Author: alohawild

Not everything got done on Tuesday, but enough that I was tired and my feet hurt. My rings on my Apple Watch said I walked 6.5 miles for about 14,400 steps, including 5 sets of stairs climbed. The walk back to the hotel in the hot afternoon sun and sore feet was certainly enough.

I did return to the Idol Wolf bar for dinner despite the problems yesterday, as the staff had changed, and Chase was there. I saw she was attentive to all customers, and no one was ignored. I had planned dinner in my room from a local place, but then saw Chase and decided to try it again.

Also, my AMEX Gold was missing. I had left it at the bar when I was upset by witnessing a young black woman being ignored. I was able to retrieve it; the bar had held it for me.

I had an Old Fashioned and talked to Sandra, who was here for a conference (I later learned that the person to my left was putting on the conference). I decided on the lamb for dinner (expensive) and then waited over 30 minutes for it (having switched to coffee). My dinner was cold, and the rice was poorly cooked. The bartender agreed to try again, and it was sent back. Twenty minutes later, a perfect dinner appeared, and it was the best lamb I have ever tasted. Wow!

Chase suggested the cheesecake, and it was wonderful too. The bill was high, but it was a great end to my trip, and I was satisfied as I watched her treat everyone well as a customer. Excellent.

I returned to my room, packed a bit, and then did the Church Council Zoom meeting from my hotel room. That meeting went well and finished in an hour. I was happy to learn that the church had received a positive response to some mailings I was involved with and that 1/3 of the roof loan was now paid off.

After that I put on my PJs, packed some more, and read. I soon slept, but woke, as often happens on the night before traveling, often.

Before this, starting in the morning, I rose after the sunrise and wrote the blog in the hotel room. I decided to try somewhere else for breakfast, and the White Knight was nearby. It is a rundown place, but the staff was laughing, and it was clearly a local place that served the people of color in the area. I, obviously a newcomer, was welcomed to a table and treated well. Later, I saw a table was marked reserved, set with plates and water, and then an older man with a cane and his wife, likely a preacher from what I could tell, were treated with honor and as friends. My food was good, a bit better than what I got at the hotel, and about half the price. I enjoyed the laughter, smiles, and the special treatment for the honored guests.

At the White Knight, the window had been smashed, and a bit of plywood was now in place. The front door was heavy and new, obviously replaced. The place, while not dirty, had areas with hanging electricals that had not been powered for years and certainly not cleaned of late. A USA flag was in the window, as was ‘God Bless America’ on the window (what was left) with another USA flag. The food was fresh and hot. The coffee was plentiful and strong. It is a former White Castle and is now the local dive.

From there, I walked to the Union Station, trying to find the Metro. I managed to walk into the hotel and walk on the wrong side. Reversing, I found my way to the Metro. I was tempted to call for an Uber as my day was wasting, but I kept at it until I spotted the Metro sign. I bought a $5 All-Day pass and discovered that a person just let me in because they have not yet switched to a cardless system. She did watch me pay.

Stairs are a thing here in St Louis, and I walked down to the stop (there is an elevator, I learned later). I boarded the train, which was spotless, and the folks were ignoring each other. Some talking to someone on the phone the whole time. After five stops, I reached Forest Park. It was now a mile walk to the Art Museum, and it was getting warm already.

There is a bus, but I decided I could walk it. It was a long walk and some of it uphill. It was a breezy, sunny day and perfect for a long walk. The river and pond hosted turtles on logs, some alone, others in groups.

When I finally reached the Art Museum, I was happy to have done the walk. The museum is free, but the Rome Art Show was $20. It was a fantastic show, and I was sorry that there was no book to match it, as the art and history were worthy of a BBC narrative. I could just hear Mary Beard walking through and explaining everything (but the text on the walls did well).

The show covers the period of Roman Art and History just before the date believed to be the writing of the Revelation of John. How perfect, as I am teaching that next month! I walked through the show and enjoyed the sculpture and fragments of frescoes loaned from various Italian Museums. And while most, if not all, of the artifacts would be back-room stuff that seldom went on display there, it was a treasure here and a good fit for the narrow subject. Most of it was the 1st Century AD. Again, perfect for me, and also mention of trade and the harbor work to increase trade with Rome. Almost premade for my class!

I enjoyed the walk, the Roman retelling of Greek Myths, and the focus on the Trojans, whom the poet Virgil connects to the founder of Rome. I also like the identified statues of emperors that were recut for the next guy. Nero to Caligula and one with a new hairstyle to match the emperor’s new ‘do.

I found the cafe on level one and paid the usual 125% for food at a museum, but the chicken Waldorf salad sandwich (just half on a croissant) with chips was great. Also, the Diet Coke was wonderful; I suspect I was still dehydrated. Next, I found their armor and weapon collection. Just a few pieces, but with a 1400s helmet that was called out as the best in the collection. One piece of metal was hammered into a perfect, curved helm that would deflect hits with those lines.

Next, the French Impressionist and yet-another-lily-pad-pond by Monet and other excellent works on the main floor (the arms were in a far corner of the basement level and down a flight of wooden stairs — I walked the length of the museum three times). A very nice collection. I could feel myself relax and smile as I walked among paintings I had not seen before.

The park and the St. Louis Art Museum (with a giant bronze statue of St. Louis on a horse, charging off into the park, holding his sword as a cross) were great. I was feeling like I had found the soul of the city here. But I was not walking again for another hour. I ordered an Uber and connected next to the house back, Saint, and headed to the US Chess Hall of Fame. The St. Louis Chess Club is the center of US competitive chess, and the US Chess Federation, the Hall of Fame, and the museum are located together at Maryland and Euclid Streets in St. Louis.

It was a short, cheap trip, and soon I was at the museum, only to learn that it opens again in two weeks, but I was welcome to walk around and peek. I was disappointed, but I still walked around the area and looked at their chess set of the week. I bought some pencils (the purchase was wrapped in chessboard tissue paper). Next, I crossed the street, and the SLC took me for a tour of their building and facilities. I have only seen it in pictures. Here was where the Grand Masters taught and played. New Orleans may have more Grand Masters, but clearly, SLC was here to teach and continue the sport. I was happy to get a bookmark and some pencils to give away.

Across the street is the Kingside Grill and Bar. It is full of chess master photos and game posters. I had an Old Fashioned as that seemed the right drink. I enjoyed the drink and just hanging out at a bar and food joint that is focused on chess. I remember the same feeling when I played chess in Amsterdam; I was the only one not smoking something mind-altering.

I walked and walked to the Metro. I also somehow lost my pass and bought a new one-way pass for a few bucks. I took the light rail back to Union Station. A guy threw his bike on the train, security looked at it, shook their heads, and let it be; it was not in the way.

Next, I paid too much, $45, to enjoy the St Louis Aquarium (there was an extra charge for petting rays) and did enjoy it. I went up to one tank with someone next to it, put my hand on the edge, and she told me not to do this. I at first thought this was another pet-the-fish tank. She informed me these were the famous spitting fish (I stepped back), could jump three feet (I stepped back), and had teeth (I stepped back). She waved a wand over the fish, and one bored fish spit at it. She told me they are very smart, the smartest in the facility, she thinks, and know that they don’t get fed by spitting at the ball. I moved on.

Later, I did pet a jellyfish, and that was fun. I considered raising jellyfish once and/or volunteering at an aquarium (Linda, my sister, is already thinking, while reading this, of tiny branding irons with a stylized MRW on them, and a jellyfish round-up). But that dream faded as travel and other options arose. I enjoy seeing them at such places and never mind the price.

The sharks and other huge fish were in the Canyon tank, and I marveled at that. There were also some disconnected reef tanks that always stop me. The dome extension tank and Lion Fish were marvelous. It was like they were swimming in the hallway with you. These are now a pest fish, but still lovely, and I understand delicious (when properly cooked and thus destroying the venom).

I had been walking or standing for hours now, and my feet hurt. I had to walk five blocks to get to the hotel. They seemed long. I also got a photo of the now-closed White Knight. I learned that many food places close early and BBQ places only serve until the food they made lasts (the BBQ is made in single-day batches; get it while it lasts).

I returned to the hotel, got to my room, and rested. And then completing the circle, I head downstairs, not sure if I would use the hotel’s Idol Wolf restaurant or not.

Thanks for reading!

 

 

 

 

Ten thousand steps, seven flights of stairs, and other various workout measurements had all my circles on my watch happy with me. I prefer traveling over a gym membership; while more costly, there is no guilt about not showing up, and the view changes. I have never increased my goals, and thus, I get cheap rewards, but still, I think the five miles of walking was good.

I rose after six passing on rising in the dark and watching the sunrise over St Louis.  It is a pleasure to watch a city wake, but instead, I made coffee using the LavAzza machine, which makes tiny, polite puddles of coffee, and I must press the button multiple times to fill the small cup. This one uses capsules (provided in a pretty leather-like box), and water poured into a transparent tank. The instructions (written on the inside cover of the pretty box) are clear, but I seem to be missing something. Still, I push the button many times, and the cup finally fills.

There is a huge, tall tub that is slippery enough to kill, which contains shower stuff, and I manage (there are plenty of handholds) to wash and then shave without a likely fatal fall. I prefer cheaper arrangements.

Dressed in a T-shirt from Oregon, I head down to the coffee and breakfast restaurant, Good Press Cafe, in the hotel. The line is slow as the POS mangles a transaction, but I find a seat and have an above-average breakfast and coffee for $25. I write the blog and finish in the lobby, as the tables in the cafe are tiny. I return to my room, stash the laptop, and grab my hat and coat (it is cool in the mornings). The hotel is not near the Arc, but it is still walkable.

I walk towards the river and slightly downhill. The city is awake and busy, but still seems to be missing people, and there are housing buildings that are tall and wrecked. Graffiti and broken windows for tens of stories surprises me. Just a few blocks from the arc and the newer buildings. The homeless are on many corners. I never feel unsafe.

The parks are lovely, but there are no food carts and crowds of people working or tourists to eat their wares. Parking is expensive everywhere, and I suspect that city life is at a premium. I did see two large new modern apartment buildings, but they seemed sterile and had no balconies.

I will keep looking, but St Louis seemed empty and even sad. The crazy (insane?) joy I see in Portland, Seattle, Detroit, and New Orleans, and the love for the city, is missing so far. I will head to the other side on Tuesday via the Metro and see what I find there. My usual reaction to a city is “Can I live here? I love it here,” but that has not been the case so far. It ain’t New Orleans that is for sure.

I reach the Arc, and it is a bright, sunny, cool morning. I head underground, as that is where the museum and shuttles are located, I am told. It is a National Park, but I have a regular pass and had to pay (next year, when I get the America the Beautiful pass for those over 62, I will be free). I managed to get a pass for 11 and spent 40 minutes looking at the museum and reviewing the gift store’s contents.

There is a security check to get in, and I passed it.

The shuttle is more like an escape pod with a glass door, plastic seats, and the belief that, in the 1960s, five people fit in the shuttle. We had three, and after bending over and never standing, found a seat. The ride was claustrophobic, but for four minutes and a view of the arc’s internals, it was not bad. Recommended. It was described by one of my passengers as climbing into a dryer. There was no tumble, but the shuttle did seem to swing a few times to adjust for the angle.

The top is about the size of a double-length bus, with tiny windows and carpeted walls, allowing you to lie and look out of them. I asked the ranger if the arc sways, “When the wind is over 7 mph, yes,” and yes, you can feel it. The ranger and I discussed New Orleans, and I shared my cooking experience with him. He and his girlfriend will try it soon; he Googled it there at the top of the Arc. Glad to help. The ten minutes went by fast.

The top entrance and exit from the shuttle are via stairs, and you can see the line of arch walls leading to them. It is crowded and a bit chaotic. I heard an adult say, “If you scream the way down, there will be punishment.” The kids looked mechivious, and I suspect they found something else to do on the faster drop back (almost felt like falling).

The ranger at the top, swaying and dreaming of Cajun food, told me he loves to look out at the river. It is always changing.

I had chili, Timberline Chili (the name of the Lodge on Mt. Hood in Oregon), and terrible fries. There is no McDonald’s (“Golden Arches”), but I had to have them at the base of the arc at the Arc Café. I enjoyed the museum, found a new T-shirt, pencils, the book I wanted on the mounds (Cahokia Mounds by William Iseminger), and some stickers.

I was within 30 minutes of the paddlewheel trip, and another fee was paid. I also bought my photo from the arc and later from the paddle wheel. While not cheap, it would be less than the bar bill later. I enjoyed the tour, and the river was high. The security guy told me that the boat was parked in their parking lot (now underwater). Old Man River was charging down and deep, carrying trees and other items (food coolers were the most frequently repeated item I saw). I noticed that the paddlewheel was zigzagging to miss the larger bits.

There was a disused railroad area that was now decorated with a mural and, in places, covered with graffiti. The narrator said that folks were squatting in the building, and rumors were that they raised farm animals, including goats. Hmmm.

Note: Two-bedroom apartments near my hotel go for about $1,000-$1,200 a month.

With the arc and the river done, my phone and watch were dying. Time to head back. It was a thirty-minute walk, and I went a different way, connecting parks and monuments. Traffic was light, but I managed to walk into an empty street where someone wanted to turn into. I got honked at, and stayed on the curb. At the hotel, I found my room and napped while the phone and watch recharged.

I spoke to Deborah a few times while walking and at the hotel. We are still getting used to being separated for 49 days. I headed to the bar and had the happy hour specials for dinner and drinks. I later added a tuna toast time that was excellent.

A black young woman was standing at the bar. She was ignored. I waved a bartender over to her after a crowd of white biz types in suits, obviously spending expense-report money, showed up, got service, and even drinks, and the woman got nothing but being ignored. It was heartbreaking to me. She walked out. Apparently, here in St. Louis, a young black woman is too nervous to demand service (in Detroit, the bartender and manager would have gotten a talking-to).

My drinks and dinner turned to ash in my mouth, and I read my book and will not be back to the bar.

I went to bed early and slept, waking every couple of hours. My body just could not believe I was going to sleep tonight. I did.

Thanks for reading.

 

I collected my various small items into my bags as I started the morning around sunrise. I put them away as they get their use. This means that I will be less likely to miss something (one cable, a short USB-C cable has vanished, but that could be anywhere). I find transitions difficult in travel and, instead, try to make the change more of a process than an abrupt all-or-nothing move. I also remember now if I have one or two pairs of shoes (I missed my black shoes once as they were on a black surface.

I showered, shaved, and all of that. Put all that away and finished zipping and locking things up. This is a larger bag than I am used to, and it has more rolls that get pulled. A push, not a pull. I get it to the rental car, the Hyundai, and get it and my carry-on in the trunk.

I return to the lobby, start on the blog, and have more coffee. I had made instant coffee in the room (this IHG does not have in-room coffee makers), and more coffee was good. I tried to get much of the blog done before Deborah arrived.

Deborah arrived, and we enjoyed breakfast together, fifty days until we meet again in California (unless events send me back to Michigan). It is always hard, as with every ‘hello’ is a ‘goodbye.’ Some are harder than others, and this one is always difficult. A kiss, a hug, and more hugs, and we head to our separate cars. We are together on the road for a moment, but then I head left towards the Detroit Airport and Deborah right, heading home.

The drive to the airport is about 45 minutes, and I remember that I want the other exit for the Rental Car return. A friendly clerk meets me; I remember to leave the car fob in the car and remove everything I want (the paper cups for coffee will be tossed by them when they clean the car). I suggest they check the brakes, as I heard that grinding sound, which is usually expensive on my cars. The clerk writes it on the window with a marker, “Brakes.”

The bus is waiting for me, and the driver watches as I sling my bags up the steps. He later helps me down. Soon, I am rolling and balancing my bag’s wheels on the escalator (it just fits). Delta has colored its regular class green now, which confuses me (it was blue or red before). I drop my bag and head through the TSA walk-through; no wait. My bag and I (even with suspenders) pass all the checks, and soon I am walking to my gate. I am three hours early; fuck! All those warnings and every airport is a dream. I do thank all the TSA people (who are at least getting paid now).

I find a chair (my gate is packed with folks for an earlier flight) and write and publish the blog. Later, once it is published, I head to an early lunch at Chili’s and have their Southwest Chicken Salad (which could be better and should be, for the price I paid). Still, I got food.

I have a window seat in the smaller jet, two seats a side in economy, and my bad ear is pointed out in seat D (‘D’ means no hearing, ‘A’ means hear everything). The screaming child and stressed parents join me. During take-off and in emergencies, lap carried children must be on the right side, as the extra airmask is on that side. I tell them to use mine if there is an issue, “I am old,” and smile.

I play peek-a-boo while the parents handle various issues and equipment I do not know about (never having kids). The little one then takes my hat! Dad gives it back to me, and I am not sure who he wanted to punish. I fall asleep instead and enjoy a brief rest as I can hear mostly white noise.

The plane flew right over Cahokia Mounds State Historic Site. I woke as we started to land and was surprised to see the site from the air. Wow, it is huge! You can see that the river used to be closer, as the Horseshoe Lake adjoining the Cahokia Mounds is really a disconnected river bend. I did not move fast enough to take a picture of the mounds; I was fascinated by them and forgot to grab my phone.

We land, and I find my bag and then the bus to the car rental, much reduced in size from Detroit, and soon I am given ‘a sick Buick.’ It is nice, and soon I will try to find a cable for the iPhone to connect to the car. I only have the USB-A version, but that works. After nearly ending my trip with a yellow car that I did not see, I am soon enjoying St Louis traffic and crossing into Illinois to find the mounds.

At the site, the visitor center is closed (and has been for years due to a roof issue), but the site is open (here). I also have a printed copy of their walking guide and use that to understand the treasures. This was a city in 1250 AD, and the Monk’s Mound is a three-level structure I would call a pyramid (but officially a mound), with cement stairs leading to the top. It is about 100′ tall, and the St Louis Arc is visible from the top. It is an amazing view (and windy). I enjoyed the climb (taking a few breaks).

I met locals who had a drone filming. I suggested he consider infrared and three-dimensional versions to get interesting information. It would allow him to see the structures under trees and hints of water structures. That got a smile, and I think he might. Someday, maybe archaeology will be shared with amateurs like me, having drones and even ground-penetrating radar. “Come and scan the burials here,” I could see in the future (no digging). We are starting to see this in shipwrecks where the scans are more important than the photos or artifacts (Seeing the boot on the Endurance wreck, for example, here).

I drove to the other side, walked around the other mounds (only the Monk’s Mound allows climbing), read the signs, and read my pamphlet. I walked through the open court and tried to imagine the city that was once here. The site was farmed, leveled, raided, and then reconstructed (to some degree). Two of the tall mounds (untouched and slightly disquieting) are likely for burial but have not been dug (again, I would prefer scans). There is so much to learn here. I enjoyed my visit, but wished the visitor center were open, and there were food trucks! I could have enjoyed lunch here.

The trash mounds, a modern version of mound building, are nearby and higher than the Monk’s Mound, and they tickled my irony senses. The area nearby is empty and poor. It is sad that they cannot get more traffic for such an amazing site.

I returned to St. Louis, found my hotel, and learned it was $50 a day for the car with unlimited in-and-outs. I checked in, and Brandy at the front desk suggested a high floor. I soon had a partial view away from the arc. Still, it was nice.

I found the bar, had olives and a beer, both on the happy-hour menu, and was supplied by my bartender, Chase. She said she loved the mounds and went there often for school. I headed to Sugarfire for dinner and walked for twenty minutes through a dead-quiet Sunday evening. The place was busy, and soon I had too much but delicious food. The place is a tourist version, located in the now-defunct Blues Museum building.

I walked back, found the pool, the original-as-built 1926 tile still in place. This was once a YMCA, I learned, and is now a mix of museum and hotel. A giant glass ball filled with water resides in the lobby (As if Glinda from The Wizard of Oz is illegally parked). The pool is deep and 70′ long and cool, but not cold. Refreshing, I think you could call it. I could only water walk halfway before it was over my head (it is 8′ deep). I stayed about 30 mins.

I returned to my room and soon fell asleep after trying to read. I woke a few times, but finally woke with the sunrise.

Thanks for reading.

 

 

I rose later (as I got in from Detroit late) and found my way. I did the usual things, including checking all my transactions in Quicken (the expenses for Lansing are still slowly coming in). The news was the usual depressing stuff with Trump this and Trump Stupid that. I showered, dressed, all that and got into the Hyundai.

I had gassed it up before we went to Detroit yesterday, and I was proud that I managed that on my own. Oregonians still have full service (though you can now fill your car if you want). It is always an adventure to fill a car and follow the process. Scan the credit card, find the lever to open the gas thingee on the car, open the gas tank, insert the gas nozzle, press the button (cheap stuff, 4.89), hold the gun-like handle, and finally fill. Reverse, sort of. Always an adventure.

Jeanne made breakfast, a breakfast casserole with strawberries. Multiple types of sausage were also provided. It was lovely, and I appeared at 9 to enjoy this feast.

Zelda and Trixie were petted and played with. We talked about the upcoming trip to California, fifty-one days away. Jeanne is joining us for about the first week. I am driving down in the EV (one last trip before I decide to keep it or to turn it in and pay for the extra mileage). We want to cover Universal and the Harry Potter stuff. We want to go to the beach and the Pacific. Hollywood is also on the list. We are looking for a two-bedroom suite, but so far we have found only Billinare Suites or nothing. We have time to search more. I will see them on the 8th of June.

We tried the Griffin Claw Clubhouse for lunch, bringing Deborah’s son a Pretzel Burger back with us. My chicken sandwich was good, but nothing I could not get somewhere else (except at Slow’s, which I would not recommend). The beer was good. It was loud, and Jeanne and Deborah liked their meals.

Jeanne headed home after lunch and a bit more work on California. Deborah and I spent some time together and then had dinner at the Grand Tavern next to my IHG hotel. Our waiter, who said she was new, managed to mangle getting us water and refills and to disappear for long periods of time. Deborah and I ordered the Lake Perch and Lake Superior White Fish and then split them. Both were excellent, with different textures and flavors. A good last dinner, for a while, in Michigan.

Goodbyes are hard, and we decided to meet at the hotel on Sunday morning, and thus put that off. I checked into my flight (ordered one free bag as I have a Delta Gold Card) on my iPhone.

I returned to my room and Deborah to her house. I packed by reorganizing my suitcase to clean and less clean halves. I repacked my carry-on and arranged everything for a quick and easy morning.

Transitions are the most difficult in travel. It is where you forget things or take things you meant to leave (like the remote for the TV in the room, which I did not take with me, or the rental car keys—I did leave them). At the airport, I leave my iPhone on the scanner when I print bag tags, as it is a transition. I have often returned to get it. Security checks also have the chance of forgetting something. Hat, coat, phone, and bag—yes, everything.

I tried to sleep but woke often, was up 30 minutes before my alarm, and managed to take a shower while it went off. I am sure the room next door appreciated an alarm on Sunday morning (not!).

And that is

 

I returned to the hotel around 11 at night and unloaded the car. Earlier, I had collected all the items I had accumulated (some books, cards, cables, and a few birthday gifts) into bags and put them in the trunk of the Hyundai. I got them and carried them into my room, realized I had forgotten my phone, walked back down to the car, realized the car keys were still in my room, returned to my room again, got the keys, walked down again, got my iPhone, and returned to my room. I was tired and soon put on my PJs and had no trouble sleeping into Saturday morning, my last full day in Michigan.

Before this, I took Jeanne, Deborah, and me in the Hyundai (the back seat is more comfortable than Deborah’s mini) to Detroit and the Fisher Theater. We were there for Suffs, the musical that has moved from a surprisingly short run on Broadway (I remember reading about its closing in the NYT) despite excellent reviews and multiple Tony awards.

It was wonderful and told the history, mostly forgotten now, about the leaders of the Suffragettes in the early 1900s. The songs were wonderful, the all-women cast’s depiction of Wilson as a lying, manipulative president was rightfully damning (and hinted at modern politics). Suffs has a hard ending as the ERA Amendment failed, the protection of the rights for people of color is still a dream, and the last song is about marching still.

We loved it. I enjoyed it and would watch it again.

The Fisher Theater is a reminder of the glories of the revised 1920s theaters that are mostly gone now. The tile work, high ceilings, and huge spaces, but somehow still intimate, are mostly replaced in the USA with giant spaces or just knocked down for the next thing. The insane stairs, low railings, and other safety violations open up the space when you finally find your seat. Bathrooms are hidden, but bars are found on most floors, suggesting a different time. Dark colors would have covered up all the smoke from tobacco. Parking was surprisingly easy, and using an app or getting help (what I did) made it free (that never happens!).

I plan to return to the theater and will try to fit it into my next trip.

Before this, Deborah and I spent some time together, including heading over to Slows Bar-B-Q and Pewabic Pottery. Deborah’s sandwich was disappointing, but my Duces (two meats) lunch was wonderful. I am always happy to return to Corktown! We crosted the East Village and the pottery. They had the work area open for self-guided tours, and that is always my favorite part of the visit. Pottery is so physical and yet magical, as glazes only come to life when fired. One (I did not ask the price) pot in the showroom had two glazing styles that flowed together, but a line separated the look. How could you do that? It’s beyond me. Wow!

Before all of this, I rose after waking every couple of hours. The road noise seems worse than I remember it, and the AC/Heater seems loud, too. But I did wake around 7 and made coffee from the instant coffee I brought with me. I turned on the shower to hot and hung a dress shirt in the steam. It will remove all the wrinkles, well, most.

I do the usual things like read the news (terrible, but stocks are up, and my IRA is now $10K up, yes up). I check the transactions in Quicken to ensure that everything is paid, that the money is safe, and that everything makes sense. It does. This combines US Banks, all my credit cards, PayPal, and even the mortgage. The IRA balance has to be updated manually, but the total is always visible in US Bank’s App.

Note: US Mid-sized company stock is still down (more than 14%), but overall, I am up

I write the blog, again, like this one, and then publish it. I dress and have just a few things downstairs. I am still stuffed from the last few days. I then connect with Deborah, and that completes the whole day.

Thanks for reading.