Author: alohawild

Sunday began with me rising early. I had gone to bed late, and the early morning was not welcome. I woke at sunrise, rolled over, and started my Sunday just after 7. I grabbed my slippers and then padded to the kitchen. It was a gray morning with thunder rumbling from the south. There was no smoke, and the air smelled of ozone and storms.

I finished the excellent peaches from a jar that I purchased from a local farm when Linda and I stopped by the farm for a break on our way to the coast. I broke open the jar last week; I had to poke holes in the top as it was so tightly sealed–impressive. The peaches were fresh-tasting and firm.

I enjoyed the peaches with locally roasted and ground coffee from Kenya made in my French Press. I wrote while consuming this small feast. I was time-boxed, I ignored distractions, and I remained focused. I was finished just after 9.

My weight has lowered to 235, which was a surprise. I thought I was looking thinner, and my pants were barely holding on with new holes drilled in my belt. As Dondrea has warned me, the pounds do not come off with beer and drinks. I have started using Big River Coffee instead of the tap houses for writing. Sunday was busy, and I could not fit in a walk, but I managed over 2,000 steps.

I cleaned up and dressed for church in black dress shoes, my nearly not-fitting LL Bean usual pants, grey-blue dress shirt, pride tie, and a blue sweater vest. This was literally topped off with my summer hat. I remembered the large envelope with the letters and checks for over $40K in giving, remembering Dan McLean and Susie. I boarded Air Volvo, which was still dry as the storms somehow missed the house. Beaverton was damp, and lightning was flashing in the sky. I arrived early.

I found myself welcoming various visitors as I stood at the entrance of the sanctuary. We had at least two couples and a few people I did not know. I handed them bulletins, welcomed them, and pointed them to the pews (I would seat them if the service was ongoing), and I saw Dondrea spot them and talk to them, too. Excellent. Since the pandemic, First United Methodist of Beaverton seldom has greeters. I have also noted that most older members come late or at the last minute. We are not an early church!

The pastor, Ken, was begging for some coffee, which finally arrived just before the service began. The previous Sunday’s crisis of having no filters continued into this Sunday. The missing critical item was apparently acquired, but this delayed the production of “Methodist Mud.” Later, I saw that the current pulpit had no secret shelf for water (or coffee), and Ken had to set the coffee on the angled surface. There were no mishaps. We will have to put a cup holder in the pulpit!

With the countdown for Internet access, the service started with Crystal playing on the organ. The songs we sang were familiar, and the Praise Band (there is no choir in the summer) played familiar songs and had us clapping with the music. Later, the folks strongly sang, “It’s Me, It’s Me, O Lord.”

Now, with coffee, Pastor Ken discussed some events at the church, including another church family and denomination moving in with us (our service will be at 11 to accommodate the other church). He then moved to his sermon, still exploring the book of James with us, reaching the later part of the fourth chapter. This one says it is a sin to say I will do such and such to be successful, but instead, try to find what the Lord wants you to do and then do that. Ken had the congregation say out loud that we arrange our lives to serve God (my words). Ken also points out that James demands that we remember the poor in all things we do.

Aside: I checked the Greek and thought James 4:13 was translated too plainly. I would have gone with something like this (Dondrea suggested the snake oil salesman): “You plan a year to head to various cities to win renown as a snake oil salesman.” James yells a bit louder than our polite words in our translations.

I took Air Volvo home after church, wondering what President Biden’s decision to leave the race and support his vice president for the race would mean. For me, I plan to make lots of chicken. But first, I saw the 185th Market and stopped. When I remember, I buy my fruit and veggies from these folks. I get some excellent Wala Wala onions (meaning I might have to get some onion rings at Burgerville soon), veggies, and fruit. I saw radishes, bought some, and later carved little faces in them (the red skin and white flesh make the eyes and mouths stand out without effort) and took them to Dungeons and Dragons that night. In one game years ago, I carved screaming damned souls’ faces in the radishes for the salad to eat while in an adventure in a version of Hell. Scott requested tomatoes and other veggies in a more interesting salad–I made it Hellish.

I changed from my church clothing and dressed in comfortable clothing; the storms were over, and now it was humid and hot.  I split two pounds of chicken breasts without failure or bleeding (sharpening the knives a week ago has brought many benefits) and soaked them in teriyaki sauce and white wine. I light the grill later. At about 2ish, I cook them on the hot grill. There is just a little sticking that goes away as the heat works to char the connections to the grill. I have a temperature probe and check and ensure everything is done. I also cook too much rice and nearly ruin it with too little water. Somehow I reversed the one cup of rice to two cup of water–I blame the heat. I was able to salvage the rice, and while more than I would want (rice is not good for diabetics), it was good.

I put some more teriyaki sauce and white wine in a non-stick pan, sliced hot chicken, and stir-fried it with the sauce. That was served over rice and was an excellent lunch. I packed the rest of the chicken and most of the rice in glass containers (thanks, Glenda and Gene) and put them in the frig for later meals.

My back was complaining, and my cell was not in my pocket, so all the cooking steps were not counted, but I suspect I did another 1,000 steps of cooking, slicing, and packing. I rested to get my back happy and read. I nodded off, rose, and made a cup of tea to wake up. I boarded Air Volvo with my happy radishes and a late birthday gift for Matt V.

Matt V makes burgers for dinner while we play Dungeons and Dragons 5.0E. I found a small paper identification wheel for Egypt’s ancient Gods and Goddesses at the Portland Art Museum, which was made in Egypt but in English. I wrapped it and gave it as a late birthday gift. Matt V liked it. I try to find unique and usual gaming items for Matt.

The game has us returning to space jamming Dungeons and Dragons, and crossing various universes. Details cannot be covered, but I did use up most of my spell slots and stayed more in the background, blasting from a distance and letting the combat characters deliver much of the punch this time. As a good cleric of light, I can cast the famous D&D fireball spell. We were tossing lots of them.

Being paranoid, we planned our final battle with care and managed to finish it without losing anyone. It was an interesting set of encounters with all of Matt’s props and figures; thanks, Matt.

After that, we finished the adventure, and I headed home. Corwin had a package and found some of the chicken at the house, where he made a few sandwiches. I brought him more chicken and his master key for his truck, which was still at the house. We chatted for a bit, and after 11, I headed home and soon was asleep.

Thanks for reading

Going backward, Air Volvo arrived at the Volvo Cave just before midnight from Portland. I played my usual gaming night at Richard’s house on Saturday. We played Great Western Trail: New Zealand (2023), a recent implementation of the original game now with sheep and set in New Zealand with many improvements. It is considered the best version by many. It is rated the 78th best strategy game on BoardGameGeek’s website, and I recommend it for skilled gamers with a cost of about $60; there are no expensive add-ons, deluxe versions, or part improvements. It comes complete at this price. It does have a large footprint and complex iconography. I like the game (even coming in last against Chris–just above my score–Kathleen–who fought for first place–and Richard–who won) and enjoy playing git. Someday, I will learn enough and put it together to be a threat.

Ross Island in the Greater Portland Area had a serious fire, and tires and old equipment burned. The press speculated that the old tires may have spontaneously caught fire (this is unlikely). The skies were filled with black smoke as Air Volvo took me to Portland from home. Traffic was light.

Great Western Trail: New Zealand is a Euro game with many subsystems and rules. There is some player interaction and limited player interaction. Scoring is done, and it is complex, too, at the end of the game. I knew I was at the bottom, but Kathleen was unsure if she got Richard. There is deck building (your sheep) with limited opportunities to thin your deck (that I wish I had paid to do more often). I would suggest playing with someone who can teach the game to see if you like all the rules and complexity (much of it just flows and is logical).

Going back to earlier on Saturday, I finished the blog before 11 and was soon dressed and ready to get outside. I could smell pine and smoke, and because of my allergies and asthma, I was greatly impacted by bad air, so I was not going to do any walking. I did the usual chores of getting gas at the reduced it-is-after-summer-hikes of $4.19 a gallon (remember there is no sales tax, and there is no additional charge for full-service in Oregon) and getting the car washed (I pay a monthly pass and wash Air Volvo often twice a week). I took a bag of small stuffed animals that Glenda had collected into a bag some years ago when she came out to help me with Susie, yes, that long ago and took the items (including the Intel bunny suit guy, which is a collector’s item–I saw one in the Computer Museum in San Jose California) to Goodwill and gave them away.

I saw I was near the newly renovated Taco Bell and the newish Dollar Store (formally an unneeded Walgreens within a mile of another Walgreens and across from Fred Meyers). Instead of finding an office supply store or heading to Fred Meyers (owned by Krogers for those in the Eastern USA), I tried the Dollar Store—I am retired. I found the Post-it arrow markers, some good pens, and a mailer for all under $5. I saw a man with two boxes of Crunch and Munch as I walked in (I have not thought of that stuff in years), and there were many low-priced household and food snack items. I shall return now that my time is my own and I am living using my investments for the future. A buck an item (or so) is a good price.

Next, I tried going into the rebuilt Taco Bell. If you brought cash, someone would come off the cooking line and take your order. Otherwise, there are touchscreens with full-color pictures of food for you to order from. I ordered a few items as Taco Bell had new spicy chicken items. There was no human interaction as I typed in my name and supplied my Alaska Air Miles Visa for payment.

As I waited for my order, I thought this felt like a fast-food place on a spaceship in a sci-fi setting. All we needed was to get rid of the windows and some low G-moves in the food line. As per the strange queuing process of American fast food, in-house guests wait for the orders from the drive-through. They called out “Michelle” and then corrected the name to “Michael,” which got a laugh from me and the gal who left the line to pack and deliver the bag of Taco Bell goodies. I was asked, surprisingly, with all the technologies, if I had a drink and what size. I replied and was handed a cup. I did my own drink (!?).

The chicken crunchy taco was good and spicy. I am not sure I could make one that good, but it was excellent. The rest of my food was less than good. The cheese was industrial-style and might have been shown a picture of a cow. It was dripping out of the hot food. But the sour cream and the guacamole were good with each in little containers, making me think of SciFi again in low Gs. I ordered a regular crunchy taco supreme and it was the same why-would-you-make-this-so-bad flavor and “meat.”  It is still just as bad as before.

The dining area was remade to be uncolorful, and the chairs were hard with uncomfortable metal backs. Previously, the area was a mix of tables and chairs, uncomfortable still, but it matched the decor with bright colors on the walls and tables, plus many LA-like images that conveyed a message of welcome and that Taco Bell was hip. Now the message is, why not take that to go? I thought Doctor Who or a remake of The Fifth Element movie could use the same setting for a Taco Bell on a distant space station in the far future. Just use them as is–there is no need to add any SciFi updates. Just cover the windows or green screen them to a view of Saturn or like image.

After this, I headed to Big River Coffee, got an Americo with a shot of caramel syrup, and worked on my next writing project. I have the Annotated Sherlock Holmes by William Baring-Gould, which you can find in used bookstores. It has two large volumes for just a few bucks (my copy from Powell’s was the seventeenth reprinting of the 1968 work). There is a newer work, but it runs as high as over $100 for the two or three-volume set. I took Post-it arrows and marked each interesting section of Mr. Baring-Gould’s book.

I have started a short story about Holmes and Watson waking up to current times as an AI-generated chatbot like ChatGPT. I have some ideas, but I want to get the words and sentence structure close to the original, so I am reading and doing homework. I hope to send the completed story to 2600 Magazine as a follow-up to my previous story published about AI and the Turing Test. I was at this until about 3ish.

I returned home, rested a bit, and then made an early dinner of a grilled cheese sandwich (with cheese that came from a more natural process) and some canned peaches (also from a farm I visited). I headed out to Richard’s house at 5.

At the start of my day, I rose about 7 and started on the blog. I had toast with jam and some canned peaches with my locally roasted and ground coffee from Kenya in my French Press. I had four cups (I had to add water for the last cup). It was a strongly caffeinated day!

Thanks for reading.

Friday started with me waking early and not being able to get back to sleep. I rose around 6 a.m., with the sun already bright and burning hot—another desert morning. While I had finished the bananas, I did have canned peaches, but I never got to them. I had a day-old croissant from a bakery in Hillsboro that rivaled other local bakeries–excellent. I did my usual items of reading the news (mostly political), updated Quicken with the latest, and started a blog for the previous day. For the Friday blog, I would be surprised to find only 600+ words for the blog instead of my 1,000+ for the last couple of days.

I wrote and was soon done, and it was about 8. I cleaned up (enjoying Henry’s shaving stuff–Thanks Steve, for getting me started down this path–recommended), dressed, and collected my summer hat, iPhone, inhaler, eyedrops, eye protection, wallet, and car keys. Having Air Volvo stop before it left the driveway to get my hat. Traffic was light to Quatama MAX station. Air Volvo arrived without issue and was parked in a nearly empty parking lot on a working day (though Friday is often a work-from-home day). Before the pandemic, the lot was nearly full on work days. It is 9ish, and the trains are running less often than I remember before the pandemic, and the one I take is never close to full. Nobody stands unless they want to.

I used the Hop app to pay for the trip. I had to open the app, and then my phone logged my usage and charged my virtual card $2.20 for the trip. I had to fill this virtual MAX card with money on my previous trip.

I return to 1946 Maisie Dobbs’s stories on my phone’s Kindle app. Time passes quickly, and soon, I am at MAX’s library stop in Portland, exiting the car. I take the park blocks to the Portland Art Museum (PAT). Much of the park blocks are parks, as you would expect. But Portland lost focus on trying to extend the parks of Park Street and allowed a few new hotels to be built on the park blocks; one park, all stonework and with a fountain and pool, is the top of a massive underground and insanely deep parking structure. I parked in the bottom a few times on a lark and can attest the still air and cold are cave-like and slightly disturbing. I called it Vampire Parking.

I walk up the slight hill to PAT, deciding not to overpay for my lunch this time at South Park as I walk by the restaurant and bar. The parks return to Park Street and are filled with elements from a time of statues and water fountains. (A hundred years ago, a wealthy man paid to install temperance-support water fountains and drinking fountains all over Portland.) Now, the fountains are sealed and damaged. All the statues I saw were only as bases; Lincoln standing and Teddy Roosevelt on horseback are gone. Maybe someday they will return.

There was a line to get into PAT, and I joined the queue. One in ten are masked, and most are older (though I resembled that remark). Most are here to see the French Impressionist show like me. I will soon show my PAT membership card, and I am supplied with an official ticket for no charge. I climb the stairs (no elevators for me now) to the second floor of the old museum (I see a dedication stone with the date 1939). It is a small show with a few examples of each great master, and some of the works are not in the usual form I am used to for the artist. The show covers the start of the impressionist movement, savaged by the neo-classical critics of the late 1800s, and ends with the end of WW2 with some works painted in the USA during the Second World War.

Most of the paintings, statues, and bronze works are borrowed, and it appears to be a traveling show. Some of the works are great, but the exclusiveness to only French artists means that other great works are missing. However, I enjoyed the French works once I got over the loss of the important Dutch and German works from the same period. In thirty minutes, again, it was not a large show, and I found myself having seen everything. I returned and looked at Monet and was startled by Renoir’s works, which looked like nothing I had seen before (more Van Gough’s last works than Renoir’s). I could have spent more time, but I enjoyed my brief tour, and my mind runs very fast when I am alone. Time slows.

I walked through the other exhibit, Future is Now, which is about sneakers–something I know much about. It reminded me of the Department of Archives for Nike (DNA) and many things I have seen at the shoe company. They had a pair of the famous self-tightening boots made for the anniversary of the movie Back to the Future. Someone had disassembled one boot and made a display of how the shoe was made. My connection to this was the stories from friends who worked for Nike about trying to buy and import motors and the requirements for importing shoes with motors and batteries–no simple task, I learned. I smiled and took a picture.

I found a few cards and a gift for Matt V’s birthday (recently passed). I resisted the showbook with pictures and stories of the impressionist works. I bought a few of these books from wonderful shows and then discovered that I had never opened the cover. I saw the scarves and jewelry and, as usual, thought of getting something for Susie; she would love that—I would think. It no longer makes me sad as I remember Susie while at the museum. We did so many together.

I am done, and it is not even time for an early lunch. Portland seems still sleepy on the bright Friday morning. I walk down Park, not sure where to go, and soon discover a few shops that I had heard of and meant to visit, but they are gone and for rent. The end of the pandemic brought an end to those payments (to churches, too) that kept everything working, and many businesses found the changes post-pandemic voided their business model. As always, change or die is how the American economy works–there is no right that your business will survive.  Portland was hit hard after the pandemic, and many businesses just raised prices and cut service, attempting to survive on out-of-date expectations. Those places are now available to rent, cheap.

I remember where I was, left Park, and found Jake’s Grill. I have not been here for a while. I get a table with a window in the bar. This means no white tablecloth and no waiter. Instead, I get Tucker, the bartender, and a copper-topped table. Tucker picked a good ale for me, and we agreed that summer is a time for oysters and not the chili blue plate special. The Oysters are $19, which is a bit steep for lunch, but this is Portland, and I am getting used to the higher prices. Like I get in other places, I expect three or four small oysters lightly breaded and fried in a pan. I get well-breaded and deep-fried, like their fish and chips, six huge local oysters. Each is cooked to perfection. The fries are cooked perfectly and called out for vinger (instead, I use ketchup), and the cup of slaw is good and not too much. I am challenged to eat this much food.

Oysters and I are not on good terms. I love them, cooked and breaded, but I find them difficult to enjoy later. I paid the bill and headed home. At the MAX station, I read for a while and realized something was wrong. I notice a gal dressed like she is going for a shoot for Vogue; she is striking, and she seems to know what is going on, so I ask her. Willing to address a lesser mortal (I asked politely), she informs me one of the trains hit something. We wait, and in thirty minutes, the trains are running again. I skipped the first overloaded train that was only going as far as Beaverton and boarded the next Blue-line train to Hillsboro.

While waiting and sitting in the AC’s MAX car, the Oysters want to make a reappearance, but I resist. I reflect that this is the proper punishment for overeating and eating something as questionable as locally harvested oysters (some of the local oysters are under a ban; they can kill you–large oysters like had are not under the ban). Someone is vocalizing all their thoughts on the MAX train with some volume. I first thought it was the driver explaining the delay, but it was one of my fellow travelers. The speaker, not violent or profane, is politely ignored by the overly polite Greater Portland travelers, as usual.

I arrive at the still empty parking lot without misadventure or re-experiencing the oysters and board Air Volvo. I arrive at the Volvo Cave, rest a while, and finish the last book of Maisie Dobbs, number 16. I cry as I will miss these stories and all the characters the author, Jacqueline Winspear, created and the reader falls in love with. The story recovers the life of the main character, Maisie or Mrs. Scott, as she is also known, and suddenly ends the book. I liked it and think it is one of Winspears best books. While I recommend the series, some books are dark and hard, and there is a water gypsy story I wish Maisie had returned to; I like Chief Inspector Gamache Mysteries better by Louise Penny. I can hardly put either down when I start, so it is only a small difference. All are recommended, but Maisie Dobbs’s books should be read in order.

Drying my tears, I made chicken noodle soup for dinner. I did laundry and the dishes and considered something to do. I decided to return to my Sherlock and Watson story, but I was tired of the house and headed to Barnes and Noble to write there. I arrived, and my sister called. I have to talk to Mom Wild; these details cannot be shared here.

I returned home after making a few changes to my story, and I am now a bit worn out by the events. I vacuumed the house in the dark. The air outside smelled of smoke, and before sunset, the sky changed from deep blue to gray-blue—forest fire smoke. I strip the bed and wash the sheets, towels, and things that missed the first wash.

I cut the donation checks for the church. A pile of money to pay for an automatic door for the front door and another pile of money to fix up the entrance and the sanctuary. Since I agreed to help, all the costs have increased. Time to get out while I am behind! I write letters, transfer money, and update Quicken with all the changes. Some of the changes are in Susie’s memory. I include her picture in the letter. I emailed copies of the letters to various involved folks; I will drop off all the checks and signed letters on Sunday, so they will go in this week’s deposit–I was the treasurer and know all of this.

I made the bed, shower, and started a new book. The Caliph’s House: A Year in Casablanca by Tahir Shah has started out well, and the pages seem to fly by. I bought the physical book at Powell’s used—trade paperback. The print is large enough, and the larger softcover book is light enough that my wrist is not complaining the following morning.

While not late, I hear Pink Floyd finishing Darkside of the Moon (I have been listening to it often), and I change to sleeping music. I soon drift off and do not wake until the sunrise. Thanks for reading.

I rose at about 8:00 and soon was writing. I had rolled over and returned to sleep as I had gone to bed late. There were no bananas; in replacement, I had some canned peaches from a local farm for breakfast and a chocolate croissant I purchased in Hillsboro the day before. I made my usual liberal coffee in my French Press. I ran my usual updates in Quicken and continue to track my accounts in this centralized process. I have replaced my US Bank card, which is directly attached to my checking account, on many accounts with my Alaska Visa Miles Visa for the miles and to insulate my checking account better. I received notes from various accounts, including eBay (!?), that my accounts were hacked. I changed the passwords and payment methods.

The aforementioned and other distractions had me writing the blog for a huge 2200+ word count until past 11. Among the distractions was a return to colon issues, which had me stay at home for the rest of the morning and early afternoon. I went from difficult movements for the last few days to unlimited ones. It was not very pleasant, and some movements had immediate needs. It has been a while since I have experienced this, and I hope not to repeat it in the near future!

I had cooked all the bacon yesterday and made another bacon and lettuce sandwich with the remaining bacon. I had no tomatoes, but I still like BL sandwiches. I toast the bread, cover both slices with mayo, add the bacon (folding it to get it to fit), and add a layer of lettuce. I cut the sandwich in half. It was delicious. This is uncured bacon.

I watched the last half of the current House of Dragons episode. The story still seems random to me, but it is also addictive. I liked the ending of this episode (no spoilers) and will get back to the show after a few more new episodes are stacked up–I don’t care about watching once a week. I will get distracted and miss. When I have a few hours, I like to watch something.

I did dishes, read, and rested a bit. Then, I put on my Apple the rest of the movie The Big Short, which is about the cause of the Great Recession (the link connects to the US Federal Reserve’s history site) and had started yesterday while cooking. I cooked some aging Brussels sprouts in a frying pan with butter and browning them. I added some water and covered it to let the steam cook the veggies. I then continued with the frying. I also baked a frozen steak and stout pie from Trader Joe’s. I finished this meal while watching the last part of The Big Short.

Feeling unsettled, I headed to Reedville Creek Park to walk. It was the evening, and the sun would soon set in less than 90 minutes. It was still above 80F (27C), but the sun was not striking. I started to walk my usual loop. There were a lot of folks on the grass practicing soccer, and some groups of families were enjoying the park, including the skateboarding cement area. I managed to walk three loops and found I was not getting much pain. I completed the fourth loop and started to walk to Air Volvo to leave, but instead, I decided to try the fifth. I was breathing hard, and my legs were freezing up as I completed number five. I completed almost 4,000 steps.  My colon issues did not reappear, and dinner stayed inside of me.

Air Volvo brought me back without issue, and soon, I was tired. After completing the dishes, I decided to shower and read in bed. I received my order of eye grease from Amazon and used that tonight. While the labels matched, the product seemed thinner than the previous tube. Hmmm. It worked.

I was asleep early. Thanks for reading.

 

One of the strangest things for me is having nothing planned and no plans in the morning. There is no need to get up early, rush, and start an early morning at Nike WHQ. No 6:30 morning Zoom meetings (morning or evening). The days no longer disappear, and the weeks do not vanish like pages in a book blown like wind. When I write this, it is Thursday morning, and it seems like the week is moving slowly, and the days are full.

With no plans and feeling tired, I stay in bed until 8ish. I rise, find the last banana, and have liberal coffee with it. I wrote a blog until 11 and felt I could have been going for another hour, but I felt the pull of the day and wanted to get outside and enjoy the bright sun. I clean up and make lunch. I have no tomatoes and know when many, including Dondrea, would think a BLT reduced to a BL is abhorrent, but I have always loved them. I cook the uncured bacon (I avoid over-processed foods after reading so much bad news about them), and soon, the house fills with the smell of cooking bacon. I litter the sink with more undone dishes, without guilt, after I finish my sandwich and place excess cooked bacon for a later meal in a ziplock bag and in the frig.

Full and more than ready to get outside, I boarded Air Volvo, which is all but on autopilot, as I headed west to Hillsboro (this was the trek to reach Susie when she was in Forest Grove for months). Surprised, Air Volvo located a convenient parking spot, and soon, I was in the bright but not overly hot sun in Hillsboro. Antiques, food, beer, and coffee are easily found in the clean and bright downtown. An excellent hobby store specializing in trains, models, and doll houses makes it perfect for my needs, and a gaming store that always has hard-to-find-new board games makes Hillsboro always expensive. On this trip, I passed on the hobby and gaming store.

First, I stopped at the old converted theater, now an antique mall, and located the Account Handbook, 1923 (ten years after income tax was reinstated in the USA) I discovered before. Previously, I could not buy it as it had no price, and I had to wait for the vendor of the stall in the antique mall to correct that. I was delayed on my return and found the book back on a shelf with a price (and my name and phone number still in the book on a piece of paper!). I took the book and wandered the place to see if something else required consideration. Nothing else needed my attention, and soon, I was in line to buy my book. A girl bought a pretty Art Deco cat china statue, and a guy bought some old-style china tea cups and a sugar bowl. You can get unmatching but lovely tea cups, teapots, and the works at any antique place for a few bucks–don’t buy more expensive mugs at IKEA; instead, impress your friends with your cheap and bohemian tea set (thinking of James Wagner’s tea cups when I write this).

I bought my Account Handbook, which looks more like a bible than technical work with a black, almost leather cover and gilded pages, for only $8. I paid cash. The antique mall is a collective, and the front desk does the paperwork for the sale, and the results, minus a small handling fee, are returned to the stall owner, who also pays a small rent and usually starts in the worst locations far in the back. They can acquire a better location as they show their ability to pay rent, have some sales, and are neat. I watch, having been visiting a few months, and much of the stock is turned over, and younger folks can find nick-nacks and some house good for cheap here.

Aside: Why a 1923 Account Handbook? I play the Call of Cthulhu role playing game, and props from the 1920s are always welcome. I also find the text of handbooks and travel guides from the time period can open your eyes to the 1920s. There are usually interesting opening texts and updates about law changes that you can only find in these books that create an insight into the times. For example, the Federal Reserve was in place in 1923 (I did not know it went back to the 20s) and described on pages 864-866. The text mentions the reserve requirement of gold of 40% created in 1921. Well, maybe not interesting to you; it may be fun to build a horror story starting with an accountant discovering something is amiss or maybe some arcane plot that makes the gold disappear in a vault, possibly wrecking the reverse bank. Yes, I get ideas from these very mundane texts. Even one of the James Bond books, a favorite I have read over and over, Goldfinger, is about issues with British gold reserves. As for the book I bought, the cover shows its age, but the pages show almost no use. Excellent.

As I said before, I had no plans, so I wandered to the next antique store (which had nothing I needed) and raided the two bakeries for breakfast baked goods (a chocolate croissant I had already consumed Thursday morning). I return the goods and book to Air Volvo, and then walk back, needing the steps, and head to the Washington County Courthouse; Hillsboro is the county seat. I am there to look at the giant redwoods planted in 1880. The huge trees and other plantings make the area restful. The trees are not as large as those older ones in California but are, by quite a distance, the tallest things in Hillsboro. Nothing prepares you for the size of these trees as, unlike the forest further south, these few are alone, and you get the feeling of standing at the feet of giants.

I always take a pinecone home with me when I visit.

I sit at a nearby bench on the courthouse grounds and read and relax. A few lawyers see me, notable for the suit and leather document bag over the shoulder, who smile when they see me, and I tell them I am just enjoying the trees. One busy guy says, “Yes, I forget how beautiful it is here.” I think it is good to be retired and read some more on my iPhone (I have the Kindle app on the iPhone). Soon, I head-on. I buy pasta sauce, pasta, and expensive ground coffee, which they roast at the shop, and board Air Volvo. Without difficulty, I reach the Volvo Cave. I defrost some spicy Italian-style sausage and fry it in a pan, heat the sauce, and boil water. After 4PM, I start to assemble dinner. I managed to eat a few bowls.

I am off to First United Methodist Church in Beaverton. I have a new Progress Flag to replace the aging Pride Flag at the church (see the link to learn the history of these flag types). The top strip of the old flag is red, meaning it is a later design (pink goes on the top if it matches the original design, but it is hard to find). Z is expecting to play games and is surprised when I get out the toolbox, flag, pole, and other tools and equipment. The flag was lost in a storm, recovered on the other side of the church, and put back, and the pole was broken by folks attempting (we believe) to do a pull-up on the wooden pole, unsuccessfully. The slightly truncated pole was reused. It was time for an upgrade.

I have new printed Progress Flags with metal eyelets for attachment; I buy them two at a time from Amazon and a new pole (also from Amazon). I have a plastic ring with a clip. The old flag was sewed pieces of high wear and flame-resistance plastic cloth (it is nearly impossible to burn) into the familiar rainbow stripes. The new flag is printed on plastic cloth that will resist burning, will not fade soon, and has the check that makes it a Progress Flag.

I use vice grips to undo the screw that holds the pole in the holder. Lucky for us, no well-meaning liberal at the church glued the pole into the holder (that had the thieves have to smash up the flag holder and required a slightly more expensive upgrade–I keep at least one flag holder at the house, too) and the old flag was removed without issue. The old flag has a pocket that goes over the pole and a single clip to hold it. The new flag uses two clips and hangs from the pole clips. The flag waves more. Z helps me disassemble the old flag and reassemble the new flag on the new pole. With a full-sized pole, the flag is now four inches further out towards the street. It is a grand-looking new flag.

(Z is wearing a Dark Side of the Moon t-shirt–she has no idea what that is; see link–that matches well for today. BTW KINK.fm always plays this for eclipses here–there is no place like home.)

Don’t worry, fellow liberals. As I said, I have more flags if someone “needs” this one.

After I put away the tools and old flag and pole, Z and I play the Euro-trash Istanbul board game, originally published in German and English. I have the newer, all-English Big Box version made from better card stock. We play just the base game, and it takes Z and me a while to get back into this one. It plays fast, and Z is quick and soon adopts my usual steps, forcing me to make less efficient moves. I make some mistakes, one grievous and costing me a turn. It is enough for me to see Z has me beat. My last move had I planned it better, could have gotten me a tie (I took the wrong extra item, so I could not trade goods for a ruby at the palace). I would still lose with money being the tiebreaker–Z had plenty left, but it would have been at least close.

With that quick shellacking–Z is relentless, I was ready to do better. We had time for two more games, and I managed to get ahead of Z in both and remain there. I was back to my usual efficient play. I like this game so much that I play by myself with me playing all three players. Istanbul is called a Euro game (or Euro-Trash). It is a race to collect rubies by completing certain goals and collecting a mix of resources to achieve those goals. You fill your cart with rubies to win. Resource collecting, worker placement, achievement for victory, no combat, and unique movement systems are the hallmarks of the Euro-trash games.  The word is no longer considered pejorative; it is just a fun description. The game US-designed game Scythe contains all the elements mentioned except it includes combat and player conflict, making it Amera-trash.

I managed to get one or two rubies ahead of Z, and Z watched as I won the game two more times. I made no mistakes, varied my plans to fit the board situation, and kept all my moves extremely efficient. I even had a chance to redeem my previous game by this time taking the correct item and using the Palace to get my winning ruby. I just know the base game well;  Z is still putting it together. Next time, we will change the base game to the “long” board or add in coffee, a fun add-on that allows for more choices and new ways to be highly efficient. I also do not know this version well.

(We are starting the second game. Z is happy she beat me in the first game)

The choir does not practice in the summer; we were done at 8ish. I returned home after wishing folks goodnight and watched more House of Dragons at the Volvo Cave. It is not great, and the storyline or plot (maybe that is too strong of a word for events that appear to be rolled from a chart of random possible choices) moves in strange stops and starts; I could not stop watching until it was late, it is addictive, and I stopped one episode that appeared to be headed for another random event (you can almost hear the dice being rolled by the writers). I went to bed as Thursday began after a shower. I leaned back to wash my hair and grabbed the bar in the shower. My eyes were closed to avoid soap in my eyes, and I kept going back. I am so happy to have those bars installed for Susie (who never used them- she never saw them except in a picture). To my fellow folks who are going gray or are already there (some colored), it is time to get those bathroom safety items installed before you are grabbing for them if you don’t have them yet.

I read for a while more and soon fell asleep. I dreamed. Mariah texted me earlier on Thursday about her camping challenge. A bear visited her tent, and she scared it away by locking and unlocking her car–excellent work. Except I dreamed I was camping with Mariah, and we were swimming in a river, and a bear was chasing us. We jumped on a log, and so did the dream-bear. I woke just as I was throwing off the covers to jump off the log, which would have landed me out of bed and onto the floor. I laughed for quite a while at my near disaster. Yes, maybe I dream a little realistically.

I am fine this morning. Thanks for reading.