful job toward the end of my career that left me feeling quite bitter.

I try not to think about it much, but last week I was digging through files on my computer looking for an old picture of me with adorable hair, because you, know, the struggle is real, when I found a folder marked MFR.

What was this? I double-clicked, and there it was. A detailed chronicle of the one job I’ve tried to forget. A Memorandum for Record is what I called it – a long and painful documentation of bad behaviors and harassment that pretty much left me crying every day for a year.

As I read through my notes with fresh eyes, I finally realized it wasn’t all about me. I was caught in a web of complex corporate norms and cut-throat politics.

There were bad actors in high places, weak lieutenants and one low-level sociopath who lived on the blood of destruction. Everyone else operated under the theory that only the whale that surfaces gets harpooned.

In the end, I came out whole, better than whole, so I decided to accept and forgive. I just said, this is it, no more. Bitterness is not an emotion I want to live with. And I’ll say this, something about letting go just makes you feel better in every way. I feel lighter. A weight has been lifted.

True, there’s no forgiveness in my heart for the sociopath or the person who provided top cover, so acceptance will have to suffice. I decided to just accept that what happened happened and release myself from the internal drama … almost like being an observer, watching the whole thing from afar. As a result, they no longer live rent-free in my head. That seems like a fair trade.

Anyway, that’s my perspective, and I guess it applies to just about any negative emotions we can’t quite dump. Maybe we can move on if we keep trying.

Enchilada Sauce

As promised, I’m sharing Dale’s recipe for enchilada sauce. We freeze it in small tubs and use it for enchiladas … hence the name. But we also use it as a sauce for huevos rancheros or combine it with chunks of browned chicken to make a filling for various tortilla dishes.

We buy our dried chili peppers from Pendery’s.

Dale’s Enchilada Sauce

Print Recipe

Ingredients
  

  • 10 Dried Ancho Chili Peppers
  • 2 Dried Aji Amarillo Chili Peppers Optional, but they add nice flavor and heat
  • 2 Canned Chipotle Chili Peppers in Adobo
  • 1 tsp Adobo Sauce From the canned chipotles
  • 3 Cloves of Garlic
  • 1/4 cup Diced Onion
  • 1 tsp Cumin
  • 3 cups Chicken Stock
  • 1 tblsp Lard

Instructions
 

  • Seed and stem the dried chili peppers. Put the peppers in a saucepan, cover with water and bring to a boil. Turn off the heat and let them sit for 10 minutes. Drain.
  • In a blender, combine the peppers, adobo sauce, garlic, onion, cumin and one cup of the chicken stock.
  • In a saucepan, melt the lard and add the blended sauce. Cook over medium heat for about 10 minutes, slowing adding the remaining two cups of chicken stock.
  • Cool, and refrigerate or freeze.

The case for retirement

Homemade sourdough toast and scrambled eggs made with extra egg yolks leftover from another recipe.

It seems like most of the advice about retirement is to keep working. Experts cite financial and health benefits, as well as the ongoing need for people to live with purpose. Apparently, only a job provides such purpose?

Of course, I disagree work is the solution for most of life’s woes, and I’ve been toying with the idea of penning an op-ed about the case for retirement. I’m still fleshing it out, but my basic premise is that we add layers and layers of accommodations and behaviors to earn a living, and we start to believe that’s who we really are.

Or perhaps we just accept who we’ve become. The workplace is a powerful force, but everything changes if you have the financial resources to exit.

Retirement can be the opportunity to discover or re-discover who you are when nobody is watching. I’ve been searching for a metaphor. The first one that came to mind is of a snake shedding its skin. Snakes shed their skins because they are growing, and the old skin no longer fits. That sort of applies to how we evolve in retirement, but I think it misses one key point.

If it’s true we add layers to survive, then shedding them over time returns us to our natural state. That’s not how it works with snakes, so I’ve been trying to think of another metaphor. Perhaps we are more like furniture being stripped of multiple layers of paint to ultimately reveal the lush original wood.

I’m several layers away from exposing bare wood, but I’ve been blowing some dust and cleaning up a lot of paint chips. I want to see what’s underneath.

Are you morphing in retirement? How would you describe it?  

Extra gluten, please

Bread porn.

I love, love, love making sourdough bread. I believe Gollum, my starter, has grown stronger with time. The bread has a tangy sourdough taste, and it rose higher this time. More kneading reduced the size of the holes, and I’m learning to score the bread with crisp lines.

Bread baking started out as a pandemic hobby, but I’m in for the long haul. Now that I kind of have the process for basic sourdough locked in, I’d like to experiment with variations. Thank goodness neither one of us has gluten issues. That would be a bummer.

Awhile back I suggested I might try making croissants. I studied the Cook’s Illustrated recipe and video, but it just seemed a bridge too far. I finally did subscribe to the NY Times cooking section, and they just posted a different recipe for croissants.

The Cook’s Illustrated recipe makes 22, which seems rather ridiculous. The NY Times makes eight. That sounds more manageable to me, so I might give it a go.

The secret to better cuticles

I’m getting a pedicure today. I’m as immune as I’ll ever be, and everyone will be masked up. I honestly don’t know why I care so much about my toes, when my hands and fingernails look absolutely horrible.

My cuticles are the worst in the world. But I have discovered the secret to better cuticles. It involves a soapy water and a sink full of dishes.

Dale made macaroni and cheese this week, and the mess was horrendous. Lots of extra stuff that wouldn’t go in the dishwasher, so I washed a lot by hand. My cuticles softened up, and the dry stuff came right off.

And no, this does not mean I’m signing up to clean Dale’s messes. However, his mac & cheese might be worth it. Not gooey like some – lots of extra sharp cheddar cheese but still firm.

By the way, I still owe you a recipe for Dale’s enchilada sauce. Coming soon to a blog near you.

COVID-19 vaccination: Part II

We received our second doses of the two Pfizer vaccines, and it was a bit underwhelming. Having been through round one, you sort of know what to expect.

Although we faced the possibility of weather delays impacting our doses, everything went down without a hitch. We drove to the same indoor mass vaccination site, and the only difference was double masking.

Prior to entering the building, we were provided with a surgical mask to wear over or under our cloth masks.

Neither of us had any side effects. My arm was a little tender to the touch, but that’s it.

Still, it feels great to be fully vaccinated. I know it’s not a get-out-of-jail-free card, but as I understand it, of all the participants in all the vaccine trials, no one went to the hospital for COVID or died of COVID. That includes the Johnson & Johnson vaccine, which gets a bad rap because it’s not quite as effective in preventing mild illness.

But if there’s a 100 percent chance you won’t go to the hospital for COVID and a 100 percent chance you won’t die of COVID, then I’d say the vaccines work. All of them.

I’m not a medical professional, so please feel free to correct me. I’m sensitive to percentages, and numbers aren’t always what they seem, but I do know 100 percent is good. I was diagnosed with Stage 3 ovarian cancer years after my ovaries were removed during a routine hysterectomy.

According to what I’ve read, there was a 99 percent chance I would not get ovarian cancer with no ovaries. I drew the unlucky number. However, the statistics indicated I had a 25-30 percent chance of living five years, and I’m about to celebrate my 22-year cancer anniversary.

If only they had a cancer vaccine that prevented hospitalization and death.

I’ve been reading about people cheating to get the vaccine ahead of schedule, and I can’t believe someone with musical talent hasn’t already done a parody of Harry Belafonte’s old song, Jump in the Line. I think one of the refreshed lyrics could read:

Don’t Jump in di line, jab your body in time

(Okay, I believe you)

In absence of said parody, feel free to sing it around the house.

One week closer to a haircut

While I thank you very much for your most helpful comments about my hair, I hate looking at that picture, and I hate thinking about my hair. I’m no closer to a solution, other than to just get the trim next week as scheduled. As one wise reader said, the hair in my profile picture is probably the right length.

Barbara, a long-time reader from when I used to write about gray hair on my blog Rock the Silver, has suggested in the comments section on my last post a hairstyle she calls Fuchsschwanz. It sounds great, so I’m going to do a search for that and then see what happens.

I was happy with my hair for years, so I don’t know why I’m all of the sudden riddled with doubt, other than pandemic wear and tear. Is it possible there’s an end in sight and perhaps we shall be released from captivity?

In terms of re-entering the world, I’m ready to look good for a change. Even if it takes a little more effort.

Travel bragging

My foursome in golf yesterday included a woman I shall describe as a “travel bragger.” I don’t know the exact roots of this affliction, but I’ve seen it before, and I think it’s about fulfilling life’s dreams, and I certainly shouldn’t be critical of that, but …

She cannot stop name-dropping all the exotic places she’s been and where she’s going next. I could see having that conversation afterward, perhaps in a post-pandemic world with clubhouses and cocktails, but I prefer a quiet game regardless. About the only words I want to exchange during golf are, “Great drive” or “good putt.”  

After hearing about the holy land, Bratislava and wine tasting in Portugal, she said, “Do you travel much?” I said no. I wish I had just stopped there. I find one-word responses minimize the flow of chatter. But always the pleaser, I added, “We traveled a lot when we were younger and lived overseas for quite a few years.”

It’s like I opened the floodgates. Where? Oh, what was it like? To me, it was a complete distraction. I guess it’s not travel bragging when it’s your passion. I do recognize golf is a social game, so I will continue to work on conversation management. Once the clubhouse opens again, I might say, I’d love to talk about it – are you staying for a drink afterward?

Might work.

Two days and a wake-up

OUr second vaccines

Dale and I have been counting down the days until we get our second Pfizer vaccines. While there were some delays due to weather, it looks like we’re on track to get ours on schedule. As we used to say in the military, it’s two days and a wake-up!

Then it’s a two-week wait, and of course, we understand nothing is risk-free. It’s not like we’re changing our lives. Still, I have an appointment for a haircut exactly two weeks after. That appointment is the only thing between me and an ugly episode of Hair Clippers Gone Wild.

Unless it gets really bad again, we’d like to go camping when it warms up. I need art supplies, and I’m looking forward to wandering around a store instead of ordering it on Amazon.

A home for my art?

Speaking of art, I’m still a little cautious about sharing my woodburning art projects with people who may not like them. My sisters-in-law each received one for Christmas, and I understand they were not impressed. I get it, art is personal, blah, blah, blah.

I wondered if I could donate them to a thrift store that benefits a non-profit organization I’d feel good about supporting. I found one shop that benefits a cat shelter, and that might well be my first stop.

As for the art, they may love it, they may hate it or my little creations might not be a good fit for their clientele, but once I’m in the immune-zone, I plan to pay a visit.

A cooking failure

We had a rare cooking failure this week. Dale and I both love fried oysters, and it’s one of the few things we don’t make at home. We have one of those big home deep fryers but rarely use it. I made onion rings in it a few years ago, and they were greasy and soggy. I thought the temperature gauge was off.

But we kept it. This week Dale decided to test it. He filled the fryer with oil and heated it up, setting the temperature to 350 and then 375 degrees. The thermostat registered the proper temperature after the appropriate amount of time, and he used a separate instant-read thermometer for cross-reference.

Then he bought fresh oysters and shucked them himself. These were tough to open, and it was quite a task. He also decided to make homemade French fries and coleslaw to go with. There was some sort of coating made with buttermilk and cornmeal, but I wasn’t paying attention at that point.

He cooked it all up, and the oysters and French fries were inedible greasy soggy messes. I also had the audacity to say he put too much mayonnaise in the coleslaw. That did not help. I believe he described it as “piling on.”

It seems the machine heats up properly but can’t maintain temperature. So totally not Dale’s fault, although he felt terrible. We both get quite devasted when our food fails for whatever reason.

Anyway, the fryer (not the person who fries) is gone, although we will probably look for another one. We don’t do the big fry often, but those jumbo-sized things are handy.

Books and TV

I’m almost finished with Schitt’s Creek, and I have enjoyed it much more since I basically told Dale he had to binge-watch it with me or pass. In other words, Schitt’s or get off the pot.

I just can’t get into a show when he only wants to watch it once a month. I love it, but I do wish David would get married already. This is taking forever.

I highly recommend Lupin on Netflix but with only six episodes, it was over way too fast. It’s a French show, dubbed, about the son of an immigrant from Senegal who grows up to be a world-class thief with a heart of gold and a penchant for amazing disguises. I understand there are more at the ready, but they are waiting until summer to release them.

I’m on the waiting list at the library for Jussi Adler-Olsen’s Victim 2117, the last of the Department Q series about Danish detective Carl Mørck. The previous book in the series told the back story of sidekick Rose, and I believe this one is about Assad – a great character with a secretive past.

Also from the library, I’m reading Beginners: The Joy and Transformative Power of Lifelong Learning by Tom Vanderbilt. I should probably do a complete review, but I’m not sure I will. I like it, and I suspect a lot of retirees will be inspired by it, but the author sort of annoys me. He’s a journalist with a wife and family who decides to learn to sing and surf, among other activities.

I mean, sure, he wrote a book about it and will hopefully recoup some of his expenses, but I can’t help thinking about his wife, and what it must have felt like for her as he went off on this mid-life journey disguised as work.

Sorry about the mess, honey, but I’m late for choir practice! It feeds my soul! Oh, can you take me to the airport next week? I’m off to Costa Rica for surfing lessons!

I’m probably not being fair. I’ve been sort of cranky lately. I mean, I’m more relaxed and sleeping way better with The Former Guy somewhat out of the picture, but there’s still a lot of bad stuff going down out there, and I have to force myself to let go of things I can’t control.

Note to self: Stay away from the hair clippers.

Cloudspotting for beginners

My cloudspotting guides tell me these are Cirrus, high-altitude clouds composed of ice crystals but usually associated with fair weather.

Sourdough Saga

Today is bread day. While Gollum, my sourdough starter, is ready for action, I’m still not completely confident the bread will rise as it’s supposed to.

If you missed my last post, I named my starter Gollum, because when it comes to sourdough adventures, I find myself thinking about Gandalf, who said, “My heart tells me that Gollum has some part to play in it, for good or evil, before this is over.”

Now would be the time to mention Monday was also bread day, but my attempt was aborted by Gollum. The Tartine book said to discard all but a tablespoon of starter and then feed it again with the flour/water mixture. I’m not sure what happened, but Gollum failed to yield his precious bubbles after I fed him again, so I gave him more time to gather strength.

While Tartine is a great resource, it gets complicated fast, and I find Elaine at Foodbod Sourdough to be more approachable. Although I made the starter from Tartine, I’m following Elaine’s recipe for my first loaf of bread.

The dough is now experiencing the joys of “bulk fermentation” in the refrigerator. I will bake the bread later this afternoon. You may expect a full report in the coming days.

Happy in the middle

I’ve always wanted to be great at something, but greatness has eluded me, and the reality is that I’m adequate and sometimes pretty good at lots of things. This used to make me sad and envious as I read accounts of gifted and accomplished people with tremendous passion for their crafts.

As I’ve gotten older and experienced the simple pleasures of retirement, it turns out I’m quite happy in the middle. I don’t have a singular focus that drives me and see myself as a dabbler of sorts.

Dale is the same, and we were discussing it over drinks one evening. What is the name for people like us? He thought Renaissance man might fit the bill – a person of broad talents or expertise. But then I would hardly put us in the same league as Leonardo da Vinci.

Then whilst Googling around, I read this description of the modern Renaissance man or woman:

In the simplest terms, a Renaissance man is a person with genuine competence in and understanding of multiple different fields, all of which complement one another to make him a more talented and productive person.

I also discovered fellow blogger Patricia Doyle at Retirement Transition addressed this very same topic in 2019. She wrote:

Modern day Renaissance woman (or man) loves learning (has a mindset of continual learning) and enjoys discovering more. She/he is not “meandering” but delving just deep enough to gain knowledge; she/he recognizes that not everything has to be “mastered.”

Sounds good to me!

cloudspotting for beginners

As if I don’t already have enough to amuse me, I have become a fledgling cloudspotter! This is a great pandemic hobby, much like bird watching, and you don’t even have to leave your house.

I’ve always loved clouds. I vividly remember taking swimming lessons as a child. Floating on my back between sessions and trying to give name to shapes I saw in the sky. Was it a dog? A horse? But I never made much of an effort to learn more about them. Until last week.

I was playing golf and distance-chatting with one of my partners, when she mentioned a podcast that talked about the Cloud Appreciation Society. It’s a cool website with lots of amazing cloud pictures. I haven’t joined yet, but I definitely want that Cloud Selector Identification Wheel.  

In the meantime, I purchased The Cloudspotter’s Guide by Gavin Pretor-Pinney, founder of the Cloud Appreciation Society. He’s a very entertaining writer with lots of good stories about clouds, but it is quite techy. Dale can’t wait for me to finish so he can get started. His brain absorbs details better than mine.

Me? I’m looking for quick results, so I downloaded three free Android apps on Google Play to help with cloud identification.

  • Cloudspotting
  • Cloud-a-Day
  • Cloud Guide

My favorite so far is Cloud-a-Day, which has an Artificial Intelligence feature. I photograph a cloud formation, and it returns with a message:

Out of the 10 main cloud types, the Cloudspotter AI thinks it is this one.

Although there are 10 main cloud types, there are tons of sub-types and amazing rare cloud formations that even have special names. I’m just scratching the surface, but I’m seriously enjoying this new pleasure.

No aspirations involving greatness, but I’d like to get good enough to look up at the sky, and casually confirm, “Ah, cumulonimbus, thunderstorms likely.”

Adios, 2020

A tiny tin of caviar for New Year’s Eve.

Here it is. The end of a miserable year. You think, well, thank God that’s over. But you know it’s not. There ain’t no shortage of misery in these parts.

Golf intersects with life

But there’s lots of good stuff, too, so you keep going. It’s just like golf. No, really, it is. I played my best golf ever this year, breaking 80 several times. I thought, oh, joy, those days of high scores are over at last!

And then came the high scores.

Damn it, just like life. I think yesterday was my worst round of the year. As we were finishing up on 18, after my fourth double bogey in five holes, one of the women said, “It was great to play with you, even if you didn’t play as well on the back nine.”

I’ve been in a snit ever since. I mean, was that necessary? In golf and in life, you don’t need to remind people when they suck.

One of the other women in my group stopped me in the parking lot to share she has broken 100 for the first time. I said congrats and all that, but really, I was in my own head at that point. Today, feeling crummy, I sent her an email congratulating her again on a wonderful milestone. She sent back the nicest note, and it helped me dump the negative waves.

In this case, it was definitely better to give than receive. I find it helps to do something nice for someone else to take the sting out of my own hurt feelings. Yet another lesson about accepting the ups and downs of life (and golf).

New Year’s Eve

Our New Year’s plans are typical. Stay home, eat well. I’m making baguettes, which we will have with good olive oil, a runny Brie, Italian cold cuts and other small bites. Champagne. This year’s treat is 50 grams of caviar.

Back in the day, we ate the good stuff from Russia on occasion. I don’t even know if you can get it anymore. We’ve tried American paddlefish, which is OK, but nothing to write home about. We like American farm-raised sturgeon from Sterling Caviar, which is less than an hour from our home. Sadly, they don’t have tours.

We’ve enjoyed caviar on toast points or on blinis, but this year we are going minimalist. We have one mother-of-pearl caviar spoon, which we will share out of convenience romanticism. I suppose there will be a fight over who goes first, but one person will eat her half right out of the tiny tin and then pass the spoon to Dale, who will then eat his half.

Now we know who goes first.

You had me at coconut milk

In other food news, I made Kabocha Squash Red Curry. I love anything in coconut milk, and I love Kabocha squash, so this was a total winner. The pomegranate seeds as a garnish were a yummy touch. We had a lot of leftover pom seeds, so I’ve put them on a sheet tray in the freezer for a couple of hours and will then bag them. Should work.

The only thing I did different with the recipe is add one diced serrano and one diced jalapeno pepper when I added the ginger. They were old peppers I wanted to use up, and the end result just wasn’t hot enough for us. I definitely think this dish can take the heat if you are so inclined.  

Today is a busy cooking day. In addition to the baguettes, I’m making beef stock out of the bones and scraps from our Christmas roast beef. Dale is making pâte.

Requiem for fuzzy pink slippers

Heartbreaking though it is, I believe my fuzzy fleece-lined pink Crocs are toast. Unless I was out playing golf or walking, I wore them all day every day, and they began to stink. Badly. I hand-washed them in soap and water, and it took a week for them to dry, even with a blow dryer assist. They still smelled awful.

I purchased “odor neutralizer” powder and sprinkled that in. It’s even worse. Anyway, my slippers/Crocs are in time out. I’m pretty sure they are history, but I haven’t tossed them yet, in case anyone has a remedy.   

Bueller, Bueller, anyone? 

Thank you

As we end the year, I’d like to thank you for hanging out with me here at Retirement Confidential. Lockdown has been tough, and politics has been brutal, but we’re retired! We can sleep late, and the food is good. I hope you found plenty of happiness in spite of it all, and I wish you unbridled joy in 2021.

Adios, 2020.

So long, farewell, aufwiedersehn, goodbye.

See ya. Wouldn’t want to be ya.

Scram.

Be gone with you.

And get off my lawn!

Joy-makers

Intellectual distancing

As I write this, results of the U.S. election are still not known and may not be for days, possibly weeks? But I will say this. No matter who ultimately wins, lots of Americans still think Trump is an OK guy, and I think that’s a sign I need to stop paying so much attention to politics. I’m not going to waste my happiness capital on something I don’t understand and can’t control.

I’ll still make an effort to stay informed about what’s going on in the world, but I’m going to practice intellectual distancing. Why not? I’ve already nailed social distancing.

The rhetoric will read to me as blah, blah, blah, and then I will move onto something else. I’m done reading about anything Trump says or does. Although I’d like to see him exit the way they did it at work when someone’s bad behaviors finally caught up with them – escorted out of the building carrying a single box of their belongings.

Although I’m not much of an activist, if a crisis or cause should need my help, I’m there. What I need to do is cut off my emotional attachment to the outcome. In other words, you do what you can. Sometimes things go your way and sometimes they don’t. But keep your joy flowing. Maybe serious activists already know this. They are probably masters are compartmentalizing.

Joy-Makers

In spite of everything, there is much joy to be had, especially in retirement, which I consider life’s grand gift. It’s that whole simple pleasures thing. I haven’t been anywhere other than a golf course or the grocery store since March, but it’s not all bad.

I’ve been golfing a long time, but who knew it would turn out to be a great pandemic activity? Golf has been a joy-maker for me. Somehow the pandemic helped me with my mental game. I’m not easily frustrated anymore and just enjoy the challenges.

After a day out playing golf, I so look forward to a day at home with Dale. Breakfast, coffee, a few chores. Dinner – always our favorite subject. Last night, he outdid himself. Cordon Bleu, which are pockets of pounded-out veal stuffed with ham and cheese and then breaded and pan fried. Homemade French fries and a salad. A crisp Riesling to go with. I’m gonna have to do my long walk today just to feel moral again.

Dale made a batch of kimchi, and it’s ready to eat after fermenting for about a week. We like kimchi fried rice with a runny fried egg on top.

I made a batch of scones in my new scone pan. They came out beautifully, but the scones needed a lot more cooking time to get browned on the bottom and evenly cooked. I’ve made some notes to the recipe, so hopefully, it will be easier next time.

In the old days, I thought cookbooks were sacrosanct. You didn’t deface them with your primitive scribbles. Now I scrawl all over them, because otherwise you can’t keep track of changes you’ve made to the recipes. My notes have saved many a dinner.

Another joy-maker is my woodburning art. I still have no idea where all these little treasures will end up, but I do love making them. And I continue to learn – not only about art but about myself as well. For example, I started a project using one of the darker pieces of wood. I wanted some boldness to play against the dark and started with sort of an abstract tree-shaped thing with big splotches of black and white.

I was loving it, when Dale walked by and said, “Oh, a cow.” That was the last thing I was trying to convey. So, I started to de-cow it by adding additional colors, and I ruined it. Although I wasn’t mad at Dale, I was mad at myself and threw the damned thing away.

But then it occurred to me I let someone else’s opinion shape my vision. For me, it’s hard, but you’ve got to trust yourself. My next piece will definitely have some cow-like pattern.

This last piece of art was hard because I was coming off my big cow mistake, and I didn’t want to screw it up. Plus, the wood was quite damaged and hard to work with. I was facing the dreaded dealing-with-imperfection crisis, when I remembered – that’s the whole point of burning and coloring messed up wood. It’s already messed up! Anything I do to it makes it different and interesting.

Messed up but different and interesting. If that’s all anyone ever said about me, I’d be happy.