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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!

I woke with my alarm from my iPhone as I had a doctor’s appointment at 11:30. This was rescheduled as it conflicted with the trip to Michigan. This meant I needed to finish the blog before the appointment. I often slid into various distractions, such as emails, reading news, and looking up items (surfing) on the Internet, which I needed to curtail. The time difference made it feel early and late at the same time, f**k.

Also, I find that the amount of musing in the blog is less in Oregon. In Oregon, I am often off to the next thing that must be done, and there is some pressure to complete it quickly. Housework, gaming, hobbies, and life get in the way of long musing and complex sentences. I can see why writers and artists in the late 1800s would be at a bar away from critics with a glass of absinthe, forgetting their cares with the green fairy showing them something extraordinary. My cup, instead of the green fairy, was filled with a liberal coffee Friday morning, and I was tasting Compassion with Justice and the love of Community and Hope, ready to jump in. Deborah reminded me of this moment in Star Trek about coffee: Coffee Star Trek. I toasted a NYC bagel to go with it, using butter as I had not gotten to the store to replenish my cream cheese. Soon!

I wrote for hours and managed a few musings despite the time box restrictions. I completed the blog early and felt it was not rushed. I dressed in a T-shirt and sweater, my blood-draw outfit, and soon boarded Air Volvo. I had a few items to mail, and I stopped by Walgreens to get a large mailing envelope for f**king five bucks, eight-count, and even the clerk told me I should be buying this at The Dollar Store, “it will be better quality and cheaper.” F**k. I will try to start thinking like that. Damn.

I reached the local post office with my overpriced and lower-quality mailing envelope filled with various items addressed. There, I shocked the postal clerk with the suggestion to use actual stamps to mail the envelope. It took me three requests before the clerk agreed it might be possible. Soon, the clerk seemed to enjoy the adventure of collecting the proper physical postage, attaching it, adding a label for it with 0$ pay as I bought the stamps, and then canceling the stamps  (which made my stamp collecting heart jump) and putting the finished work in the outgoing mail. I also discovered that Alex Trebek has stamps in the form of a question. I got two sets, and the clerk had to find a second set as they were selling out. Christmas cards are going out this year with a letter.

Having managed to play even at the post office and getting smiles from the clerks, I reboarded Air Volvo and headed to Portland. Traffic was messy but not slow, and soon, Air Volvo was back on the familiar streets of Portland. The police had blocked the usual turn, but I spotted it before I was committed. I drove deeper, took another turn, and soon circled back to the same road without waiting except for some folks using crosswalks. While it is not the death penalty in Portland not to stop, the reaction for ignoring a crosswalk will get you a response as if you committed public murder, and ignoring a bike could get you a physical assault. We may be polite here in the Pacific Northwest, but some things trigger us! Beware rude drivers! Obey crosswalks!

Air Volvo soon entered the medical parking garage, which is $20 unless you get a piece of paper with a bar-coded discount of, as you imagine, dear reader, $20. They hand out the little slips at the check-in desks. As Air Volvo pulled in, someone was having a challenge with a new (no plates yet) BMW yacht-like SUV as they could not reach the machine to get a parking pay ticket, and a friendly man got out of the booth and helped, smiling the whole time. He then handed me a ticket, but he saw I could get an Air Volvo close enough to get my own, getting a twinkle in his eyes.

The BMW driver found an easy spot to moor, while Air Volvo and I wanted the rooftop view. There was plenty of parking, and I liked looking out over Portland, a few miles from the tall buildings. I took the elevator down, seeing that the floor and walls now witness to someone setting fire to them—Portland has a real problem with fire starting. It seems to be a thing in a rainy place.

I checked in and waited. Soon, I had the usual blood draw results, surprisingly in this strange world of modern medicine, sent to me before the doctors were with me. I had two excellent doctors, one in training and my usual young, newish doctor. All the news was good. I have a follow-up appointment in early April, and another CT scan to plan. I decide I need lunch.

Swagat is only a block away. I enjoy the walk, smile, and wave to the JW.ORG folks who work to save people in any weather. I remember that German JW’s resisted Nazi Germany, and Hitler threatened to shoot the whole bunch for not saluting him. You have to love that.

I ordered their lunch special, a large tray of items in small bowls, and a basket of naan. I chose the chicken version because the goat entree, my favorite, often has bones, so it’s risky. I enjoyed the chicken version; my tastes are still off from the thrush and nerve issues from my brain tumor surgery, but the spicy foods worked for me. Excellent.

I walked around the area and started shopping. I mostly looked, but I did try the weird Paxton, which specializes in taxidermied items and other dead things, and found something for myself. They had the carnivorous plants for sale and an expert to talk to, who was not surprisingly named Zak. I thought with the trays of orchids and the light, this would be a good match, and Zak agreed and soon picked out, after being directed to the larger pots, a lovely pitcher plant for me (sarracenia). I was instructed that the plant likes distilled water, but it was easy to raise.

Soon, I was next door at The Fireside, having a mulled cider with Apple and Pear brandy. Roy, the bartender, did not blink when I set the pitcher plant beside me and said my friend needed distilled water. He started to fill that request. I waved him off. Yes, Portland is that weird. Deborah heard that later, laughed, and suggested a swizzle stick when I water the plant!

I walked my plant (again not getting looks like it was normal to walk a plant like a dog here) to Air Volvo, wrapped my coat around the base, and delivered it to my orchid trays without issue. I don’t remember any traffic issues, and soon, the lesser tap water welcomed my new plant to its tray (I need to get pure water later).

At home, I read, chatted with some folks, and looked at travel. I decided to have a light dinner and not reheat the pasta I made yesterday. I took a Trader Joe’s Chili Relleno from the freezer and baked it according to directions on a slightly oiled tinfoil sheet. When done, I poured Trader Joe’s excellent enchilada sauce and baked it longer. The combination was outstanding and recommended.

More travel planning and some excellent distractions took up most of the evening. I went to read, showered, dressed in my PJs, and rested for about five minutes. I then rose and went to my Apple and used Delta Airlines to book all the flights, car rentals, and hotels. I risked not paying extra for reservations that could be canceled and refunded. I am committed. Also, the cost of caution would be 1/5 or more. F**k that. I did pay $27 to have some form of insurance on the flights.

While the Delta website is good, it is not as useful as Tripit, and I paid for my annual Pro membership this time. I sent all the Delta emails for the trip to Tripit, which created a ‘trip’ for me with all the details combined into a time-based display. Perfect. I shared this with Linda, my sister, Deborah, and Clint.

With this trip set, I was able to sleep. I tried to read, and soon, I was fading into sleep. I turn off the light, and sleep takes me into a dreamless sleep that carries me to the dark morning after 6.

Thanks for reading.

 

 

 

 

 

The day started with me dragging a bit at 6. I woke a few times and proved hydration, still confused about the time, as I did seven days in Michigan with a three-hour time difference. I found the French press and loaded it with coffee from the red bags. This is Equal Exchange brand liberal coffee certified fair exchange. The farmers get reasonable pay for their coffee; I don’t make the world worse by underpaying for coffee, and it is excellent coffee, too. When I taste, despite what I read in the news about the latest outrage and use of weapons in various wars, Justice, Compassion, and love of Community, I feel better–liberal. And when I get to the bottom of the cup, I see Hope, ready to jump into our world.

Empowered by liberal coffee and seeing hope again, I write a blog and tell my story from yesterday. Every day is precious to me, and I want to record it, not just for you, dear reader, but I feel it is some kind of duty and seems even holy. I suspect that is how other diarists of the previous centuries felt. So, another day is recorded, skipping some personal items and unnecessary clutter. Not everything belongs here.

I wrote all morning, and the blog was primarily a re-accounting of my travels with little musing about travel and events. It was still over 1,600 words. I also began reconnecting to home here in Oregon by using The Machine to wash all my carried clothing. I will take my black suit to be cleaned, as the travel process has not improved it. I ran laundry, three loads, all day.

Deborah reclaimed the black shoes I left at the Royal Park Hotel; she resides only a few miles from the hotel. They have a bag, tag process, and even a computer catalog of these found items. They hand the shoes to Deborah without issue. Excellent. I will not have to pack them for the next trip!

Update: Mae West said, “Too much of a good thing can be wonderful!” Deborah and I are seeing each other. Deborah resides in Michigan, and I will be back in Michigan for the holidays. For those who wonder who Mae West was, I will save you a search here. Ms. West also said, “You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough.” Mae is a muse for me. 

I soon, pumped with liberal-based caffeine, felt like I should raise the taxes on the rich and provide children tax credits with the money and maybe even reduce the deficit with the largess (I am a moderate when it comes to fiscal policies), clean up, dress, and board Air Volvo. Air Volvo is having a hangover and is still showing me an engine check light. I will try to schedule a visit to the mothership again and get it serviced. It will likely be expensive, and I will get the offer to just get a new one from the dealership. More to come.

The mail showed, thinking about bringing order to chaos, and my Kolchak book from the Kickstarter showed, as did the Dungeons and Dragons 5E adventures for the holidays. I always back their holiday items, The Twelve Days of Orcus this year. More reading material, and happy to see another publication from the Necromancer Games company. They now only publish occasionally, but I always love their stuff. But they did not move on to the 4E version, faded, and now show up here and there for 5E adventures.

Zabar’s refill of NYC bagels was delivered (thanks, Joyce). I had a NYC bagel with my coffee!

Lunch is at the McMenamins Cornelius Pass Roadhouse, inside this time. Scott and I are early. Today, we met Jenny, another retired Nike IT employee, and her husband, Mike. Scott and I catch up while we wait, but soon Jenny and Mike appear, and we all celebrate with beers and stories of recent adventures. I am actually a gun supporter (but not into the crazy that the Supreme Court has gone with ‘historical,’ which nobody understands), and Scott’s daughter wants to learn to shoot, so we talk about the shooting. Scott used to shoot, too. Mike was just back from hunting, but the weather and a lack of propane shortened the trip. Jenny shares her horse adventures and their support for rodeos and riding. We will see them again after the year change, and more folks, including Michelle V, may join us. All are welcome! Scott will send me the time and location as I join his gang (also the name of a group of elk–it’s not a herd) for Thanksgiving.

Air Volvo, still hungover, gets me back to the house. I continue with the laundry process. I am at loose ends, but I decided to make dinner slow-cooking tomatoes, crushed and otherwise, from a can with cooked onions and garlic. I added generic Italian-styled spices, but not enough, I think. I defrosted some ham by baking, chopped it, and added it to the sauce.

I remember it was Thursday, and I put the trash out. I found some items in the frig that might begin to develop consciousness if left there any longer. Best to bring an end to those experiments.

I watched an episode of the old TV show “Kolchak, The Night Stalker.” I finished up the “Devil’s Platform,” in which Satanists are discovered to be running for Senate and using their transformational powers to kill people. Kolchak, in a desperate fight, manages to save himself by destroying the connection to Satan in Holy Water. I found it not a bad story (and strangely interesting to see people disbelieve anything terrible about a politician in the 1970s-based times), and the acting was compelling. I enjoyed seeing Kolchak drive his convertible Ford Mustang in old 1970s Chicago. It is definitely an acquired taste, but I liked it.

I mixed the sauce and meat with the tube-like pasta. When draining the pasta, I managed not to burn myself with the hot water, though my wrist was red from too much steam exposure. I ate while watching the first episode of the newly released season 2 of “Silo.” I was fascinated with where the story would go next. I was not disappointed, but there is little to recommend this to new watchers; start with season 1, episode 1, and watch it all before starting season 2!

Dinner was plain but three bowls. I read, still at loose ends and feeling lonely after so much contact for a week, took a nap, and found my mojo again. I was just tired, not depressed or lonely, and soon did the dishes, completed laundry tasks (except folding and putting away some items), and brought order to chaos.

Feeling like myself again, I read, shower, dress in my PJs, and try to read some more. I was worried sleep would be difficult, but no, it greeted me, took me, and I traveled in my dreams and saw old friends, including Eric and Susie. We were young again. The dream’s content was mostly forgotten, but we all met and chatted in my dreams. There might have been a comment, it is misty in recall, about when you will stop traveling and stay; not yet, I answered, but someday.

Thanks for reading.