Author: alohawild

The morning started with me rising early, which has become my new habit since I began seeing Deborah, who resides in Michigan. Mom Wild also called at 8ish in a panic. A medical bill or hackers, we are unsure at the moment, called and demanded payment (likely a con). Instead of hanging up and ignoring it, she panicked and called me, demanding I move back to Michigan and help. Not happening. Linda is checking in on it.

With some drama and a pleasant early call from Deborah, I returned to writing and enjoyed liberal coffee. The coffee was leftover from yesterday and was easily microwaved. More liberal coffee was still inbound from the Portland Equal Exchange warehouse. I skipped breakfast as I had a dentist appointment that morning.

I did my usual reading of emails—lots—and then updated my Quicken. I had many transactions from my unplanned trip to Michigan, hopefully, the last ones and the payments for the next trip. Delta Airlines arranged all the hotels and flights on the next trip (19 Dec to 5 Jan), and I paid for them. I transferred enough money, logging on to US Bank, to cover the mortgage and the Visa Bill (I don’t carry a balance). I use the Visa as it gets me miles instead of the bank card (it gives access to my checking!) and the American Express (no miles).

I write, and around 10, I finish a short blog. I dress quickly, shave, and all that. I board Air Volvo. I notice that every idiot light is on. The parking brake has failed. F**k. Air Volvo locks down for safety and informs me that I must perform a ritual to unlock the gear shift. F**k. Even turning off the vehicle requires holding the nob until it finally shuts down.

The dentist was ready for me, and teeth 5 and 12 were repaired. The old fillings had failed, and it was time to upgrade. I panic easily now since the ER trip for breathing was caused by the chemo, meaning I had to count backward and also imagine events happening that would interest me so that I would not panic. Beaches and drinks with umbrellas were included in those thoughts. It was not easy, but I managed. The painkiller worked well and faster than I remember. The modern dentist uses light-activated and tooth-colored material instead of mercury-silver, which he smooths and finishes with some drilling. I was done in less than forty-five minutes, and my part of the bill was $105.

I returned to Air Volvo, which still had six lights on (I usually find it costs $1,000 per light in repairs–I was not happy). I searched the paper manual and then went to the one built into the display, searched it, and found the override process for the shifter. Take out the rubber mat in the drawer next to the shifter. There is a hole. Use a screwdriver and push the button in the hole. (I always carry a small toolbox in the cargo hold of Air Volvo for these cases and retrieve the screwdriver). It unlocked! I put the screwdriver back and reassembled the drawer.

The car would not move. The disabled brake was still locked. I read the instructions for unlocking the brake. Did not work on my first try. The vehicle would slam when I tried to move it, but it was still locked. I calmly turned off the car (having to hold the button like an old PC), put on my safety belt, and started the car (this is in the directions). The brake then unlocked. F**k, it is connected to the safety belt!

Air Volvo with most of the lights on the dash, I drove the car to the mothership. The warnings included the tires, brakes, traction control, and lane assist warning, but not the collusion warning (I checked the tires, too—all good). I left the car running and explained the issues to the Volvo service manager. I could tell they had no idea and certainly did not understand why I left it running (it will relock the shifter and parking brake when turned off). I was informed that it was a busy season, and with tomorrow being Thanksgiving, it is unlikely that they would get to diagnose the issues until Monday. Still, an hour of diagnosis was $250; they suspect it would be $750 for that alone. I did not blink, but depending on the repair cost (I am guessing $6,000-$9,000), their sales folks may call me (they will anyway). Deborah reminded me I am a Costco member, so I should get the Costco price. I told them to put that in the notes. I called Deborah to let her know I was OK after the dentist and got the Air Volvo working (sort of).

I took a Lyft home, paying for it myself, as the service guy said I needed to use the app, and the connection did not work (until later). My driver agreed that these expensive cars are expensive to fix and that his son’s experience with Audis was the same. He also told me he moved to Portland two years ago and still owned a house in Louisiana with more than 2,000 square feet worth $100K. He was shocked to learn the same house is over a million in Oregon. Yes, housing is expensive on the West Coast.

I spent the afternoon doing laundry and making a quiche with what I had in the frig. I cooked onion, added smoked pork and venison sausage, sliced some potatoes (Costco precooked and frozen ready-to-heat small potatoes), and mozzarella cheese. I added some green beans for color. I beat four eggs and poured them on. All this is a frozen pie crust. I baked it after adding sliced tomatoes on top for more color for about 35 minutes.

I had two pieces. It was lovely and delicious. I also had a candy bar, Equal Exchange.

While eating, I watched more YouTube videos from the USS Kidd and Battleship New Jersey museum staff. I learned that the USS Kidd is a revised Fletcher-class WW2 destroyer being repaired and restored to its 1945 look. The battleship is in a Cold War configuration of 1990 or thereabouts. USS Texas, another battleship (but over 100 years old), is set to its 1946 look and received spares from modern battleships when they were upgraded in the Cold War. USS Texas is still being repaired and homeless; hopefully, a city in Texas will soon volunteer to be a home for it. USS Texas’s staff knows how to clean and repair some WW2 guns, so some of the USS Kidd guns are now with USS Texas to be refreshed and sent back. New Jersey is back from repair and open again for tours. USS Kidd is still in drydock being repaired.

I did three loads of laundry and dishes and generally rested between loads. I am still tired and enjoy reading. Between the dentist and Air Volvo, I was ready to pull up the covers and hide!

I watched an old spy movie, Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy, and enjoyed it. It is a slow Cold War British vs. Soviet story with the strange George Smiley and Control characters that define spymaster in the old stories. If you can do slow stories, it was excellent. I saw it years ago in the theater, but it was good for a few bucks from Apple.

I skipped dinner and enjoyed some mint tea (Morroco-style with caffeine) and potato chips.

I showered, read in bed, and then nodded off. I turned off the light and slept, dreaming of Cold War spies and wondering who could be the Soviet Mole. I woke early, now living in my new East and West time zone.

Thanks for reading!

I am writing this on Wednesday morning, and I have a dentist appointment to restore two teeth with failed fillings, which were likely done long ago in Maryland or Michigan. So again, this is a rushed.

Starting this story with Tuesday morning, I had one cup of coffee (shocking, I know); though it was liberal and tasted the resistance to stupid government stuff, I forgot to put some in a travel cup. Sadly, it was left unconsumed (and I had it Wednesday morning—reheated). I did get an NYC bagel (thanks, Joyce) with cream cheese and a banana.

I wrote fast, skipped some of the usual boilerplates, and focused on events and putting them together from my memory. As usual, it took a while for me to remember what lunch was. I forget lunch because I have little emotional connection to it; science shows that you need to create an emotional connection to easily remember something. This is why we would play sports videos at Nike IT meetings; the response to the incredible video locked the meeting into your memory. I often read at lunch and surf the Internet as lunch is usually alone and blurs the memory of lunch.

Returning to the story for Tuesday, I boarded Air Volvo after publishing the blog. At 8:50, I was soon in light traffic post-rush hour (Portland runs early for traffic). I arrived, and Lauren and Richard treated us to beignets and Cafe du Monde chicory coffee. I had sent them the mix and coffee from New Orleans. James joined us, and Lauren got a brief explanation of the board game and app-run horror-based game Mansion of Madness.

This is an H.P. Lovecraft-based story, and the system is slow. It tells stories slowly, trying to build horror. This can be frustrating, and we were at it for five hours. While I like the theme and it is interesting, the other players are gamers, and they just want to win, and soon, there is pressure from them to rush and game the story and system. Some undefeatable creatures and threats can only be avoided, but that is an uncomfortable solution, and soon, we are spending resources fighting and not solving the story. The game, with its slow start and rising risks, resembles the board game Pandemic, and soon we are discovering connections, and we know the solution, but it is too late. Lauren’s character is rushed by three monsters, one undefeatable, slain, and we lose.

Mansion of Madness is a game I try to like, and it has some appeal. It is hard to play fast and furious, the usual board gamer approach, and it contains puzzles and other problems that, while interesting for some folks, never interested me. They stall play to me. If I were the designer, if you fail, there should be a light cost, and then the results are given to move the story forward. I will play some more and see how it goes.

That was my morning and some afternoon. Traffic was strange as 26 inbound was backed up by an accident, but soon, Air Volvo had me home. I reheated the pasta and ham I made and then tossed the rest as I would not get back to it again. I did the dishes and found I was tired as I was up at 6:30 and then played a mind-bending game for the morning.

I had no liberal coffee left (it shipped from Portland), and I was down to my last partial roll of toilet paper. Oh my! I headed to Safeway, bought many items, and spaced the need for coffee. I should have made a list—yes, dear reader, I know. Three bags and over $200; this explanation of the election in my mind and not all the anti-liberal conversations. Things cost more, and liberals did not talk about that and how they would help people, thinking that was too liberal, but is actually old school FDR-like and would have worked.

I spent the evening having a frozen pizza for dinner, reading, and talking to folks on the phone. After a shower, I went to bed early and soon could not stay awake.

Thanks for reading!

 

 

 

This Tuesday morning, I am time-boxed and started at 6:30. I will skip the usual formulas and boilerplates and cover the essential items on Monday.

Monday is my weekend-like day as everyone is headed back to work and is no longer trying to fit all the good stuff in the two days working people in the USA have off their weekend. I am retired. I set no alarm, rest, and do not hurry on Monday. After rising late, I spent the morning writing the blog. I also made a NYC bagel (finding I have cream cheese) for breakfast with my coffee and liberal coffee.

Aside: I am out of coffee, having used the last bits this Tuesday morning. I ordered more, but I must buy a bag of fair-trade certified coffee (with a few other items) or go without. I went to the Equal Exchange website last night and ordered more and some chocolate bars.

The blog, over 1,600 words, was posted just as it was noon. I had talked to Deborah a few times as she traveled to work. I showered and dressed and soon was ready to start my day. I looked at the Oregon Symphony’s website and purchased a cheap seat, $42, orchestra floor, row  Z. The music was billed as Shostakovich 5: Heroism and Hope. It also had Concerto by Prokofiev with soloist Vadim Gluzman, which, according to the notes in the program, was known for his playing of 19th and 20th-century pieces. The starting piece was a new work, composed in 2020 by Nina Shekhar, Lumina. I bought cheap seats as I am retired, but I managed to buy one between two open seats and suspected that nobody would buy the others. I was right.

I wore a dress shirt with my sweater vest but decided to stick to the Brooks shoes. It was not raining, and Oregon has a come-as-you-are culture. I would not return home and switch to a suit today.

I stopped by PF Chang’s for lunch, having not been there for years. It was already past the lunch hour, and there was only one other customer at the bar. Electra was bartending and recommended a few items from their lunch menu, including a $5 beer. I had broccoli and beef with soup (excellent Hot and Sour with chicken and tofu) over jasmine rice. The broccoli was perfectly steamed, and the stems were removed. The meat was slightly crunchy and hot without the spicy sauce (I had passed on getting some on the side). It was a bit plain but well put together. Electra found my old membership and reactivated it, and now I may get discounts.

From there, Air Volvo took me to Barnes and Noble, where I found a table and mostly surfed the Internet. I started a Christmas Letter and started recalling the year. I was surprised how much emotion surfaced as I wrote about passing a year without Susie and being laid off by Nike in April. I spoke to Deborah on the phone and looked for Christmas presents and board games—my discount here applies to games, too. I left without even buying a cookie, trying to economize for retirement.

Air Volvo delivered me to Beaver Creek MAX station, and I soon scanned with my phone and paid my fare. The trip was uneventful, and I read most of the time. I entered Portland at the Library stop, which can have some street theater and be risky. I walked up the hill and found that the Southpark SeaFood restaurant’s bar would ruin my money-saving attempts. How can I resist Sturgeon Piccata? That and a good glass of red wine (I don’t drink whites with fish, sorry) with bread and butter as a starter (even free) made for a beautiful meal. I ended with coffee; they took the coffee off the bill to welcome me back. I needed the coffee as I did not want the fine food and wine to cause me to nod off in the music.

My seat was good, and soon I was comfortable again. It was a Monday night, and I caught some of the talk from the soloist before taking my assigned seat. As usual, the seats in the Schnitzer Concert Hall are small, and your knees hit the next seat. There are also sudden changes in the floor that can trip you. I managed.

The first piece, Lumina, stared softly and strangely. It would then grow in intensity and become complex. Then, it would slow, become quiet, stop, and start again. I thought of it as a fine wine glass you are afraid to use because it is so thin. You fill it with a heavy red wine. Soon, it is about the wine and not the glass, but then the glass is empty, and again, you are marveling at the glass. I thought of that while listening. Here, to avoid a Google search.

The next piece, Prokofiev’s Concerto No. 2, was less approachable for me. Yes, it was amazing and haunted by the Soviet Union and Prokofiev’s return to Stalin’s oppressive times, and the soloist was spectacular. But I found my mind wandering, but it wandered down dark paths of repression and a lack of justice. It is nothing I would listen to, but it was still an excellent choice and piece.

I have never heard Shostakovich’s Symphony Number 5. I found it less complex and blatantly themed like later works by the composer. Still, it was haunting and created a contrast of a single or small number of voices playing a lament or wonderful song-like melody that is then faced off with terrible bombastic noise. I enjoyed it, but my mind did wander a bit, but not for long. The ending is brutal and famous. The strings play the same note over and over (200+ times), while the brass and percussion produce an almost frightful ending that goes on and on while the strings just hammer away at a single note. It is not lovely or happy but mean and harsh. Perfect music for Stalin. I will have to listen again.

I saw the bust of the previous conductor, Carlos, and I missed him. He retired during the pandemic. Susie and I used to buy him a beer at Southpark after a concert. He was fun and friendly, and his talks before the concert were full of laughter and his love of music. I also missed Jean and Orville, who used to attend the Oregon Symphony on Monday nights. Tonight, I remembered all the fun I had with music and Susie, Jean, Orville, and Carlos.

The trip home from the Schnitzer was mostly uneventful. Some drunk young men were talking too loud on the MAX and had my Situational Awareness looking for exits and options (there were few), but it was nothing. Once off the MAX, I found Air Volvo, where I had left it. The area was fog-filled, and the windshield was misting from the inside. I was driving with my head to the side to see out of the parts of the windshield clear of the condensation. Soon, it was fine again.

A few minutes later, safe at home, I was reading and finishing my murder mystery, but there were more pages than I was ready for. More on that in the next blog. I fell asleep, woke early, and managed to roll over.

Thanks for reading.

 

Sunday is an early start, and my alarm at 6:30 got me started. I am time-boxed and planning to be at church for the 11 services. I make coffee and have holiday pumpkin spice oatmeal with my liberal coffee. While I had a few distractions, some excellent ones, I had to focus on writing, and soon, I was focused and writing fast. Sadly, my typos were manifest, and Grammarly rewrote the text often to something that did not match the previous writing. This is really a time waste. The liberal coffee helped me find the forgiveness to work with the AI and work my way through the blog. Once published, at the last minute, I re-read it, discovered some mistakes, and reworked it from what Grammarly liked; it changed the meaning of my writing. I fixed it.

Aside: Mom Wild, forgetting the time difference, called me at 5ish and demanded I deal with an issue. I reminded her I live far away, and she was upset. Mom Wild will forget the event as she often forgets daily events, but it was hard for me to let the emotions go and get back to sleep.

I washed up, shaved, and dressed. I wore a blue sweater vest, a dress shirt, and a Pride tie with my usual LL Bean pants. I wore my new slip-on back shoes. I was rushed, so I grabbed my coat and hat and boarded Air Volvo; the Volvo was still hung over with a check engine light, but it was functional. I arrived ten minutes early, got some coffee, and sat in the back, not in a pew.

I am the senior usher at First United Methodist Church in Beaverton, which means that all the ushers before me have gone on before us, and the other remaining earthly ushers all started after me. When Susie was ill, the ushers asked me to ‘sit down.’ Now, I am no longer included in the rotation.

I used to do Communion Sundays, usually the first Sunday in Methodist churches, as that required more counting and process, and some of the ushers had their own ways of doing it. I am comfortable aligning with others’ wishes, meaning I was a popular ‘young guy,’ as I could be trained in the ‘right way’ to do everything. I would do communion with my senior partner, remembering which process they would follow, including starting on the right foot, keeping in time, and assembling the multiple offering plates in the correct order (yes, there is a Way). Joe, long gone, would start communion in the back while others would start from the front. With Joe, we would march to the front and then walk to the back and start releasing people for communion, counting and never letting more than 13 people pile up in the line. Another of my seniors would tell me not to do it that way, “I don’t do this like Joe,” with them starting in the front and not counting.  I remember that I would smile and comply.

Remembering all the Saints, I noticed no usher and filled in. Remembering each way that was ‘right for Joe,’ as he always seemed to care the most and would likely be watching. I did not seat people as there were no visitors and plenty of room, counted, wrote down the temperature and weather, and took the collection.

When doing the collection, the ushers no longer stand in front, sing, and then hand the collection to the preacher; next, the preacher would raise it, pray, and then hand it back to the usher or put it on the altar (it varied over the years). Back then, the offering included considerable cash and change from children, which would be quickly placed in a safe. Any late giving, if any, was taken and put away after the service.

Sunday, I put the collection on the altar and walked back to the back of the church, the new way to do this (new in that the process is less than ten years old). But when I went forward, I paused before the altar, looked up at the cross, and silently thanked God for this bounty. Next, I put the collection on the altar, paused before the altar, and walked back. It still feels odd. I smiled as I could hear Joe sputtering somewhere while others would nod. Later, I would put out the candles. I recall once when the candles re-lighted, they could not do that naturally, and ushers kept that quiet and only put out the candles at the last moment to respect this event. ‘Management’ seemed to like the candles on longer. This is a secret knowledge of the ushers–the candles must be watched after you put them out. They might light.

Returning to the story, soon, I had more coffee, chatted, passed on lunch, and headed home. I rested and had snacks for lunch. I talked with Deborah back in Michigan about my upcoming trip in December to see her and my family. I read and had a few snacks but decided I did not need a heavy lunch.

I enjoy my book, but then a few words are sad and emotional, and I find myself uncontrollably crying and missing Susie. My foot then cramps. I limp to the kitchen, get some water, and walk back to read some more, but coughing starts (the cold water); soon, I am limping back to my coat, grab my inhaler, and recover. Finally, I am better. Deborah and I work out, by text, a new version of ‘There Was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly’ fitting my adventure with Deborah, a retired Elementary Teacher, knowing the words. For those who do not know this one and want to avoid a Google Search, here.

The book tripped the crying
The crying caused a foot cramp
Water to stop cramp
Cold water causing asthma

I don’t know why she swallowed a fly – perhaps she’ll die! (corrected by Deborah)

Or something like that.

I updated my attire to a Christmas tie (a gift from Barb C years ago: “Michael, you should have one”), my red vest, and a gold-colored pocket watch with a chain. I just need the beard to go the full Burl Ives look. I wore my hat and coat as it was a wet night or a usual Nov-Dec-Jan-Feb-Mar-Apr-May-June evening in the Greater Portland Area (with the difference by month being the temperature of the rain).

I met Dondrea and Z (forming the DMZ) at The Dough Zone, a dumpling place I had not tried before. The food was lovely, and our waiter’s recommendations were perfect. I had done another dumpling place with Mariah, so I was used to it. The food and company were fantastic.

Next, we meet at the Metro station, park, pay, board, and take the subway to Portland. In heavy rain and darkness, we avoid the parking lot-like roads. We arrive and walk to the Moda Center with just under an hour to spare. The friendly and smiling security people (only in Portland) directed us to the shortest line to the Trans-Siberian Orchestra show (TSO).

Aside: A guy asked me for the time but was disappointed when I did not use the pocket watch. I then pulled it out and saw it was still on Michigan time. He was pleased, at least, that it was a genuine watch when I showed him the wrong time.

Soon, we were in section 102, with an excellent view of the stage. Dondrea and Z were not expecting the old 1980s Hair Band version of Christmas with explosions and long electric guitar and electric violin solos. This ain’t the quiet older alternative rock version, but an explosive TSO modern rock concert with a holiday theme. Recommended.

The show includes an opera singer singing music from the Magic Flute in a giant snow globe. The band blasts away, and the globe lifts two stories in the air, conveying the message that this is a rock show with a Christmas focus. Next, the flames and laser work match a heavy metal version of Christmas songs: pure TSO. There were a few quiet moments and some blues. There were even some perfectly song-quiet solos of Christmas hymns.

Z said, “There’s more!?” when the original member introduced the crew and said, “Let’s blow something up,” and relaunched the show after the first part, a new Christmas story I had not heard before, finished. And there were more explosions, with more surprises (including snow) and cheering for the band. TSO put on a fantastic show.

After the show, Portland’s usual rain was not letting up, and we were a bit damp waiting fifteen minutes for a MAX; it was Sunday’s schedule. Soon, we were on the train. A homeless gal I had seen before asked for money and was pleased that I gave her a few bucks, one for each of us. She looked confused and hungover, and the uncontrolled hand motions saddened me, as they can be avoided if care is taken with medications. She stumbled off the MAX, not falling, at a station, getting caught in the door as she left the free section, and likely caught the train back, getting some comfort and staying legal in the no fare-zone until the trains stopped around midnight. I imagine she faced a cold, wet night on the streets. I hoped the small amount of cash would bring some comfort.

We arrived in Beaverton without issue; we went our separate ways. The streets were wet, and the usual large puddles suggest “local flooding,” which is just saying the usual in Beaverton in the fall-winter-spring season of wet. I arrived home tired from the show, travel, time changes, and the early call. I soon was in bed reading and falling asleep. I did not set the alarm as it was Monday, my version of the weekend morning for most. My first sleep-in day since returning from Michigan.

Thanks for reading.

 

 

 

 

 

I rose with the alarm. I had no plans other than playing a board game at Richard’s at 6. Later, he sent me a time of 6, so I arrived only 15 minutes early. Then Richard said I could have been early so he could explain the game to me. We played Star Trek: Ascendancy with some extra races, which was my first time playing. This is a 4x game with only one winner, and I took the Romulans. We played for more than five hours (but the time did contain lots of teaching and rule checking–it is a complex game with plenty of rules for each race). Richard knew the game well, played the Ferengi, and soon got ahead by offering production (and getting a matching amount). Lauren played the Cardassians and soon was expanding, and Shawn, playing the Andorians, was left behind, like me, to struggle to build an empire on our own. Soon, Lauren, ignoring Richard’s sudden wealth and defense-building, invaded and tried to take out Shawn and me simultaneously to win. The Romulans, far weaker as I ignored the Ferengi offers, managed to use our first strike to annihilate the Cardassian fleet already attacking my home world! The Cardassian, thinking the weaker races would just fall and be pushed by the Ferengi, Richard, to this military solution, soon destroyed her fleets. Refusing to lose their home world, the Romulans repeatedly attacked the Cardassian homeworld until the threat was removed. The Andorians, figuring the Ferengi would win ascendancy, stopped trying to beat them.

(It would be better to have a space-like cloth underneath than a stripped tablecloth.)

The game was fun but long, and like in many heavily themed 4x games, there were many rules, stops and starts, and a few misplays. I would recommend it, but it is an expensive game with all the add-ons, and the rules need to be downloaded to get the combined rules to include the changes from various new races, events, and abilities. So it is a hardcore 4x game for super gamers based on the various later TV series.

Returning to the morning, I spent the morning writing the blog. I had plenty of interruptions and excuses to go slow, which I did. Some distractions were quite excellent. I did the usual reading of the email, updated Quicken with transactions from all my banking and credit cards, and read a few new Internet surfing items. Breakfast was a NYC bagel (thanks, Joyce) plain with liberal coffee made in the French press. I thought the world could use more justice with compassion to help strengthen our communities and bring hope to all with every sip. Drink liberal fair exchange coffee; it will benefit you and the world!

I reheated the pasta for lunch and watched some more of ShipHappens and a few videos from Battleship New Jersey, including some of the 1980s Reagan reactivation alternatives, adding a flight deck to the New Jersey. At the ship, now a museum, there is a 1980s model with a flight deck in place of a turret for the reactivation, one of the alternatives.  From the pencil work many did, this would have cost more than building a new ship (except the US did not have the physical capability to make battleship armor and guns by the 1980s). This material was just rediscovered and will soon be available to the public. I suspect some USS New Jersey as BattleCarrier will quickly show in various gaming settings.

With my naval gaming brain bits all tingling, I had to head out and shop and stop focusing on what-ifs from the Cold War. I need some waterproof hiking boots (the beginner version) and an extra pair of black dress shoes (mine were left in Michigan by accident, and I need more than one pair anyway). I looked up Cole Hann, my favorite brand, and found Kohl’s the closest. I took Air Volvo there, but first, I got the mail and my books from Michigan (I had Curious Books mail me my purchases), and soon, I was at the store. Having worked in IT for Nike Retail, I dislike stores as I see how they are assembled and how poorly maintained the stores are in terms of the merchandising plans. Ugh! This one used electronic paper for signs, which made the place seem even colder than the usual harshness of corporate discount clothing retail. I found a slip-on dress shoe with the one feature that all the other haphazard boxes did not have. It was my size (yes, only one box was 10.5). Again, I think, “Why leave your store a mess when your staff has little to do but put things back,” but I digress. The Nunn Bush, a brand I have not worn since the 1990s, fit, and while not something I usually would wear, but a slip-on dress shoes had some advantage in travel.

I took my box to cash-wrap and saw a slow line. The only staff I saw was at the check-out. I waited a long time to check out, over five minutes, and my checker, Emanuel, convinced me to join Kohl’s program and gave me 20% off. We performed the ritual of summoning the membership by sacrificing my privacy, email, and phone number.

Thinking back, there was nothing to differentiate this store from any other discount store, and I think they are doomed to slowly sink into what happened to all the previous stores (Sears, K-Mart, and so on), with Costco and Walmart slowly killing them. Loyalty will be created, I think, by order and kindness; nothing I saw there. But I will shop there again if I need something cheap and easy to find and they send me a coupon (it seems like a poor business model).

My checker, Emanuel, was fun and pleasant. He laughed when I told him his season was coming (the name ‘Emanuel’ gets a lot of playtime in the holidays). He makes me want to come back. Maybe Kohl’s has something there; the staff likes the place.

Going completely the other way, I head to REI, hoping for some expertise but knowing it will come at a price, literally. The product is good and has a liberal return policy (my favorite kind). I find Riley there, who is helping four customers simultaneously and jumps in to help me, now a fifth. I ask for hiking boots and walking shoes that are waterproof or at least less wet than I am wearing, Brooks. Riley listens and offers three choices, but I tell her to bring one that is good as far as Riley is concerned. I get one pair; they fit and feel great, and I am done–they have nothing to offer in walking shoes better than I have. Riley was excited for me and then returned to all her other customers. At check out, I supply an old telephone number, get 20% off on a single holiday purchase as a member of REI, ask them to update the phone number (no problem), and soon back in Air Volvo with my loot.

Aside: The minimum wage in Greater Portland is $15.95, allowing folks to enjoy a decent living even in retail sales. I find folks here much more cheerful in retail sales than in Idaho or any other low-wage state with a $7.25 wage. Yes, things are a bit more expensive, but not much more, and I find that folks smile more. Another liberal story from Portland. Sorry if you are rolling your eyes, dear reader.

With that shopping done and a few hours before I need to head to Portland, I look for lunch. The new Beaverton Cedar Mills Crossing La Provence is open. Perfect. I park there and walk in. I ask for a bar seat, get placed on a messy bar, and am wholly ignored for ten minutes. I have been through this before, and I resist the urge to walk out or demand anything. The bartender, a tall tattooed gal looking more like she should be on rollerskates and pushing people out of the way, is buried in five tables (I had plenty of time to count them) and tells me, “Just a moment,” but that moment never comes. Nobody wipes the bar, and I discover I am in the no-man land of an unassigned table/chair. There were few, if any, wait staff, as this was shift change, and the menu was leaving lunch and breakfast behind and switching to light foods. Total chaos. The barback takes pity on me, takes my order, and will later score a 22% tip on a high ticket as the reward for their compassion.

My sandwich is OK, their famous Monte Cristo, as it is not hot enough (I have sent them back to another location; they need to cook them longer than they think). The bartender, amazed to see me fed and still at the bar, it is like she suddenly can see, offers to remake my sandwich; I said it was OK, but the bartender promised (likely forgotten a few minutes later) to tell the cooks to heat them longer. I still enjoy it, and I remember Susie and Corwin joining me at other locations or me taking them back food when they wanted to sleep in on a Saturday or Sunday. The memories make me forgive all the crazy.

I have a beer, but this is more of a glass of wine place. Next time. The barback returns (the bartender had forgotten I existed, again) and offers me the bill, but instead, shocking him as they have treated me poorly, I order dessert: A chocolate cake with chocolate wrapping and more chocolate with fresh coffee. It is terrific, and I even get my coffee refilled as the barback sees my knowing smile and amusement in my eyes. He could see I was clearly thinking it was hilarious just how f**king awful my dinner was.

La Provence’s new staff appears, and they even help others who dare to sit at the bar. Chaos recedes as I finish my cake. I soon head to Portland in moderate traffic as it gets dark. I arrive at Richard’s without issue.

And that takes us full circle, dear reader. Thanks for reading!