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Urs Truly loves eggs, which he eats with relish, made to order in any form. Eggs are funny things: at one end they are simple fare and simple to cook, and at the other end there are scores of articles on how to cook them properly. It seems every cookbook and master chef and mother knows the right way to cook’em. If you fall into the latter camp, every step from fridge to serving needs careful instruction, lest they fall flat. There is the temperature of the egg and the pan type and whether to add things and when. It doesn’t help that some of the bigwig chefs give contradictory advice, such as when to add salt: before, after or not at all. It is rawther confusing.

My favorite eggs are cooked in what’s called The Spanish-style. This calls for a small pan with a generous layer of olive oil in it, heated quite hot. When the cracked egg (waiting in its tureen) is added, it is continually basted with the oil poured over the yolk. This makes for crispy brown lacy edge to the egg whites, while the yolk is cooked just enough to your liking. It’s best served on toast, and with a generous amount of freshly ground coarse pepper. This is the breakfast of the gods, or at least the demi-gods. Do not dare to question this.

When it comes to opinions how to cook them properly, scrambled eggs have the strongest opinions. The precise recipes have the goal to create creamy vs. fluffy eggs and not the dried-out types I remember from my childhood. The latest tip I tried is to whisk a bit of mayo into the eggs. My “N” on this experiment is ‘1’ but that said this way is not promising; it did not come out well. I wonder if this is because the eggs/mayo were too cold, or the pan not hot enough. Either way I think next time I rustle up some eggs I will hold the mayo.

On the other hand, scrambled eggs are like pumpkin pie: the best pumpkin pie is not much better than the worse. I’ve made scrambled eggs all my life and no matter how they come out, I put’em down where the goats can get’em and I’ve had no complaints.

Norm (the dear!) last year sold me two egg cups that allow me to try cooking soft-boiled eggs. In “The food lab”, a Mr. J. Kenji L√≥pez-Alt (who is well over four feet) has soft-boiled eggs down to a precise time of cooking to your liking. Apparently the hot water or eggs in Arizona haven’t read the rules as they never come out right. They either come out raw or nearly hard-boiled. I’m learning to add a few minutes to the suggested cooking time and for goodness sake write down the time. It’s a work in progress. With soft-boiled eggs I get to use my Eierschalensollbruchstellenverursacher. Jolly good fun !

Next time I scramble some eggs I plan on trying Mr. JKLA’s version ‘creamy’ type,which calls for scrambling eggs in salt and diced small cubes of butter and let the mess rest for 15 minutes. After cooking them on low-medium heat, add a tablespoon of milk or cream at the end and whip them a bit more. If it’s a bust or not to my liking then I will try his ‘fluffy’ recipe.

Whenever I get uptight over taking eggs too seriously, I remember nearly all my cooking gurus remind me I must put my senses first and foremost over precise instructions.* If my tastebuds tell me something is awry, make amends. There are so many variables in cooking one must be diligent as to what’s happening and for goodness sake sample to ascertain if it is going the way you want. This is a comfort.

How do you like your eggs?

Is anyone in your life precise how the eggs are to be cooked?

*Mr. Gordon Ramsey seems to be the exception. Whenever I cook, I can feel him at my side, slapping my hand at my amateurish endeavors.

Today the highs should hit 22C, which is warm enough to open some windows and doors. It is hit-or-miss if this is a good thing. On the positive, it would be nice to get in some fresh air, but on the negative, what covers for ‘fresh air’ around here at this time of year has palm pollen in it. Allergens and dust will descend en masse and cover everything, and I just dusted. Looking for a lost object in the bedroom* led to a dismantling of the bed and a complete tidy-up thereunder. Oh the horror. There were dust bunnies the size of Buicks and enough dog hair to make a second Harper. I also found some Christmas ornaments and candy wrappers from Hallowe’en. On the positive, this got my allergies a-going so opening the windows couldn’t do any worse: I already have a congested nose and sneezes.

I am out of Motrin, and the TP is running low, so I thought of going to Costco today but I changed my mind. Sooner I’d eat rats at Tewkesbury than set foot in Costco on a Sunday afternoon. If Mr. Dante were alive today and writing “The Divine Comedy’ set in contemporary times, I imagine Costco on Sunday would make a good level in Hell.** It seems one of the criteria for membership at Costco is ‘do you lack manners/’. Someone usually goes on a Tuesday morning at opening time; I can do without Motrin until then.

Yesterday I watched another video on The Tube of Yous along the line of ‘Helpful kitchen tips”. I am trying two of them. One is to freeze cheap white wine in ice trays to have some handy for cooking/deglazing the pans, or as more-flavorful ice cubes. The other tip is to cut limes and lemons into slices and freeze them in a plastic bag to use them as ice cubes as well. Martha Stewart I am not, but these seem worth a try anyway. I lead a dull life; this is how I spend my weekends.

One more Sunday Spo-bit. Last Friday I ordered my meds and there wasn’t a hitch. It seems the ordeal of Rx coverage is concluded. What a relief. I pay out of pocket 500$ per month, but this is 10% of what I was doing last month minus coverage. I hope to find some sort of reimbursement form to help recover my costs. One can only imagine the Kafkaesque quagmire that will be, but it seems worth it. I may wait on this until Someone goes to Costco and gets me my Motrin. I will need some.

*The lost item was finally found in the bathroom.

*between the third and forth levels, probably, which are Gluttony and Greed, respectively.

#8 – Send a voice note instead of a text; they sound like personal mini-podcasts.

I don’t think I have ever sent a voice note in lieu of a text – not intentionally anyway. Once in awhile I bungle or butt-dial a few seconds of something and what is sent is gibberish. I suppose I might send voice notes after careful study how to do them, but I don’t see the point. Text messages serve me well for short banter and superficial intercourse. Phone calls in comparison are for discussions needing detail and to avoid misinterpretations. In lieu of a voice note, I leave phone messages. It is said people usually dislike the sound of their own voice, and I do too. Spo-fans are blest my site is written not aural, form voice is less than sonorous. It is quite nasal and often influenced by throat clearing the consequences of allergies. Oh the embarrassment. I don’t wish to give event a bit of it in a voice note.

I don’t know if recipients like voice notes. I suspect most don’t. I know a few folks (usually the young ones) that despise phone calls. I remember watching my nephew texting with his friend, both going at the pace usually seen in an Olympic ping pong tournament. Given the rate they were writing, I inquired why don’t they just talk to each other. He rolled his eyes (as adolescents do to convey their contempt at stupid old people) to say this is better. Apparently hundreds of thousands of years of voice tone/nuances don’t count anymore.

Another reason why suggestion #8 sounds a bust is I listen to podcasts all the time and the last thing I need is another one in the form of a voice-note mini-podcast. Compared to “Your Brain on Facts” or “The Daily Stoic” or “Everything Everywhere Daily” (to name a few of my favorites) I am strictly an amateur. #8 doesn’t slightly improve my life, and I don’t suppose it does for my nearest and dearest. Shoot me a text why dontcha, or better yet, give me a call.

I haven’t done a ‘words’ entry in a while, which The Board of Directors Here at Spo-reflections refers to as ‘Box office poison”. They have a limited vocabulary and aren’t interested in learning more. The late Ann Marie A.K.A. Warrior Queen was found of them; I do them now in memory of her.

Newer Spo-fans should know I am forever gathering fancy atypical words the way some like to collect stamps or sea shells. Here’s a few I am presently working into my lexicon, hoping to use them some day in clever cocktail conversations that never seem to happen. Try using these in a email today.

Verbosity: [n.] the quality of being verbose or wordy; the use of too many words. Oh! How lovely! Can this be even possible?*

Nodus tollens: [n]. the realization that the plot of your life doesn’t make sense to you anymore. Oh, what a word! Oh, what a concept!

Dilettante: [n.] a person having a superficial interest in something.

Suborn: [v.] to induce secretly to do an unlawful thing. This sounds not at all nice and jolly good fun at the same time. A good word to use when up to no good.

Tokimeku: [n.] Sometimes erroneously translated as ‘joy’, it is a small quickening of the heart and a smile that happens when you see or do something, like throw out some rubbishy thing, or the first sip of a hot beverage, or laying your eyes on a favorite memento.

Sparagmos: [n.] the act of tearing apart something (sometimes a person) in a Dionysian revelry. In a non-literal sense it means going at something without restrain or delicacy, such as consuming a bag of potato chips with onion dip. Oh the embarrassment.

Rhathymia: [n.] carefree behavior; light-heartedness. I think it is a positive not a pejorative.

Hircine: [adj.] of, relating to, or resembling a goat. I like goats. Apparently this is more about the smell of such lovelies, and isn’t a ‘positive’ thing.

Nimptopsical [adj.] Intoxicated. I think it was Benjamin Franklin who made this one up. He has 200 words/expressions for such. Look it up sometime; it’s cute.

*You bet your knickers it’s possible.

It’s been cloudy and rainy these past few days – we even got some hail! – with temperatures as low at 1C and highs only about 12. It is what I call “Alaska weather”. This normally would be cheer me, but I haven’t felt warm in a week.* It’s another example of ‘turning into my father’. He is constantly wrapped burrito-style in blankets yet reports feeling cold. My blood has thinned so living where I do; I don’t feel comfortable until 30C.

A Spo-fan recently asked how goes my new year resolution to throw out something on a daily basis. This is going well, thank you for asking. I’ve started with dead appliances and cans of old paint and have moved up to garments and books I will never use again. There used to be a mailbox-like receptacle outside Uncle Albertsons for used books, but it is no longer there. I suppose the organization was getting more than they bargained for. It reminds me of the time when my parish announced it was going to hold a rummage sale and was bombarded with so many donations it lost money having to pay someone to haul away the heaps of unused items. When the weather warms up some I plan on rummaging through the cabinets in the garage, goodness knows what’s in them. I think that’s where we put the snow shovels and winter boots when we moved from Michigan. I hope Goodwill can do something with them.

This week I learned of the death in the family. My mothers’ favorite cousin (my first cousin, once removed) her husband has died. My immediate family members all had the same reaction: “Sis” outlived another one. Both of her previous husbands died of cancer, and now she’s outlived her third. I wonder what’s that like, to outlive your loved ones. Father doesn’t come out to say it but I know he would have preferred going before his wife. On the whole, widows fare better than widowers; the ladies at least have a network of friends and family while the men-folk only had their wives. I got cousin Sis’ address from my Katy my second cousin. I will write Sis a note this weekend. What I write won’t do any good, but the fact I did so I hope will bring her some comfort.

Harper update: thank you everyone for your support in yesterday’s post. She doesn’t have cataracts but ulcerative corneas. The opaque look to her eyes comes from sloughing cells on the corneas. The vet (a very nice woman, well over four feet) advised us to use saline eye drops for lubrication and osmolality balance to better things. Fingers crossed. She isn’t liking this of course. It is a two-man job: one to hold her eyes open and another to apply the drops. Funny what we associate. Someone quotes from the movie “A Clockwork Orange” “It’s a crime!” while I recite Shakespeare “What thou seeest when thou doth wake, do it for thy true love take….”

*As I write this I have on a jacket and the space heater is going allegro non troppo but I still feel cold.

What’s top of my mind: Harper. Both eyes are becoming cloudy; I suspect she is getting cataracts. There is no sense she is not seeing where she is going – yet. This week she goes to a sort of eye-specialist for dogs for a check up. She’s 13yo so these things are not surprising. Anyone who has ever had a pet cat or dog knows what it’s like to see your loved one age this way.


Where I’ve been: Nowhere. Most weekends nowadays are spent home alone sans vehicle as Someone leaves early and comes home late. During the week I go between home and office and back. I lead a dull life.


Where I’m going: Home Depot. It’s been a year since the last carpet cleaning, and with guests coming next month, now is the time to do them. I will go the Orange Land of Oz to rent a machine for the weekend. Whenever enter the place I immediately feel emasculated compared to the stud-manly type construction dudes I see there. It doesn’t help while the others are dressed in T-shirts and baggy dirty jeans falling down a bit, I show up in chinos and a pressed shirt. Oh the embarrassment.


What I’m watching: Beforeigners. This show has as its gimmick modern Norway are being ‘invaded’ by illegal aliens who are actually predecessor Norwegians from the Viking Age. The modern ones discriminate against the arrivals, while the Vikings overall don’t really want to assimilate.


What I’m reading: The Secret of the crooked cat. This is the next book in the “Alfred Hitchcock and the three investigators” mystery series. I return to Michigan in late March and I want to finish the books I borrowed. That way I can take home the next batch of books.


What I’m listening to: E.S. Posthumus. Pandora often generates the same tunes and over they grow familiar and I grow to like some. This leads to a research of the album and the people behind it. I’ve grown to like E.S. Posthumus, which was a set musicians who were brothers, now deceased.


What I’m eating: Meatloaf. We have two home-delivery meal kits, which alternate every other week. Hello Fresh and Blue Apron both recently sent meatloaf meals. As a boy, I hated meatloaf, which is odd, because I liked hamburger. Both versions were tasty, making me rethink the stuff to make my own some day. I have a memory – perhaps a false one – my late Mother always put a hard boiled egg in the center of her meatloaf. Does anyone do this, or is this some sort of silly Spo thing?

Does anyone have a good meatloaf recipe? I would be glad to try it.


Who needs a good slap: Dog walkers. The HOA has placed pet stations throughout the neighborhood consisting of dispensary boxes of black plastic bags. Below are attached receptacles, quite convenient for picking up after your pooch. Urs Truly always goes out with two bags in his back pocket and he stops by these stations to get new bags as needed. Others are not so mindful; one often sees piles of dog poop – sometimes within an arm’s distance of these stations. Can you imagine? The awful owners were too lazy to literally walk a few steps to get a bag and pick up after their dogs.

On a 1-5 scale, I give dog-owners who don’t pick up after their dog 3 slaps – with a black plastic bag or poop.


What I’m planning: A Casa de Spo house cleanse. A few weeks hence chums arrive from Chicago for a long weekend. This prompts us to have a proper house cleanse, something that hasn’t happened in ages. I do some on tidy-up weekends but the eastside of the house gets the short shrift as I seldom go there – and that’s where the guests will be staying. Oh the embarrassment. I’ve often wondered to invite company over more often, as it gets the house cleaned.


What’s making me smile: Wuthering Heights. I found the podcast “Obscure with Michael Ian Black”. Mr. Black is Ms. Bronte’s epic novel reading chapter by chapter. I’ve been meaning to reread this story for some time. The humor is in his stopping the reading to comment or wonder out loud what’s happening. He reports having never read it until now. His tangents and ejaculations make me smile; it reminds me of Anna Russell describing ‘The Ring Cycle”.

22 February (more or less) starts the zodiac sign of Pisces, which are fish or fishes, depending how you like to pluralize the word. Off the top of my head I don’t recall knowing any relations, chums, or Spo-fans who are Pisces, nor do I know what is ‘typical’ of a Pisces.* We just got through the sign of Aquarius (January 19-February 20), who are prone to hip injuries. The boisterous barging-in Ares types (March 20- April 19 or so) are just around the corner, but for now, we have Fish-types. It seems a nice sign; I can’t imagine Fish being belligerent; please don’t feed them buns and things.

Fish are an archetype of something swimming deep down in the subconscious. Dr. Jung in his “Aion: researches into the phenomenology of the self” wrote a chapter on the topic, titled “The Sign of the Fishes”. For nearly twenty pages he rambles incoherent on the topic. I reread it every year about this time and it gets no clearer.

My late Mother would not cook fish, stating it made the kitchen smell bad. Restaurants meant we could order some, so fish is still associated with special events, eating out, and auspicious get-togethers. My favorite fish at the time was pickerel, which I haven’t seen on any menu in ages. Perhaps it is extinct. As a boy I hated salmon but when I experienced proper no-rubbish types (sockeye and king) I was figuratively hooked. Now it is my favorite; I try to have some once a week. Shrimp, scallops, and lobsters aren’t technically fish but I lump them into the common category of ‘fish’ – the most scrumptious food I can think of. At the other end of the spectrum of a well-done broiled fish with potatoes and vegetables, is fish and chips, another favorite, which as a lad I pronounced ‘Sufficient ships”. I like mine with malt vinegar, which turns Someone’s stomach. He has his with cocktail sauce.

None of this has any correlation to the zodiacal sign of Pisces I suppose, but I am hungry.

I could not find online a straight answer why are there two fish are tied together with ropes in the first place, but like most zodiac stuff it’s best not to get too technical about it. The present Age of Pisces is slowly moving towards The Age of Aquarius, yet there is no consensus when this happens. According to “Hair” AA has already dawned** Others with less-groovy notions say Sol doesn’t leave Pisces for a few more hundred years so we might as well get comfortable until then.

For closure, here is my favorite salmon recipe:

Ginger Basil Salmon in foil

Two 1lb proper sockeye salmon fillets, no rubbish types; you need not bind them with rope.

Line a baking sheet with foil and place the salmon in the middle; season with salt.

In a small bowl, whisk together:

3 T rice vinegar

Juice of half a lemon

1 T honey

1 T soy sauce

1 T grated fresh ginger

2 t Sriracha

3 garlic cloves, minced

2 T chopped fresh basil

Pour the marinade over the salmon; wrap tightly with the foil. Bake at 375F ~ 15 minutes. Then open up the foil and put under the broiler for 5 more minutes. Watch that it doesn’t dry out.

*The Tube of Yous has scores of videos along the line of “How to spot a Pisces” and “How to date a Pisces”. At first glance most seem written by women advising other women how to handle their men-folk of a fishy nature. I didn’t watch any, lest I am forever given viewing suggestions on similar matters.

**If so, what page 71 that is!

Note: The Board of Directors Here at Spo-reflections wasn’t too happy with this one, as it wasn’t fun, instructive, or witty. I told them it was on my mind while I was drinking a cup of coffee, and I let it rip.

With fears of weight gain and borderline diabetes, I scrutinize everything I eat like a customs agent. What’s in this? How much sugar does it have? How many carbs? Is the size too much? When I eat pasta (my favorite) or ‘cheat’ with a plate of beans, rice, and burritos (delicious!), I feel guilt and often compensate with an extra exercise and then I avoid eating afterwards – until I do. Is this sensible self-care or a sort of eating disorder? If I had young female patient preoccupied doing all of this, I pursue the possibility of anorexia. It doesn’t help I have a ‘minor’ in nutrition and I am work in the health profession. Food – especially its bad elements – is continually on my mind.

I need to fix my relationship with food. It has ceased to be a source of pleasure and nurturance. In it’s place is a Sophie’s Choice smorgasbord of detrimental materials, size and content. I know the adage ‘everything in moderation’ and I am quite cognizant of what is good and what is bad. My issue is more along the line of actually enjoying food again not just seeing it as something that is going to kill me.

Another problem is how I eat. Both lunch and dinner are things to ‘get through’ as quickly as possible to get back to work or tasks. Oh, how I miss meals that involved good food, cheer, and talk! No wonder my favorite meal is breakfast, which is rarely eaten (intermittent fasting don’t you know). When I am at brekkie, I know I am not needing to get to work or start something pressing. Of course, what I like for breakfast e.g. eggs, potatoes, and meats, I feel obliged to down it all with pre-meal large amounts of water to reduce the osmolality/high sodium effect on my system, making a mental note to add more exercise that day.

I am not alone on these matters. Americans in general have a bad relationship with food. we want fast and cheap and forgo quality and good taste. We are overweight yet preoccupied with lean, trim body types.

This morning’s entry was done while having a cup of coffee. I could be savoring it. Rather, I am thinking how the caffeine content raises cortisol levels, which in turns raises my glucose and my blood pressure. I shouldn’t be drinking this poison. It doesn’t help there is some milk added, which spikes insulin, thus marring an intermittent fast I vowed for the morning. I may as well be drinking arsenic.

Yes, it would be nice to enjoy food again. I think of the man I knew who lived to ninety, thanks to careful diet and no alcohol. He commented he survived all his friends and family, who all died in their sixties and seventies. He wondered if it was worth it. I wonder too.

Friko (the dear!) recently wondered on her blog ‘how do we get the joy back into our lives? What works for you?’ Rather than writing a pat answer in her comments section, I thought I would expanded my thoughts on the subject into an entry. How to achieve happiness is a question frequently asked by my patients, and by everybody else.

I start with a rough definition: Joy is heightened Happiness. What is Happiness is not as easy to define. Happiness is an emotion, a quiet positive satisfying feeling that rises from Contentment, like heat emanating from a well-running machine. To have a ‘happy life’ doesn’t mean the feelings of happiness and joy are always there. Rather it is learning to accept the inevitable painful and sorrowful events as integral but not necessarily the destroyer of a happy life.

Pursing happiness seems to have a paradox to it. Happiness/Joy is a good thing to have, but when we try to directly pursue it, it becomes a problem. There seems to be an indirect correlation to the pursuit of Happiness and achieving it: the more you try to get it through actions, pleasure, wealth, and status, the less likely you will obtain it. Think of Joy as a bright light: when we look directly at it, it burns but if we look at what it shines your life world is lit with Joy.

There are a some areas of Life that the more we work at them, the more likely we will achieve happiness and at times Joy.

Relationships: this is probably the number one correlate to feeling happiness and joy. The more quality (quantity) we have in our relationships, the better.

Intellectual curiosity: strive for a lifetime of asking questions; be curious and engage in things of learning. This is in contrast to a life of passive and mindless consumption.S

Self-care: I don’t think this means necessarily being fit or even healthy, so much as not allowing stress to accumulate and wreck you. The CEO who goes regularly to the gym with his personal trainer and organic foods etc. but works nonstop, doesn’t take vacations – and even when s/he does he works anyway. There is no down time to replenish himself. You cannot work enough to be happy.

Emotional: mawkish as this sounds, focus on gratitude, the things we have, rather than focusing on what is lost. This approach leads to hope, resiliency, and growth. One of my patients got her PTSD better by working on what she called PTG: Posttraumatic Growth. What a concept.

Spiritual: I suppose the easiest way to define this one is to make/have some sort of meaning in your life. This may be a religious matter, or a job you feel is meaningful to you and to others. My late mother’s meaning was being a wife and a mother, two tasks she took seriously and they provided her with much meaning – and great joy.

So that’s it. Continuous careful conscious work in these areas come together like the wavelengths of color to make the white light of Happiness. It isn’t fireworks and it isn’t sexy or status. But it is Happiness in the broad sense. At times the emotion of joy/happiness fails, but The State of Happiness does not. It remains resilient, and like my patient’s PTG, grows towards Joy.

The structure of my weekends do not vary. Come along and have a look-see at a typical Saturday here at La Casa de Spo. Pardon the mess; this gets addressed later on into the entry.

Urs Truly gets up every morning at 5AM, even on weekends. Someone takes no truck with this sort of regularity but uses the weekends to sleep in. This gives me ~ 2-3 hours of ‘me time’ which is used to start the laundry and tidy up the kitchen, which is usually a fright from Friday night. The dark cold morns of winter make do for some ironing while putting on the kettle for hot water for tea.

After Someone emerges from his long winter’s nap we head off to brekkie. We are the Statler and Waldorf of Einstein Brothers. Someone always orders the same thing* and I get something different each time. Over bagels we fine-tune the grocery list, which I started composing prior to going out. Hey ho off to Uncle Alberstons we go, which is not busy at 8AM. This allows us to get in and out without too much fuss. I bring with me three cloth bags to avoid getting white plastic ones.* We always hope Denise is working to check us out. We’ve grown slightly superstitious if Denise doesn’t ring up the purchases it won’t be good weekend.

AT home Harper waits. While Someone unpacks the sauce jars and frozen fish sticks I take her out for our obligatory Saturday morning dog walk. It’s chilly at 8AM but the apricity of the winter sun keeps me warm. If the date is an ‘odd’ one I stop first to turn on the outside water to refresh the cacti and palm trees front and back.

Saturday morning is for pill-packing. I have seven white plastic boxes, each with four drawers, labeled AM, NOON, PM, and NIGHT. In these go the MVI, the D3, and the fish (snake) oil tablets, along with the meds for HTN. It’s a sort of chant. Red for blood pressure; blue for heart; Yellow – to make me mellow. hohoho (in E-flat).

By now Someone has dressed to head off to what work he is doing that day. If I am not going anywhere (which is usually the case these days) he takes the car with the top and I am home alone. What’s a weekend without chart dictation? I take off the Viking horns and put on the headphones and let it rip. While recording my brilliant medical notes, the washer, the dryer, the dishwasher are a-churning and a-turning and all will be clean again. Temporarily.

There is a Saturday afternoon snooze. When in doubt, get horizontal.

If Someone is coming home by the dinner hour, I make a ‘Hello Fresh’ kit meal. If he is coming home late, I might try something new and adventuresome. I am making today in the crockpot “Garlic Parmesan Chicken and Mushrooms”, a recipe I got from a Pocket recipe. Fingers crossed it’s scrumptious.

I won’t go to the gym these days (and there is no car) so for exercise after dinner I take a 30 minute long walk. It’s something and that’s better than nothing.

Duolingo lessons, stretching, meditation, and reading something/anything finishes the day.

As gawd is my witness I vow to get around to reading my blogs today. I am too far behind.

That’s about it. I lead a dull life. It isn’t unpleasant and truth be told it is serene. I end the day with the quiet satisfaction of accomplishment.

*Chorizo or ham – no cheese- on a toasted asiago bagel.

**I am the only man in Phoenix who shops using a red Piggly-Wiggly grocery bag. Thanks, Linda!

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