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Sunday started with me rising at 6:45 and assembling two pots, one smaller (and soon to be troublesome) and one larger. Time to cook jambalaya! I cooked the chicken first. It stuck to the bottom, and I scraped the brown bits off to prevent burning and mixed it into the chicken; lots of good brown bits. I then added the sausage. I think I would reverse that process next time. The sausage released more goodness, and I was able to scrape more. By 8ish, I moved the meat to two trays. I scraped the bottoms of the pans again.

I had chopped everything on Saturday and had it all in bags. I dumped in the Trinity (onion, green pepper, celery) and added The Pope (garlic) and let that cook down. I had some reserved to add at the last moment: The Cheat (Add some crunch that will add to the pleasure of eating) as texture matters. This was another hour of stirring and making sure it does not burn. Scraping bottom here and there. It needed to be wilted and almost gone. It is for flavor. About 9, I reached the breakdown. The smaller pan did not cook as quickly as the larger pan, even on the same settings.

I hate to buy stock, but I don’t make it (yet), and I did not want to assemble it from a mix I use. Instead, I had the boxes. I measured out 5 cups. I added a large (28oz) can of pureed tomatoes to the larger pan (red, plus some cane sugar to break the acid), having drained the liquid with a fine colander. I meant to have crushed, but this worked better. New Orleans Cooking School Spices went in (they have 1/3 the salt of more available spices). Cajun Power Worcestershire Sauce too joined the pots. Kitchen Bouquet went into the small pan (brown). All the meat was returned, and then the broth was added. This was brought to a boil.

And things go sideways. I added the rice and see that the New Orleans Cooking School says to turn off the pots. My Apple Watch congratulates me on my workout and standing. I cleaned up while waiting. I returned to the pots, and the rice is chalk, and the pots are cold. Ugh! Disaster! I added some water and applied heat, and it was only slightly better. I should have stuck to my usual plan.

Trying not to ask God for a miracle for cooking, I take a shower, not wanting to be personally flavored for church! Yes, I did all this in my PJs. My Apple Watch congratulates me on my workout (scrapping and stirring) and standing. I am shocked, disappointed, and sad that I failed on a basic. I can cook rice, usually!

I am dressed in my church shoes, usual pants, suspenders (my pants are falling off again, making belts risky), and a T-shirt from The Legacy Museum in Montgomery, Alabama. I work on the blog, getting some of it started, and ignore the kitchen (the pots are on above melt and will likely burn, but it’s my last chance).

At ten, the rice is cooked, and though the small pot has burned on the bottom, I can work around it. The larger pot is just brown and delicious on the bottom. I need two larger pots if I am doing this dual pot setup. The spices are slightly off as I expected; I add a small handful of regular salt (sea salt has too many flavors and can unexpectedly overpower the pot, and different brands have different impacts).

Saved! I load the allunum pans onto a half-sheet pan. The trays are not safe to move without support, and they are hot. I drive my load of NOLA goodies to First United Methodist Church and drive with care. I arrived with everything intact and delivered it to the church kitchen. Instructions are not to reheat until ten minutes (rice stays warm a long time).

(I made two of these…this is red)

I let others set up, and I am already tired, so I drink even more coffee. I have been drowning myself in coffee this morning. No time for focusing on anything but the tasks this Sunday. I do help here and there, but try to let others step in. Z is everywhere doing things.

I take my spot as usher, watch, and walk into the pews as the church starts, and welcome folks I missed while I was busy. The service is compressed, and Dondrea has the reins, keeping everything moving. We have a speaker at 12:30, Mariah Rocker, Public Programs and Exhibits Manager at Oregon Black Pioneers. We cannot overrun our time slot.

Dondrea gives her witness on the South Trip. She recalled us standing at the spot where the March over the Selma Bridge began and ended; it was a powerful moment for her. We took pictures of our shoes at those places. I follow, lowering the mic as I look like a hobbit next to Dondrea, and manage not to speak into the mic a few times (Ken waves at me to fix that, and I do). Doug follows me and covers his slides (later, I learned they were jumbled and he had to ad-lib a bit — been there) and says the trip brought him optimism, as folks have survived and prospered despite the repression. After the choir sang an amazing anthem, Seth followed (Kathy was ill) and covered his photos, which shared some of the joy we found in the trip and travel. All (I was told I was good) did well and fast. Ken followed with a sermon on my favorite part of Revelation, 21:1-7, “[W]ipe away every tear…Death will be no more.” As Tamara, the litergist of this service, I spoke the words almost from memory, softly as she read them. Ken was fast, covering the basics, and saying the promise is that God will interact directly with his people at the end: A New Song in a Strange Land. No doomsday stuff, just that last dream of happiness and joy in the text. Ken’s words seemed to connect it all together.

After the service, while we waited for the speaker and then the usual last-minute setup, we sipped coffee together. About 35 remained for the speaker (and food), including one visitor and kids, Brian, who works with Dondrea. Church folks told me they liked my letter. I wrote a request for money for the church and to pay off the roof, and folks were supportive.

Mariah Rocker covered the history of the Black experience in Oregon. She was clear when they had verified sources and when they were less sure. Mariah Rocker managed to be just a bit over 45 minutes long, telling the 450-year history of African Americans in Oregon, naming various Black Pioneers. She was a dynamic speaker, and her slides were not heavy with words; she avoided reading them.

As the Q&A started, I learned that Z was alone in the kitchen. I recruited others to help, and we moved the hot food without incident. The jambalya (red and brown in two pans), dreamy mac and cheese, Methodist Bourbon chicken, collard greens (one plain and one with bacon), peach cobbler, and various salads. We had enough food for twice our crowd! Ms. Rocker joined us for lunch, and I got to sit next to her while we talked. She was delightful.

Clean up was hard, but folks stepped up. Dondrea, I found doing dishes; next time, we will need a cleanup plan and help with it. Mel washed the floor in the Fireside Room (no longer carpet), where we held lunch in the newly refreshed space. It worked marvelously to use it. Another delight for me: using our refreshed space.

I was tired, my feet hurt, and my legs told me that I had stood long enough. I drove home, turned around, realized I had lost my bag of spices (Doug had taken it home in error), and searched for them. I had split the leftover jambalaya with Dondrea (her kids were over later and loved it). I reached home, unloaded my portion of NOLA goodness. I took a nap in the chair and wished Deborah a good night when she texted me. My nap was repeatedly interrupted by the Oscars report on my watch. I rose, grabbed 1929: Inside the Greatest Crash in Wall Street History—and How It Shattered a Nation, and headed to BJ’s Brewhouse. I read that the decommissioning of the USS Nimitz was delayed. It was ordered by Trump to the Caribbean. Yes, another war with Cuba seems to be on the drawing boards (crayon?) of the White House. Ugh! Time for a drink and food I did not make.

Annaliese was my waiter at the high tops of the bar. They had improved the lighting, and it was perfect for reading. No beer (too many calories and filling), but an Old Fashioned worked for me. I read about the crash, finally reaching that in the text that walks through the whole year, and realized the market had been crashing for a month before the bottom fell out on October 24, 1929, “Black Tuesday.” The story of the last-minute hidden attempts to stop the fall was fascinating. I am now on the other side of the collapse, about 2/3 of the way through the text and about 1/2 through the book (the extensive notes and bibliography add to its size). I ate California Flatbread for dinner (again, delicious but not crazy expensive or high in calories). I finished with a coffee and a shot of Amaretto to sip. I shared some book tips for Annaliese, handwriting the books and authors for her on the flotsam and jetsam you get when they use paper tickets.

Though I chat with the waiter, I am happy to end my social experiences and just read, eat someone else’s food, and enjoy a few lovely drinks alone. I am tired, but the ibuprofen works, and the pain is now in the background.

Home, I do the pots. I tackle the burned bits without trouble and soon have everything either clean or in the dishwasher. I head to bed and read more.

Soon I sleep, and the workout has me sleep until 7ish without any dreams that I remember, though I think I did walk the trading floor of 1929 in my dreams.

Thanks for reading!

 

It is Sunday as I write this, and I was up at 6:45 to start cooking the jambalaya, but the rice isn’t cooking right. I am in recovery mode and seeing if I can get it better without burning everything. So I am stressed.

Later: It worked out, and everyone loved it. I set the pans to heat on low and then ignored them for twenty minutes. That worked. Cooking is hard for me when it goes wrong, and just slow cooking is the answer (not my style). But I did not finish this blog until early Sunday evening. 

Annoying: My Internet connection failed at home on Sunday morning, so I was using my iPhone for access while I cooked. 

Going backwards, Richard and Laura and I talked about religion, the class I am teaching for Sunday School in May, and race issues for a while (avoiding, for the most part, talking about the President). We talked until after 11, and I arrived in Beaverton late. I quickly got into bed and started reading, and managed (I had a cup of coffee at Richard’s) to read another chapter, moving into August 1929 in the book about 1929. I then started to get sleepy and slept until just before 6:45, when I planned to start cooking for Sunday.

Before this, I managed to score dismally in my copy of the board game Grand Hotel Austria, including the add-on, Let’s Waltz. Richard and Laura were more than 75 points ahead of me at the end, and Richard won by about 10 points. Laura missed an achievement goal on her turn, and Richard scored first, earning an additional 10 points (Laura was unhappy to miss that and come in second). While I managed to end well, I had not been able to get an engine together like Laura and Richard. I was lost as usual in this game, but I do like all 3D models of desserts and drinks, and that you serve them to customers before they take a room in your hotel. I did score 15 points for serving the Pope. It was not nearly enough. Still, I enjoy the game and the close game between Richard and Laura. We then played three hands of Flip 7-card game, and each of us won one.

Before taking Air VW the Gray over to Portland, I chopped veggies and meat for two 12-serving portions of jambalaya. It was over three hours of chopping. Nine cups of onion, plus spare. And four cups, more green pepper and celery, each, slicing up 3 pounds of sausage, and disassembling a cooked Costco chicken. I watched a movie for some of the time, the new Dungeons and Dragons film. I stored all of this in bags to be ready for Sunday morning; I planned for it to be fresh for our church Southern-style lunch.

(This is Mom Wild’s bang-chopper. You put slices on the sharp metal — yikes — I cut myself — sharp — and slam it down. Best to use smaller slices, otherwise you smoosh it.)

I did use the EV to get to Safeway next. I was surprised it was still locked in charging mode when I tried to use it, and I had to unlock the charger (requiring three presses of the unlock button). It was frozen on 99% charge. I later learned that when under 100%, it stays locked even when set to take a partial charge. I must have slid the charge to only 99% the night before. Since its last update at the dealership, the VW has been charging at 80% by default, even at home. I have to override it to 100%. Hmmm.

Lunch, late, was Popeye’s, and somehow I paid $16 for lunch for three pieces of chicken, two small sides, and a giant Diet Coke. It was never that good of chicken. I should have had a chili at Wendy’s.

Before all of this, I rose around 7 and was not suprised to see the corner of my yard in the back filled with water again.

 

The rains returned after a cloudy start on Friday morning. I was feeling tired and slow, likely from the Skyrizi injection. I did not rise until after 8. Once I got started, I was able to move through the mists of exhaustion and keep going. The water in the backyard was draining, but only temporarily, as another inch of water was in the sky for us and would soak the Beaverton Area all night. The slow, polite rain of the Pacific Northwest.

I rose and spent the morning in my office. I wrote and brought some order to my finances by downloading my transactions into Quicken and sorting them into categories or accepting its matching. I read the news and tried not to get angry or depressed. The blog came together, though with more typos than I like, and Grammarly is running in starts and stops and not finding my spelling errors until later. Hmmmmm. I have read that the tool has recently offered styles but has failed to obtain permission from the authors to copy or pay for scanning their copyrighted material. This service has now been discontinued following the obvious backlash.  It is likely I will have to replace Grammarly at some point. I have made some basic searches, but most of the possible replacements are Chatbots, not a more useful one for me: a grammar and spelling check with optional advice on rewording.

I wrote for most of the morning. I was called by Emily, the RN working for Skyrizi, to see how I felt. I shared that I was tired, and she said she would report that. With that, I returned to writing. I wrote for most of the morning on Friday. I remembered to strip the bed and wash my sheets. Later, I would finish the rest of the laundry, but I had not yet folded it and put it away. I had yogurt and a banana with my coffee. The choice for Friday morning was Gather Darkness from the 185th Veggie place. I have to grind it. I made it that morning, as it seems a waste to freshly grind coffee and then have it sit all night out.

I showered and dressed for Friday, wearing a dress shirt and a gray sweater vest. I was using my belt, but my pants again tried to fall off, and I would be pulling up my pants all day. I switched to suspenders later in the day, and that is much more comfortable.

I make lunch from Butter Chicken with rice and naan, a frozen meal from Trader Joe’s,

Off to Safeway. There, I get the items I forgot, including broth and whole cooked tomatos (I will crush them myself so they are not too small). One batch will be red and another brown. I get flowers for Cat, with whom I am meeting her parents for dinner at 7.

Next, I head to Costco near the Hillsboro Airport. The parking lot is nearly full, and the folks are always intense and moving fast. I see their carts and wonder where they put all that stuff. These are the huge carts already. Wow! Again, Costco buys many premium products and sells them in large quantities. I wonder if the huge bills at Costco (from larger quantities, premium products) are what lead many Americans to think things are so expensive. According to what I read in the press, polls suggest Americans are overacting, but I digress.

I get a chicken and luggage. My old red suitcase finally broke and split. It has been to China, India (three times), Europe, and all over the USA. Now I have a new, inexpensive Costco set. My other bag that folds over for suits is not large enough to handle packing for multiple weeks and various weather conditions. I check out with just a few items. I do not do self-checkout at Costco; the items are heavy, and boxes are hard to find.

With all of these goodies and new luggage, I return home in Air VW the Gray (down to 35% charge; over 100 miles left to drive). I unloaded, and with all the walking and carrying, a nap overtook me. But Corwin appeared, woke me, and I left him to clean (like making sausage, there are some things better not watched). I picked up cash for him; I pay him 50-60 to clean once a week. I need the cleaning, and he needs the cash.

I next went to Home Depot, looked at flooring, and called my fix-it guy, Jeff. I looked at simple vinyl flooring that clicks together and liked one type. Jeff thought it was on the cheap side and required him to pay for padding first, but he agreed it looked great. I will have that installed while I am out in Salt Lake City. And while it is not top-of-the-line (he suggested rentals would pick that), I still liked the look, and it is waterproof and all that. Jeff will see if he can find something with a similar look but easier to install. I am going with less white and not tile like (tired of dirt in the cracks and on the tile).

I get a coffee at the nearby Starbucks with a chewy chocolate-and-nut bar that goes great with their dark brew. I read more chapters of 1929 and really enjoy walking through the weeks and months of that year. The chapters advance the time by a few weeks or a month. I learned of an apartment building in Flint that was once owned by one of the people in the story and is still named after him, The Durant. Hmmm. Found it on the Internet; it was recently remodeled into a lovely place, though the apartments are small without balconies.

I returned to the house, called Corwin, and thanked him for the excellent work. I boarded Air VW the gray and traveled very slowly in the rain and in the usual how-can-you-drive-that-slow Beaverton-Hillsboro traffic. I reached Hillsboro and found parking near the Courthouse, with just a few minutes to spare. But David is always late, so I stop by the huge redwoods and get a pinecone for Cat (besides the flowers). I love to give away these pinecones.

David, Michelle, and Cat are waiting for me! I am on time. We move to a local Indian place (passing on the burger-and-beer joint): Jalsa Indian Cuisine. We talked about travel and their plans. We do not pick up politics, but Michelle and I talk a little bit about The Rapture as I am teaching Revelation in May. She is dubious of my disbelief and strongly suggests watching some sermons from a church in California (whose name I forgot, but I will still try to get to them; learning other options is good). I reassure her that I understand the reasoning for the belief in The Rapture (it allows for good folks to escape the retribution listed in the apocalyptic text). It was a nice dinner, and it was good to see Cat feeling better.

I headed home in the sloppy weather with the puddles growing again. I finished the laundry, as I said, and did the dishes (that is, loaded them in the machine and started it). I finished the night reading and smelling Pinesol. The Indian food did not settle well, but the discomfort is almost gone after I enjoyed all that spice goodness. Still, it was worth it.

I am now a few chapters into May 1929 (October is the famous crash), and I learn that there were crashes in that month that were moderated by actions but deepened debt levels. I also learned that some of the men (women were not allowed in trading until much later, the 1970s, I think) pushing these new levels of debt were already quietly selling off into cash. The belief, much like today, is that pouring cash in from small investors will cause the market to climb, and that by loaning 80% of the cost of the stock (going on margin), the investors have greater exposure to upward price moves. Of course, this scheme can only work if more and more money moves into the market. Not unlike the current practice of folks’ 401(k)s that put a percentage of their earnings into the market every paycheck, but not with the margin—that is what is driving much of the current Wall Street upward movement. In 1929, on the margin, a market correction (10-20% loss) would require someone to pay cash for a percentage of the loss, plus make payments on the original amount; a double hit.

Trying not to call my banker and move all my money into cash and enjoy my safe 4.25% (though if the bank failed in a crash, most of the money in my IRA would not be insured), I put the book away and soon sleep. There are no disturbing 1929-like dreams, and I believe I dream-walked in a rainy dream, Beaverton, enjoying the rain and the green of the moss. I woke calm but still dragging from Skyrizi side effects.

Thanks for reading!

The pond is back in the back corner of my backyard and has nearly reached one of my rose bushes–three or more inches deep. The river of rain, breaking some daily record of rain of an inch and a third, and then again that much again the next day. Light flooding or what I call puddles everywhere, and I had to suddenly drive around a deep one on an on-ramp to Murry Road in Beaverton in Air VW the Gray! Hat and coat weather, but somehow reassuring to me. We are restoring more snow pack, yay! The moss seems to almost glow in the gray light. The trees in my yard are green, not leaves, but moss, some three inches.

I had tummy issues all day and night. It was fading, but still it was there all day.

I rise early, at 7, and start the usual routine: coffee, reading email and news (I look for interesting non-war or non-Trump stories now), and updating my transactions in Quicken to keep an eye on my finances (retired, my investments are all that I have). I move the accumulated sale of an ETF and my Oregon tax refund into my savings, since my checking account, a remainder from another time, pays no interest. Boring but necessary steps. Discipline is part of my survival strategy as a retired person at 61.

While drinking my coffee and going through my morning routine, I think about what I have learned from the news. The world continues to tell itself lies that Justice with Compassion is too expensive, and we could always do that later. And if anyone needs a reminder that we have had this issue for a long time, here is a reminder, in Mark Twain’s words, as a play in 1967 during the Vietnam War and the Cold War. I drink my coffee with its bitterness.

I write and include my denied Freedom of Information Request in the Epstein files in my blog post. I copied a bit of the Justice Department’s letter. More to follow. I reassemble the day in my mind and try to make a narrative, and today the words flow without me losing focus.

I manage to get the blog done by 9:45 and manage a quick shower, shave, and so on to be ready at 10AM. My alarm is set to pull out the injector pen from the refrigerator 90 minutes before my appointment. I had assembled the sharps box, wipes, and seral pad to wipe away any blood on my desk in the office.

At 10, I join a Zoom call, and Emily, the agent and RN from Skyrizi, watches, moving the laptop to balance on the wastebasket to give her a good view, and we go through the somewhat elaborate ritual of pen injection. No mistakes and no pain in my right leg (the good ear side). I hear all the clicks, and Emily counts to fifteen slowly to reach the 15-second wait. I hear the click of completion, and the window is filled with the yellow injector thingee. Later, on Friday, it was hard to get up, and I felt tired (some of those flu-like symptoms).

I switch out of swimming trunks and dress in pants (I am not Pacific Northwest enough to wear shorts and sandals in the winter). No immediate side effects (if I were allergic, I would be headed to the ER). And soon board Air VW the Gray and meet Scott W at McMenamins Cedar Hills for our weekly lunch. Brad could not make this one. We talk about the war and investments. Scott W needs a new cheap car for his daughters (for the obvious reasons), and we talk about cars and purchases. We had a nice visit (though a spilled beer had me jump, Scott W said he did not know I could move that fast).

I headed home and again forgot to head to Home Depot (I need to look at flooring). I was going to read more of 1929, but Corwin stopped by and was having some issues, and I had to help him find his calm. A trip to Wendy’s and just calm words worked. Food requires you to change your thinking and focus on something else.

Thursday would have a theme; it is not about the issues and forces that drive you mad, but about your reaction to them. You need to remember that all you can control is your reaction to these events and, to a limited degree, your exposure to the things, whatever they are and always different for each of us, that upset you. I would hear these same words (and say them too) at Theology Pub, which was dealing with Forgiveness as its topic later Thursday evening.

Corwin fed and better heads out to deliver food for a living (making $50 a day for a total of $350 a week). I read more and watched the ending of Down Cemetery Road, an excellent show. I read more of 1929 and can’t put it down. The author knows how to keep your interest while explaining the complex (and mostly banned now) shenanigans Wall Street used in the 1920s to generate sales. I learned that the newly formed Federal Reserve had issued a ruling and changes to reduce margin stock purchases, which sparked the first sell-offs in February 1929. The Fed saw it coming, and President Coolege, being replaced by Hoover, was reported to say that a depression was on the way as he left office. All interesting to me.

I picked up Jack on the way to Theology Pub back at McMenamins Cedar Hills. We arrived early, but everything was ready. Sarah was our waiter. I had a gin and tonic to pretend it was Spring. We managed about ten (many people are out traveling and like), and as I said, we shared about Forgiveness. Bob was affected by the reported mid-air collision in the war, as he used to fly the same tankers for the Air Force. Questions were raised about how to forgive the President for a war. We also need to forgive ourselves for those mistakes as a caregiver. I

t was a nice discussion, and we also lost our focus and just chatted. Excellent. I had the mushrooms-and-steak appetizer when I had had enough salads and carbs. I took Jack home and then returned home.

I read for a few hours. I had talked to Deborah here and there throughout the day, and I sent a ‘good night’ text during the meeting. It was hard to put down 1929 and thought about reading all night, but nodded off after a few chapters completed (I am in mid-March 1929; the book goes by weeks of 1929). I slept until late on Friday with some slowness I attribute to Skyrizi.

Thanks for reading.

 

 

On Wednesday, I rose near 8. I had slept in without an alarm. It was all the breaking news on my watch that woke me. I have both the NY Times and BBC News on alert, so each alert is usually two. I rose, made coffee (thanks, Dondrea, for the coffee), and found my way. I am counting down the days until I travel to Salt Lake City on the 20th. I will meet Deborah there for her conference with us, headed to the national parks before and after (assuming the weather holds). I return to Oregon on 2 April.

Aside: I usually have games with Z on Wednesday night. Cat asked to meet on Wednesday night, but that fell through. Thus, I managed to have multiple cancellations on Wednesday and instead joined Doug J and friends (Mike, Dave, and another Dave) for gaming until about 2-10.

I sipped my coffee as I read the news (doom scrolling now with fireworks, both explosive and financially). I updated my finances, harvesting my parked funds in iShares 0-3 Month Treasury Bond ETF to my banking accounts. I have house updates and medical bills to pay. I ignore the additional $30K in unrealized losses from the war in my IRA. I clean up email that mostly wants me to buy something or to give my money away (there is now, since the war, $60+K lost). Despite the news, I am feeling better. I have another trip, it is raining again, and the gray of the Pacific Northwest seems to say, “It is all relative.”

My letters, slightly revised and then again slightly updated, to the friends of First United Methodist Church are going out this week. Others and I calculate that the church’s giving is close to expenses, if we can pay off the roof loan. I have written letters to this effect to the church folks and hope they will help get a small increase and maybe pay off the roof loan early. Lent seems the right time to ask for some extra.

I write in my office, sipping my dark brew and recalling the day before, and assemble it into a narrative. The coffee gets me pounding away on the laptop, and its bitterness reminds me how far, much further than I thought only ten years ago, that we have to go to establish here in the USA Justice with Compassion.

I received an email from the Department of Justice on my Freedom of Information request that said the Epstein text redaction (something Jack posted on Facebook as an example of overreach in redaction in a single meaningless email) was appropriate, and my request to release the original email text and sender was denied.

Some of the text:

FOIA-2026-01756

Dear Michael Wild:

This responds to your Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) request for the Jeffrey Epstein and/or Ghislaine Maxwell files.

President Trump signed the Epstein Files Transparency Act into law on November 19, 2025, directing the Department of Justice to produce, with few exceptions, all documents, files, records, videos and images related to the investigations and prosecutions of Jeffrey Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell.

….(just boilerplate execuses saying there was nothing to do and my request is denied)

If you are not satisfied with this Office’s determination in response to this request, you may administratively appeal by writing to the Director, Office of Information Policy, United States Department of Justice, Sixth Floor, 441 G Street, NW, Washington, DC 20530-0001, or you may submit an appeal through OIP’s FOIA STAR portal by creating an account following the instructions on OIP’s website: https://www.justice.gov/oip/submit-and-track-request-or-appeal. Your appeal must be postmarked or electronically submitted within ninety days of the date of my response to your request. If you submit your appeal by mail, both the letter and the envelope should be clearly marked “Freedom of Information Act Appeal.” If possible, please provide a copy of your original request and this response letter with your appeal.

I will follow up, of course. I will sue if needed, a class action as required by the recent Supreme Court ruling. It is, in my opinion, a simple mistake, but it should be interesting. My way of protesting. I will call and write. More to follow. I see a trip to Washington, DC in my future.

I finished the blog late in the morning. Lunch was a salad with some of the bacon and hard-boiled egg I had made the day before. I forgot the croutons I made a few days ago. I ate this while I spoke with Deborah, who had finished work, and we talked about our upcoming trip and other topics.

I showered and dressed. Skyrizi, my new injectable solution for my skin rash, was delivered, and later I watched a video on how to inject it. I have read and listened to all the stuff on this medicine. I put the pen in the fridge, near the front, meaning it is not in danger of freezing, and verified my name on the label and that the liquid in the viewing window was not troubled by large floaters. All good.

I then headed to the corner market at 185th and TV Highway to get veggies for Jambalaya and a few additional items like bananas. Next, I head to Fred Meyer’s, and I find the sausage, kitchen bouquet, rice, and some South American wine, two bottles of a brand I used to love: Casillero Del Diablo. That is the Devil’s basement, with the legend that the winemaker hinted to folks that it was haunted by the Devil. He hid his best wines there. In the 1980s, the label sported an image of a devil, but now it is just words in Gothic-like script (about $13 a bottle, and there is a white, though I always go with a more devilish colored red).

With all my items returned in Air VW the Gray to the house and put away, I headed to Doug J’s house to play games. I was invited to their monthly gaming night. We were five, and I was surprised I was the youngest. This was a more casual group, and play was slow with friendly redos.

We played the learning version of Finspan, the newest version of the original Wingspan, and I found it an enjoyable game, easy to follow, and to play. This game, compared to Wingspan, is restructured to reduce competition and interaction during play. I collected my fish cards and then arranged them using resources that are easier to collect than in Wrymspan. The game, I soon discovered, had care sequencing to get the best results (much like when fishing), and I needed to plan turns out about two to three turns deep to get better results. I had a strange mix of easy-to-place and difficult-to-place fish cards, but many were high-value. My fellow players were working on hatching and sorting the fry into schools for extra points. I did that half as much, as I needed the eggs and fry to fill my board with high-value fish cards. The times I lost the most on Wyrmspan were when my opponents would play high-value dragon cards; seeing my cards were leaning that way, I played more and assembled schools less.

(the yellow on the cards are end-of-game bonuses; I had many, again my chance)

I have to admit the Finspan was an excellent game. I do not want another something-span game, but this one was nice. I won by about a fish card, and the last place was only two or three cards away. A close game.

Doug J and Kathy were trying out the mac and cheese recipe for the upcoming church lunch. It was great. The chips and salsa were great. The almond flour chocolate cake was lovely.

We played Dominion next, and I got lost in what I should do and ended up scoring in the middle. This is one of the original deck-building games and has endless alternative decks to buy. I like this game, but I always play someone’s copy and am always behind. In a gaming group, someone has invested. I recommend a game of Dominion. We had the Charlatan card, and this cursed us often. It was fun, and I recommend playing someone’s copy.

Flip 7 was out in our last game, and I scored in the middle again. No luck for me. I never got a multiplier card or plus value cards. It was fun, Doug J scored zero. His luck was endlessly bad.

With that done and I well fed, I headed home. The rain was now more like yet another river of rain (my backyard pond returned). I soon was reading more about 1929 in my PJs, started to nod off, and soon slept a broken sleep. I woke many times, but managed to return to sleep each time until 7, when I needed to get going on Thursday.

Thanks for reading!