Author: alohawild

I slept until 5AM without waking over and over—better. I’m not sure I mind waking at 5 and watching the sunrise as I write the blog. I did shower and go to bed early, but I rose and watched some of the Best of The H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival 2022 DVD. This is the COVID-19 one that was much reduced and masked. I won the best microfiction that year. After that, I went to sleep and woke once when it was 11 and then not again, except to prove hydration.

But let’s return to Tuesday and explore what happened on the day of mixed weather. I could not sleep, so I woke over and over and finally rose just before 5. I sat down and started the blog; it was too early for breakfast, so I wrote it. This was interrupted a few times, but as I am retired, I did not care.

I looked for breakfast food and found the steel-cut oats. I cooked them, nearly burning them when I got busy writing. I poured water on the back of the pan before stirring and used a fork to detach the stuck bits. There were no problems other than it was a bit chewy as it was not entirely cooked, but I liked it.

I found the brown sugar still with some ants inside. Puke. They were long dead, at least, but still, ick! Trashed. Instead, I poured molasses and sugar into my bowl with some walnut pieces. Excellent. If maybe there were a bit too many molasses, I like molasses. I continued to write and go slow. The coughing is worse today, and my chest feels rough as if I have a cold. Ugh! But I know the cough, not the lungs, is the issue. I treat it all day, and it slows. I make enough for two, pack it in glassware (thanks, Glenda and Gene), and leave it for Corwin. He finds it later.

I step out to see the roses, having spotted some pink out there. Here is my old bourbon rose, Souvenir du Président Lincoln, ready to bloom. It is showing some black spots, and the aphids are enjoying it, causing the blooms to twist a bit. It is on its own roots and is thriving in the wet. I am surprised to see it blooming second to the China rose. I was worried the heat would damage it, but it looks happy. If I wanted it to be happier, I would need to spray it with an insecticide, cut away the damaged leaves, and spray with an anti-fungus. These toxins are not very nice in a damp location, so the bourbon rose will have to fight its way through it.

I continued to write and finish the blog in the morning, seeing that it was my usual start time of 8 at the Nike WHQ, and smiled. I am still getting used to the idea that I have no responsibilities at Nike, and once in a while, thinking about how to improve something or how something works in Nike’s systems. I then stop, realign to my new “your responsibilities end” statement from the VP at Nike, and think about something else. It is still hard to internalize that I am no longer part of the team after twenty-seven years.

After I posted on LinkedIn that I was retired by layoff, the word is out. I am receiving positive comments and even some suggestions to return to work for various consulting gigs. I have not yet decided to use LinkedIn as my Facebook for corporate stuff. I am still trying to get used to being retired, or at least not Nike IT.

I did order some Moroccan mint tea. Dondrea was scandalized that the mint tea from Morocco uses tea and has caffeine, which explains my repeated orders for it while fighting jetlag in Morrocco! It is not the polite American herb tea.

I added my other Upton Tea Company favorites to the order: Russian Caravan and Baker Street Afternoon Blend, which reminds me of Holmes. I like their Irish Breakfast Tea, but I have plenty still. I recommend this website, which is where my tea comes from.

Returning to the narrations (it is so easy to go sideways when you do not have time limits), I then started on a task that I could not believe was finally here. I put together all the papers for Dondrea (who holds my power-of-attorney and medical decision rights if I cannot decide) and Matt V (my executor for my will). Going with Si vis pacem, para bellum (from John Wick, not a classical education), which I will rephrase: Want life, then prepare for illness and death. Thus, all my accounts and papers are now in a leather briefcase to be handed to Dondrea (hopefully not Matt V).

I close out April 2024 with all the expenses for my unplanned trip to Morocco and a carpet. I check every month’s transactions and make corrections. I then get the balances for my 401K and deferred compensation (still unpaid in a lump sum) and correct the Net Worth report. I put a copy of that, now accurate to 30th April, in the papers in the briefcase.

My exit agreement with Nike (all the $$$$) will appear next week. I have to sign it and return it to them (electronic signature). The dates match my trip to Michigan, so I will watch for it. It is very important to get it back to the shoe company before my surgery. It has a time limit, and my death, without signing, would cancel the agreement, leaving my estate empty-handed (my life insurance ended on my separation date in April). More para bellum stuff. I have been granted, already, an extra month to sign it.

While I was doing all this depressing paperwork (including some more instructions for Matt V that I hope he never sees), I was defrosting and then boiling some skinless and boneless chicken thighs. I cut up the chicken, putting 1/2 away for another dish, and made, of all things, Rice-a-Roni stir-fry flavor. I have not made this for years, and it was cheap. In the water I used to boil the chicken, I added a handful of already cooked shrimp (cleaned and only have tails) from the freezer (I buy a bag for various times–it’s always fun to add some shrimp to something). I followed directions and created sort of a stir-fry with chicken and shrimp, and I had two bowls. Better than I expected. Hmm. I need to fry the chicken with the rice and add some veggies to make it excellent. Fun!

I took Air Volvo to my post office and confused a person there. They could not find my mail, which was on hold. On returning home, my mail carrier brought me all my mail, including various packages. This included a package from Providence with the special surgery soap, shower mitten, and instructions. I tried to cancel the bottle I ordered from Amazon. Nope. I will have plenty. I will suggest a correction to the instructions from the surgeon that Providence will send the soap.

I am a bit dizzy and coughing, so I decided to rest. I also started my subscription to Analog magazine and have my first one. The stories, especially the first essay, are always a learning experience. How do people write this way? How can I ever hope to equal that? I managed 1/4 of the first essay before nodding off. I have trouble sleeping, and then, suddenly, I awaken, and it is 5:15. How the f**k did that happen! Hate jetlag!

While cool, the rains are gone, and the sky is blue. We don’t see that in May. So we sit at a picnic table outside. I find Dondrea and Z at the Beaverton Carts.

I have a business meeting with Dondrea to cover the briefcase and discuss the events of my surgery on 20 May. We also try a new Chilean cart. The noodle place we loved, sadly, was gone. About one-third of the spaces are empty, with some favorite carts now just a memory and an empty space. Still, our food is heavy and delicious, made into a burger structure. Z is put off by the mayo but accepts it as a structure to the giant sandwich. Excellent! We love this new option.

We talk about the boring stuff. We cover my assets, beneficiaries, location of the will, power of attorney, and Oregon papers that assign Dondrea as my decider (with my sister as backup). Z is doing her homework and is not happy to be talking about death and injury (she is 13), but she accepts that it is best to be prepared, and thus, much trouble can be avoided by preparing.

Aside: I have a document with every important financial account, including numbers, passwords, etc. I also have a document on using the house (including the network password) that can be emailed and shared widely. I created an unimaginably named Google Doc Test that is reached by a link at alohawild.me that will be maintained by Dondrea and others to share my status. Here, you can check on my status. Just click on the link. It contains my flight information right now.

I forgot to bring a board game, and the topic and food were both heavy, so it was best to stop there. I agreed to pick up Z at her house and bring her to the church on Wednesday evening; I am retired and can do taxi work for Dondrea, too. There we will play games again.

Air Volvo gets me home. I am tired, so I do the dishes. I shower and head to bed early, and I try to read. The jetlag takes over, and soon, I am a zombie, not sleeping but not able to read. I get up and go back to bed. Just about the time I accept that I will not sleep, I sleep. I wake up a few times, but I manage to sleep.

Thanks for reading.

 

Some details, I was laid off from Nike after 27 years on 22 April 2024, but yesterday was really the first Monday here at the house when I did not get up and start work. It has been, I think, more than forty years since that has happened (ignoring vacations and illness). One hundred forty-four days ago, I was diagnosed with a non-cancerous, slow-growing brain tumor over the nerves that connect to hearing and balance on my left side. This is a Schwannoma tumor, to be medically correct. The procedure for a moderate-sized tumor, my size, is to sacrifice the hearing and balance on the affected side to make a path to remove the tumor and repair the impacted nerves. There are two surgeons; one deals with the ear and closing, and another repairs the nerves and removes the tumors.

My chances of surviving the operation are 95% or 1/20 chance of death. Matt V gave me a special twenty-sided die with ’20’ on all but one place with a ‘1.’ I have not rolled it yet. I will take it with me.

The surgery is on 20 May 2024 and will take the whole day. Dondrea and Linda, my sister, will be here. I will be in intensive care, according to Dr G, for two days and then likely two more days in recovery and monitoring. There is a 10% chance of a pressure issue in my brain that will require a second surgery. With luck, I should be home on Thursday or Friday. I will likely have some vertigo issues from the complete loss of balance controlling nerves on the left side. I have to be monitored until that fades–I cannot be left on my own. The expected recovery is to last over two months or less. I hope to make the June California party (more on that later).

My layoff will impact my medical coverage next year. Nike’s exit package covers medical expenses for the rest of 2024. I also receive 48 weeks of pay plus my unused PTO, which will take that to about 50 weeks.

Sorry, but we have not covered that in a while.

I could not sleep the night and was up at 4 writing the blog. I also sent a text to Dondrea that was too early (forgetting the time); sorry! Surprisingly, I found myself at loose ends. I started to move through the last things to do for Susie’s Concert and memories. There is a quilt-making company that takes T-shirts and makes them into a blanket. You have to cut the shirts to have one side. I had to supply 24 for a twin-sized quilt. I finished cutting up all the material and packing the shirts. I took Air Volvo to the nearby Walgreens, the closest FedEx drop-off location, and sent the shirts on their way. In 5-7 weeks, we should have a quilt.

My grey suit was much wrinkled by its trip back from Morocco, so the next stop was the cleaners. They will fix that up. I dropped that off. The mail catch-up delivery did not happen, so on Tuesday, I will go find the mail they still have held for me. My request to deliver it this week seems to be lost.

I am off to Portland and have an oncology appointment with Dr. B, but it is conveniently set to 2 (14:00) if I am working. Instead, it is convenient to have a Rueben sandwich and acquire some North African sauces and some excellent pasta before the appointment. I ate my sandwich there at Elephants Delicatessen, ignoring a gal from Idaho who was complaining about the wetness, crime, and everything that is wrong with Portland and why it is better in Idaho.

Aside: Idaho charges a 6% sales tax and, according to my research, a 5.8% flat income tax. The median income is over $33K, and Idaho is ranked 44th best for income. Here, Oregon has a 0% sales tax. Our tax rate is complex (not flat), as we return any overpayments to the people, so it is around 7%, but often less. Our medium income is nearly $38K. Oregon is ranked 18th for best income in US states. Washington State is ranked higher and has a strange mix of high sales tax and fees but no income tax. Yes, it rains here. Idaho has a higher gun mortality rate than Oregon and Washington State, but the crime rates in Oregon (25th) and Washington State (23rd) are higher, much higher, than in Idaho (41st). Sorry, it just annoyed me.

After enjoying my sandwich and practicing my aggressive ignoring skills, Air Volvo took me to Knight Cancer Institute at Legacy, where I met with Dr. B. He was happy to see me doing so well. He reminded me that I need to take better care of my feet with the nerve damage from both the chemotherapy and diabetes. I complained and received no sympathy for getting a blister from walking all over Casablanca, Morocco. He laughed at me. I will see him again, assuming my labs will be good (there is a test for a tumor factor blood test that should not raise), in three months and after yet-another-CT-scan. I should buy a six-pack of these or get miles.

I forgot my hat and phone and had to run back after quickly turning around Air Volvo and illegally parking for a few minutes. I escaped with my hat and no penalties. My blood pressure was up, and that was a surprise. That would be the coughing and the jetlag. I will watch that and will start taking it myself again once I can sleep (but with the surgery so soon, maybe not). I am jetlagged, and that does not make you smarter!

I returned home, rested, and actually slept deep with dreams–pleasant, but the details were lost in the reawakening. It was hard to restart. I made a can of beef soup with country veggies from a can. It was delicious. I am still hungry all the time. Dondrea says that is the jetlag, likely.

What would you do with jetlag and exhaustion? Yes, attend a Zoom call on Python Machine Learning for the Hillsboro area on how to build APIs to use classifier models. The host, Dr. Ernest, is Cuban and speaks fast. It takes you a while to get the accent, but once you do, you can follow along. He has published papers on life sciences and Machine Learning, and it was interesting to watch him do this all together. He used Flask, a framework I don’t know, to form the APIs. A 90-minute geekfest. I answered questions about my layoff, trip to Morocco, and future plans (none until after the surgery; I have to first make it to the future).

Dishes and laundry call me. I do them. I even order the new LG washer/dryer to clean itself. How cool.

I forgot to include that I put a 100 Morocco note in the collection plate at church. Dan Grey thought that was a gas; he was the usher but sobered when he realized he was the counter, too. I told him to just put it on the wall in the church office next to the Indian note someone (guess who) provided before.

I was stumbling-tired by 9ish and decided that was enough for my first day without work to do (or places to travel). I replaced the bandage after showering. I fell asleep and woke at 1, 2, 3, and 4, and gave up as I approached 5. Jetlag.

Here is my jetlag song: Wake me up when September ends. I just like the sounds and the words; I sing along on this one (with apologies to Green Day!).

Going backward, as I have not done that in a while, last night late, I popped a US Quarter-sized blister on my right foot big toe. It all but exploded, and, due to chemotherapy and diabetes and a hammer-toe issue on that foot, it is somewhat numb; the pain was little. I took some painkillers, the normal off-the-shelf versions, and covered the wound with ointment to stop an infection. Next, I put a bandaid and a piece of medical tape to keep it all in place. I managed to sleep until about 4 when the pain returned, and I was doing the diabetic electrical shock thing. This is when the pain comes and goes. It makes it impossible to sleep as it keeps waking you. The jetlag did not improve this, and I started my data at about 4:30, which is not unusual with jetlag anyway.

This misery will continue for about a day before the healing takes over. I do not expect difficulties, as my feet are not mushy or show poor circulation. It’s just the shocks for a while.

Moving backward, I returned on 5 May 2024 not so much for the Mexican food as to play Dungeons and Dragons one more time before my surgery. I was at Matt V’s house before 5:30 and brought him the London maps from the game 1879, which are independent of the game and are just excellent and newly drawn maps to recreate 1879 London streets. We often play in 1926 for Call of Cthulhu role playing game (RPG), and I suspect the maps will work just as well. I also brought him the spices from Casablanca, and we put some of the burgers in it. The spice did not work as well as a rub, but still, it was cool to try some on burgers. Matt V makes meat and non-meat burgers when we play at his house.

I told stories about my Morocco trip and recommended a multi-city tour to my friends. We also went over the events of my surgery and Susie’s concert in Michigan. Both are less than two weeks away. But, mostly, we played Dungeons and Dragons, Spell Jamming, and 5E.

I play a lawful evil cleric of the concept of war. This ties my hands as I have to play evil, as the debate was a war or an attempt to negotiate with a dark power. My vote should be obvious. The vote went for peace and a scouting mission–being lawful, I accepted the results. We took our space-flying ship (yes, SciFi mixed with fantasy–Tolkien goes Space Battleship Yamato) to investigate after a diplomatic conference we attended went pair-shaped with various blasting rays after an internal dispute exploded (literally). I was drinking coffee, with extra coffee, and still had some trouble keeping it clear in my head. It was fun.

Before this, I rested for a bit and redid some laundry as my permanent press items got wrinkled last night. I managed to get all the laundry done and put it away. Most of my travel items are put away. I cannot find my leather passport holder; I might have lost it. It contains all my inoculation records. Puke!

I had lunch with the Weld-Martins at the newish OG Mexican place near the corner of 185th and TV Highway. I had to park a block away as it was popular today, Cinco de Mayo. I had the chili relleno plate, and Anne had the shrimp, which looked good. Wayne was very unhappy as his meal was late; he had crab-stuffed items. I had my first Diet Coke in weeks with ice. It was great. My food was a bit plain, and I was in Morocco a few days ago, so it is not time to make comparisons! Anne suggests the seafood. Next time!

Before this, I was at church, having risen at 7ish and sleeping well my first night (it is always like that for the first night). I wrote the blog and finished in time to clean up, dress, and make it to church. I had a striped dress shirt under my now-baggy sweater and put, yikes, a stripped pride tie that clashed, and I changed it. I went with a 1980s Structures tie with triangles that matched the color of the shirt and the sweater. This was not a vertigo-inducing combination; better.

Dondrea announced to claps that the inconsistent approach to gay rights had ended in the United Methodist Church, and we are now open to gay marriage, gay ministers, and all of the pride community. Later, we learned that the far-right Christian media is attacking the UMC as having gone hedonist (their word). If you have ever been to a UMC, our idea of going wild is singing hymns that are less than a hundred years old, not serving green jello with shredded carrots, and requiring ingredient lists at a potluck to stop food emergencies. We are still who we were last week.

Aside: I know that some disagree with this, but we, as the members of UMC, have gone this way to be more open, not become hedonists or worse. We are still the same mostly harmless (thanks, Douglas Adams, for those words) version of American Protestants. Please don’t believe the lies; we are still the same boring folks.

Really aside, I love the idea of Hedonist Methodist. So many jokes. It is so Douglas Adams or Steve Martin.

I arrived before the service and gave Dondrea their new scarves from Casablanca and some packets of cooking seasonings. They loved the scarves. I spent much of the service standing in the back, drinking lots of coffee. Sitting was not welcome after my flights the day before.

Pastor Ken gave the sermon today, focusing on the Book of James, just the start. This is the first letter of the New Testament I taught in Sunday school, and I know it well. It is also one of the books used to practice translating Greek to English, as it is well composed in native Common Greek, so I am quite familiar with it. I have also heard from another Methodist preacher that the Book of James is the model of a sermon and preaching. Ken, always the scholar, points out that Martin Luther considered it of less value and put it in an appendix in his translation of Greek to German.

Pastor Ken explores the beginning, which tells folks to expect trials and to have joy from them—a near-self-conflicting statement. Ken explained that he sees this as a promise that God will be with you and help you survive and grow from the experiences—that God actually promises this. And while Pastor Ken went down many paths and expanded on this more, my jetlagged self could only remember the large bullet points.

The morning was wet, grey, and slightly windy. The temperatures did not rise above the low 60s (16-20C). My China rose had flowers, but they were soaked and not standing up yet. There was no local flooding, but some puddles appeared on the roads.

I was doing well until the toe issue. It should clear up soon. I should get to normal sleep when I am headed to Michigan next week!

Be well! Thanks for reading!

I’m sorry this took two days to travel, and I had shorter connections than I thought. It took time to travel through security and find my next gate. I usually had four hours, but the international flights boarded an hour before leaving, and some flights were delayed. It was fun and chaotic. It was not really possible to write.

I also did not edit this with care as it is long, and some miswordings fit this part of the experience.

So much for the theory that exercise would help jetlag. I was wide awake at 3. I rose at 4ish. I dressed at about 5ish and finished packing at about 6 and was at breakfast at 6:30 in the morning when it started. I got a note on WhatsApp (more used in Africa and non-Apple worshippers) that the international family wanted to meet at the Old Medina (Souk) briefly. They were flying back today but wanted to see the Souk and me.

Despite being up most of the night, I was feeling (for now) awake and comfortable. I read and relaxed a bit in the lobby. At 9ish, I headed out in my black jacket, hat, Cthulhu Absinthe brand T-shirt, and tan slacks. I walked over to the large park and walked its length. One of the staff cleaning the park waved, and I dipped my hat, which got a bow and a hand-over-heart response–I am remembered. I get a very positive response from my hat dipping and showing respect to the staff anywhere. The police often smile and salute back.

I cut over to the main road at the end of the park (near the Cathedral) that leads to the United Nations Plaza, which is across from the Old Medina. Instead of risking the streets, there is an underground bypass of the busy intersections, which I used again to cross the crazy roads and light rail mixing and matching. I had managed to be a few minutes early, which I was proud to have timed so well to be early. Soon, the family, just two of them today, met me.

We entered the Souk, and it was just starting to open. We were there about 10. We quickly walked about 1/4 of it and exited on a busy street with many shops and locals. It was a noisy place as Casablanca is less of a tourist town and more people are working for a living. The Old Medina was less of a tourist show (there were no snake charmers, for example) and many more items for the locals. There are lots of soccer for sale. I still notice Nike stuff and look to see if it is real–what I saw looked real.

We stopped at Cafe France, which I used yesterday, and this time, we picked a table not in the flight path of the birds, and the waiter remembered me from last time (I tip well) and was happy to have me back with friends. We ordered mint tea (I ordered a snack as breakfast was back at 6:30), and we talked and enjoyed the world going by. The chaos of the taxis in front of the Hyatt was almost hypnotic as the taxis would stop, cause a snarl that was announced with massive use of horn, and then resolve. It was like a bizarre dance.

My new friends (and readers of this blog) will stay in touch, and they bought. Very kind. They had to head to the airport and return to the East Coast of the USA. After saying goodbye, I headed to the poster museum. I was over 10,000 steps already, and my feet and legs were complaining, so I paused a few times. I have checked, and the book of posters from the museum is expensive for the English version of Abe.com. Here in Casablanca, it is about $45 USA, so I bought one. I also found a key holder and bought that in a nice shop a block from Cafe France. They also had cookbooks, but they apologized for being out of stock of English versions (their collection of other languages was impressive). Their English was good, and they were helpful and not pushy. My key holder was from Disney, broke years ago, was repaired, and is now falling apart. I found one from Morocco that is in the shape of a door here, and I think it will be a fine replacement. The book I managed to slide into the checked bag, and I am carrying the key holder in my carry-on.

I found lunch at McDonald’s. I had been wondering what to do for lunch and suddenly found I was standing near one of these USA places. Why not? It was good and familiar. The mustard packet was French and hot—perfect on fries.

You can complain that I should eat some local-style food instead, but the Moroccans are proud of these places. They should be. It was inexpensive and good.

I walked back, and it became a struggle as my legs and feet were through the Casablanca sidewalks and cobblestones. I returned and packed some more, rested, and cleaned up. I finished the packing, nearly sitting on the one suitcase to close it.

I read for a while and then checked out at 4ish with an extra $60 for late check-out. Some room taxes and the dinner in the hotel a few times gave them something to use my AMEX for. I decided to go to the tea place again and have one last mint tea. I stayed until the Mövenpick sent someone over to let me know the taxi was waiting. It was thirty minutes early.

I made my goodbyes to the hotel and tea guy. Some of the red-jacketed Mövenpick staff came out to see me off. I dipped my hat again, and they all smiled. The taxi guys were unhappy, and my luggage and my person were moved to the taxi first in the line instead of the second one. This driver spoke no English but yelled in something like French the whole way. I laughed as we were cut off, waved into traffic by a cop, and almost crushed. Other events were best seen not firsthand. I cheered him on, and the hand gestures became more pronounced, and his French became more obvious. Might as well enjoy it!

I had to know where I was going in the airport, Qatar Airlines in Terminal 1, and actively assisted once we were there. There still were some sudden lane changes, and passing that again looked more like a racecar than an airport to me. Soon, I was delivered intact. I overpaid the driver. He was grateful. I was happy to be there.

I found the gates to be checked in. There was no online check-in for this one; it was old school. I had to supply my Driver’s License as my passport did not record my address. It took two people to check me in. I was early. There was more security (two bag x-rays and person checks per airport). One is to enter the airport, and the other is to enter the gate. Even on transfers, as I soon learned.

The plane’s loading was strictly by class, something I had noticed before, and we, the unwashed economy, had to wait until all the first and business class were on the plane. The 787 Dreamliner was OK. I was surprised by how small the space I had. My carry-on was put in the overhead bin, and I managed with my phone, coat, and hat. My seatmate spoke no English and was in full make-up and dress. She got up often, but generally, she was OK.

I read a new book and had my headphones on my phone. I all but passed out, and I was so sleepy. After they fed us a good meal, I slept, they woke us, fed us again, let us sleep again, and finally landed. My neck pillow was in the bin, so I used the pillow that was given to me. There was also a blanket. I did not get headphones, but I mostly slept that flight away.

I watched the sunrise from the plane and then got to walk off the plane, after waiting for first and business class, in my socks. I was stiff. This is a tarmac landing, so we get off the plane on the big stairs, and then a bus takes you forever, it seems, to the terminal.

The cement pad was rough and hurt through my socks. The bus ride was short, and I stepped on more rough cement and cement floors. I sat in the first chair near an escalator packed with people from various planes. I also find a men’s room.

This is Doah, and the stall I use is wet; it is actually nearly flooded from the bidet. I managed to not get my pants soaked; I changed shirt and underwear using the emergency pair I keep in my carry-on (it is heavy with spare clothing, food–from the USA: a can of chicken salad with crackers–and my 15″ laptop). I balance on one foot, soaking my socks, and wonder what a terrible end it would be to slip in Qatar, fall into a bidet, and die with one leg in your underwear. CSI Qatar would be greatly confused. I survive and manage not to giggle from my thoughts of the reconstruction video of my death on a CSI Qatar episode out loud, as that may be culturally incorrect in a men’s room stall (in any country). Before stepping further into Doah Airport, I risk a cultural error by removing my socks and putting on new socks in a chair and then my shoes.

There is more security and disassembly and reassembly, but I am allowed my shoes this time. The laptop stays in the bag, too. I am asked again about liquids (not about laptops, knives, food, or anything else—my tiny toothpaste tube is ignored). My memory of the airport is of a mall, a very expensive one, with cars and some interesting places. I would have loved to have had a beer and time to try some places, but I made my next mistake. I go to the gate.

It is a one-way gate with more security and more questions about liquids with some seriousness this time. I manage the assembly and disassembly without issues. There were no restrooms, water, or anything except uncomfortable chairs. I forgot this is European-styled security, and the gate is a secured space with no amenities.

Soon, I will wait with everyone else for Business and First Class, and then we will finally be allowed on the plane. This time, I will be in the back of the plane, 37A, and the seat between me and a nice Indian man (his family has the center seats) is empty! The Airbus 350 Qatar Airlines plane is comfortable, and the legroom is good in the cheap seats, if not excellent. There are also plenty of restrooms. The 787 from Casablanca had me wedged into my seat and was full. I dreaded the 17 hours after a miserable 7 hours on the 787, but the 350 was an excellent ride, more like a busy hotel lobby with food and assigned seats.

The food was good and imaginative. The stewardess says she loves sweats, and I have a strange bread pudding for my first meal. It is excellent, and there are two full meals and one breakfast. Perfect. My seatmate, one over, slept most of the trip, and we used the spare seat for storage and glasses. The beer and wine were free; I had a Stella to remember Susie, one of her favorites. I watched three movies. I slept most of Wonka away as I had enjoyed it in theaters. The 350 Engine noise is problematic; I can barely hear or understand the movies and the staff. The entertainment center allows for pairing headphones. Next time in Qatar Airlines, I will bring noise-reducing headphones.

I manage to sleep–wake–eat–sleep–wake, and I decide, passing the 1/2 waypoint, to watch more movies. I find a French movie and am happy to enable English subtitles. As I no longer have to hear the words, this is a great experience as the sounds work. I cannot recommend La passion de Dodin Bouffant more. I cried often as the story was sad and about someone passing. A great movie is one where one can see one’s life retraced in another story. This is also about cooking in the late 1800s. Please find this one and watch it.

Aquaman was one movie without subtitles unless I wanted them in Arabic, and it really did not need the sound to work. It was a spectacle and, even with my hearing issues, fun and almost campy. It is not as terrible as some other movies, best forgotten, cut from the same overused material, and fun. It was a good one for a flight, and I needed a brain cookie after the deep La passion movie.

The miles and disturbed sleep patterns are beginning to take a toll. I reluctantly gave up my Airbus 350, thinking biz class would have been a kick (next time, if I can get it for less than 1,000 more), and headed into the long hallways of LAX customs. The lines are long, and the directions are fewer than I had in other countries. We, in long lines, all laugh when the customs agents leave us to just one agent for a long line. “Bad luck,” I hear. It was lunchtime, and soon, we had more agents. I clear through with no questions.

I found my bag (you have to grab it and pass through customs with your luggage) with the help of an agent from Qatar dressed smartly in a stewardess outfit, even with a hat. It was hidden behind bags already removed from the track. The silverish metal tag, slightly crumbled, helped.

I am still having trouble with directions and signage, but I manage to follow directions and put my bag on the right track. The bag will see me again in PDX. I help a Korean gal find her way, and she helps me get on the right bus. We are bussed to the correct terminal, five this time, and soon, yes, more security. This is TSA, and the American flags finally tell me I am home. The language is no longer French/Arabic; it is always strange when you first realize you can understand folks again. And, f**k, the shoes have to come off this time, and I manage to reassembly and disassembly. I also helped the Korean gal through the process. She even waits for me as I take more time to reassemble. We discover she is f**ked as her flight was canceled while she was in flight from Doha, Qatar. I leave her with the Air Canada agent as they figure out what to do. I managed to make it to my gate through the usual chaos of a full Alaska Airlines coverage to Portland, and I had only twenty minutes (after the flight was late, customs slow, and the connection required bussing). There is a bar near the gate. I sit and have a locally made (in Oregon) Blue Moon, a light beer. It is not served with a lemon, which I miss; my aversion to fruit that I did not peel is fading now. I have only a $100 bill and Morrocan 500 in bills–funny. I had to use the AMEX and, to the disappointment of the bartender, closed out my tab immediately. Refreshed and happy to be back in the USA, I enjoy the chaos of a gate where you can’t hear the announcements. Another person, like me, had a boarding pass printed many countries ago, and I decided we were in group D and board. He is concerned, and I tell him they don’t actually check. He smiles nervously and joins me, and we board without incident. I almost offered my seat to have dinner and a quiet few hours in LAX–the jetlag speaking to me, but instead wedged myself in a bus-like 737-800 and headed home.

We, like all my flights, were delayed by twenty minutes, and I do remember leaving the gate, but next, I woke to my surprise, already flying–I had never slept through a take-off until now. I sleep a few more times but get some coffee.

I am happy to see the usual friendly, organized PDX with its long hallways, correct signage, bright colors, and good food/bar places. I walk the strange passages from gate C to the joint of the other gates and, finally, the exit. I stopped by a men’s room, relieved that it was clean and not damp, and took care of the business. I am not in a hurry as there are no more customs, security, or other issues to slow me, and I have no more connections. I find my bag without issue and roll it with my heavy carry-on to the Red Economy Lot bus. I had to look at my phone for the first picture of the trip. It is the where-the-f**k-did-I-put-Air-Volvo first picture of the trip, D2 Red, and soon enjoy the bus, one more, and then walk in the blessed Oregon Mist in my hat and coat, so very happy to be home.

Driving and paying the car keep fee ($135) are not difficult. I put on Kink.fm and soon followed the familiar patterns, careful not to let my mind wander, meaning I was actually sleeping. I arrived safe and without any sleep-driving.

Corwin is home, watching me unload my bag and fill the washer. I will have to rewash some of it as it will be a wrinkled mess, but it is best to get this first load done now. Corwin took my suggestion and ordered an excellent pizza from Round Table, which was delivered using my card. I shower and feel clean again.

Morocco was an excellent place to visit. The international American family recommended a tourist trip to multiple cities, including a bullet train to Tangiers (they loved that on their trip), and I agree. But I love a busy modern city like Casablanca, and the beaches are very nice. I have no regrets, and I was not looking for a drinking, eating, and partying experience. I was let go by Nike, decided I was retired, and left the country on the next trip I could arrange. It was a good plan, and I am happy to have executed it.

Casablanca and Morocco are recommended as safe and friendly but try to have some French. When there, find a chair and table, order mint tea with water, and watch Morocco and the world go by. Maybe have a pastry. Tip too much and make them smile.

Thanks for reading.

The sun is just starting to set on my last full day here in Casablanca. Originally, I was headed to Rabat today, but I decided against the train ride as it meant arriving early, and the sights there were not much different than those here in Casablanca. I really wanted to walk the city. So I remained in Casablanca.

I did not walk 10,000 steps yesterday, and I woke early, with the jetlag slipping back with less exercise. Today, I intend to make over 10,000 and sleep better (What would Dondrea do?). I was too early for breakfast, so I checked my finances (all good) and read some news before cleaning up and dressing. I had another European-styled breakfast, and I had cheese and shredded potatoes, meaning that at least some of the items were rotated. After years of hotels, I try to spot the rotation–just a game.

With the blog done the night before, I was ready to head out, and I needed some exercise to get over the jetlag. But the cough came back–f**k. The auto fumes or something else had me wheezing and coughing. Ugh! It went on for hours and stopped about 90 minutes later. I walked all the way back to the Old Medina and United Nations Square (where the nightclubs are–They open at 9 and 11 at night, have a dress code, and a high cover). I walked around the area to understand the size and saw that some of it was poor and in ruins–sad. I walked into the shopping area at about 9ish, and most of the shops were still closed. A man with excellent English offers to help me, but I turn him and others down. I walk deeper and deeper, and soon, I am lost in the maze. My iPhone Maps is actually working, and I learned I am stuck in the middle. I followed the path on the iPhone and found the museum to the Medina; I had forgotten there was one. I walk through the presentations (few in English) and even use their restroom (for free!). I took some photos as the presentation on how the area changed was interesting. I walk out by crossing over the patio of the old mosque (one of the oldest ones).

 

 

After seeing it on the Map app, I searched for the Abderrahman Slaoui Foundation Museum, a museum of posters and other items. It is not mentioned in the guidebooks or the videos, making me doubly interested. I need to cross the Old Medina again. This time, I can find my way to the entrance without backtracking, which is the exact place where I started. The place seems to awaken around lunchtime.

Cafe France was a good place to rest; I was already at 8,000 steps. I sat in a chair in the front, and soon, the waiter moved me under an awning (he pointed out bird droppings). I should have stayed in the back, as my situational awareness told me, but I wanted a clear view. I ended up with a parade of beggars and sales offers–my training was right. But soon, I learned the French version of ‘no’ works (the American usage seems to be translated as “please tell me more”). This, with an arm waving them on to the next person, allowed me to drink my mint tea and eat my snack in peace (and not being in the fireline for the pigeons).

Next, it took me a while to find the museum, which is only a block from the cathedral and the park. The Mōvenpick is on the other side of the large park. The Abderrahman Slaoui Foundation Museum is a collection of posters and curiosities plus native jewelry (some impressive gold and gem-encrusted) on five floors. There are, only in French and Arabic, stories of the flags of the area with copies of the original on display (and likely the original in careful storage). The top floor is mostly Moroccan-style sitting rooms. It is a strange but pleasant space. Recommended. The ticket is 60 local ($6).

 

 

I asked for directions and soon found myself at the start of the park. It is so large, the largest in Casablanca, that it starts only a few blocks from the Old Medina and goes within a few blocks of my hotel. I stopped three times and just sat for a while. I finally did the final push (12,000 steps) and reached the hotel (13,000+). There, I rested for a while in my room, 1203.

I then went to the cafe near the hotel and sat there. The staff recognized me and brought me mint tea and a small bottle of water. I read and relaxed for more than an hour. It was fun just to sit and pretend to be a local. We must get these mint tea and coffee places in Beaverton and Portland! There is nothing like a metal pot of tea and a glass cup sitting in a chair and watching the world move by.

Aside: We could remove the pews, put in tables and chairs (with pads), cut in some new glass windows/walls into the side of the church, and serve mint tea while folks sing and the pastor gives a sermon. I bet it would be a better experience, and we would get more converts. Get Min-ty with the Methodists.

There are cats and kittens everywhere. The rodents are definitely controlled, as are snakes, pigeons in the parks, and other unwanted creatures. I saw that the locals bring food for the outdoor cats. I saw the kittens play with some folks, but the cats are mostly standoff. It is a thing here.

I could not decide, so I wanted to try a nice place. I was told, after getting three staff members to translate, I would need a reservation and a dress shirt. F**k that. I ate a burger with a beer, which came with fries for dinner at the hotel rooftop restaurant. Sorry, I can be a brave tourist, except when it comes to taking a taxi to some place to be overcharged and likely poisoned. The mustard and ketchup came in little sealed jars, and I drank the local Casablanca lager. I even risked the lettuce, tomato, and onion. It was sooooo good.

I said goodbye to the folks at my most used dining place. I showed them a map of the earth on the iPhone’s Map app to where I was headed. That impressed them. 1/2 around the earth to the Western USA and the Pacific. I thanked them.

I started to pack. Much is already in the suitcase now, and I have arranged for a late check-out. I need to be out of here by 6PM. Heard from Alex and their family, and we will try to meet at the Old Medina tomorrow before heading back to the States (they are headed to the East Coast and me to the West Coast).

I tried to write this blog, but I started to fall asleep and then freeze. A warm shower worked to get me back to writing. I am fading fast, but I am almost done.

The General Conference of the United Methodist Church voted 93% to approve removing anti-pride language in its rulebook. The church lost 25% of its churches over this change (though many, including me, think the exits were more about money than this issue). UMC has broken with the past. I am so happy; it is about time.

I will reestablish my membership soon; I have already started financially supporting my local church again.

Thanks for reading.