Some distractions are better than others

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

I look forward to being wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Life is weird, but food is good

The news sucks, I mean, things get weirder by the day, but perhaps a wee bit of food porn will brighten your week. If there’s a theme, it’s toppings!

I modified a recipe from the NY Times called Summer Roll Noodle Salad. Cold cooked rice noodles go in the bottom of a bowl, then that is topped with mixed baby greens. Over that goes shredded carrots, bean sprouts, shredded cucumbers and pan-seared shrimp. Then on top of that goes chopped mint, basil, cilantro and peanuts.

If that’s not enough, each salad is topped with a dressing made from peanut butter, fish sauce, hoisin sauce, lime juice, hot chile peppers, garlic and ginger. The dressing was great, but I think a simple nước chấm would be even better. That would include almost all the same ingredients but without the peanut butter.

Flavor bomb! Sadly, it also looked like a bomb went off in the kitchen. A huge mess. Once again, I had an early morning tee time, and Dale got stuck with the aftermath. I love it when a plan comes together.

He made an America’s Test Kitchen recipe we’ve been enjoying for years. Crisp-Skin High-Roast Butterflied Chicken with Potatoes. The chicken is brined for a few hours. He lines the broiler pan with foil and then adds sliced potatoes tossed with olive oil, salt and pepper. He pre-cooks those for maybe 10 minutes, and then puts the rack on top with the chicken on it to cook at 500 degrees.

I don’t know how long. Until done?

As the chicken roasts, all those yummy juices drip onto the potatoes. Because the potatoes get a head start, some are super-crisp like potato chips and some are soft and succulent. He served it with fresh corn-on-the-cob, which was great, but we were like animals going after those potatoes.

We had leftover chicken, and Dale made chicken tortilla soup, which is on a regular rotation at our house. His recipe features a spicy tomato base with poblano peppers and shredded chicken. We each top our bowl with freshly fried corn tortilla strips, cilantro, diced avocado and crumbled queso fresco. Oh, and a squirt of lime. Two servings go in the freezer.

Yes, there was still leftover chicken, so I made a batch of chicken divan. It’s a retro thing, and one of the few times we eat processed food, but we both love it. I make it in a rectangular casserole. Par-boiled broccoli goes on the bottom. That’s topped with shredded chicken.

More toppings drill sergeant!

Over the broccoli-chicken base goes a sauce made from canned soup (that’s the processed part), mayonnaise, a little wine and curry powder. Most recipes call for cream of chicken soup, but I use cream of mushroom. Then comes a generous shower (more like a downpour) of grated cheddar cheese. All that is topped with buttered browned breadcrumbs.

The whole thing gets baked at 350 degrees until it’s all bubbly. I like to make it ahead of time, so the cooking time varies if I’ve pulled it out of the refrigerator. It was great, as per usual, and we froze a couple of extra servings.

That chicken got a workout! The carcass is in the freezer. I use that to make stock.

Dale also made what he calls Schnitzel on a Stick. It’s basically a bone-in pork chop pounded thin, breaded and then fried crisp in lard (ignore all the bad things you’ve heard about lard). We had that with big salads featuring farmers market tomatoes and topped with walnuts sauteed with butter, brown sugar and lots of cayenne pepper.

That also made a big mess, but as I told Dale, making messes is our super power.

Friday’s pizza was Dale’s specialty featuring a white parmesan cream sauce on the bottom topped with smoked salmon, capers, more farmers market tomatoes, red onion, mozzarella and smoked gouda.

As is our tradition, we watched a bad sci-fi movie. This week’s selection was It Came From Beneath the Sea, circa 1955. A submarine gets caught in the tentacles of a massive sea creature that’s heading for San Francisco Bay, leaving a wave of destruction in its wake.

Our goal is to make it through the pizza, and we often quit after that. But we watched the whole thing. Of course, there was a female scientist, and there was a lot of corny dialogue about gender roles. But we suffered through that to see the octopus try and take down the Golden Gate Bridge.

Finally, my masterpiece of the week was jalapeño cheddar sourdough loaf. This was my first attempt to make anything other than the standard boule, and all I can say is holy kapoopers it is good. You get the heat and brininess of the pickled jalapeños, then the gooiness of the cheese and the tang of sourdough.

We had some this morning toasted with a little Irish butter and a couple of strips of crisp bacon on the side. The only thing that would have made it better is a bloody Mary, but I seriously would have been comatose.

Life is weird, but food is good.

Tune out the noise

As soon as I said I would just keep writing, I just stopped writing. Life is weird. You heard it here first.

One of my issues is that I self-censor. I think, this is bad or this is boring or this is too political or whatever, but I am going to try harder to tune out the noise and just say what I have to say. Some posts won’t resonate with some readers, and that’s OK. Most of you keep coming back!

The other issue is that I am distraught over what is happening in our country, and sometimes it feels like a choking haze that affects every aspect of my life. It’s death by a thousand cuts. We feel some impacts immediately, but others will unfold over time … the attack on education, medicine and science, climate change denial. This is the legacy these people want to leave their children and grandchildren?

In spite of it all, I am fine and happy to be standing upright. About 26 years ago, I survived cancer with roughly a 30 percent chance of living five years. I later wrote a piece called, Cancer in My Pocket. You can read the whole thing here, but the gist of it is in these words:

Sometimes I imagine that I carry around cancer in my pocket like an emergency dollar bill. And sometimes I just have to reach in my pocket and fish it out to remind me that every minute of every day is a gift.

I wish I had learned all this important stuff in some other way, but I ignored all the little sticks. It was the big stick that got my attention. For those of you who are better with sticks, I think the thing to remember is that whatever we’re doing, wherever we’ve been and wherever we’re going, no matter how bad it gets, we’re lucky. We’re really, really lucky.

So, yes, I’ve been digging around in my pockets, where I usually find used tissues, but that’s another story. I’ve been so disappointed in the Supreme Court, but I was excited to see a federal judge navigate through the rulings and find a way to at least temporarily stop the assault on birthright citizenship. Although it doesn’t seem like the courts will save us, they just might.  

In other news, Dale, at age 76, was diagnosed with psoriasis. He’s blaming Trump. Well, the stress induced by Trump. May as well, since Biden gets blamed for everything else.

It’s a miserable ailment, and he was not a happy camper. Fortunately, the flare-up has passed but geez, you’d think he was the first guy who ever had an itchy spot. And then there’s his complete lack of experience with moisturizing. Seriously, it’s not that hard. Anyway, now I know what they mean by the heartbreak of psoriasis.  

My achy breaky body parts are doing reasonably well. Every morning is like roll call.

Knees?

Here!

Back?

Here!

Shoulder?

Present!

There’s always a joker in the midst. The shoulder is my new loudmouth, but I’m committed to getting through this. My knees are the best they’ve been in decades, and that took more than a year of dedicated physical therapy. Now I’ve got a slew of shoulder exercises, and I truly believe eventually I will have a stronger more resilient body that can hold up to the pressures I put on it.

With the knees feeling so good, you may remember I talked about doing a multi-day walk. I was getting all excited going down that rabbit hole, when it occurred to me I might just relax and enjoy normal activity without knee pain. What a concept!

All in all, it is hard to watch our country slide down the shame spiral … I mean, masked federal agents? Who thinks that’s OK? But we still have life, and it is a beautiful thing. Now if Trump is awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, then we know everything, absolutely everything is rigged.

Maybe I got it wrong. I’ll bet it’s the Nobel Pizza Prize. That would make more sense. I’m sure he eats his share.

Keep calm and eat well

Although I play golf at least twice a week, I almost never ride. I don’t like to ride in carts, I play better when I walk and my body feels better when I walk. Yesterday I agreed to ride and by the end of the round, my knees were screaming. These are the knees that have been devoid of pain for months now.

The moral of the story is walk if you can. Always. Except tomorrow. I have another tournament where it really is best if I ride, but after this, I’m staying away from any event or course where I can’t walk. It’s called Make Donna’s Knees Great Again.

And for tomorrow’s event, our four-person team will be wearing matching outfits with a floral top that for me at least, will never see the light of day again. I believe I may be expected to wear a plastic lei. I’m all in. Our team won last year, so you know, whatever it takes.

In a moment of weakness, I accepted the role of co-captain for our league, with the expectation I will be captain next year. I’ve been wondering if I’m the right choice, so I asked my playing partners this week what they thought.

I acknowledged I can be aloof, but they didn’t seem to think that was a problem. Our current captain is absolutely perfect, so finding a replacement has unique challenges. Apparently, the first priority is finding someone who is willing to do it. Qualifications include being alive and upright. Check.

The next big thing is to avoid being a jerk, bitching out women on the course for rules violations and stuff like that. I’m proud to say I actually put some effort into not being a jerk, so I’m feeling pretty good about all that. Additionally, I hate the rules and would rather take a 10 than argue with someone over the proper way to drop a ball out of the hazard.

All in all, I’m optimistic. I got this.

In spite of all the bad craziness going on out there, my new mantra is keep calm and eat well.

In that spirit, on Sunday I made pasta with pesto sauce. Pesto is so easy. I just eyeball it these days. Lightly toasted pine nuts, a big bunch of fresh basil, a couple of garlic cloves, grated parmesan cheese, a dab of butter and enough olive oil to whiz it all together in the food processor. I even made the pasta from scratch.

I used to have the hand-crank pasta machine but recently upgraded to the KitchenAid pasta attachment, and it is worth every penny. It’s a whole lot easier when you can use both hands to feed the machine and guide the pasta as it comes out.

For a fancy little accompaniment, I made sardines fried in beer batter. This was a first, and all I can say is it won’t be the last. Damn, they were good. And yes, just regular canned sardines packed in olive oil, although I did use Matiz, which are imported from Spain.

The best part was I had an early morning tee time, and Dale got stuck with the mess.

Yesterday we had tacos from the freezer. It was a selection of chicken, bison and pork. The pork tacos are new, and they’ve become my new favorite. The pork filling is made in the slow cooker with pickled jalapeños and a good bit of the brine. And a little bit of brown sugar. Then it’s all shredded up at the end.

I’m not really into pulled pork sandwiches, but it sure does make great tacos. I make the kind with crispy shells. We freeze those, and Dale revives them in the oven quite successfully. A little bit of his homemade scorpion pepper salsa is a great addition, but one does have to be careful. Not him, of course. He’s a pepper machine.

We went to the corn place today. It was not pick your own, so we were disappointed. But I believe it was picked this morning, so we have high hopes. We’re just going to have corn with a couple of grilled sausages.

I’m not sure there will be leftovers, but I have corn chowder on my list. A little trick I learned last year is to make the stock from the shucked corn cobs. I may also try a bit of crispy pancetta as a topping. And some homemade bread to dunk.

My sourdough continues to improve, but I’m not quite there yet. Today I’m timing my starter to see how long it takes to reach its peak.

I’m aiming for six hours, so I can feed it at 8 a.m., go about my day, and then make the dough around 2 p.m. I store the starter in a temperature-controlled keeper and had it set at 78 degrees. At that temperature, it was peaking too soon, and by the time I get ready to make the dough, it’s somewhat bubbly but not full-strength.

Today I have it set at 75 degrees, to see if that improves the timing. It sounds obsessive, but it’s really one small detail that is keeping me from perfect bread. Not that imperfect bread is a bad thing.

Speaking of imperfect, I finished number 44! It was fun to do, and I’m very happy with how it turned out. I always tell myself it’s OK to deviate from the norm. It doesn’t have to be hyper-realistic.

It’s art! It can be anything we want it to be.

No cons, no clowns, no kings

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

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

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

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

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

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

JKW. Just Keep Writing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No cons, no clowns, no kings.

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

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

Trigger points

Just a little question for other bloggers … are you getting AI comments? Mine go straight to the spam folder, but the first one looked so real I unspammed it and responded. Then I started getting more, so I now just delete them.

The level of detail is quite amazing. Sort of like my best friend commenting on every single thought I shared in the post and asking probing questions to stimulate dialogue. If that really is you best friend, I apologize for comparing you to artificial intelligence.

This is probably why I was never popular.

I’ve had some promising news on the creaky body parts countdown to eternity. As background, I exercise, stretch and strengthen religiously, but I still have a multitude of issues. I suppose it’s age, but I also wonder if my cancer history plays a role. No estrogen since 1999, and I believe that contributes to musculoskeletal problems. But hey, I’m alive, so yay!

I used to say I had three areas that needed constant attention – knees, back and wrists. I’ve been in physical therapy for about 15 months, and we’ve made excellent progress on all three.

But then my shoulder and arm started bothering me three months ago. Simple things like putting on a sweater is excruciating, but golf is OK. I finally got in to see the sports medicine doctor, who believes the issue is trigger points in my shoulder referring pain down my arm.

I don’t completely understand it all, but I guess trigger points are muscles that knot up for various reasons, including overuse. That’s probably me. I got new golf clubs this year, and I went to the driving range way more than I typically go, and hitting off mats doesn’t help.

It seems the solution is to somehow get the trigger points to release. Massage helps. Rolling up against a tennis ball – anything that puts pressure on those knots. I’ve also been doing a slew of exercises to strengthen the shoulder.

For some immediate relief, the doctor used dry needling. It sounds horrible, but I never saw the needle, and it didn’t hurt. He finds those tender spots, inserts the needle, and you can feel the muscle twitch and pulse. It’s wild. The doctor said it could be a case of one and done, but I might need to come back for a tune-up.

The shoulder and the arm are much better, but I will probably have to go back. I was afraid he was going to tell me to stop playing golf, but he said do everything you can possibly do. No restrictions. I might have some pain along the way, but as an active “aging” adult, some pain is to be expected. But he can help get it from a 7 to a 2 on the pain scale and to think of it as something that can be managed.

I like that mentality. In the absence of illness or serious injury, just keep going. I played golf two days in a row this week. I usually try to skip a day but thought, what the hell? I was no worse for the wear, but it did get a little weird.

A friend and I were paired with two women we didn’t know. One of them was decidedly unfriendly. Talk about trigger points! She made everything harder than it had to be, and it was frustrating.

As we reached our final hole, she looked us dead in the eye and said, “This is the last hole.” We’re like, yeah, OK, sure. Then she said it again is this creepy Grim Reaper voice.

“This is the last hole.”

My friend looked up and said, “Ever?”

I cannot stop laughing about that. Seriously, I have tears in my eyes right now.

And on that note, I leave you with fresh cherry scones with lime drizzle.

Art will find a way

Not that it hasn’t been fun to watch the biglicious brawl between Trump and Musk, but I’m not sure any of it is real. I’ve long suspected Elon was worming his way into Trump’s good graces to ultimately push him out of office so the tech right can get their boy JD in place. Sure, it’s a bit of a conspiracy theory, but I wouldn’t rule it out.

On the other hand, it could be a distraction not unlike staged professional wrestling matches, and that would explain why Linda McMahon has a job. While we’re watching the sideshow, Republicans will line up behind their man and pass his horrid spending bill.

Me? I’m hoping the breakup is real. I was reading all about it yesterday at my desk and moved to the couch to make myself more comfortable for the duration. The only thing missing was popcorn. I couldn’t wait to get up this morning, figuring those whack jobs were up all night, but it looks like they actually went to bed at some point. You know, nothing good happens after 10 p.m.

So, yes, I’m eager to see the Epstein files, but then I never gave up on the pee pee tapes, either. Just a crazy kid with a dream. It’s not a stretch to imagine Musk had access to a lot of dirt while ferreting through our government records.

I seem to remember Tom Arnold saying someone had tapes of Trump using the n-word while filming his TV show. I believe Amazon has the rights to all footage and outtakes, so I wouldn’t bet those will ever see the light of day.

But you never can tell. All I know is that I know nothing. Nothing. It’s like living in Bizarro World. I am so sick of these people.

Time to focus on simple pleasures. I have a few achy breaky body parts right now, but it’s nothing serious, and I’m moving my way through the pain. I had a nice walk this morning. As my massage therapist says, motion is lotion. She was complimenting me on my exercise regime, and I said, well, it’s all good, but geez, I still hurt. She said that’s because you’re alive! You’re moving, and you’re getting stronger!

Thanks, I needed that.

Dale made fajitas, as promised, and we ate outside. I followed through on my commitment to set the music up in advance, and we started with The Clash, probably my all-time favorite group. We even danced a little. Glad there are no tapes of that.

Then we switched to Bruce Springsteen, another favorite. He has been a strong voice for democracy, and it made me realize more than ever how art can make a difference. Creative people have been having a field day with all this Trump stuff, and I love it. No matter what happens, there will always be artists to bring reality to life.

That revelation inspired me to start a new piece of woodburning art. This is a work-in-progress. I typically use pallet scraps, but this is wood I purchased. It’s nice, but I sort of like the rustic nature of pallets. This piece is larger, so it has been fun to go big.

I’ve burned all the images, and now I’m beginning to paint. I usually start with the things I want to reproduce in their colors of origin. For example, I know I want the cherry on the hot fudge sundae to be red. I get that sort of stuff done first, so I know where those colors are. Then I can go crazy with pink cats or whatever.

As you can see, there’s a huge sunflower up and front. I copied it from the internet, but yesterday I saw an actual sunflower, and mine doesn’t look like that. Let’s just say mine is a loose interpretation of what a sunflower could be.

Art will find a way.

We made it to June

No use complaining about the daily onslaught of dreadful news. The upside is we made it to June. And now here it is, bustin’ out all over.

At least we had beer for the journey. But just because we can’t have nice things, today’s newspaper reported Track 7, our favorite local brewery, is closing permanently. No reasons were provided, but I assume it’s related to the economy.  

Does that mean it’s Biden’s fault?

We’re currently featuring Track 7’s Panic IPA in the kegerator, so we shall propose a farewell toast before that kicks. Perhaps we’ll head on over to Total Wines & More and see if there’s a spare keg to be had. We have room in the kegerator for a backup.

These are the times that try men’s souls. Thankfully, we still have Jameson Black Barrel. Proof God wants us to be happy.

Speaking of men, not to be confused with God, I was reading an article about the history of the LGBTQ movement in Washington, D.C., and they quoted a lesbian who said it was so great to find a community of women who didn’t exist to please men. Maybe I signed up for the wrong team.

Although I do my best to please one man, I have pretty much ignored the rest of it. I never dressed the part, never acted the part. I did what I had to do to get by at work, where pleasing men was a core competency. That said, my career highlights included catering to the whims of high-ranking women.

One female boss told me I’d be pretty if I wore a little makeup. In another job, I briefed a woman exec and asked if she had any questions. She said, “Wherever did you get those ugly shoes?”

Ugly as in comfortable. Teetering around on stilettos was never my thing. Take it from me, you gotta be ready to run.

Anyway, I was in communications … or PR as we used to call it. Dale always said that stood for porking the rich. Special events were always a showcase for privileged buffoons behaving badly. Communicators were deeply involved in planning special events, and by the time they were over, I hated everyone.

The stories I could tell!!  

Being retired and turning 70 this year, I can honestly say it feels good to ignore the pressure to please anyone except Dale and possibly my cat. Not that either one notices. As I have said before, the bad news is that my self-editing feature seems to be down. I tried rebooting it, but I’m still spewing a lot of things that might be better left unsaid.

On the food front, I made waffles last week, and they were delicious. I never order them in a restaurant because you usually get fake maple syrup. I only want the real thing, which I could drink from the bottle like Buddy from Elf.

I wanted another run on the waffles, but ever eager to please my man, we went with buckwheat pancakes, another family favorite. Dale buys bulk breakfast sausage and then freezes them in small patties. So we each had one of those on the side.

The cherry season is here! I never liked cherries until last year, and now I love them. I even bought a cherry pitter. We went to the farmer’s market this morning, and I bought a basket for $6. That seemed steep, but what isn’t? I also bought a big bag of walnuts.

Dale’s making fajitas tonight. He’s whipping up the marinade for the meat now. We went to Safeway for tortillas because we didn’t have the right size. And I say that as someone with a drawer in the refrigerator dedicated to tortillas. We also have a cheese drawer.

It was beastly hot yesterday but nice today, so we’ll eat outside. We always wait until the last minute to set up the music, so then we don’t. But this time I’m getting it all prepped in advance. Nothing like some good tunes to liven up the party.

That, and homemade fudgsicles for dessert!

Not quite broken

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

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

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

What I’m eating

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What I’m watching

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

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

What I’m reading

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Make America nice again

Although my sister and I were raised Catholic, my mother had a loose interpretation of her role in our religious upbringing. I have a vague memory of being confirmed around age 13 but a vivid recollection of my mom’s reaction.

Once that box was checked, we could decide for ourselves how to proceed along our spiritual path. Her job was done. With no further ado, I opted out of all religious activity and never looked back.

All that to say I was surprised by my reaction to the new pope. I’m a little weepy with joy. Normally, I would not give a hoot one way or the other, but this guy arrives at a time when a compassionate American voice with over a billion followers is much needed and more than welcome.

Someone whose spiritual beliefs run deeper than mine said it was like God said whoa, these people need some help. While I’m still suspicious about all things religious, it does give me hope to believe that not everyone in the public eye is full of hate and retribution.

Make America nice again!

In other news, Dale and I have both been nursing creaky body parts. Knees, back – you name it. I attribute it all to stress. We’re both fiery balls of anger these days, and it’s not a good thing. We thought a punching bag might be useful, I mean, a real one not just each other. But I figured that would lead to more injuries. Maybe a rage room?

I’ve been working hard to lighten up. Balance civic responsibility with simple pleasures. Forgive, forget. All that. And it helps! Dale, ever the stoic Mainer, refused to say he’s doing anything different, but I drop little positivity bombs on him when he’s not looking, and I think they help him, too. We’re just not meant to be this mad all the time.

We’re talking about more local travel. Trying restaurants again. Maybe we’ll get lucky. I quickly realized my golf attire is probably not suitable for going out. Which means I went shopping. I haven’t worn jeans in years, mostly because I love all the stretchy stuff from Atheta. But I actually went into real stores and discovered denim has come a long way.

I guess skinny jeans are still there, but the choices are much improved. One current look I love is the loose-fitting wide-legged jean. I bought one high-end pair at Nordstrom and one inexpensive pair at Kohl’s. They are both lightweight and will be great for summer. And I bought new t-shirts to go with. If and when we venture out again, I will be ready!

Since I’m such an insecure shopper, I had to text my young stylish friend and get her opinion. If you can get past my filthy bathroom mirror, you will see these are the Paige jeans from Nordstrom. I couldn’t get the full-length view, but they are quite flared and slightly cropped. My adviser approved! I had buyer’s remorse that night, but I’m keeping them.

It has been so long since I did any serious shopping in a store, but it does make a difference to actually see the clothes and try them on. I loved the selection of jeans for normal people. Shorts were in short supply, so I went for flowy pants.

Maybe this is all part of my turning-70-this-year phase, but I want to look a little better when I’m out and about. I was at the library in my workout gear and a hat because my hair looked so bad, and there was this older woman in nice jeans with her hair all groomed, and I thought, OK, I can do better.

Next stop is the hair. I’ve been growing out the bob, and the question is whether I go back to it or keep going so I can wear it up. I did love it when my hair was longer and I could always count on a quick updo when I needed to go somewhere. The bob was cute and suited my hair type, but it requires a daily blow-dry, and you know, I’m retired. No time for that!

Finally, I finally finished Number 43, which took a year. What with the election and all. It’s not my best work, but I like it nonetheless. The duck is a tribute to my favorite golf course duck that died last year.

I experimented with an engraver (the two globes on the right) and didn’t like it much. I might try again with different wood.