Monday Before the Election

I rolled over a few times despite enjoying multiple options to wake up that evening and slept to my alarm at 7. I am using an alarm because it seems impossible to know what time it is with the time change and the on-and-off rain and cloudiness we are experiencing this fall/winter/spring (it all looks the same here in the Greater Portland, Oregon area).

We say the season changes are determined by feeling the rain, cold means it is winter, cool means fall or spring, and warmish means spring/summer. We often call this season Nov-Dec-Jan-Feb-Mar-April-May-June month.  With the election and the darkness, I am careful to get more light and avoid SAD or what I call lack of light depression. I used to joke around March that folks living here should change their silverware and kitchen knives to plastic to avoid just offing yourself in an attack of depression while making a sandwich. This year, with the grief and election (which yet may cause more grief) and leftovers from the pandemic (I read that some studies show that many of us are grieving unknowingly for our previous life before the pandemic), I might take my own joking advice. Yikes!

I was lazy, as usual, on Monday, being retired. It is my Saturday morning as others work and get started on yet another work week; there are fewer texts, and the news and accounts are muted due to Sunday being a slow news and transaction day. I can just go slow.

It takes me until 11ish to finish the blog. Breakfast is liberal Trader Joe’s coffee, which still tastes like Justice, Compassion, and Community despite being a corporate product. Hope is always at the bottom of my cup ready to jump into the world and bring, well, hope.

I am writing this story about Monday, Tuesday, Election Day, and I should record my feelings about the election before it is called.

On the subject of hope, many of my liberal friends are scared of the election and four more years of Trump, but I remember We the People survived LBJ, Nixon, Trump (version 1), and the strange presidency of Bill Clinton. Should things go to Trump, we will survive and learn again all the limits of the president and federal government powers, and I suspect tear gas will perfume our streets again. As a retired person who is now not a caring giver, I will be out there protesting any stupidities. I also know it is easier to complain than to actually govern, and I suspect the four years, should they be full of controversy, will produce little results (other than sales of tear gas). I have hope and drink deep this election of my liberal coffee, drank most mornings for eight years starting on Wednesday two four-year elections ago. 

Returning to Monday, I grab some ham with my banana and liberal coffee. I think I need more protein and fewer carbs. I have fallen behind on my walking, seldom breaking a few thousand steps of late, with excuses of the rain and excellent distractions each day, but I look forward to walking many steps in Michigan next week.

I reheated some Jambalaya, which is better than I remember; it just needs some heat in the spices. It’s not bad for someone’s first try at making it from scratch. I shall venture on with more cooking soon.

The mail has arrived, and I have two packages, one for Corwin (he is still sending them here). I have books from Crescent City Books. One is the history of prostitution in Argentina; after learning the history of New Orleans (NOLA), this has become an interest of mine. The other is the Veganonmican, an early Vegan cookbook. Yes, a diverse selection of books. The cookbook covers essential “Betty Crocker”-like vegan recipes, allows for canned ingredients, and explores basic sauces. Perfect for someone like me who is just interested and wants to produce good food for anyone. Having looked at some recipes, the authors often say this is not an authentic version of this or that, just something that worked for them. They also assume you have considerable exotic veggies available and provide only occasional substitutes. Hmmm. Again, this a book full of opportunities to learn. There is a stuffed pepper recipe that has my attention.

I finally dressed and took an Air Volvo to get gas. I got to the filling station, parked, opened the app, selected a pump, drove up, and explained to the full-service folks (still The Way of Oregon) that I was using the app; they made an effort not to do eye rolls. I took steps to accept the app on the pump, paid with my Apple Pay, and soon, gas flowed. It was 50 cents less a gallon today. Despite the troubles, with 17 gallons going into Air Volvo, I saved $8.50, enough for a beer! As someone retired and living off of his investments (Social Security is more than a year away, and health care four), I need to economize those things that are not fun.

Yes, Air Volvo still has a check engine light. My hope that refilling it with gas would help failed, so I will have to get it serviced soon—but not on Monday.

I return home, read more Veganonmicon (my spelling keeps changing, but that is the nature of such a dread book), and then decide to get my hair cut. Without Zorida here, I head to Great Clips, where the same gal cuts my hair as last time. They are wearing paper masks, and I offer to wear one and learn it is for their protection and mandated by corporate, not for COVID-19 but for so many folks with colds and flu. No mask is needed for me.

I got a short haircut, off the ears, a business look. Best to make things simple when you are traveling. It is soon over, and Air Volvo, still with a check engine light, takes me home to the Volvo Cave. There, I found some excellent distractions on a call and read the news. I am greatly relieved that there were no SNAFUs or shenanigans with voting at the start of the election.

Dinner was at Pepita’s Mexican Restaurant & Cantina in Beaverton with Dondrea and Z, yes, DMZ. We were there early, before 5, and were the first customers. Dondrea and I went for the Chile Colorado plater, and Z went out on a culinary limb and ordered fish enchiladas. Margaritas are for the folks over 21, and Z gets a no-alcohol Piña Colada. The food was excellent, with Z’s risky choice being partially good. We mainly talked about travel and a few thoughts on the election.

Stuffed and skipping dessert, we head out in separate ways. Air Volvo reaches the Volvo Cave with no issues. I decided to watch Tom Hank’s Apple+ –only WW2 movie, Greyhound. It is an excellent movie, and the special effects are outstanding. Much was shot on a surviving Fletcher Class destroyer, the workhouse of the USA WW2 navy. I was surprised that it was ninety minutes of endless action. Tom Hanks makes it all seem real. The original story, The Good Shepard, by C.S. Forester, is a favorite author of mine, but I have not read this book. The action reminded me less of a WW2 story but of a wargame from Avalon Hill, Submarine. I think I have played the scenario. Still, I recommend Greyhound if you want to spend ninety minutes glued to your screen and see what a Fletcher Class can do and why so many destroyers were lost in the war.

Aside: Corwin picks up his package while I am out and enjoys and finishes my Jambalaya. He reports it to be good, though it could be hotter spiced. Excellent.

After that, I was tired and nearly fell asleep in the chair. I rose, showered, and got on my PJs. I finished the Vampire Cookbook with one more recipe and story. The ending was predictable, with the principal storyteller, a disreputable bartender, not escaping his fate–no spoilers.

Sleep came slowly, with me being warm and cold and then pain in my toes. The little electric shocks from chemo and/or diabetes did not improve my sleeping. Hydration is the solution for me. Usually, my mind wanders, and I find new things to worry about, but once I resolved one issue—trying to remember a name (requiring me to look at posts and suddenly recall it)—my mind went blank, sleep came, and I returned to the everyday world around 6 to prove hydration.

That brings me to today, Election Day in the USA.

Thanks for reading.