Category: Simple Pleasures

Chocolate and caviar

While I am doing reasonably well with my strategy to disengage from the news, some things can’t be overlooked. For example, when the president of the United States calls for annihilating a civilization, it’s time for even drive-by citizens to speak up.

I’m calling my three legislators every day or at least until I poop out telling them Trump must be removed from office one way or the other. He is stark-raving mad.

But we all have ways of coping. Chocolate and caviar. But not together.

Dale and I had one tiny tin of really good caviar left over from New Year’s, which we didn’t celebrate due to our unfortunate turn of events. The tin was tightly sealed, but I said, you know now, it’s not getting any younger.

It was last night on the eve of destruction that I dragged it out and suggested we have one last pleasure before it all went up in smoke. Dale agreed, but then my sister called to tell me there was a two-week cease fire. So, we ate it anyway to celebrate the possibility of better times ahead.

For the record, we no longer make a pretense of eating caviar with accompaniments. We each have a mother-of-pearl spoon (nonreactive). I open the tin and we pass it back and forth until gone. Don’t worry. It’s over quick.

I have found that trying to restrict what I write about doesn’t do me any good. I think it’s better to write a little more frequently and let it roll. Hopefully, I will keep trying and find the right balance.

We are both doing well recovering from our injuries. Dale is amazing. I don’t think they thought a 76-year-old man would bounce back like he has from a fractured pelvis, but there you have it. I’m closing in on week 11 since I fell and broke my proximal humerus.

I’ve been referring to it as a broken arm, and I was surprised to find the whole thing so painful. But then I read this particular fracture is sometimes referred to as a broken shoulder, and for some reason, the pain level made more sense to me. It’s all in the branding.

The physical therapy hurts, but I am improving significantly, especially my range of motion. I have started to sleep better. Still not quite what I need for a happy snooze, but I do think it’s within sight.

For awhile there, I couldn’t keep weight on. It was scary, but I ate more, and now I have to pay attention to what I eat or the pounds creep back on. I sort of miss all that extra eating. It was fun while it lasted. But now, even being careful, I refuse to give up my evening cookie. I won’t say we eat one every single night, but most nights, yes.

I keep a stash of homemade cookies in the freezer. Two kinds of chocolate and an oatmeal. It’s the perfect treat – high in taste but not ultra-processed and built-in portion control. There’s a coconut sheet cake featured in a recent King Arthur email that looks absolutely enticing, but I feel like that’s a slippery slope. 

I’ve been using really good quality chocolate baking chips. They are expensive but worth it, in our opinion. They also make delicious fudgsicles. And as our weather warms up again, I can see putting them back on the menu. It’s fun to eat one outside after dinner. I don’t know why it feels special, but it’s a simple pleasure we both enjoy enormously.

If you’re into making popsicles or fudgsicles, I recommend hard plastic molds like these. I tried the silicone, and they were worthless. My baking chocolate is from Dick Taylor.  It’s a great place up in Eureka, where my sister lives. We toured the factory one time when I was up there for a visit. Very fun! This is their recipe for fudgsicles:

I haven’t done any of my art because I didn’t think I could sand the board. But I’m feeling pretty frisky and might try it today. My entire recovery strategy is to push hard enough to get things done and improve but not so hard as to interfere with my sleep. You might be surprised to learn that is a fine line. For me, at least, the pain always comes later.

As soon as I can predictably sleep through the night without a mountain of pillows, we are going to take some sort of a little road trip. We like Morro Bay. It’s a longish drive, so we might need a little more time before embarking on that particular journey. But we are ready to get back into life.

Escape plan

These are the times that try men’s souls.

I don’t trust myself to write coherently about what is going on here in the USA. When people talked about having an escape plan and leaving the country after Trump was elected, I said you can run, but you can’t hide. Dark political forces never rest, no matter where you live. May as well stay and ride it out. Do what you can to resist, help others and try to enjoy life.

Nothing has changed. That’s still the plan, but geez, Trump’s U.N. speech was whackadoodle and now Don and Pete’s excellent adventure at Quantico … I find myself browsing sites that tell you how to leave.

Just window shopping. I’m ever hopeful we’ll pull through this. I don’t need much to keep me going. A key resignation. Mass resistance. Somebody with a backbone. The Epstein files. Every little bit counts.

In spite of it all, I feel pretty good. Thank you, God, for Jameson Black Barrel.

My meeting with the Indivisible contact was postponed, but it’s back on the schedule for this weekend. I’m excited to see how I can help. Dale and I are planning to attend one of the No Kings protests on Oct. 18. It’s just a matter of which location. I vote for easy parking.

I’m so grateful to have hobbies and interests that take me out of the current political moment and give me joy. As I’ve said time and again, it’s all about simple pleasures. Maybe I’m turning soft, or maybe just because it’s fall, but even noticing changes in the weather or the light feels like a gift.

You may recall I’ve been dabbling at art since Covid, and seriously, it has been a lifeline. I burn designs on wood and then paint them for a mural-like effect. I was using pallet scraps but recently decided to do something different. For Number 46, I purchased a piece of bass wood typically used for craft projects.

So, here she is. Number 46.

While the wood was nice to work with, I find it rather one-dimensional. I probably won’t buy it again. And I should be OK, because I bought a big box of some really cool reclaimed wood that I’m eager to try. I sanded a couple of them yesterday, so they’re primed and ready.

That’s my escape plan.

My favorite job so far

I’m coming up on my eight-year retirement anniversary. Knowing what I know now, would I do anything different?

Hard to say. What I know now isn’t any better than what I knew then. I just have more time to ruminate on it. Occasionally I wonder if I have it in me to work again. Part of me says yes. I’m certainly capable, and I wouldn’t mind putting on real clothes, but I don’t see how I could sustain my lifestyle.

Unless I have a tee time, it takes me a couple of hours to get going in the morning. I revel in the slow start. Breakfast, coffee, news, constitutionals, puzzles. Of course, it takes time to get my blood pressure back to normal after reading the paper, so there’s that.

Although I was minimally fit during my working years, I’m in way better shape now. But it’s a commitment, and I find it easier to stick with the program when I don’t have to make decisions that interfere with happy hour.

I try to get all my exercise in before lunch because … well, lunch.

Dinner is just one more meal away. It creeps up fast, and you’ve got to be ready. I like to be involved in that whole business. I suppose my husband, Dale, could go back to being the primary for meal planning, but the older he gets, the more he eats like a 10-year-old boy. The man needs supervision.

It’s true I’ve gotten a little older in eight years. Haven’t we all? It now takes a village to maintain my aesthetic standards. Facials, massages, pedicures, haircuts. While I would have benefitted from all that when I was working … looking sharp for all those high-level personal interactions … there was no time for such indulgences. In my career, they didn’t hand out prizes for most chilled.

Now I have the time, except these days I’m talking to the cat. And seriously, he’s not interested in anything I have to say. Unless I’m coated in kibble, I don’t think he cares what I look like. It’s just me and the mirror. My steady date.

Finally, there’s the problem of my inside voice. As it is with so many retirees, what used to be my inside voice is now my outside voice, and it does not always reveal my best side. However, I think it’s like toothpaste. No going back.

All in all, I don’t see how it would be possible to go back to work. Which means I will continue to focus on the simple pleasures of retirement, which is my favorite job so far.

In other news, it turns out the goo in my car was probably my fault. The dude at the dealership said I must have spilled a soda down into the console. I said I haven’t had a soda in 20 years, but I did not mention my PBJ burritos. Apparently, the culprit was marionberry jam. That will teach me for being a food snob. Grape jelly wouldn’t pull a stunt like that.

Messy eating cost me $200. They had to clean it all up and replace a switch, because the goo apparently went everywhere. No more eating in the car. And there you have it, another pro tip from Retirement Confidential.

I will leave you with Number 45. The wood was tough to burn, and I got fed up with it. By coincidence, it occurred to me that pallet scraps are probably treated with chemicals and shouldn’t be burned anyway. I wear a mask, but still.

While I found the rustic pallets charming, and I liked the idea of transforming them into something unique, they can be frustrating to burn when I’m working on small, detailed designs. My skills have improved over the past few years, and better wood will give me an opportunity to try new things.

So, yay. Farewell my pallet friends. You had a good run.

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.

The opposite of bored

You know the age old question for retirees. What do you do all day? If you find the idea of being bored in retirement preposterous, this post might be for you.

My thinking on this subject has morphed since I started watching Astrid on PBS Masterpiece. The show features a brilliant autistic woman named Astrid who works in criminal records and is recruited by a detective to help solve crimes. It’s French with subtitles, which I hardly notice.

Her autism bugged me at first, but I grew more comfortable with it as the series and the characters evolved. Wouldn’t it be great if it worked that way in real life? You spend some time with a person, get to know them and maybe they don’t seem so damn odd after all. One can hope.

A common characteristic of people with autism is the special interest, which is an intense hyper-focus area that brings joy and helps them stay centered. To some, a special interest may come across as obsessive, but a few of us out here might be envious.

I’m talking about we, the people, who have too many interests and sometimes have difficulty focusing. As for me, I’ve spent a lot of time and dropped a fair chunk of change on things that interested me … for a while.

Retirement changes the game. The good news is we have time and hopefully enough money to dabble, and sometimes we’re like kids in a candy store. It’s exciting to think, what do I want to try next? But then you realize time doesn’t last forever, and it’s a fixed income, anyway, so you can’t get stupid with it.

I already have plenty of interests, but every now and then I’m tempted by some new shiny object. Sewing is one. I used to jump for it, but now that I’m older and wiser, I start thinking about the start-up costs, learning curve, space requirements, time commitment – and I get stuck.

Like Astrid, do I need something to stay centered? She inspired me to think about my current hobbies as special interests. Plural. These are the activities that have stood the test of time. Instead of spreading myself too thin, I want to make the most of what I know is sustainable.

My approach to these interests is haphazard at best. I grow cannabis, for example, but sometimes my yields are unsatisfactory, and I’ve done nothing to dig deeper and find out why. Cooking is a big one, but there’s no organization or the slightest bit of discipline to my approach. The house looks like a recipe bomb exploded, and no one came to clean up the debris.

One of the joys of retirement is that you can throw rigid schedules out the window, and I relish my laid back lifestyle. That said, it’s time to focus on my special interests in a more mindful way. Pay more attention to the details.

For starters, I bought a book about growing cannabis, and it has given me good ideas for how to improve my yield. I spend an inordinate amount of time on puzzles, so I might cap that at an hour a day. Swimming is 30 minutes of freestyle, but I could easily introduce some variations to my workout.

While I suppose there’s a certain charm to being the eccentric Bohemian who dabbles in what amuses her, retirement by shiny object can be stressful. I waste a lot of time doing not much of anything because I’m overwhelmed by choices. On the other hand, I don’t want a hardcore regimen about what I do when.

If this dilemma sounds familiar, I can offer a few suggestions that will perhaps help us maximize the pleasures and outcomes of things we already do.

Does this interest make you happy? How much time are you committing? Think weekly not daily – overall, is there balance? Do you feel calm? Would you enjoy improving your skill level or technique? Can you throw some money at it? Will a schedule or some sort of organizational structure bring clarity, improve your performance or just create unwanted stress?

There will come a day when I ignore all reason and go for it, but right now I’m saying no to sewing and other shiny objects so I can properly tend to my current garden of interests.

Time calibration

I never thought I’d say this about retirement, but in some ways, time is harder to manage than money.

In the cosmic sense, you think, how much time do I have left on the planet? Another 20 years? Is this how I want to spend it? For the most part, I’d say yes, but then I wonder what I might be missing.

Mostly I avoid thinking about the cosmos as it applies to me. I have a good life and try to enjoy the time that has been given. Still, I’m wondering if I need a time calibration on the simple pleasures of day-to-day life.

I mean, I’ll get up early for golf if I have to, but that’s about it. I’m a fan of the slow start, which means a leisurely breakfast and a slew of puzzles from the New York Times. By the way, I’m loving the new game, Strands.

Then there are chores, exercise, reading, writing, streaming shows, travel, art and the art of food – browsing recipes, shopping for ingredients, preparing meals and enjoying the results! I’m sure the young and busy with their families and jobs and all that are thinking, oh, wah, how hard can it be?

Well, true, it’s not that it’s hard. It’s just that we older folks know the clock is ticking, and it goes back to that cosmic thing. Could I be doing this differently? The big thing for me is setting aside more time to write. Not only for blog posts but also because writers write. It helps me think.

I’ve been reading a lot, but I’d like to try more challenging material. I saw a paperback of All Quiet on the Western Front in our stash, and I barely remember it from high school. And other than one class in college, I’ve never taken to Shakespeare, although it might be time. I’ll need to be upright for that.

Snuggly reading under the covers is better suited for a good who-done-it.

Now that I think about it, I’m doing OK, but maybe a little less golf and a little more in the way of intellectual pursuits. Not that golf doesn’t fry your brain – just in a different way. Anyway, as I was thinking about how I live and spend my time as I age, I started a random list of questions I should probably work through. See what you think.

  • How much sleep is too much sleep? Do you have to stop at 10?
  • Why is everything better with butter?
  • Amazon or Spotify? Do I care what Neil Young thinks?
  • What counts as one glass of wine?
  • Acorn or BritBox?
  • Is it Friday or was that yesterday?
  • If you get up to pee three times in a night, does an angel get its wings?
  • What’s so bad about a gluten-rich diet?
  • Why is it always about the knees?
  • If I can gain five pounds in a week, why can’t I lose five pounds in a week?
  • How many Law & Order reruns can I watch? Am I wrong to love Lenny?
  • Kale. OK, but why?
  • Peeps. Crap candy or nature’s miracle?

There are more, but we’ll stop here so you can get back to the important things you were doing with your time.

Retirement math

Last year was my fifth year of retirement, and I’m pleased to report I’m getting better at accomplishing very little. In 2023, I read a lot of crime fiction, wrote a bunch of blog posts, took a few road trips, watched a couple dozen shows on TV, walked, stretched, swam, cooked and ate delicious food. Dabbled at art.

I’d say it was a fine year. As a recovering over-achiever, it feels good to enjoy simple pleasures and chill. I don’t really like to keep count, as my last job was all about metrics gone wild. That said, you may be interested to learn I also enjoyed 21 blissful hours of full-body massage and about 100 rounds of golf.

Now for a “deep dive” into retirement math.

At an average of 4.5 hours per round, that’s 450 hours of golf. If one assumes a 40-hour work week, 450 hours converts to 11.25 weeks of golf, and that is the equivalent of playing golf for more than two months of the year!

My massages added up to $1,960. However, I don’t dye my hair, so let’s deduct $125 per month from massage expenditures. That leaves us at $460, which a working person such as myself might have spent on makeup, shoes, dry cleaning or even Botox. So, let’s just wipe the slate clean and accept that in retirement math, my massages are free.

There might be something to metrics after all. Seriously, I don’t think I’m playing enough golf.

What I learned in a year

I just hit the one-year mark on my retirement, although I was still on the payroll through most of October burning up the last of the vacation I could never seem to take for one reason or another. That means a year of not getting up at 4 a.m. or commuting 2.5 hours a day. Bliss!

What have I learned in a year?

  1. I was better at work than I am at golf.
  2. The house gets messier when you actually live there.
  3. Libraries rock.
  4. There is no shame in going to bed early and waking up late.
  5. My husband never says no when I say, “I’m going to Target, do you want to come along?”
  6. The kitchen gets messier when you actually cook.
  7. An occasional beer with lunch is a nice treat.
  8. Worrying about money doesn’t make the stock market go up or down.
  9. Housework sucks but keeps you moving and burns calories.
  10. My wardrobe fits into a laundry basket.
  11. Cannabis in small doses reduces pain and makes me happy.
  12. The dishwasher runs more than I do.
  13. Crocs make great slippers.
  14. Writing for pleasure and practice is fun and therapeutic.
  15. Sometimes I start thinking about lunch as soon as I finish breakfast.
  16. It’s better to say nothing than to criticize my husband’s driving.
  17. Cooking delicious food at home ruins you for most restaurants.
  18. Men don’t see dirt.
  19. Birkenstocks go with everything.
  20. The idea of a job has become increasingly unattractive.
  21. Change is good.
  22. I still can’t get rid of my work clothes.
  23. My inside voice and my outside voice are converging.
  24. It’s no big deal to squander a day – lots more where those came from.
  25. Gray hair looks good and saves time and money.
  26. You can have a social life without social media.
  27. I like Kohl’s better than Nordstrom.
  28. Homemade yogurt is worth the trouble.
  29. My husband does not report to me.
  30. Walking is good exercise, and it’s free.

Looking for money

My mother and I used to go for long walks, usually ending up at one of the strip malls that punctuated our southern California town. As we stood on the front porch ready to go, she’d lock the door, check it and recheck it before turning to me to share her time-honored parental advice:

Remember. Look for money.

Seriously. Mom’s thing was to look for money as we walked, I guess because there was never enough. And the funny thing is – we usually found it! Scattered coins in the sidewalk cracks, a dollar blowing in the breeze. Once we found two $5 bills, and it was as though we’d won the lottery.

Sometimes we’d celebrate with a bite to eat at the dime store lunch counter. Was it J.J. Newberry or Woolworth’s? I can’t remember, and they’re both gone now. Mom got Jello because it wasn’t fattening. Grilled cheese for me because it was cheap.

Money was in short supply at our house, and perhaps that is why I grew up obsessed with making sure I had enough. And with this mindset, it’s easy to believe there will never be enough. No sacrifice to great, no cushion to thick – more money always wins.

Some baby boomers are reluctant to retire, in part because they haven’t saved enough and in part because they can’t give it up. Boomers say it’s the work they can’t give up, and I get that, because what we do for a living is part of our identity. But I also wonder if it’s the need to make money and the habit of spending money we can’t quite quit.

Only in the last few years did I begin to reconsider my relationship with money. I had a nice nest egg from years of saving, and that helped. But as I closed in on the concept of retirement, it occurred to me I could feel more secure with that nest egg if I spent less. You don’t need as much stuff as you think.

It is scary when the regular paychecks stop. I’m not super-frugal, and I’m not a financial whiz. Preparing for retirement was more about changing my mindset … believing I could live differently and gain back what we used to call a life. Time to sleep late, read, write and cook from scratch. Meet with friends, volunteer, maybe a little side hustle just in case.

I still love my long walks, and now I have time for them. Sometimes I enjoy a mindless loop, and other times I like walking toward a destination. There’s a little strip mall at the bottom of the hill, and I often think about stopping for a bite to eat. For now, I just keep going, occasionally scanning the grass that lines the sidewalk, looking for money.