The Pirates Code

Carmel-by-the-Sea, California

In honor of Halloween, I am posting an editorial which has been in draft form for a long, long time. I often do that with posts. It is always good to have a few marinating, and some of them marinate themselves into embalmment. But, it being Halloween, and the post having the reference to pirates, I thought What the hell? Put her up.

Part of my hesitation was rooted in the change that I have brought about here in Sandraland. Perhaps you read here, or have noticed, that at the outset of 2025, I cut politics out of my posts. And I have also tried to play down one of my two deadly sins: complaining. I can bitch to high heaven, and goodness knows there is currently a whole lot of firewood for that blaze. But I have to question whether it is enjoyable or even more importantly, enlightening, to read a complaining diatribe, as reflected in those posts. However, in the case of this post, I'm going to wave my flag and bitch away. By the way, my other deadly sin is procrastination.

In the original film Pirates of the Caribbean, those captured by the pirates call parlay which is defined as A discussion or conference, especially one between enemies over terms of truce or other matters. Ok, so now that we have that definition, you can forget about it. What matters here is that at a pivotal point after capturing Jack and whatever her name is, the pirate portrayed by Geoffrey Rush responds to the request for parlay based on the Pirates Code, by saying (and I paraphrase here): It's not really a code... more of a guideline.

I live in Los Angeles, which could be called The Knee-jerk Capitol of the World. I have long been aware that every single time it is reported in the news that something might be detrimental to our health, people freak out and completely eliminate whatever it is. I could go through the long list: Diet Coke; beef; egg yolks; processed foods; the seasoning packet in instant ramen, and the list goes on. Anyone who reads the comments on any food app like The New York Times Cooking, will find the virtue-signaling, holier-than-though commenter who wants you to know you can eat this if you want, but they have calculated the fat, sodium, and nut oils and in their infinite wisdom, they abstain, utterly.

Don't get me wrong. I do believe that there are things that are bad for us and should be avoided. Things like trans-fats, those black cooking utensils, goat cheese (ok, it's not really that bad for us, I just don't like it). But there is this smugness about toeing the line based on every study that is released, that I find ridiculous. I just don't think those studies should be followed like a code. More of a guideline.

Not to tell you to do what I do, but here is what I do. I eat widely across the spectrum, including the odd Diet Coke and even a little processed foods. It's just that on that end of the spectrum, I indulge only occasionally. A bit of an egg yolk isn't going to kill you, nor probably shorten your life. But that's just my belief. Maybe I just have a different end game. Most of my grandparents lived into old age. My mother made it to 94. Yes, maybe my genetics are predisposed to longevity, or maybe my relatives just didn't suffer from fear of food. My grandfather smoked all his life up until he died at 85. I'm not advising anyone to light up. Just advising to lighten up. Why sacrifice the joy you find in food throughout your life, just to bet on health in later years? And your answer to that may be because it's worth it. But to me, it's not.

Alcohol is the new forbidden planet as we are told that no amount of alcohol is good for us. Maybe that is true, or maybe another study will come along to refute that. Or maybe there is an agenda in putting this information out. I'm not indulging in conspiracy theories here, I'm just saying. A friend asked me recently if I drink alcohol everyday. I almost do. But at least half of the time, my cocktail is less than a standard shot. That's my compromise, as I am not going to give up the tradition of having a glass of wine or an ounce of scotch most evenings while I am cooking. Am I aware that I might be damaging my health? Yeah. Do I care? Not really.

Julia Child once said that she thought worrying about eating butter was less healthy than actually eating butter. Butter... so divine. A friend once remarked that eating oysters was so bad for you. Oysters... heaven on the half-shell. I could go on and on. But suffice to say, I know what is good for me. And I know what is purported to be bad for me. But for me, where this is all concerned, I adhere to the pirate's code. It's not really a code, you know. It's more of a guideline.

Retreat

 Los Angeles, California

It's that time again, when we visit the doctor's office, or drop by Costco to receive our annual vaccinations. Joel just got his Covid vaccine. I got my flu vaccine last week. He comes in contact with hundreds of people each day at his work, so he gets both vaccines. This year, for the first time since the Covid vaccine became available, I am only getting the flu vaccine.

I've had Covid twice (that I know of). I have no idea how I contracted the first bout (which was truly terrible), but clearly know that Joel gave me the second one, which was a very mild case. Joel was sent home from work with instructions not to return without a certificate of a clear test. He had barely any symptoms. We camped out together, watching movies and ordering take-out. It was fun.

My primary care physician, who has been my doctor since 1989 continuing the care provided by his father for over a decade, didn't exactly discourage me from getting the Covid vaccine. But he did share that he and other doctors in that medical community only took the first two-part vaccine and one booster. He never got Covid. I'm not skipping the vaccine solely because of that, but more because of the cognizance that the last bout was mild and at this point in time, I have had a truckload of Covid vaccinations. I'm guessing around six or seven. So I'm thinking that, pending a new variant outbreak, I'm going to get one every other year. At least that is the plan at this juncture.

Can it really be almost six years since Covid and the subsequent lockdown began? I remember the last scene in Ken Burns' The Civil War documentary where the aging veterans asked each other: Was it real? I don't feel that way about one-off events, like the Kennedy Assassination or 9/11. But the unique things that linger as this did, or the aftermath of a major earthquake, those get imprinted, and not always in a completely bad way.

I have had workers in my house for the past month and my mind has drifted back to that time during lockdown. At this point, I want everyone out! I am not someone who enjoys home renovation. I really abhor it. And while there is hammering and drilling in my house, or I have my water turned off for long periods of time, or I am waiting for an electrician and a window treatment installer to get back to me for a house call. It is times like this that I actually long for some aspects of lockdown.

I know my mind plays tricks on me. The memory of isolation and loneliness has become screened-back. There is the faint memory of the FaceTime happy hours and the longing to have a dog; that first trip to the market, wearing a bandana as a mask, and how spooky and panic-filled the entire experience felt. I can conjure up the memory of the anger I felt when people didn't abide by the spacing rule and stood right next to me at the post office. But the other side of all that is what I remember so clearly and fondly: The clean slate of each day with the luxury of filling the minutes and the hours with activities that felt good. I worked out, cooked, wrote, watched The Durrells of Corfu over again. I supported my housecleaner, Ana, but cleaned my own house for ten weeks, and undertook organizing projects. I talked to friends of the phone. People actually talked on the phone, which now seems to be an abandoned art with many of my friends. I got reacquainted and acquainted with two friends who became pen pals: My Brit frother, Russell, and a fairly new friend, Beth, whom I have nicknamed Beth2 (as there is a Beth1).

The truth is that I long for completely free time like that. Historically, this was the time of year when I was needing a vacation and we were preparing for our annual trip to The Kona Village. After I took on the care of my elderly mother, I was often beyond stressed. Tom would say to me: In a week we'll be at The Village. You'll be with Sandra. Then you'll feel better. But the Village doesn't exist as it did. And Sandra is long gone. And, though Joel and I will spend a week in Carmel shortly, it's not really a vacation that I need. I need a space of open, unscheduled time. No workers. No lunch dates. Even, no leaving the house. I need a home retreat. I want to work out, cook, clean closets, talk on the phone with friends who pick up. I want to do whatever I want with a clear conscience and more importantly, a clear calendar.

Who knows? Maybe the past five years have all been about reentry into a world that has changed. And it has changed mightily. And isn't that when we all feel the need to regroup? It's good to have a full life. But when that means you are opening your door to workers each day, or rushing to accomplish errands or, yes, even to meet girlfriends for lunch; sometimes you have to say enough is enough. So here is the question of the day: Does there have to be a pandemic in order to call for a lockdown? Or, what if we had called the lockdown a retreat? We were retreating from the possibility of catching Covid. We were retreating from our normal life of employment, socializing, and gathering. But in a better light, there is nothing wrong with a retreat. In fact, at times it can be a necessity. And for me, this is clearly one of those times.