In a completely astonishing turn of events, I have become 66 years old. It's done no good to refuse it; the reality of it stubbornly exists, and I just have to live with it. There are times when I completely forget about how old I am, but then there are days like yesterday, when I am putting in my herb garden and attempting to help Rick get the little pond and waterfall cleaned up and running again, and weeding and yardworking, and my body reminds me that it's NOT HAVING IT AND HEY! REMEMBER YOUR ARTHRITIS ALL OVER THE PLACE?
This morning was a nightmare.
Can I buy Aleve by the drum?
Anyway.
Not too long ago on our way home from working at the lakehouse, I mentioned that I was in the mood for a martini. I didn't really want to go someplace to get one, but it sounded good. Of course, we had nothing at all at home to make one. That's when my hero answered the call: we stopped at a liquor store on the way home and Rick got everything we needed to make not only martinis, but cosmopolitans, too. And The Porch Martini was born.
I cannot recommend this highly enough. Rick makes lovely dirty martinis or cosmopolitans (aka pink martinis), and we sit on the front porch relaxing, chatting, and watching the world go by. Sometimes we let the cats out and let them enjoy the porch as well. It's an unwritten rule that we cannot discuss stressful things--that would disrupt The Porch Martini Vibe. It's the ultimate relaxation for me. We each have two martinis and sometimes some snacks. I've wholeheartedly embraced The Porch Martini. (And come on--everyone looks and feels so cool even just holding those glasses.)
But even as I've embraced The Porch Martini, I've had to break up with (for now!) Peanut M & Ms. Again. This gives me no end of grief, for as you know, not only do I consider them The World's Most Perfect Food, it proves that I did NOT learn my lesson from 2023. Conveniently, however, this time I can blame Rick for my transgression. Yes, he did thoughtfully ask if I wanted anything from the kitchen. True, I did say, "I do, but I don't know what," and he brought me just the right snack, said Peanut M & Ms. He did, however, just plop a big sack of them (thoughtfully given to me on my birthday by Jordan, my daughter-in-law) on the table next to me rather than give me a little portion. After two martinis, I just kept popping them into my mouth whilst watching Netflix, and pretty soon, (like the Cheetos and Lay's Original Potato Chips before them) they turned on me. Now, I've had to ask Rick to hide them while I see other snacks, like red grapes and the pretzels that look like little checkerboards.
You know, I've just read this over, and I am a bit concerned as to what sort of example I am setting for those of you who are younger. People who buy liquor are heroes! Booze it up on your porch!
Yet, I am advocating for Snacking In Moderation. And Dealing With Your Stress. And Physical Activity In Your Advanced Years.
Really, this post is a Public Service, if you think about it.
You're welcome.
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