Category: Simple Pleasures

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.”

Living large at home

Number 15

California’s governor lifted the much-maligned stay-at-home order just in time for a winter storm to roll in, and all of the sudden everyone wants to, um, stay home. Apparently, freedom’s just another word for let’s stay warm and dry.

Some businesses are starting to open again, although we aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. While I hate to admit this, I’ve become quite comfortable here in my nest. I do get out for walking and golf, but that’s it. Once in a while I get this idea I need to go out and buy something, but then I think, oh, I could just get that on Amazon.

In some ways, it will be hard to push myself out the door when the time comes. Dale’s not far behind me. He keeps a pair of binoculars by his desk that faces a window overlooking the street and reports on daily activities.

“Oh, it looks like the Johnson clan is getting new appliances.”

We really do need to get out more.

In the meantime, I’m grateful for hobbies that keep me amused. I finished another piece of woodburning art, ceremoniously named Number 15. This would be the successor to numbers one through 14. Creativity is sometimes stretched thin during these unprecedented times.

I made it for my dear friend, Carole, whose house has a lot of blue and green. I didn’t want to mimic her colors but instead complement them. It took great discipline to stick to the color scheme, as my previous works seem to be an explosion of reds. I did add just a tiny splash of red and yellow for character.

When I uploaded the piece to my online gallery, I was surprised how different it is from my other examples. I like the all-colors-are-welcome approach, but sticking with a palette is interesting, too.

This time I used a combination of acrylic paint and pencils to fill in the designs I made with the woodburning tool. Because I used so many greens and blues and have a limited supply of paint and pencils, I concocted custom colors for the first time. My sister, The Michaels Whisperer, tells me I can buy a book that essentially provides recipes for color-mixing.

As for scrap wood, I have a couple pieces left. I told asked Dale to be on the lookout and suggested he might want to drive through the neighborhood to see what people are tossing. Not all things are visible from his observation tower by the window.

Although I said in my last post I wasn’t particularly productive, several of us got into a discussion in the comments section and Tamara wondered if engaged is a better word. In addition to my golf addiction, I’m definitely engaged in a number of creative pursuits, to include cooking, baking, writing, growing cannabis and practicing art.

Still, I avoid overengineering my time and try not to make a job out of it.

While we all look forward to a cornucopia of post-pandemic options, I’m not waiting for it to end before I start to live. There’s something to be said for a simple but enjoyable lifestyle that is sustainable through good times and bad. I am fortunate to have a choice, and my simple pleasures in no way mitigate the pain and suffering others are experiencing throughout this ordeal.

I might not be living large, but I’m living large at home. As best I can, anyway.

Learning to jump

It’s hard to process what has been happening. I have few words. Earlier in the week, I had something all written up about Trump’s call to Georgia’s Secretary of State, thinking that was the new low. I thought, this is what crazy sounds like. Before I could hit publish, there was another new low.

Looks like a race to the bottom. And now we know what crazy looks like.

And so, I try to stay calm. I was never good at meditation. I tried when I was first diagnosed with cancer 21 years ago, but I always fell asleep! Several years ago, I found a free app with guided meditations and used to do them on the bus as I commuted to work. I pulled up the app yesterday and did a 20-minute session.

The guided meditation helped. The one I use is called Sattva. Although, I confess, a few naps have been equally satisfying. Just another way to tune out.

In the midst of all this, my sister-in-law reports her sister is no longer speaking to her because of a row they had over Trump. What a coincidence! My sister is not speaking to me because I was rude when she called to warn me accidents and illnesses are befalling everyone she knows.

Dale is still speaking to me, but he blocked Nancy Pelosi.

Blog anniversary

This week marks three years since I started Retirement Confidential. In the beginning, I had a little freelance gig lined up with a former colleague who owns her own consulting business and thought I would expand that over time. But then she unexpectedly dropped me like a hot potato, and I realized I was done working for other people anyway.

My biggest motivator was always money, and it took some time for me to stop worrying too much about it. I collaborated with our financial planner, and we agreed we had enough saved to fund our retirement (coupled with Dale’s pension and Social Security). We have a conservative portfolio that under normal conditions helps us sleep at night.

A pandemic and attempted coup kind of messes with sleep. However, we are hopeful the money will last.

Once I stopped worrying about cash flow, it’s surprising how quickly I lost my desire to do much more than entertain myself with simple pleasures. Retirement is great! I enjoy writing about the journey, and I love hearing your stories.

I’m not sure where the road will take us. It’s one hurdle after another, but I’m learning to jump. Aside from the current drama, perhaps a good goal is to enjoy a long and healthy life doing the things that bring us happiness.

Ambition is overrated

My latest pallet scrap burned and embellished with colored pencils.

In my About Me profile, I wrote:

I like to play golf, walk, swim, cook, read, write, watch TV, listen to music, make art and grow cannabis.

And you know, that pretty much sums it up. I never imagined I’d arrive at this place, but I might be devoid of ambition. Although I was fairly successful in my career, success comes with baggage I no longer wish to carry. That could all change, but during this phase of my retirement, it’s rather pleasant to dabble in what amuses me and be free of expectations and judgment.

While I may be voted the girl least likely to do anything memorable, I’m enjoying simple pleasures that escaped me as I scrambled up the ladder at work. For example, I’ve been playing golf for about 25 years, and I’ve never enjoyed it more than I do now.

For years, I felt every swing was being judged. Every mistake was a failure of catastrophic proportions. Now I just play to play, and I am a much better golfer without all that self-induced pressure. Playing partners frequently ask me if I compete in amateur events, and my response is no, I’m not wired for it.

I’ve also learned to accept imperfection through my woodburning activities. At first, I wanted to hoard my art because that was easier than waiting for someone to say, “I like it.” I started giving it away, and it has been quite liberating. In some cases, I will never know if someone liked it. I only know what was in my heart when I created it and shared it. Somehow, that’s enough.

As for my other hobbies, some are going quite well and others leave something to be desired. Between the virus and Trump’s antics, it’s hard for me to sit still long enough to read. I have a book I’ve renewed two times, and I’m committed to reading it before the next expiration date.

But I honestly am not sure I can relax until Elvis has left the building. I was hoping that would be on Inauguration Day, but I read they have to deep clean the White House due to COVID-19 (not simply the stench of his presence), so it may take longer once they finally drag him out, perhaps kicking and screaming. Handcuffs would be nice.

I haven’t been swimming since the health club was forced to close down its indoor activities. The outdoor pools are still open, but I had concerns about the whole set-up. I really wanted to swim Sunday, so I reserved a lane and went over there. I did not like what I saw.

The weight equipment has been moved outside, and I had to walk through sweaty maskless people to reach poolside, where they set up stationary bicycles at the water’s edge, where I would normally enter the pool, and where sweaty maskless people were furiously spinning away.

I left. I’m keeping my membership for now, as I expect the restrictions to loosen sometime in January. You know, after the Christmas COVID rush. Once all that equipment and all those people move back inside, I’ll feel safer.

Although I may be overly cautious, it’s better than being careless or in denial. I played golf with an older guy, who said, “There’s a zero percent chance of getting this virus, but a few people do get it.” Lord. I just keep my mouth shut and the distance greater than six feet.

In the continuing adventures of a gentlewoman cannabis farmer, my plants have been doing great! I grow one at a time by a south-facing window with supplemental light. With autoflowering seeds, you don’t need much more than that. Since the summer, I’ve harvested 42 grams of high-quality buds.

That’s more than enough to make my next batch of cannabis balm, which I use daily on creaky body parts. The recipe is on my downloads page. While some say topical cannabis doesn’t work for them, I’m a believer. I first started using it shortly after my 2015 mastectomy, which resulted in neuropathic pain. I’m not good at describing what the pain feels like, but it’s like all the nerves are screaming, “Fire in the house!”

Recently it occurred to me I don’t have that pain anymore, so I stopped using the cream. Within a month, the pain returned. I also use it on my knees and on an itchy patch of skin on my back called Notalgia Paresthetica (Latin for itches like a mofo).

We celebrated 42 years of marriage on the winter solstice. I made tacos.

Roadkill pizza & home haircuts

Preparing to snip off the ends of my hair using the patented pigtail technique.

I started to get in a funk this week. The pandemic. Trump. Just the weight of it all taking a toll, and I say that as someone who has it pretty damn easy. Do you suppose there’s a sleeping pill I can take tonight and wake up Jan. 20?

My remedy was to make another donation to the food bank and just get on with life. The whole simple pleasures thing. One good laugh, and I’m OK. Thankfully, Dale delivered.

He came back from a run and said there was a pizza box by someone’s trash with leftover pizza hanging out the side. He said it was kind of gross smashed up on the street and missing a couple of bites, but then he added, “You know, it still looked good.”

I don’t know. I find it highly amusing to think pizza still looks good even when it’s essentially road kill. Fortunately, I have a personal pizza chef. Tonight’s is what we call Punishment Pizza. Shrimp, goat cheese, Kalamata olives, basil and habanero peppers.

Other highlights from the week:

  • Finished watching River on Amazon Prime. Wow. Part moody cop drama and part otherworldly romance. Oh, and there’s an old disco song you will never get out of your brain. I’ve re-watched the last episode several times just for the dance scene with Stellan Skarsgård and Nicola Walker.
  • Validated my hypothesis that pumpkin cheesecake is good for breakfast. And then I tested it again just to be sure.
  • Splurged on another pair of “yoga” pants. At 65, I need some structure. My favorites are the Headlands Hybrid Cargo Tight from Athleta. At $108, they are not cheap, but these pants are durable, comfortable, versatile and flattering.
  • For a brief moment, I missed the feeling of being good at my job. Then I remembered the executive who had a temper tantrum when the company began to promote work-life balance. He said work was life and didn’t require balance. I realized I’m actually pretty good at retirement.
  • Decided to hoard my woodburning art creations as some sort of primitive documentation that I was here. Like etchings from the pandemic cave.
  • Cut my hair using the patented pigtail technique. I don’t think I’m losing abnormal amounts of hair, but I cleaned the bathroom today, and it’s like King Kong shaved in there. I have entertained the idea of buzzing it all off.

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.

Year of the jammies

Cute work clothes with nowhere to go.

No matter how this shakes out, I’m thinking the pandemic is going to have a big impact on retirees and future retirees. I’m a happy homebody with enough interests to amuse me for years to come and savings that can withstand a recession. I consider myself lucky.

The pandemic offered a sneak peek at what it’s like to spend more time at home. But COVID is not a frolicking gap year. You’ve got fear, sickness, death, loss, boredom, home schooling, aging parents, family squabbles, childcare and financial stress. For a lot of people, it’s like getting hit with a Sharknado, and their response is, Oh Hell No!

I’ll bet a lot of people who used to dream about retirement can’t wait to get back to work. Or their savings have taken a tough hit, and they need to get back to work. And then I wonder if the pandemic experience will drive them to stay on the job even longer and avoid retirement, not only to fatten up the finances but also to maintain six degrees of separation from all thing homey.

There’s something to be said for staying in the workforce. It’s that whole identity thing. I’m post-identity, livin’ the jammie lifestyle, but there was a time when one of life’s curveballs changed my connection to work. I was only 43 the first time I got cancer, and I was stuck in a boring job with no growth potential.

Once I recovered from cancer, I vowed to put everything into finding a new job so I could achieve my professional dreams. It took me five years of steady job-hunting, but I did it. And when I found that new job, a door opened and then another and then another. That one move led to a successful career I was proud of.

Then I got cancer again. By this time, I was in my late 50s. And this time I started to think about another way of life with less stress. Did I want to spend my precious time on Earth working for the man, or could I cut the electronic leash and learn to enjoy life’s simple pleasures?

I had a hard time coming to grips with my decision because it seemed so alien not to work and be totally focused on my career, but I decided to retire at age 62. Not exactly early retirement but earlier than I ever imagined. Three years later, I’m so happy I made the leap.

Illness definitely affected my professional timetable. My first bout of cancer woke me up to get serious about work, and my second bout woke me up to get serious about life. Perhaps the pandemic is another turning point – what will we do differently as a result of this experience?

As for me, I have a hard time making friends, and the pandemic enabled me to stay distant in every way! I’m looking forward to becoming more sociable. I’ve said that before, but this time it feels real.

With so much alone time, I’ve learned I can go long periods without talking. I’ve always been such a blabbermouth, and I like this quieter side. Perhaps this new-found skill of talking less will teach me to listen more – and that will build on my goal to become a better friend.

The only other thing I thought of it is some sort of volunteer job. I’d like to contribute in some way beyond charitable giving, but my motives aren’t totally pure. I have a closet full of cute work outfits that haven’t seen the light of day, and after a year in jammies and workout clothes, I thought it would be good to get dressed up once a week.

Then again, I might just donate the clothes.

Work of a different sort

A couple of months ago, I wrote I would be changing the tagline of my blog, which was, “Aging badass with health, happiness and cannabis.”

I realize you aren’t breathless with anticipation about such routine blog matters, but your bookmarks might look funny as I work through the changes.

As my retirement journey evolves, I don’t think badass describes me well, unlike The Widow Badass, who definitely owns it and wins the prize for best blog name ever. And then there’s cannabis. I like it and continue to use it recreationally and medicinally but not as much as I expected. It doesn’t seem worthy of such prominent placement.

I’ve come to embrace the term slacker, as in a person who avoids work. Because I am definitely done with that pesky job thing. I changed the tagline to read, “The continuing adventures of a full-time slacker.” 

Sounded great to me, but as I started to share the news with you, I looked up the definition, which described people who shirk obligation, particularly military service. Well, that would not be me! Perhaps I am being too literal, but I deleted that tagline and left the space blank. Is blank best?

As for retirement, I seem to have landed in a happy place devoid of ambition. I do what needs to be done around the house and that sort of thing, but the rest of my energy is focused on activities that give me pleasure. I see myself as the face of resistance to over-engineering retirement, which isn’t a contest to see who accomplishes the most.

In retirement, there are no performance reviews.

I updated my About Me profile to read:

My full-time job is to take care of myself, be kind to others, enjoy simple pleasures and indulge in creative pursuits. I like to play golf, walk, swim, cook, read, write, watch TV, listen to music, make art and grow cannabis.

That pretty much sums it up. Maybe I don’t need a tagline. I would love to hear your thoughts, if you should be so inclined.

THE PANDEMIC PRESIDENT

Like everyone else, I woke up to news that the president and his wife tested positive for COVID-19. I seriously hope this gives them some perspective on the pandemic … that maybe science is real? Maybe setting a positive example would be good for America? The other option is that he’ll only have mild symptoms and come back claiming he was right – no worse than a cold.

Whatever. He has been irresponsible, and now here we are.

Pizza!

Dale makes pizza almost every Friday. He makes the dough on Thursday and lets it rise in the refrigerator overnight. Tonight’s is one of my all-time favorites. It’s a white pizza with bechamel sauce made with parmesan cheese. That goes on the bottom, and then he tops it with mozzarella, smoked gouda, red onions, capers and smoked salmon.

We were going through the grocery list, and I said be sure to check the milk because you’ll need it for the bechamel. A few minutes later, he said, “Oh, and I’d better check the milk.”

I just said that.

No, you didn’t.

Yard work

We finished cleaning up the backyard without killing each other. It’s not going to win a yard beautiful contest, but it looks clean and well-maintained. Our unlimited yard waste day is next week, and we have 17 bags ready to go! There are some areas with small stones that have thinned out, so when the bags are gone, we’ll add more stones.

Then we’ll be pretty much done. There are bare spots in the beds along the fence line that could use plants, but now we can take our time and deal with that as the mood strikes us.

Oh, and we may replace the pavers. As for ongoing maintenance, we have a small patch of grass I usually mow with a push mower. It takes less than 10 minutes. An occasional blow and some spot trimming, and the yard becomes quite manageable.

Now the backyard looks good and the air quality is bad, so we’re not spending any time out there, but the smoke is supposed to clear soon. Fall is my favorite season, and it looks like we’re headed for some lovely weather.

I was grumbling about all the labor involved with this yard project, but it occurred to me I would rather take care of our home than hold down a regular job. I’d rather clean my house than work so I can pay someone else to clean my house.

Even though I fared quite well in the business world, I’ve always been somewhat contemptuous of the whole scene.

A dissent against yard work

Off for a round of golf wearing my dissent collar.

I was lying in bed this morning. Smoke from the fires has dissipated for the time being, so the window was open, and the air felt cool. For a minute, maybe less, it felt normal. Like none of this had happened. A normal summer sliding into fall. No pandemic, no fires, no civic unrest, no one encroaching on anyone’s right to live in peace.

A normal election year. Two reasonably sane people running against each other without undue malice. You pick one or the other, but your choice is not an existential threat.

Cozy in bed and feeling happy. What if I just stayed there?

But I got up to read yesterday’s news, which we pay to have dropped on our driveway every morning. We saw the news about RBG, and we’re feeling very sad. I have to distance myself from the shenanigans involving her replacement. Maybe a third justice will be the last thing Mitch McConnell has to deliver for the Dark Lord before shuffling back to hell, where he belongs.

I got a cup of coffee and began to read. Dale had the section with weather. In a bright perky voice not common in our house anymore, he said, “The fire danger map looks good!”

You know what they say in golf. If someone gives you a putt, take it. I mean, if that’s all there is … I’m clinging to the image of a shrinking fire danger map. And the sound of Dale’s happy voice.

In other upbeat news, I ordered a hot-shit woodburning tool, as mine was merely adequate. My chronically weak wrists were starting to hurt, and I read a better tool with higher temperatures is much easier to manage. Plus, I think you get cleaner lines.

There were several high-quality products to consider, but I went with the Burnmaster. With a name like that, what choice did I have?

I started to do a whole post about yard work, but I didn’t want to dwell on the disparity among workers in our household. We were going to throw some money at it but decided to clean up the yard ourselves. While some of us worked like an animal, others preferred to put on clean shirt and water the basil.

There was an ugly incident in which the less motivated person was shamed into doing his part … sort of a mini performance improvement plan. I am now comfortable with our progress, as well as the participation level. He pruned the Sago palms, which is not an easy job.

My counterpart hard job was to attack the giant overgrown rosemary plant, which I call Rosemary’s Baby.

It looks like it’s actually the neighbor’s plant poking through our fence.
Just a fraction of the debris from Rosemary’s Baby.

I don’t know what I’m doing, so I just started treating it like some sort of delicate Bonsai and went after it with pruning shears. I barely put a dent in it and gave up for the day. When I went in the garage, I saw a tool I’d never seen before.

Well, hello! Who are you?

Dale said it was a chain saw. Really. How long have we had that? Forever. Does it work? Yes. Would it work on Rosemary’s Baby? Probably. And you didn’t think to suggest this?

I know what you’re thinking, as in, you don’t know what a chain saw looks like? Hey, I was busy earning a living, writing drivel for very important corporate bobbleheads, thank you very much. My brain was full.

Anyway, just call me Dances with Chainsaw. I love that thing! I’m almost done with Rosemary’s Baby, and now that I’m almost down to stubs, it looks as though it’s not even our plant. There are no roots on our side – just thick branches breaking through the fence.

I guess I’m OK with that. Psychologically, I’m done. This is the last time I am cleaning up the yard. In the future, money will be thrown. I don’t mind a little mow and blow, but I prefer to save my wrists for fun retirement hobbies.

Which is why the rosemary debris is sitting idly today while I go and play golf. My personal tribute to RBG and perhaps a dissent against yard work.

May she rest in peace.

Just keep going

I hope this doesn’t come across as preachy, but I was feeling sorry for myself and thinking about how much all this sucks, when I took a moment to reflect on my first cancer experience. Like many others with cancer on their resume, I gained perspective the hard way. Perhaps there’s a nugget here that will resonate with you.

The year was 1999. I was 43 years old. I had outpatient surgery in March – an attempt to figure out what was wrong with me. That’s when they discovered I had an unusual form of ovarian cancer that forms in the lining of the abdomen.

Lots of doctor appointments, lots of tests, lots of unknowns and lots of fear. The big surgery was in April. I learned it was Stage 3, Grade 3. The survival statistics were terrible – about a 30 percent chance of living five years.

I went home to recover and prepare for chemotherapy.

The treatment was basically six months of intravenous chemotherapy, which I think I finished toward the end of August. I fared pretty well through the ordeal, but it was no pleasure cruise. Then I had to recover enough from the chemotherapy to face another surgery in October. Although all signs indicated the cancer was gone, it has a high recurrence rate, and the doctor wanted to do what is called a second-look.

They go in and biopsy the crap out of everything. If all is clear, you’re done with chemo. If they find microscopic cancer, you get more chemo. I had no evidence of disease and have been fine ever since, except for breast cancer in 2015. 

For the first two years after treatment in 1999, I went to the doctor every two months for a check-up. That included a pelvic exam, blood tests and sometimes a CT scan of the abdomen. After two years, I graduated to every six months, and that went on for three years. After five years, I started going once a year, which I still do, although now it’s just a blood test and a howdy-do.

After every appointment ending with an all-clear, I’d think, another two months to live! Another six months to live! Another year to live! It was kind of a joke, but life was what happened between appointments.

I wanted to share this because it made me feel better about life’s most recent curve balls. We’re what? Six months in? I know it’s not the same. My illness didn’t impact the world or the economy or anyone’s job. As I was recovering, I could go to restaurants and parties and otherwise lead a normal life. I was lucky.

Still, statistically speaking, the odds were against me. I could cocoon myself in a bubble, but the very real threat of getting sick and dying was with me for years, no matter what I did. I learned to live with ambiguity, and I just kept going. I’m certainly not alone. Somebody reading this or someone you know is living with a life-threatening illness or a deep personal tragedy, and yet they just keep going.

Maybe that’s it in terms of the message here. Just keep going. And this might be a cop-out, but I try not to think too much about the big picture. It’s too big. There are smarter and stronger people who can take on the world, but when the shit hits the fan, I do better by focusing on small things that make me happy.

It’s like I’ve been saying all along. Simple pleasures. I don’t know any other way to get through this.