Friday was a difficult start as I had, as usual, the first night in a hotel, and in a new time zone, sleep comes slowly and is often interrupted. I rose 7ish after ignoring a 6:30 alarm. I made coffee by summoning ritual and the hotel Keurig machine and pods. This involves the sacrifice of one pod per cup.
Deborah had slept in and did not hear from her until later in the morning, which would never happen when we were in different time zones. We did not connect for breakfast. I realized I had no alternative numbers for Deborah, and she had none for me. Everything was fine, but we exchanged some numbers and soon were working out plans for Friday.
I remained in my room with a Don’t Disturb sign on my door and wrote until 9. I then switched to the lobby. Kurt is in charge of breakfast, and we talked a few times. I like to get to know the staff as they try to be invisible, but I appreciate their work. People want to be seen, and soon, we talked about travel and Oregon. Breakfast was the usual hotel, including breakfast with industrial scrambled eggs, sausages, and potatoes. Excellent biscuits with industrial gravy were a nice addition. There is a pancake machine; I did go that way, too. All good with excellent coffee.
I wrote for hours in the lobby, recalling my travels from Portland to the Greater Detroit Area. I was trying to rush to get to Deborah and some sights, but I wanted to get the whole story done and assembled with some skill despite the lack of sleep and the slightly confused state of my mind on the first day in a new time zone.
At this moment, I panicked. The keys to Air Kia were missing. I took apart the room, and they were not there. I walked outside in the snow and did not find the keys in the snow or in the car, then back to my room. I returned to the front desk to get a keycard (I left it in the room). I managed over 6,000 steps, many in the first hours. Finally, I found the keys in my gym bag’s outer pocket. Yikes! It was a black web and perfectly disguised the black key fob.
Deborah appeared in her blue Mini-Cooper. She drove, and we soon enjoyed our travels into the city. Detroit looks better. There are plenty of boarded-up buildings, but the snow covers many sins. There are many older houses with lovely yards. Some apartments have gone condos that tempt me back to Michigan. As always happens, be it here or in New Orleans or Chicago, I want to buy a home and rent it out when I am not there. I love the emotion of recovery, albeit slow and strained, and love for the city shines.
Deborah has dreamed of visiting the old pottery company in the USA in downtown Detroit, Pewabic Pottery. Today, we pull in, and we are enchanted. It is Friday, and they are open, and the work areas are open for us to walk through–only on Fridays; excellent. We marvel at the tiles and what they are known for, and the artisans explain their glazing process; we get to see the pottery items fresh from the kiln. We also watch the stamping of tiles using a more modern method. All interesting and fun. We saw stacks and stacks of older-style molds that we were told take a long time to safely de-mold. We toured their museum and enjoyed learning the history of the process and company since the early 1900s. We had a good time. We managed to resist buying a tile. Deborah dreamed of her house numbers done in Pewabec tiles (@ $42 a number) and looked at what that would look like. Maybe someday!
Next, we needed food, and Deborah and I decided on a place, Slows Bar-B-Q, on the way to John K. King Used and Rare Books’ main store. We found parking and realized that we were at the renovated Train Station. Something we had on the list to see, but we headed to food. We crossed the four-lane road to get to the place. The main door is somewhat hidden, with signs on the wrong door that says, “This is not Slows Bar-B-Q.” I spotted a door made of reused floorwood that matched the facade, and that was it. We wait for a seat at the bar, and soon, a group leaves, and we take a seat.
We have a dinner-sized lunch there, with me taking It’s Legit and Deborah (believing she will take some home) Deuces. I got thru a 1/2 pound of pulled pork–my favorite. I had slaw (not ordering again; good but not great) and baked beans (I will dream of them). Deborah has perfect brisket and pulled pork with only the fries and the pork making it to a box, plus a bottle of their Apple sauce. I cannot praise them enough; once again, this experience reminds me not to order BBQ in the Pacific Northwest!
Stuffed, we fit back into the Air Mini and soon park as another car leaves near John K. King Used and Rare Books. Neither of us has been here before. It is a stacks used book store, something rare now; most are gone now. There are messy piles of books and things all over four floors. Deborah sees Mr. King, as he is called, and the staff all wear a smock referred to by the first name. Everyone seems happy or overwhelmed by the chaos. I feel happy and warm in a stacked used book store. Our big store in Portland, Powell’s, is neat and well-lighted, but I remember it being more worn like this one twenty years ago. Cameroon Books and other stores, all gone now, looked more like this, as do a few in New Orleans.
Their catalog is held in the heads of the staff. You ask Deborah, the woman at the sales location, to tell you if she has seen it and direct you to where it may be found. She also knows what they have not got out yet and will get that for you, too. My Deborah asked for signed items and soon walked over to cases with Deborah and reviewed various options. It is so old-school, but it feels new and fresh. With items put in a cubby hole, we walk to the top and walk through the whole store. It is a wonder in endless choices, most cheap, and we explore but are mostly overwhelmed by the options, though the Rex Stout items were few. There are overhead lights that you pull a string to light. The mildew has us sneezing on the top floor, but the rest smells of old books and fading magazines.
We pay for our items retrieved from the cubby hole. First, unique gifts for Deborah’s boys, and I have, with some chaos, a translation of all the famous ancient Greek plays in four volumes mailed to the house in Oregon. I try to avoid carrying books home. We marvel at the manual sales ledger and putting receipts in different envelopes for later reconciliation, which is old school, indeed. I am given a complex recipe and told to call a different phone number and ask for ‘Tom’ if something is wrong with the shipment, “Tom handles shipments.”
We head out with our purchases and food, and soon, Air Mini has us at Deborah’s home. The dogs, Trixie and Zelda, are thrilled to have a new source of petting. I am warned to turn my back on Zelda if she jumps, and I do, and it works. Soon, I will be busy petting and making the doggies happy while Deborah arranges food and other items.
We leave the dogs, who were happy to see us, and next, get a drink at a local bar, Grand Tavern. And there I will stop. Thanks for reading.
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