This week marks three months of being retired. I expected a transition, but it’s this daily togetherness with your spouse that takes time to adjust to. There are two types of people in this world: morning people and non-morning people. I married a happygo lucky morning person. Me? I’m a grizzly bear who looks like Phyllis Diller when I wake up. Don’t even look at me or talk to me until the second cup of coffee has been consumed.
Mark hasn’t caught on to this sacred time period yet. Yesterday, I just get my coffee made, I have a severe case of bed head, and my eyes are still filled with that morning crud where they are almost swollen shut. I’m in a zombie-type mode.
My rear end just hits the easy chair and Mark says, “Sally, let’s go for a walk!” Are you kidding me? A walk. Ha Ha. I reminded him about my morning ritual. So, he honored my wish. I escaped the morning walk. Not a minute later, he continues, “What should we have for dinner tonight?” It’s 7:31 a.m. I’m not thinking about a meal 10 hours from now. Again, I remind him of my personal space.
Blood pressure continues to elevate. He manages to give up on the dinner plan and goes back to the walk. “When will you be ready to walk?” he asks. Cleansing breaths. Retired people understand this scenario.
Right now, as I’m typing this column, Mark is asking me if I want bacon or sausage. I don’t care. I tell him bacon. “You sure you want bacon?” Breathe again and repeat the word bacon. He can’t hear very well. “What did you say?” Mark asks. “B–A– C–O–N! Bacon, bacon, bacon,” I respond loudly. It reminds me of that commercial where the dog keeps repeating bacon. So, Mark then makes the sausage.
The only stressful part of an average day of retirement is when my husband suffers from CFS (Can’t find S#it). I just sit down in a comfy chair in another room and he yells, “Where is the olive oil?”I tell him exactly where it is. He can’t hear. He comes back to get me to express his frustration. I get up to come and show him that it’s right where I said it was, or nearby anyway.
Just because it was on the counter 10 feet away from the closet, where I’d said it would be, causes Mark to get his shorts in a bunch and he begins to mutter things under his breath. This happens on a daily basis.
All in all, we’re establishing retirement routines. If we can just conquer this morning time and not worry about a menu plan, I think we’ve got this.
We had fun watching the Super Bowl. We went from a 55-inch TV to a 65-inch one. Those 10 inches didn’t change that boring game very much.
For me, it’s all about the food and the commercials. We had a feast of appetizers and Mark had to dazzle our company with his 25-pound casserole. They really had no words until the next day when a trip to the bathroom alerted them to just how much cheese Mark puts in that concoction. We had to bring a bit of Minnesota to Florida, Mark Yuccas style.
Here is a recipe for the best cake I’ve ever had. The lady just called it Bundt Cake. It needs a better name. Ingredients: 1 box yellow OR chocolate cake mix (I had the chocolate version), 1 cup water, 3/4 cup oil, 4 eggs. Mix for two minutes. Add one can of coconut pecan frosting (this ingredient is very important because Mark hates and won’t eat coconut) and 1/2 cup of chopped pecans. Pour in a greased, floured Bundt pan and bake one hour at 350 degrees Sprinkle with powdered sugar.
Here’s another easy addicting treat—Cracker Toffee candy:Linea9x13panwithtinfoil.Putsoda crackers on the bottom of the cookie sheet. Melt 1 cup salted butter in a pan, then add 1 cup plus 2 Tbsp of brown sugar and sauté for three minutes. Pour this mixture over the crackers. Bake 5-7 minutes at 375 degrees (until bubbling).
Take from oven and pour one bag of chocolate chips over crackers and spread chocolate. Top with 1/2 cup chopped pecans. Cool at room temperature and then put in the fridge for an hour. Break apart to serve.
Warning, you can’t stop eating these. Some people make it without the chocolate. That’s your choice. They can be stored in an airtight container for up to two weeks. That’s a joke because they’ll be gone in two days, one if Mark finds out there’s no coconut in them.
So, it’s a wrap for this week. I finally go back to the doctor this week to check on this arm and see if the cast comes off. I want my bike back. I want to shower without my arm sticking out of the curtain. I want to get dressed without it being an aerobic routine.
Lifting this rear end of mine from chairs without the use of my hands is an art form. I should have rock-hard abs. Putting a fitted sheet on a bed with one arm is by far the most challenging job. This, too, shall pass and teach me yet another life lesson. I’m not 30 anymore. I went on that Pickle Ball court like I was Martina Navratilova and came off the court a 61-year-old, overweight, out-of-shape gal who was trying to reclaim her youth.
Sally Yuccas lives in Virginia, MN, and winters in Naples, FL.