Cooking the NYTimes and Other Assorted Retirement Activities

We spent most of this month traveling (see previous post).  Following our time in Yosemite, we were in Portland with our exchange daughter, Claudia and her family, who were staying with one of her friends, Lindsey and family, from her high school days here in the states, along with another friend, Betsy, who came with her family from Maryland.  Lindsey's parents live nearby, after having moved from Minnesota.   We stayed with them in a neighbor's home; the neighbor was on vacation and graciously offered their home to us, in exchange for some plant watering.  This was not an AirBnB.  This was someone saying, "Oh, you have lots of company coming and could use some additional space?  We're out of town!  Have them stay here!" I could stop this post right here with this point: people, in general, are nice.  They are kind.  Giving. Generous.  Big hearted.  Interested in you, if only in passing.   The 99.999% of people in...

More than a few sources that discuss retirement planning encourage the development of a Bucket List.  You know, the things you want to do before you die.  There actually was a movie called the Bucket List with Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman and if I remember correctly, Morgan kicked the bucket at the end of the movie. Over the past few years, Dan and I have talked about what would be on our travel Bucket Lists, usually while we're taking a walk in the neighborhood.  Last year Dan chuckled when he realized that we were actually coming close to starting serious considerations of these lists. High, if not the top of Dan's travel Bucket List was a trip to Yosemite National Park.  He went to Yosemite with his mom and Aunt Barbara when he was 12 years old.  For most of the time we've known each other, over 45 years, he's reminisced fondly about the trip.  They stayed in something called a tent cabin. All I can say is if I had managed to book the tent cabin...

On a recent evening, Dan was unavailable to watch television with me.  Since we have an agreement not to cheat  by watching whatever show we're currently streaming without the other, I was scrolling through the cable channels when a movie title caught my eye. Witness.  Starring the original, one, only and forever Cute Boy, Harrison Ford.  I like virtually everything about that film except the casting of Kelly McGillis as Rachel, the Amish woman Harrison's character John Book falls in love with.  Not a fan.  Plus her choices, as a young widow living in the midde of rural Pennsylvania looking to remarry, were Harrison Ford or Alexander Gudenov.  Really? Anyhow, as I was watching, I found myself reminiscing about when I was involved with the International Childbirth Education Association as a Board Member and a trainer.  Often I taught groups of 50-200 women and needed a way to bring the group back together when I had thrown out a discussion ques...

Perhaps you recall a previous post about the Birdhouse Project .  Below is proof positive of its completion. Truth be told, they sat on top of the refrigerator for a couple weeks while I waited for the Spousal Unit  ™ to mount them on the garage.  Influenced by the film Wonder Woman, I figured I could take matters into my own hands.  I went to the local hardware store, described what I wanted to do, and came home with some hangars.  My pounding on the storage garage wall was enough to bring the Spousal Unit ™  outside to see what I was doing.  Turns out the recommendation at the hardware store didn't work but it did tip Dan-o over the edge so that he came up with a solution and mounted the birdhouses on the garage. Pretty good, huh?   Cooking: Do you remember the book Tuesdays With Morrie ?  We have Tuesdays With Maggie (daughter #2), Pete (her Spousal Unit ™ )  and Georgia (granddaughter #3, grandchild # 6). ...

Perhaps you remember this song from a previous decade... My grandson Jackson often murmurs "Hmmm" while I snuggle in with him to get him to take a nap.  It is in the style of when someone says your name--in this case, Jackson says, "Grandma?" and because I don't want to engage in a conversation with him, I reply, "Hmmm."  He is deliciously precious as he falls asleep and this quiet little, oft repeated "Hmmm" brings peace to me. Not everything that makes you go "Hmmm" is peaceful, however.  I find myself saying "Hmmm" about any number of things.  Like: Why don't the bunnies eat the flowers in other peoples' gardens?  Last year I finally succumbed and dug out all my lilies, which the wascally wabbits had gnawed down to stumps from virtually the moment they emerged from the ground.  I consulted the interweb for suggestions on how to make plants less attractive to rabbits and tried quite a few, to no avail.  ...

Those of you who regularly engage in craft-y type activities--and I count a fair number of you among my friends and acquaintances and you know who are you--will probably sigh as you read this, saying, "She is making a damn big deal out of nothing." Isn't that what retirement is all about? Actually I'm writing about this because the Birdhouse Project began a couple years ago as I was pulling out of the parking lot at KDWA radio in Hastings. When I was working, each month I was on air host Mo McNeary; we talked all things Community Education and made each other laugh.  One of the best gigs of the prior job.  Driving away, I saw a couple painted birdhouses hung on the side of a garage and thought to myself, "That's pretty cool.  I have a storage garage with an unadorned side.  That's something I could do when I retire!" So I'm pretty darned proud of myself that a) I remembered this was something I wanted to do when I retired and 2) I'm act...

I'm going to begin with a disclosure that at least some of you are familiar with. Almost 25 years ago, our family and our framily, the Smiths, were in the Drake Diner in Des Moines when it was robbed and two people brutally murdered.  One of the bullet casings bounced off Voldemort's foot (see previous blog regarding Voldemort).  The oldest children were called to testify in court.  The memories can still cause my blood to run cold and my heart to beat faster than it should.  Every mass shooting invokes the memory of being under the table at the Diner, holding our youngests close.  The oldest children were seated at a booth directly across from the register where the murders took place.  I remember the first shot sounded something like a wait staff had dropped a platter of glasses.  Or maybe a light bulb had exploded.  The restaurant went silent.  My eyes locked with Jeanie's, sitting across the booth from me.  Slowly we sank to the fl...