Author: alohawild

I woke before my alarm at 6ish and soon made coffee and wrote the story of Wednesday and our first partial day in New Orleans (NOLA). The hotel, Le Richelieu, with its balconies and thin walls, can be loud, but as we are far from the crowds, I again slept well. The ten thousand steps might have something to do with the sleeping.

I wrote the blog and soon finished a summary of the day before showering, dressing, and all that. I also ran Quicken, and updates flowed in, including my payment for my new insurance, paid in advance via the government website. I keep a close watch on accounts.

I met Dondrea and Donna, ready to start the next adventure, and we headed to French Toast in the quarter. We walked for about five minutes, and there was no line when we arrived. But they were busy inside, and we took a table outside. Soon, we ordered classic breakfasts (with grits) for Dondrea and me, but Donna gave the eggs and salmon a spin. Lots of coffee marked that we were in a two-hour time difference. Little birds kept landing, and some even chirped to beg for food. Yes, I was panhandled by chickadees!

We then explored the much-reduced flea market and farmer’s market. It was closer to Portland’s Saturday market with local crafts and food shops than a Farmer’s Market in Seattle or LA. We managed to resist the author selling their books directly; one sold the story of rising the rails and made a movie I had heard of. Hats were tempting (more so now that mine is lost, but that happens later).

I had some colon issues; I only mention it as folks wonder how I am doing after colon cancer, and I found the necessary public space to manage that. We were able to proceed.

Having enjoyed the markets, we headed to Jackson Square and walked around the area. Donna, with her cane and brace, was doing well with all the walking. My legs were already complaining, but I worked through it and was fine.

John Cosentino, in a green cart with two seats, offered a mule-cart tour for a few bucks more than the usual wait-and-then-go tour. We took him up on it, and Dondrea asked to see the LaLaurie Mansion, famous for its haunted reputation. He was local and soon told us a few stories (most of which are now forgotten). He did tell us he had never seen a ghost. Dondrea got a picture of the LaLaurie Mansion.

We next wandered the quarter and found the Faulkner Museum and Bookstore. I found one book—a remake of the Bluebook from Storyland—listing the services provided by prostitutes. Dondrea spoke to the book seller about Faulkner, not her favorite author, and he agreed he is hard to read, then pointed out a book of stories Faulkner wrote while living in this building. Dondrea bought one.

We next walked to one of the Vampire bars, and it was having trouble as water was cut off during the road construction, ugh. We walked to the Vampire Cafe instead.

A tall man with fangs found us a table. The napkins were red and folded in a bat form. The silverware was across it, suggesting a cross. The place was appropriately gothic. Later, a man in a kilt would sit next to us. He had a marine belt over his kilt, and we soon struck up a conversation with him. He was here for a fair, trying the place out.

We had drinks, mine the AB+, which is their version of a Sazerac, Donna and Dondrea found other blood types that fit their tastes. We ordered some excellent appetizers (still full from breakfast): fried deviled eggs, pork belly bits, and baked Brie (with walnuts on the side, as Dondrea is allergic to them). Our waiter brought us a book from the owner about the local vampires, with a suggestion to look for her at the other restaurant if we bought it and wanted it signed. Dondrea picked up a copy. Our waiter retold the coffin girls’ story (here) and then granted us a pass to Potions. We also were ‘bit’ and she handed us decals to wear showing the bite marks (we did not get those on yet).

Instead of heading to our hotel, six blocks away, we strolled towards Crescent City Books near the end of the French Quarter. There were plenty of stores worthy of a look as we went. A French importer was selling an Art Deco absinthe serving set that Dondrea thought was terrific. They showed us tablecloths and other tempting items.

We did not escape a hat store’s temptations. Dondrea has a new hat to take back with her. I demurred.

The area is full of art studios, jewelry stores, and various forms of antiques and exotic imports. We stopped at many, but most were window-shopped. The least tempting type of visit. But we reached Crescent City Books, and soon I was in for less than $100—low for me—with a copy of General Hood’s (Confederate) account of his experiences in the American and Confederate military. I also found an account of the NYC 1920s-30s about speakeasies published in the 1930s. Interesting. Both are being mailed to my house.

We next walked back to our hotel and soon passed many familiar places. It is more than ten blocks back. Donna will soak her foot in the pool. I rested and napped for a while in my room before dressing in a dress shirt, sweater vest, tie, and dress shoes. Dondrea arranged for a taxi to Arnaud’s (here).

While expensive, it is not overly so, and we had a great time there (about $120 each with drinks and dessert). I had the veal, Dondrea the quail, and the best Filet Mignon I have tasted (we all shared). We all tried the excellent turtle soup, and it was the first time any of us had anything like it. It was a complex, smoky flavor. We added their famous soufflé potatoes and okra. The service is an art and a performance that you will not often find with old-school meals. Customers, there is a dress code, and I was reminded to hang my hat on a hook. Most are dressed up a bit, but with few ties. We had dressed up a bit for dinner. Our last treat was Banana Foster for Dondrea and me (Donna picked a baked Alaska), which burned at the table—spectacular—and we got some glances from other diners for the show.

We walked to Potions, taking our pass, and headed to Bourbon Street and Fritzel again. We were tossed beads by folks on a balcony. Potions requires a pass and is above my favorite Jazz place on Bourbon Street. We had to pay a cover, and on the card we were given were words we needed to say. We read the card’s words aloud (the password), the door unlocked, and we walked up the twisty stairs.

Somewhere here, I lost my hat and suspect it was found and tossed off the balcony like beads. I will likely see a replacement here. I have lost hats all over the world. I added a new story about losing a hat in New Orleans—no reason to mourn. No photos in the speakeasy. Dondrea had her tarot reading there, and we all had interesting drinks. The balcony overlooks the Bourban Street, and it was a lovely night to sit there and drink our drinks.

Hatless and all of us a bit happy, we walked back to our hotel. Dondrean and Donna were surprised by the change in vibe on Bourbon Street and glad we did Wednesday there. We won’t be back for the weekend, yike! I like the street only at the beginning of the week. It seems friendly—maybe hungover from the weekend, starting on Thursday—for Monday-Wednesday, and good for some music.

Back at the hotel, we headed to our rooms, and I was soon asleep.

Thanks for reading.

 

As I wrote yesterday, I woke with my alarm, surprising me—I had slept so long and so deeply at a hotel on a travel day. I quickly performed the usual process and watched time disappear fast. I rolled my bags out of my room at the Holiday Inn Express. All the colors, wallpaper, and carpets match the ones I have spent many nights in the Greater Detroit Area. I checked out with the night manager, who was still there. It was just before 4 and to me still night. Four of us took the first 4AM shuttle to the airport, a short ten-minute drive. I met a man, and we both chatted about travel and food as we both passed the time. The others, still showing signs of waking up, ignored our friendliness. He was headed to a small town for business. He told me he tried retirement after hearing I was retired, but went back to work because he did not like having nothing to do, and now has more control and enjoys what he does (he did not tell me what he does). I did argue that I was busy.

As was our intent with the chat, the time went by without worrying about flights, and we shook hands and disappeared from each other’s lives, but we were relaxed and happy to be at PDX. I wish him well and hope his flights were good.

I checked in and managed to remember my phone after using it to scan my boarding pass QR code. The belts were working at the self-bag drop, and soon I was headed into security. A TSA person waved me, like last time, to a different line, “It is shorter.” It was short, and soon I passed with only a pat-down for wearing suspenders under my sweater. With Delta, I was in the exact same location as last time, in D gates, but the little market was being remodeled, and someone was selling from racks set up in the hallway, even around 5AM, and I found my usual little set of fruit, crackers, and cheese from Elephant’s Deli. Armed with a snack, I waited only a short time and boarded my 737.

The flight was easy and mostly empty, with the middle seat not used for me. I read, and soon we landed at Salt Lake City as the sun bathed the area in bright light. It was a 90-minute flight.

With only a short delay getting off the plane, I soon followed my TripIt app to locate the tunnel to the B gates. It was a bright, happy tunnel with recorded music that made me smile, though I did not recognize it. Soon I found my gate after filling my water bottle, and I drank all the water waiting for the plane. I started the blog on my Apple laptop, but the gate folks called the plane as I got near 400 words.

And as I stood, I then headed to the men’s room. Yes, I did drink all that water. I returned, and the boarding process was still in the lower zones. As a holder of a Delta credit card, an AMEX, I am assigned for no extra charge zone 5.

A family was in my area, and soon I discovered I was the spare seat. Their girls were not quite teenagers but were curious, happy, and well-behaved. I put my bag in the overhead bins to make it easier. I did grab my Kindle and phone. I forgot their names, but they were headed to a cousin’s wedding in the New Orleans area. The little person next to me played games on the screen, and I was surprised to see chess and other complex games. Smart kid!

I watched the movie Lincoln and cried at the ending. With the book I am reading, The Message by Ta-Nehisi Coates, about civil rights, writing, and ‘haunting’ the reader with the real truth and purpose of the story, I saw a new aspect of the movie. The movie is haunting. With my new perspective from my reading, I now see President Lincoln is haunted by his place in history, stopping Slavery for all time, and if he was ‘fitted’ for it.

The plane arrived without issue. I wished my seatmates well, and soon found Donna and Dondrea near the baggage claim. We soon had a taxi after standing in line in the warm, humid air. Palm trees planted at the airport make it clear we are in warmer climes. A minivan for us, me putting in my hotel name on the driver’s phone, and we flew out of the airport and down concrete four-lane roads.

Our driver’s lane selection and approach to exits were like a race car driver’s, but we arrived safely, and it was $45 plus tip for all of us. My room at the Le Richelelu has a door to the wrap-around shared balcony on the second floor. Donna and Donrea have a small private one above mine. I walked around and waved to Dondrea.

Checked in, slightly unpacked, and ready. We walk to Napoleon House for a late lunch/early dinner. Our waiter, Bruce, is a character but also helpful. We share a warm muffuletta sandwich cut into six wedges, and Bruce directs us to take two slices each. We have sides of jambalya, red beans, and rice for Donna. All excellent. Drinks are good, Pimm’s Cups for Donna and Dondrea. I had a Sazerac in a small cup. Their bread pudding is more my style when I cooked one, more custard—and we all shared one. Bruce suggested a return, but not for a few days, as he is off for the next two days; we all had a good time.

Fritz European Jazz Club was on my list for tonight, but before risking Bourbon Street, we visited the New Orleans School of Cooking store and eyed all sorts of goodies. We will swing back to purchase some items later in the trip. We walked out to the river, and there were two paddle boats tied up. It was a supermoon, and we watched it rise from the river. Lovely.

There was no line for Fritz, and we found some metal chairs (comfort is not a focus here). The Bourbon Quartet was playing, and soon Donna and Dondrea agreed to spend the evening enjoying Fritz, one of my favorites. We caught most of their sets and had only two rounds, as the staff was busy seating folks as the crowd slowly built.

The young band got stronger and louder as the night went on. Their focus was jazz with many Armstrong selections (as the band leader played trumpet). Fritz never disappoints, and they got better and better, and soon we were amazed.

We stayed for one set after the All-Star Band setup. They did ragtime, and the piano player, in a pressed gray suit, and a cigar in his teeth, stole the show. Donna looked him up and he leads a Swamp Tour when not playing piano.

Getting out of my chair, I had only two beers over the hours, which was difficult; I tripped over a foot I did not see. I managed to catch myself on a chair, but I was bruised by slamming into the cheap metal chair. I was happy not to fall and be carried out of a jazz bar on my first day!

We took the long walk back to the hotel, enjoying the look of NOLA after dark. We walked by many ghost tours getting started. Dondrea and I (texting) both used our balconies for work. I finished the Wednesday blog, while Dondread did some work and some Zoom calls.

I put on my PJs and soon was sleeping. I woke cold but well rested.

Thanks for reading!

 

 

 

I am traveling today; this will be a brief note, or maybe wrapped into Wednesday… let’s see if I can finish it before boarding begins here in Salt Lake City, Utah.

Nope! Finished in New Orleans late Wednesday night on my balcony with a super moon above me.

Tuesday’s story…

Tuesday was a travel day to PDX, and I was up early because I could not sleep in. I started on the blog after I threw on some clothes and got breakfast from McDonald’s again: Hamster surfboards with an eggy-muffin thing with something that might be cheese. This was with a large coffee with cream that seemed to last for seconds. I wrote the blog and checked my transactions in Quicken. I also updated some of the Treasury Bills to rollover. I did read some news, but mostly I was busy getting ready to head to the airport.

I also had two loads of laundry to do and to remake the bed. I like to return to a clean house and clean sheets. I got all that done. With all the chores done or in progress, I headed to lunch. Back to Happy Panda for the American version of Chinese food, but familiar. My usual waiter is there, and she is happy to hear I am off for another trip. Today I tried sweet and sour pork, but ordered extra veggies. It took longer for my meal, but I did get the additional veggies, and I was surprised to see mushrooms included. It was also a pile of pork bits, battered and deep-fried, then buried in a sweet-and-sour sauce. It did not really work, but I appreciated that they tried. I will stick to favorites like cashew chicken and mushroom chicken.

(Believe the cookie!)

I used a QR code to pay, but thanked them. I like the convenience of the code, but I still want to talk to my servers and hosts. I am not interested in making this more inhuman; just digital payments should be as easy as they are, well, digital.

I returned to the house and started on the final items, like taking out the trash, setting the water heater to low, and setting the heating to Vacation mode. There was a church SPRC meeting, and we started it as planned at 2, and others joined soon (for those who do not speak Methodist, this is the HR committee for my church, and I serve on it). We completed the meeting in less than an hour. There were mainly housekeeping items, which we soon disposed of.

Corwin had arrived as the meeting was starting and had taken a shower. My plan to have all the towels cleaned failed; this towel will be hung up for two weeks. It should be OK, and I will wash it later.

It was damp outside, and Corwin took me in Air VW the Gray to the local MAX station, then borrowed the EV to run an errand (he failed to mention it, but I texted him when I saw the VW app that the car was not at the house). It was OK; I was just checking. The SUV is back in the garage.  Air VW the Gray, like many EVs, comes with enhanced security and apps.

I took the MAX through Portland with no issues and sent live pics to friends of the boring Portland landscape. No “Hellscape,” and I counted one person in a sleeping bag under a bridge for the whole trip. It is hard to be on the streets (or protest, for that matter) when the rains are back in the Pacific Northwest.

I left the MAX at Cascade Station and realized I was at the wrong hotel. It was the next stop. Puke. It began to sprinkle on me as I, twenty minutes and 3,000+ steps later, rolled my bags to the Holiday Inn Express. I checked in with a helpful young woman, Kate, who thanked me for returning and my silver status. But that did not make the shuttle available before 4.

I came down later to walk, another 3,000 steps, to the closest food (the appeal of the more expensive hotel became clear), but the rain was cold and whipping. Nope!

I ordered a steak dinner from a local restaurant for too much money, but not much more than chain places (when I ran them through DoorDash). My steak was sirloin and needed a sharp knife. The plastic knife literally did not cut it. I, remembering Susie’s choking incident and being completely alone, carefully bit off some and sawed with the less-than-great knives. Not great but still good. I will stick to easier things next time!

I showered, packed my things for a quick getaway, and read more of my book for the tour. I soon fell asleep, and I surprised myself by closing my eyes and falling deeply into a black, dreamless sleep.

I was disturbed by an annoying sound—my alarm—and I rose at 3:30 on Thursday.

Thanks for reading.

 

 

Dear reader, I am sorry if the recent blog entries (is a group of blogs a ‘bloggal’ or a ‘blogative’?) are more mundane, but my trip starts on Tuesday and hopefully will help you visualize some of the places I will write about. Some of my kind readers have told me they enjoy reading about the usual things. It brings comfort to share the typical American Pacific Northwest (PNW) experience.

After all the travel, it is a pleasure to sit here in my office looking out the window while I write, pay bills, and generally do things online. I now turn on the bright desk light and let the pure white light help me avoid the depression of no light. Something you have to be careful with here in the PNW. The light means I can see, if I look for it, my own reflection on the window with my face floating outside. Yes, I am both here and there at the same time. Both online writing in some digital region with the ghostly Grammarly following along (I can imagine a TRON-like scene of me reporting to you, dear reader, inside The Grid with some angelic-looking program, Grammarly, next to me whispering to me about every typo), and also in the real world, enjoying the rain, hummingbirds, flickers, and squirrels proving who really owns the apple tree, and trying to be creative while writing.

I am reading Ta-Nehisi Coates’ The Message as recommended preparation for the lead part of my trip through the American South, and about Civil Rights. Nothing I would have picked, but still an interesting focus, and the writing is colorful and fun. I have it on my Kindle, sticking to the rule that only history books, textbooks, and writing guides are bought now. And cookbooks are resisted.

Deborah sent me, as a gift, the new cookbook, Good Things: Recipes and Rituals to Share with People You Love, by Samin Nosrat, signed. I have read the introduction; it is marvelous and recommended. I did not read her previous cooking book. Deborah and I both heard an interview with the author, and both were intrigued.

My indominable Japan-style roses. Even in the shade and the rain, they are happy.

Monday started, as a ritual, with me not rising to any alarm, and today I threw on clothing and drove to McDonald’s for coffee, hamster surfboards (their hash browns), and an egg muffin thing that might have a cheese product on it. Today, it did not taste like cardboard or plastic, but like breakfast, cheap breakfast, but still good enough. And I will have no cleanup.

I wrote the blog and paid bills. I verified the Quicken downloaded transactions and mourned my IRA balance at US Bank (down again). Their fees have gone through, and my stocks, dividends, and earnings have yet to materialize to keep my balance at my previously recorded value. I will wait a bit longer before booking a reduction. More mind games, since none of this is ‘real’ money—retirement pre-tax.

I showered and cleaned up. I then headed to First United Methodist Church and brought three Christmas CDs—some of Susie’s favorites—for Jack to use at the church’s Christmas Fair on Thursday through the weekend. There, I dropped off the CDs with Wendy and checked out the progress. Sheetrock will be installed today. The mudding follows. This is the remaining structural work. All looked good.

I stopped by Taco Bell and had their strangely terrible but also good Mexican Pizza. They had brought it back to the menu. I went through the drive-through, but ate it in my car listening to the radio. Local Oregon Public Broadcasting political news. In rural Oregon, this might be the only news, and OPB ensures that all voices are heard. OPB receives no state funds, though in other states, there are multiple PBS stations—often one per large university—but in Oregon, there is just OPB. They try to be voices for everyone.

Next, I dropped in to the local ready care and got some help with a minor health issue. Prescriptions and directions were given. It will likely clear up soon. I did have to chase the prescription because Walgreens had the old phone number, and I did not know I needed to take it to another Walgreens. I learned that at the local one, ugh. I managed to call the other store, head home, wait on hold, and then speak to a helpful person who said they could fill it in 90 minutes. I was vacuuming and cleaning toilets when the call came in—30 minutes later—that they had filled it (!?). An hour later, I stopped the vacuuming and drove again across dark and wet Aloha to get the drugs.

Everything was good, and soon I was driving back. The traffic was heavy, and I made the mistake of not pulling into a parking lot but of jumping the curb. All was fine as I took it slow. Slightly frazzled, I got home.

I finished the vacuuming, put away the dishes, hand-washed the few remaining ones, and talked to Deborah for a while. We miss each other. We started another episode of the Kathy Bates version of Matlock. The conflicts are flying, and tricks, Matlock-style tricks (with some even whistling the old theme of the previous Matlock), are demonstrated, and Deborah and I both yell ‘no’ when Kathy Bates’ character even falls for one. It is only the second episode, darker, and impossible to tell where it is going. I like it.

Deborah, three hours ahead and like all of us suffering from night coming sooner, says ‘good night’ and soon sleeps. I, having those three hours, tidy up the house, and then somehow force two suitcases of clothing (for 14 days) into one suitcase without damaging me, my clothing, or the suitcase’s zippers. I believe I must have bought TARDIS brand luggage!

But before that, I head to our local sushi place for dinner. There, I have tracked selected raw fish with rice and miso soup. All wonderful and always so exotic to me. I never grew up with this, and so it seems, always, new to me and fun flavors.

Next, after returning, I dump my carry-on and pare it down to the necessities, remembering I can buy things in the American South. A pair of dress shoes (certainly not fitting in my checked bag) is in the carry-on gym bag this time. Batteries are plugged in to be charged (later to be put in a carry-on).  And finally, using my new meds, I read and try to relax. I managed to push through another chapter of The Message.

Somewhere in the day, I swept and mopped the bathrooms.

Crawling into my sheets, and no leg cramps (no beer!), I sleep only to wake at 5:30ish, as it is a travel day on Tuesday. No rolling over helps.

Thanks for reading!

A brief blog for Sunday.

I rose with leg cramps, but I avoided most of the pain. I am connecting the leg cramps with beer drinking. It is the only thing that corresponds to the attacks. I will cut out all beer from here on.

I rose, found the coffee had not started but was assembled. I pushed the button, and it started. I must have messed up the timer when I changed the clock. Hmmm. I had peanut butter toast with the last of the fresh bread. I was wearing slippers, as my rule is no walking in shoes or slippers to protect my slightly numb feet and toes. A leftover from chemo and diabetes.

With the flowers drowned or going slow due to a lack of sun, the hummingbirds are mostly hanging out at the pines. I see them seldom now. The squirrels are still raiding the windfall apples. The flickers seem to be raiding the tree trucks.

I write the blog until about 9ish and post it. I shower, shave, and all of that. I put on a gray-blue dress shirt and a gold sparkly vest with a New Orleans-themed tie. I wear my black Humberg and black dress shoes. Air VW the Gray is fully charged, and I try to leave with it without the key fob (no), and then it will not leave parked while plugged in (a great feature). I finally (and safely) leave and soon reach First United Methodist Church on the observation of All Saints Day (and Reformation Day). The service is lively and also sad as the names of the Saints who have gone before us are read and spoken (including Susie and Joyce Hill, Susie’s aunt, who passed away this year). Eric K sings the lead in an excellent piece with Ashley playing the French Horn and Brian accompanying on the piano.

Michael R gives the sermon and explains why saints are important to us United Methodists, “From Ain’t to Saint.” We do not worship people, but recognize the vital work they do while living. It is important to us to remember those who came before us and went before us. We see people moving towards being saints as they grow in their faith, Michael R explains.

It was communion, and we had a homeless guy—one of our regulars. I was busy as an usher. I also gave a peek at the construction and kept my eye on the doors. I did not get out of church until 1ish.

Deborah and I connected as I reheated some of the Popeyes’ chicken I got the night before for lunch. We then watched, Deborah in Michigan, the new season of Matlock. It was interesting to see how they are now mixing the stories and developing conflicts between people.

I contacted Mariah because we haven’t seen each other in a while. She agreed to an early dinner at BJ’s Brewhouse. I did get some housework done, as the dishes were done, and the chaos of things thrown everywhere began to recede. At 4, I met Mariah at the bar, and we got a high-top table and had a steak dinner. There, I made the mistake of ordering my usual beer. It was too much, and I could not even finish my steak. Last beer, I think.

We talked about travel and houses and caught up. Mariah works for a big corporation, but, like me before retirement, is finding that the pay, health care, and relative stability make up for a lot. Still, work leaks into your thinking and your personal life, and you do think differently than folks with more freedom. I think it was a good exchange for me.

We head our separate ways, unlikely to see each other until December, given all my travel. I return home and try to find some focus. I spent a few hours on our travel plans and sent a new email with what I have for folks for the two-week trip. I then write more of my Dungeons and Dragons 5E adventure for folks in New Hampshire. With the time change, Fall-back, I am tired at night. I get my Kindle and read more of the assigned book and make it a few more pages. Sleep comes soon.

I have trouble all night with leg cramps, at one point having to rise for twenty minutes to get the pain to stop. I try water and other solutions, but none work. Have not been this bad since the last time I had a beer or two. Hmmm.

I manage to sleep but rise late at 8.

Thanks for reading!