Friday A Usual Retired Day

I rose later, just before sunrise. I watched the dark fade away as I sat in my office (a former bedroom) and began my usual morning, looking out the window. I read (mostly deleting unread) my accumulation of email (and unsubscribe to right-wing stuff that occasionally finds its way to me). I updated my transactions in Quicken and revised those that were mis-assigned or not assigned at all. I doomscroll the CNN.com and New York Times websites. One of the reasons I purchased the NYT is that I like the way they write and put stories together. You can learn by just reading how to write better. Recommended, especailly non-poltical stoires like cooking stories. CNN continues to lock down its content (never well written in my experience), while the NYT is now excelling in on-the-minute updates. CNN is more of a habit than a useful resource.

I must admit that Friday is a blur in my memory, and I wasn’t very well-organized when I experienced it. I will try to compose a narrative.

I recall that I wrote while drinking the coffee I had assembled the night before, Sleep Monk brand (thanks, The Most Rev. Steve and AJ), while I ate a croissant from Paris Baguette that I had sliced to hide that it was two days old. I had stripped the bed and run, for two plus hours, the sanitize washer function. Later, the dryer made quick work of drying as the washer’s spin cycle left the laundry only damp.

I interrupted the writing by calling doctors’ offices and imaging locations, those that accept my insurance, to get my MRI of my brain to check if the tumor is returning or if the stuff they saw was just scar tissue or like unthreatening stuff. I am unsure I really want to invest in another MRI, but if it is terrible news, I have all that IRA money to spend in the next few years (I plan to have none left when I am done). It is extrememly unlikely that it will be bad news. But after three phone calls and stating the obvious a few times, the medical community agreed that they, not me, had something to do. I did get the doctors and imaging places to update my insurance information. I tried to schedule another image; there is a mass in my neck that I would like scanned, but I cannot get through as the phone company says the number is busy. I tried four times all through the day. My doctor is out, and I have not been able to have it moved to another imaging center.

I complete the laundry and my blog at about the same time. I open a can of chicken noodle soup and add more noodles, along with some of the seasoned, crispy, sliced baguette, to the soup. It is good, but I eat it too hot. I shower, dress, and all of that. I do add some extra noodles, and that helps it taste and the texture. I will have to make this someday, and just freeze it and add noodles when reheating.

I feel discombobulated, but my new book arrives via Amazon.com: Love, War, and Diplomacy by Eric Cline. By the end of Friday, I had read 59 pages and had trouble putting the book down. I enjoy his books; he writes well, and the detailed footnotes and bibliography give me confidence in his arguments.

I head to Cedar Hills mall and soon walk through City Home, where I manage to resist a bookcase made from the front of a tuk-tuk (just under $800) or a bar table made from a Vespa. I walked through the store three or four times. In each pass, I find more things that I like or find interesting.

I try to make it through Powell’s Cedar Hills Crossing store without buying anything, but C. S. Forester’s three books of the Hornblower series, which I once owned and read, in a single old volume, gets my $11. I bought the newest copy of Make Magazine and some postcards with the book.

I decided that dinner would not be something I would make at home and headed, after a few thoughts and travelling through the parking lot, to decarli (always in lowercase). There was exactly one seat at their bar, dinner seemed pre-ordained, and I soon was talking to Mary and Charles (I think that was their names), who were enjoying drinks and pizza, and I had a glass of something red and Old World. Meatballs again and still wonderful. I chat with folks and even get a few pages of a book (bringing Eric Cline’s book with me).

(A mixed French wine that I enjoyed)

After paying the bill, getting home, and saying good night to Deborah, I watch more of The Umbrella Academy, but the show is now taking off. This is what I discovered when I first watched it. After a few assembly episodes, the story suddenly becomes binge-worthy material.

I clean up the kitchen and assemble the coffee for Saturday morning. I dress in my PJs and read. It is hard to stop reading, but I am nodding off.

Thanks for reading!

Aside: I forgot to include this picture of Nav in Portland. This is the usual way to move from Highway 5 to Powell!