Author: alohawild

Continuing with the early flight on Thursday, the plane arrived in Dallas, and soon, I discovered iconography and walked through the airport, which was waking around us fully awake, slightly fearful, busy passengers and flight crews. The plumbing was not on display (as Douglas Adams’ description of airports), there was no heat, and excessive air conditioning had me looking for frost. I put back on my sweater. A train ride had me locate my gate and discover all the food places were still closed, which was unsurprising as the local time was just after 6.

It was still dark, and the pre-morning black outside made it seem like it was still the middle of the night in Texas. The hall was cold, and folks were putting on their outerwear that had been removed when on the steamy plane rides. Food joints are opening. I ignored the chicken sandwich place. First, I don’t like their politics, and second, I wanted something not quite so corporate for breakfast (but I will admit they treat their employees well and make excellent food at a reasonable price).

The stirfry and Asian-style place was still assembling and putting away their deliveries. A gal with a golden front tooth offered me pad thai for breakfast and suggested chicken. I agreed. While expensive (everything is at an airport), she made it for me while I watched, and it was fresh and made with feeling. Even Texas is a melting pot in the USA, and it was a joy to have excellent Asian food by 7ish in the Heart of Texas. The family sitting beside me at the next table got the breakfast bowls of rice and stir-fried veggies with a fried egg, which looked amazing and were freshly made.

I got to my gate and soon sat in a cheap middle seat on another full flight. We were a chatty bunch. Amanda was in the aisle seat, working and flying to NOLA and taking an Uber to a site out of town to evaluate it for environmental costs/risks. The other person’s accent and being on my unhearing side was friendly, but I missed his name, and he was connecting a set of flights to get to a work gig. I chatted about travel places we have been and work (theirs). The time disappeared, and soon we landed at NOLA, and like most travel meetings, we disappeared from each other and headed out.

After a long walk, I found the baggage claim, and nothing had been delivered, even with my 33rd seat and not that hurried walking and stopping to supply NOLA with slightly used Texas water (having supplied Texas with Oregon water as payment, again used somewhat).  Soon, my bag appeared on the track (undamaged), and I found the taxi line and took a $36 ride back to NOLA.

I drove this last time and enjoyed the ride. The memories started to flood back as I looked at the familiar greens and trees; I love it here. The raised cemeteries let you know this was NOLA and not just any place in the southern USA. There was traffic last time as the Palestinians had decided to block traffic as a protest, and thus, I did get time to look at the area. No protestors, and traffic was moderate. I soon paid my cabbie with cash, a $100 bill from Corwin as payment (change was received) for the truck I bought for him. My usual deal: I will forgive half if he pays it on time (and he sort of does). I keep the cash and use it for trips and expenses. My hotel, this time, is a block from the action and loud at night, with cars blasting music and blowing horns. I tried to sleep with the door open to hear the city noise, but this time, I closed it so I would not be blasted out of my bed. I did roll over, and my unhearing ear let me sleep. My only advantage so far from brain surgery.

My hotel checked me in, but my room was not ready, and I would likely be late. The place was overrun by football folks. Tonight, the big game of Denver Colts vs. the Saints was at the stadium (infamous as a last resort sanctuary with Hurricane Katrina). NOLA was awash in Saints and Colts wear, and folks were happy. I could not have been prouder as I designed the computer interface and processes to allow those jerseys to be produced when Nike got the NFL.

With no room, I changed shirts and washed up in the men’s room and then stored my bags (my usual practice, which I did in Chicago). Then, I headed into the city and tried to remember my way. I was quickly lost; like any tourist, I was looking at my phone all the time. I managed to change a two-block walk into four, but I started to remember the places and purchases from last time. I located the New Orleans Cooking School and soon chatted with the gal running their store, Kathern. She wrote all my cooking school reservations on a legal pad and gave them to me. I was asked to return before the class time.

I walked through the area and took Kathern’s suggestion to try Napoleon’s for a light meal. I met Chris who was in line before me. We chatted, and he said he daydreamed about the gumbo here when not in NOLA. Like me, he is a single traveler and picks hotels with balconies. I got a bar seat between people and soon had a ginger ale (booze was out as I was sleepless in NOLA) and a nice bowl of gumbo. There was no spice, and I thought the flavor was flat. I am still fighting to get my tastes to work after the surgery and side effects; it might have been great, but it did taste complex. I saw Chris and the gentleman in a Saints Jersey (he told me they were headed to the game), both with gumbo and using a lot of hot sauce, but a gal had an excellent muffuletta salad. Something for another lunch, I think. This is a deconstruction of the sandwich with the same name. With food and something bubbly inside of me, I was feeling better.

The foot traffic was higher, and Bourbon Street was starting to swing already; it was just past noon, with the orange of the Colts and the whitish gold of the Saints starting to fill the sidewalks and streets (you may walk on Bourbon Street with only an occasional car driving through). I walked back to my hotel, mainly to figure out where it was relative to the other places. I did not walk an efficient route and had to look at my phone a few times. I am back and sit in a chair in the lobby. It is a mess of late check-outs. I nod off a few times. I call and text some folks and step outside by the pool. It is warm outside with the sun and no wind.

With the likelihood of early access to a room and a nap vanishing, I walk some more and will reach over 14,000 steps for Thursday. I found the mask shop and the used bookstore (with expensive options available), which I enjoyed on my last trip. I discovered I missed the shop where they make the gas lights, and Jeb is there making lamps by folding and riveting pure Michigan copper sheets. There are pews to sit on and watch, and Jeb likes to talk while he works. Excellent, and I ask him many questions as this fits my writing for Holmes and Watson and role-playing games (some set in the late 1800s). Jeb could not answer who supplies the copper, and I wondered what copper place was still open in Micigan’s upper peninsula. This suggests there is one reason to head north on one of my trips to see family. I have not been to the Whitefish area. Hmmm.

I find more coffee and a croissant. I wander more.

Now, at 3:45, I am back at the hotel, Cheatu Le Moyne, hoping the usual 4-ish release for my room will happen. Nope. Another walk. Bourbon Street is now starting to be loud, and there is music. The typical cover is a drink; my sleep-deprived self cannot afford that indulgence, and walking feels good. I found the European Jazz Club, a favorite and the secret home of the vampire bar Potions, and returned to my reportedly haunted hotel. On the way, I saw Chris again. He had just learned his room at another hotel was now ready (they call you), and thus, I realized I was not the only person facing this challenge. Chris is excited as it appears he was upgraded to a balcony and hurries off.

But my room was not ready, which consternated the staff. Soon, though not reported to me, it was revealed that the room was ready and maybe the computer was wrong. I was supplied with a keycard, and my bags were retrieved and handed to me. I took the elevator to the second floor. I have a lovely room; all is forgiven, and the balcony is on the street and wraps around the room. Excellent. It is loud. I love it.

By the way, my room is NOT in the haunted section. I have read about some seriously unpleasant stuff in the other section. Happy here!

I chatted on the phone with Deborah as I unpacked. My suit is folded into my amazing (and expensive) bag, and it is best to hang everything up and put it in drawers. I will be here for a week. I finally have my shoes off and lie down for twenty minutes.

Off with a sweater over a T-shirt for the cooking class (it is cooling off). Jambalaya is dropped in error from the menu (f**k), and I now have two gumbo classes; c’est la vie. Our chef, Maria, tells us her Katrina’s story and how she got into teaching cooking as a Katrina refugee in California. After living on the West Coast for years, she went to homes and taught cooking. She returned to NOLA, missing it and feeling the call to return to her hometown, and started teaching and cooking in NOLA.

There were a few f**k-ups, and as I said, Jambalaya (my reason for booking on Thursday) was dropped for gumbo. I have a cooking surface for myself (explaining the high price), and most share three on a surface. We used induction surfaces, and the surface stops working if you lift a pan or move one off the burner. I managed to crash mine three times due to Maria’s frustration (not so much with me, as this just throws off her game as she has to help me often–their surfaces are not the best for a cooking class, and others are also challenged). I also grab the wrong spices and end up with a more Italian-styled gumbo, which, to our surprise, is quite good. I tried someone else’s version and could barely taste it after the burning hot spices. They liked it. I am feeling quite stressed and not enjoying this, but I am tired. We eat the food we cook, and I feel better. I have a second bowl. Still good. The wine helps (as I am not driving, I have three glasses).

Maria is visibly stressed as the f**k ups, not us, but the setup and menu was changed. We cook shrimp and de-head, peel, and devein our shrimp. We cook the heads in butter and squish them to exact the shrimpy goodness. Heads, peels, and so on are discarded. I add seasoning and cook the shrimp. Grits were started before, and now we add butter and cheese; don’t stir much (Maria warns us that stirring grits makes them glue).

I arrange the shrimp over the cheesy grits and pour some sauce on top. The rosemary seems more like pine needles, but the flavor is good. Maria’s assistant suggested I cook the sauce longer next time. I am unsure, but it was still excellent, and the shrimp were not overcooked. The grits were terrific.

Banana Foster is next. I am getting my cooking mojo back and enjoying this, and Maria helps others more. My surface crashed without help this time, and Maria got it back online, and we lit off my dessert. I enjoyed it at the table with the crepes I made (I have the pan for this and will have to make them again).

We exchange information, and I head back to find the hotel. The Saints did not win, but Bourbon Street swings and is filled with orange and white gold. Young women folks look great with long legs and low-cut outfits (I am sure the guys are good, too), but I know most will be tossing their cookies soon from too much sugar in their booze. Been here before. While the jazz tempts me, I have had three glasses of wine and no sleep for 40+ hours. I would likely walk into the kitchen and start cooking anyway after a few more drinks! Best to rest!

I shower and find my bed. The noise is horrific, and sleep comes and goes with various sounds. As I wrote above, I close the door and sleep until about 4, then roll over and rest until after 7.

Thanks for reading.

 

Started at PDX and then finished with no sleep in Dallas.

I rose after 8, trying to face the morning. I was not depressed or recently undead, making the daylight too much for me (or more a gray glow of cloudy Portland); the bed felt good. It was a travel day, and I would not sleep again for 40 hours. I am taking the red-eye to New Orleans tonight, taking off at midnight from PDX. I found the focus to put on my slippers, but it took two tries to get them on; maybe I was a bit tired. I rose and leaned more than walked to the kitchen. Arriving safely, the sink was empty as I had done all the dishes and washed everything by hand; I did not want to run the dishwasher with a small run and unload it. I will wash all the dishes by hand today. I found the coffee (liberal Equal Exchange that tastes of justice, compassion, and community, French Roast) and the French press still with yesterday’s grounds. I rinse it out and reload it. I  use the electric kettle to heat water (someday, I will get one of those boiling hot water faucets installed and not need the kettle). Soon, I was juiced with caffeine and the knowledge that my coffee was purchased at a fair price; nobody was hurt by this imported product in my cup.

I wrote for hours and started the laundry. I stripped my bed of sheets and pillowcases and ran them in The Machine (my LG all-in-one clothing washer and dryer, which is ductless, too). I would do two more loads to finish all the clothing and towels.

I wrote more and published the blog. Then, I cleaned the counters, put away things, and recycled part of the paper blob made primarily from catalogs that seemed to be filling all flat surfaces. I know the catalog companies will send more. I cleaned the stove surface and washed the front of the stove and dishwasher (both metal), which improved things. With some sparkle and things put away, the kitchen no longer looked like Julia Child’s last stand. Or maybe, fitting my style better, the results of the Galloping Gourmet bender. I mopped the floors barefooted (and everything else) so as not to get Pinesol on my clothing and have yet-another-load-of-laudry needed before I headed out to New Orleans. The entranceway and bathroom were also mopped. Somewhere in the process of reprinting my papers and cleaning, the plastic bag with my meds fell out of my travel bag and into Dungeons and Dragons stuff (also stored in plastic bags). I finally dressed and started to work on packing and organizing the house.

I unloaded the games from Air Volvo. I drove to Goodwill and dropped off my old suit holder bag, a bag of books I have read, and additional ice skating books I recently found. I try to make many small donation trips instead of saving up the stuff. The center is only a few miles away, and I retired and can get there during the day when they are not that busy.

My back and shoulder had not enjoyed sitting for hours, followed by mopping, and I rested. I put on an alarm and was woken from a dark, dreamless sleep that would have likely taken me to the next day. Yikes! I showered, shaved, and so on and on my way. I checked, and I don’t have my meds! I am only a mile away and return home. After a frantic search, I spot the prescription bottles in the gaming stuff. F**k. Off again!

The crawl across Beaverton and Portland is not as bad as I have seen it, and once I am through the usual heavy spots, I travel fast. I see the usual interesting extra-legal lane changes. In one case, a plain Tesla ignores a huge jacked-up four-wheel pick-up truck and has to swerve to miss the charging truck that demands access to the lane by threatening to hit the Tesla. The truck did not get to the lane, and there were many horns and folks bouncing up and down in their seats, yelling. All this was about four stories in the air on a bridge with cars everywhere, and I watched in my rearview mirror. Had the truck been hit, it might have rolled, skipped over the barriers, and landed in the river; that is a long fall. Eek!

I reached the airport area without issue. I planned dinner at IKEA and then thought I would walk through their treasures of storage ideas. But, alas, they closed the kitchen at 3PM for ‘training,’ and the little cafe was closed for the day. No food.

I remembered that Fabulous Dave’s was there, and I grabbed a stool in the bar. The bartender suggested a pineapple hot glaze, sweet and spicy, on bone-in chicken wings at 59 cents each (a Wing-Wednesday special) and a large beer. It was all good. I also had an order of BBQ potato chips. I spent a few hours eating and watching baseball’s third game for the National League title. The LA Dodgers killed the NY Mets 9 to zero. I had banana pudding to finish with two cups of good coffee, freshly made.

Next, I parked an Air Volvo in the red economy and took a picture of where it was. I was soon at the check-in. The gal at America looked at me and said my bag was over 70 pounds, and then laughed when she saw my surprise. We talked about cooking and my classes and decided to have fun. I bet she wanted to do that to someone all day.

The rest of the process was fast and easy. The new terminal makes this go by fast, and this time, I used the correct security and did not have to walk the bypass. But the fates were not done with me. Yes, C23 is the furthest gate in all of PDX. Steps were earned!

I sat down, and a young gal sat across from me, and we began to chat. Kailen had broken up with her girlfriend and was now traveling alone to Miami via Dallas. We talked about my trips and how I found it easy to travel alone and thought she would be fine. I also learned she is a tarot deck reader, and we talked about her decks and experiences. I last saw her boarding after me and looking ready to sleep.

The Airbus was crap. My butt hurt after two hours from the lack of padding, the AC did not work, and the plane was steamy and hot. I would nod off, and someone would sneeze and wake me. I would nod off, and the bright light on the bathroom door would flash and wake me. I took off my sweater as I was roasting. I could not sleep. Few could. Three hours later, on Thursday, I arrived in Texas.

My headphones unplugged from my phone. I could not get them to work again, and each time I tried, I played music on my phone for everyone to hear. It was not good as folks were trying to sleep. I gave up and listened to the plane for the last two hours.

Thanks for reading.

I was not focused yesterday and just passed the day without getting much done. I feel no guilt. I am retired, and the mopping can wait another day; there is no plan and no guilt. I remembered putting the mail on hold (a letter to the mail carriers) and starting to clean and prepare for my red-eye trip to New Orleans (NOLA). I like to come home to a clean house. Corwin will mist the orchids and check on the house a few times.

I rose after 8, with the overcast days starting and rain over the night not waking me early. There was no more sun coming in through the windows in the greater Portland Area. I had no plans for Tuesday and decided to spend the day inside, focusing on getting prepared to travel and clean the house. I might do some AI work, but that was secondary and never started.

(The paper blob is consuming my work space).

I thought it reasonable to use the bacon I cooked before and in the frig and made poached eggs and toast to go with the bacon that was zapped in the microwave for two thirty-second hits. I put salt and vinegar in the water I heated. While it looked like egg drop soup, I got the eggs out with running intact yokes. After cooking, I returned to the blog and spent the morning writing, texting, reading emails, and news (some political, with Harris and Trump reportedly in a dead heat in the purple states). I was relieved that voting had started in Georgia and that there had been no violence. Judges are ruling against various last-minute and non-sensical voting rule changes there. For my health, I have turned away from reading war news and will focus on cooking more.

I sipped my liberal coffee, ate a delicious breakfast, did the dishes (the house elves failed again), and did more laundry. The happiness in my cup helped me finish the blog, and no darkness rose today to poison my happiness. There is peace in my house, and it grows with vacuuming! Corwin and others have mentioned how calm and happy my home feels. It is the inner sanctum.

I finished the blog late. A call, more texting, and a lack of a deadline had me reach twelve straight up on the clock. No guilt and no problem.

I dressed and regretted it. I should vacuum and clean in my pajamas, as the dust and stuff get on my clothing. I have more laundry for Wednesday! The house is vacuumed, and toilet bowls are refreshed with blue stuff and brushing. I will sweep the tiles and mop them on Wednesday.

(When I started, the vacuum came apart, but it went back together. Hmmm)

Subterranean Press sent me a small tome, signed by the author and part of a small run. In The Shadow of the Ship, by Aliette de Bodard, a favorite author, is a short and darker story from her Xuya Universe. This setting is a space opera with a Vietnamese empire running the known universe with people connected to bots and no AI; instead, human bodies are changed into long-lasting spaceships that travel the stars. I could barely put it down. House cleaning happened only between chapters.

Deborah and I, fans of Only Murders in the Building on Hulu, discovered there is no party-watching option on Hulu like there is for Disney+. However, we managed a watching party with a phone and telling each other when to start and stop. Low tech. We were off for about ten seconds at first as Deborah would laugh after me, but we managed to sync on the last part. We are on episode 8, and the show was interesting, and the jokes were excellent; you will find no spoilers here.

Ringing off, I got back to more housework, but the book also kept calling me back. I managed to put the laundry away, start the packing, clean the large bathroom (except for the mopping), and sweep the tiles. My flight is at midnight, so I have all of Wednesday to clean. I hand-washed my dishes as I would not leave dirty dishes for a week. I watered the orchids, and they promptly fell out of their mixture. F**k, orchid planting mixture all over my floors, “Clean up in aisle one!” I reburied the flowers and noticed that the Vandas looked unhappy, but the Oncidium was happy and stayed in its pot (and the roots are growing, yay!). The Dendrobium seems unhappy, but they often do. We will see.

Lunch was Trader Joe’s Chicken Tikka with TJ’s frozen naan, which I reheated in the oven. Dinner was frozen egg fried rice with chicken from TJ’s. I stayed in as I planned for the day. But, once it was dark, I decided that a beer and a book were a good finish for Tuesday. I headed to Wildwood Taphouse, enjoyed a single 12oz Black Butte Porter (XXXVI) with pretzels, and read my new book. I usually get this in Portland at Deschutes Brewery Public House with some smoked salmon pâté and crackers, which combined enhance the flavors. Instead, the book, surprisingly dark with some interesting kissing scenes that contrasted nicely with the horror, mixed well with the black-brown colored beer.

With a high alcohol content, I demurred when a second beer was offered. Wildwood Taphouse closes at 10 on Tuesday, and today, I left before closing time and the last call. Air Volvo, still with an Engine Check light, returned me to The Volvo cave without incident. Next, I cleaned the bathrooms (as I mentioned before) and packed some more.

I read more and soon showered and changed into my pajamas. I finished the book at about 11:30 and turned off the light. I dreamed, comfortable but now forgotten images, and woke with leg and foot cramps. I rose, got some water (recommended by Deborah), and soon, the problem abated. I returned to sleep and dream more likely about space, horror, and kisses.

Thanks for reading.

 

 

I rose before 8 and found the coffee. The house elves are slipping as the dishes remain in the sink for over a day. I ignore the dishes and the increasing laundry demands and spend most of the day screwing off. But before I made a point of getting nothing done, I wrote and published the blog. This took most of the morning, and I was not dressed until the afternoon. I was not focused, but I enjoyed writing about a busy Sunday.

I feel sad today, and I do have some real issues with the depression that overtook me a few times, but I managed to refocus on gaming stuff. I was surprised by this, and it was overwhelming until I broke through it. I get into this spiral and do not want this new life without Susie. I think I would never pick this life and my retirement. I do not want to go on. This only happens when I am alone and not exercising. The solution is to move, find people, and do something interesting. Thus, the drive into Portland can be poisoned with depression, but once I get out of Air Volvo and do something, I am better. It seldom happens at the house as I have things to do and I can walk.

Dear readers, I include this not as a request for help (no thank you) but as a recording part of my experiences in grief, illness, and life. It is part of the truth.

Returning to the narrative, I continue to ignore the Engine Check light on Air Volvo and head to Portland early; I have a game at Richard’s at 7 and a chance to retrieve my wool hat I left there. I am off to Guardian Games in Portland (I drove by the local one in Aloha). It was 3ish, and the traffic was building, even for a Monday. I managed to cross Beaverton before the post-school lock-up had not settled in.

Highways 217 and 26, while busy, are not locked into a crawl, and I arrive in Portland SE to wait more than ten minutes for a train. I read the names on the cargo and saw Swire and their logo. I once owned their stock and its rival in Hong Kong; it inspired the Nobel House, a favorite novel of mine during the Cold War. I did make some money on the stock, but I sold it as there were other uses needed for the money. But seeing ‘Swire’ going by had me daydreaming of the lost fictional Hong Kong of the 1970s.

Swire (SWRAY) is available as an ADR via OTC in the USA with a 3.4% dividend. I am tempted to get some, but often, ADRs have surprises that make them a poor and risky investment. Also, this stock would be connected to exchange rates, is nominally owned by the Chinese government, and comes with insanely high event risk. Step lightly into this investment with eyes wide open!

I found nothing to buy at Guardian, with its vast walls of board games, Warhammer sets, and role-playing games. However, I was tempted by one award-winning one-book role-playing game. I looked at a castle-like structure for Warhammer and the Sanctum from Doctor Strange movies, both priced too high to add to things for me to do (I have too many now). Safe from guilt, I headed to get a beer and an early dinner across SE Portland in Air Volvo. It is Monday and not the weekend, which are my usual days to haunt gaming and food locations. Lucky Labrador is not open yet. I drove up Hawthorn and spotted Lardo, which I had not tried before. I found a legal parking spot large enough for an Air Volvo, crossed the street, and, with my laptop, entered this new place.

It is diner-like, and the menu, like many hipster-supporting places, is written on a board and requires decoding. I am overwhelmed with the choices broken down into each sandwich’s content, with some sold out (?!). I ask the guy at the cash register (if a white screen and a screen for him could be described as a ‘cash register’) what he likes. He points at a quarter-sized 3-D pig model on the counter, painted with blackboard paint and covered with writing. The alternative menu describes another option, the Cookwich, which he recommends, and I selected it with a pilsner, German-style, which involved reading yet another board, decoding, and selecting.

The metal music is screaming, and I don’t care; I only hear it as background noise, a gift from my revised hearing. I can more easily ignore noise now. I enjoy a fantastic I-don’t-care-if-it-is-hipster-food pork and veggie sandwich with spicy slaw and a good use for kale chopped into tiny bits (kale is a decoration, not food to me). I read more code while drinking my beer and making my Cookwich disappear as it was too good not to consume immediately. Coding: I try to merge data between the Time Series and the master data, and that goes poorly, so I will have to rethink that.

The music and the coding failure put me off, and I decided the music was enough. I do notice I breathe better outside without all the loud metal music. This area had a fire some years ago, and there is a broken cement pad where the edgy stores once helped keep Portland weird. I read that the land is still unsold and is languishing in a higher interest rate world (I will not comment on what I think about raising interest rates to ‘help’ people–at best, a very blunt tool). But the Louge Lizard Vintage furniture place has returned only a few blocks away. Dropping off the laptop in Air Volvo’s cargo hold, I walk the few blocks and tour the 1970s revised lamps and aging furniture.

I miss Dad and Wild’s Furniture and Appliances, Inc., “We Beat City Prices.” I make three loops. The shades are not from the 1970s but fit the Atomic Age (50s to early 60s). The furniture is newer than the look, retro stuff (because the real things from the 70s were a lot uglier than this), but I see some ‘Spanish’ wall covering and 1970s lamps (with too decorative shades). I love it here. I might have to buy one of these lamps.

I start a conversation with the gray-haired owner, who is about my age, and we talk about the dreaded owl lamp. He says, “Oooh, those are hard to find.” His body language suggests I might not be able to afford one if he can get one. I feel like I asked him for cocaine, and he is testing to see if I really want it and am not a cop. I thank him, and we are both happy; he knows I will be back for a lamp, some in my price range, not an owl one.

I drive a mile, spot the McMenamins Barley Mill Pub, and realize I have never been there. I park without difficulty and soon am at the bar with a refreshing Ruby beer and music in the background that is vintage but familiar. I bring my passport for McMenamins and get a stamp. I have forgotten about my passport and will start revisiting McMenamins. You get rewards for getting groups of stamps and are invited to special events if you complete the passport. A new thing to do! I still have Susie’s and Corwin’s passports. I will retire Susie’s.

Refreshed and taking some photos, I head to Richard’s place. I meet Chris there as Richard pulls in. He was working today (he is only partially retired, as a few hours a week pay his bills). We set up the board game Unconcious Mind, a newly delivered Kickstarter game. Richard has all the upgrades (Chris also has a copy—I will enjoy playing Richard’s), and it is a lovely game, but I think a few parts are too small, and the text is tiny. But the iconography is easy to understand, and soon, I will be playing well enough for a first-time player. This is a unique resource and engine-building game with the theme of working with Freud to heal patients. For a new game, the game showed an unusual amount of polish and well-thought-out rules and play. I liked it and would consider owning a copy, but for the moment, I will play Richard’s copy.

I lost big, eighty points below Chris and Richard, but I enjoyed the game. Richard lost to Chris by one point! The play was interesting, and I did feel like I was chasing them for some of the game. I still had to find the rhythm of the play, and the game requires you to build up your own board, treat patients, and publish. I did not publish, and that cost me. I did not build my board with cool supers powers like Chris and Richard. They are on their third or so play, and we are all still learning. Again, I liked Unconcious Mind, and while the upgrades are excellent, the base game will sell for about $70 and will be available around February with an add-on (we did not play it) also available. I found the resale of the whole Kickstarter version for over $300 (with shipping), and I will unlikely follow that path (also, the price comes down in a few months as FOMO wears off).

With the joy of learning a new, excellent game in my mind and mistakes and options for next time running through my mind, Air Volvo reached the Volvo Cave without incident and with little memory of the trip. It was nearing midnight, and I was soon showered, in PJs, and trying to sleep. But the coffee Richard made sleep elusive for thirty minutes, but then I just faded into sleep without realizing it and did not wake until after 6 on Tuesday.

Thanks for reading.

I rose later on Sunday, with my alarm waking me at 6:30 and my realization that church service had moved to 11 and I could roll over, but I did rise before 7 and, with the orchids reveling in the cold 66F (19C) morning, got my robe and started writing the blog. I also found the coffee and ended another bag of Equal Exchange French Roast by dumping it in the French Press. This produced an extra dark mix and was full of liberal. I looked in the French press, and equity and fairness were floating on the surface. Further down, there is a hint of justice, compassion, and goodness for the community. There was no hint in my brew of demanding things or acquisitions, and it certainly was not about what I feared or wanted changes to improve my finances. There was no inward focus in this cup of joe. I was having a cup of strong coffee flavored with hope for all of us, “We the People.”

I wrote the blog in the early morning with coffee and a small bowl of cold baked beans left over from yesterday’s lunch. I managed to recall most of Saturday and the game I played. I created a narrative only once or twice, discovering something I missed. I find that my mind, knowing that today was the anniversary of Susie’s death, distracts me with something else to think about. I am unusually interested in what I want to wear, and thoughts about AI fill my mind, not sad thoughts about missing Susie or memories of her passing. I know it is me trying to protect myself and let my mind drift.

I finished the blog and dressed for church, selecting the green sweater vest, pride tie, and Cole Hann dress shoes with dark socks. The shirt is grey with a button-down collar from L.L. Bean. I find their shirts wear well, and the permanent press shirts, if removed from the dryer while warm, will require no ironing and look perfect every time. My cotton blend pants are also from L.L. Bean and also are permanent press. My belt is on the last hole, and my pants are starting to fit less and less; I have no complaints about that.

I remembered loading the pumpkin muffins I made the night before in Air Volvo, and the flowers I bought yesterday still looked good in the cargo hold. The passage to Beaverton Old Town is without issue, and there is no traffic on Sunday mornings. I am too early, and the previous worship service is still in the breaking down process, and folks are chatting. I stay out of the way and sit until the Emmaus church is finished and our folks for First United Methodist, Beaverton, begin their set-up. I delivered the muffins to the kitchen and returned for the service.

I had coffee and watched Jack refill the oil in the candles (these are oil lamps in the shape of candle sticks), and I took the lighter and lit them. As the senior usher, I knew the ritual and walked calmly down the center with the lighter in front of me, stepping up, pausing, and lighting the right and left with a respectful pause. I then went and turned on the cross. I received comments about getting a gold star, and that next time, I should wear a robe from my less-than-helpful and smirking Methodists. These comments remembered of all the acolytes that came before, a happy memory.

I sat through the rest of the service. The hymns were easy again, and I found my voice to sing them. Only once did I get the words wrong, and with the words displayed, I did not get on the wrong verse or song today. I am not someone you should follow when singing!

Pastor Ken picked the letter from Paul, the second one to Corinthians, chapter four. This is Paul at his usual unfriendly and directness, and Andrew, our liturgist today, managed to make it sound almost friendly, using his lawyer superpowers. Ken focused on Paul’s message about the words and teaching of Jesus to be a treasure inside us, the plain jars of this world, and not the stars-powered media-supported influencers that get the attention now and even in cosmopolitan Corinth of two thousand years ago. We will always disappoint as we are not the focus, nor should we try to be. We follow Jesus; we don’t take Jesus with us like Jesus was some expensive shoes worn by a social media influencer, but we go where Jesus goes.

Later, I spoke to Michael and asked him what he thought of the use of words of jars and veiled in the text of 2 Corinthian. We know that old scripture was buried in caves as it was still holy even when worn and needing to be retired (this is why we have the Dead Sea scrolls and other text). We also know that amphoras–cheap clay jars set in ships without a base–were used to ship goods in ancient times, the containers or milk carts of ancient days. Plain container filled with delicious goods and wines, with Corinth being a significant trading post, was this Paul’s idea? I also asked Michael to think about what the usage of veiled is connected to. Some fun in Greek and research, Michael’s fav.

The potluck included a main dish: BBQ beef on buns from the church. I had a few samples of the other items and the BBQ beef. I wanted just enough to cut my hunger as dinner promised to be heavy tonight. I left early before the cake was served.

I boarded Air Volvo, drove to Johnson’s home, and dropped off flowers. Cory, a good friend for years and a brilliant Dungeons and Dragons player, passed away a few days before Susie last year. I learned they had another loss this week, and they were happy to see me and enjoyed the flowers.

I headed to Barnes and Noble to purchase my usual magazines. I spent most of the afternoon just relaxing, chatting, and reading. With a copy of “Fine Modeler” and a UK-based electronic periodical, Air Volvo returned me to the Volvo Cave. I rested until about 5.

Air Volvo took me to BJ’s Brewhouse, and I arranged to have a drink at the bar while I waited for the rest of the folks to show up. Mo was working tonight, but we had Mo arrange Courtney as our waiter (Mo was filling in for someone—she does not usually work Sundays) and stayed with the plan. Mariah joined me at the bar, and Dondrea and Z soon appeared. We were seated and met Courtney, and we had tables and chairs arranged for six.

Deborah sent me a photo of a drink in honor of Susie while I was at the bar. I am sure, dear reader, many of you remembered Susie with a drink or a happy thought. Thank you all.

During dinner, we had many toasts to Susie and good friends.

I ordered some appetizers. And Orange marmalade calamari was soon before us. Z’s first encounter with this food with tentacles. Later, I ordered pot stickers, fried, not grilled, followed (both suggestions from Mo and heartily endorsed by Courtney). Z found Jambalaya on the menu and decided to try that–most of it disappeared inside Z. Dondrea and I both went with the Midwest-style prime rib, giant slices, baked potato and asparagus, and a salad. Mariah and Corwin (who was late, and Courtney accepted the role of shaming him for being late with a smile) both went with the double pork chop. We told a few funny stories about Susie and kept the dinner happy and lively. The booze helped (Z was full of sugar), and Courtney was perfect. Dessert, coming with most meals, was shared.

Sober and tired, I headed home as the party broke up. I paid the bill for everyone. One of the starting conditions was not to look at the price and order what you wanted. Everyone was happy, fed, and had another good memory for a sad day. A perfect ending for the day.

When I returned home, it was too early to head to bed, so I watched another episode of “Slow Horses”–this season is quite good and less dark. I showered and put on my PJs, read New Orleans history and a reprint from 1912, a recently made guidebook, and checked a 1927 atlas (yes, I have that for the Call of Cthulhu play). I plan to visit the Storytown sites (the NOLA official and regulated red light district before WW1); I have read that only one building is left. This is not in the French Quarter (filled with Spanish architecture after the French town burned, but why quibble). More to follow on that when I am there.

Sleep comes, but I wake up often and later have leg cramps and disturbing dreams. I do manage to sleep enough, but I thought for a while I would rise at 3ish, as happens some nights. I was relieved to wake up today, Monday, after 7.

Thanks for reading!