Thursday Lunch and Walking

It is always strange when I try to remember the day before. I would, in the past, often write the blog before going to bed, and all the events were crisp and new. Now, the day before is a flash of memories, and they never come in the correct order. Often, I miss something as I follow the tangled sequence; some branches are missing, seemingly they appear in another memory that suddenly pops into my thoughts after the blog is published. Yesterday’s blog failed to note that I walked my usual mile and felt good with no pain and it felt good.

I also forgot to include yesterday’s, but it is not very interesting that I put stamps in my album. I have the strips of Showgard plastic containers for the stamps to cover most sizes now. I found a letter and stamps from months ago, and I learned I had made duplicate purchases again. Puke! But I was happy to get some more places filled. None of these were expensive stamps, and since I obtain them at auction, they are about 50% of the catalog value or even a better deal. Later, I bid on some more stamps, and I think I missed all the auctions as the prices were too high. The emotions of an auction can get you to bid too high. I prefer to spend my money on travel and dinners with Deborah; there is always another auction (as evidenced by my US 8A in my collection, which was purchased for less than one-quarter of the catalog value).

Today, I am writing Thursday’s story on Friday morning, and I feel especially tangled, but let me try to shake out the net of my memories and tell the story.

I rose around 7:30, and the coffee was made and still being heated. I poured a cup and grabbed the last banana (and while many folks here the song “Yes, we have no bananas,” I instead always hear a rewording of the Parrothead song, “The last banana in paradise,” here). I then head to the office, happy to see the mess is better and the desk just needs to be straightened up. So much better!

My favorite Parrothead music here and this one (you can’t have just one). Music that makes you swing and dance while singing.

I complete the blog (the missing bits I described) and get it published. I created another report on the refresh work, my seventh, and sent it out as well. I then completed my class notes for Sunday’s class and sent them out.

I then rushed to get to meet Scott for lunch, our usual Thursday meeting. Shower, shave, dress, and out the door with my laptop. I was only a few minutes late, and Scott was a few minutes early. He was an inch into his beer. I ordered my one beer-a-week, and we talked and ate. McMenamins Cedar Hills has a lunch special, and I had half a tuna with salad and a cup of soup. Our waiter did not know what the soup was, but we laughed and ordered it anyway (hearty veggie).

Scott and I talked about my battle with depression of late and my self-treatment of light, which is helping. He was also surprised to learn I fear the dark; I can sleep in the dark, but when I am ill, I often sleep with the lights on. We discussed our travel plans, and Scott headed to Florida before Christmas. I will see if I can overlap with him in Key Largo; I have never been there before.

Scott’s experiment of taking some of his retirement savings and investing it himself has produced a higher return than his Fidelity investments. Interesting. M@ says the same thing. I need the services provided by US Bank Wealth Management and am content, for now, to let them manage my affairs. We will both be in the area for a few more weeks, and we plan to meet again next week.

I headed to Hillsboro. I was surprised to get a parking spot on Main Street that was easy to pull into. I can do parallel parking (Air VW the Gray is smaller than anything I have owned before, and I can slide it into slots with ease), but I prefer something easier. I locked it and walked on the streets. I toured the antique stores, looking for excellent furniture and 1920s reference books. I found an Agatha Christie book, for too much money for an old hardcover, but it was a story I wanted to read: Elephants Can Remember. It includes the character Ariadne Oliver, which I feel is Agatha adding a version of herself into her stories. Hercule Poirot, her famous detective, is often heckled by Ariadne in the stories; I love that. Elephants Can Remember is a favorite of mine from the BBC show with David Suchet, but I have not read the book.

I stopped by the corner store and Bennett Urban Farm Store and spent too much on pasta, pasta sauce, and new locally roasted and ground coffee. We discussed how the past seems to be divided into ‘before’ and ‘after’ the Pandemic. I remember wearing a mask and buying coffee from them. We both agreed it was great to still be here.

I sat in the local Insomniate Coffee shop, a local competitor of Starbucks, and had their honey biscuit and a pumpkin spice something chai hot drink. It was recommended. I enjoyed the biscuit with butter (it, by itself, was enough of a diabetic crime, and I skipped more honey or jam). There, I assemble a list of events and travel plans for the Southern Trip, as we call it, for the church in November.

With my email out and time running away from me, I head to the house in the EV. I defrost some chicken thighs (boneless and skinless) in running water. I start watching some shows, but then talk to Deborah for a while. We spoke for nearly an hour. At the same time (timing is a bit unclear in my memory), I also cut up the chicken, fried it in a pan, drained the fat, and continued to fry it until it was browned. Next, I added the curry sauce. I also cooked grits, as they are easier to make than rice in small amounts. I managed not to get it to stick to the bottom of the pan. It was still a bit crunchy when done. Hmmm.

I put half of the chicken away and enjoyed most of the grits, 1/2 cup dry, with it. Better than rice, I think. Deborah, finishing her day with me, rang off and went to sleep. I read and was at loose ends. Instead of doing something useful, I read and tried to enjoy the evening.

I picked up a new book, Bismarck, and the terrible writing of the biography was getting to me, but I nodded off during the introduction, which included Chinatown stories from the 1920s and ’30s. Before my eyes grew heavy, I learned that before the ‘Yellow Peril,’ the villains were Italian, and that most of the villains were boilerplate characters that could be updated for whatever sold. I folded over the corner and will look for one and try, ‘Italian Peril.’

I turned off the light, sighed at the darkness, and slept in what seemed like a dreamless sleep.

Thanks for reading.