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Sleep was elusive. I was thrashing in my blankets and was at risk of being tied down by an improbable combination of sheets turned into restraints. I was partially constrained at 3ish when proof of hydration became required (other options, while non-destructive–I still have a waterproof mattress cover–require considerable clean-up) and untangled myself. I discovered that my colon had decided it, too, would participate in these bodily functions. Returning to my covers, now straightened and entering a less restrictive arrangement of blankets, I tried to sleep comfortably. I rose after thirty minutes for another round of colon processes; again, alternatives would be messy.

I tried to sleep, but that was not possible; I was awake. I rose. I found my laptop and the kitchen. Everything was as I expected (I thought the house elves were slipping, but then I remembered I don’t have any–Susie likely freed them). The timer on the orchids had not yet snapped on their 14 hours of daylight. The orchids were reveling in the 66F (19C) morning.

I discovered I was at the last of a bag of Equal Exchange brand French Roast. I realized I had 1 and 1/4 of the grounds to make coffee in my French Press. This would leave me with dregs tomorrow to combine with a new bag (I checked I have plenty left). What the f**k! I dumped it all in–I will feel this one! There was over an inch of coffee floating in the hot water–well, maybe there were two pots left–but I was happy to get this coffee after sleeping only for a few hours. Yes!

I stick to a comforting cup. Indeed, mint tea in Morocco, liberal coffee here in Oregon, the dark boil of Turkish Coffee in Istanbul, Masala Chai in India, and chicory coffee with beignets in New Orleans are my drugs of choice–an honest hot drink even on a steamy day in exotic lands. And it is unlikely to get you jailed or shot for a hot cup of joe, and I won’t discuss the latest economic theories with my orchids and expect their input. Coffee is joy.

Saturday, the day I was writing about yesterday, was busy, and I took hours to record it and put some effort into organizing it into a linear story. I also take some time to write better now that I am retired, and my time, so far, belongs to me. I struggle with Grammarly (I use it to find the easy mistakes I miss), which is on a Hemmingway kick. The AI keeps changing my comma-laden complex sentences to short little sentences, even if that means removing my original meaning. I have to ask them to scan some Emmerson or give me a setting (“Why yes, I will take the Emmerson AI for just a few dollars more, especially after accidentally turning on the Seuss setting”).

I finished the long blog and posted it, and I still have plenty of time. I have toast with my pumpkin spice and pecan oatmeal from Trader Joe’s. I could feel the coffee and lack of sleep. I doubted the wisdom of driving to and from Portland for a few hours of the H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival and then back to Matt’s to play Dungeons and Dragons. Yesterday’s parking ticket was still in my mind, and I was still mad about it. Thus conflicted, I dressed in my grey suit with the grey vest and a traditional white dress shirt with a button-down collar for church and to look 1920s at the festival.

I arrive at church early as I am speaking today. At the end of the service, I will finish the Safe Sanctuary policy training. I will cover some bullet points and then ask questions from the test provided in the Central Methodist Church material. Last time, I was nervous, but I think I will be better this time. I am stretching my speaker skills, which have been dormant since before the pandemic.

Ken gave the sermon, and we completed the sermon series on rest and the Sabbath. Pastor Ken covers that humans were created before the Sabbath and that its establishment should be with joy and not endless rules and inconveniences for people. One of Mark’s gospel translations makes me wince, “cornfields” instead of grainfields. Maze is a modern creation and was not planted in ancient times. Yes, Jesus did not grab a few ears, peel them, and munch down on some sweet corn to the frustration of the local holy police who try to give him the equivalent of a parking violation. And unless the sacred bread in the temple is cornbread, then Jesus’ remarks are less meaningful. Returning to the story and Ken’s sermon, Jesus made the point that eating the same thing that makes the holy bread when hungry by pulling some off the plants should not be a violation, as was when King David ate the sacred bread when starving and was held blameless. The Sabbath is for people, and people rule it; it should be about joy. The message is that we Christians should focus on joy, justice, and community, not rule-following (though with a denomination called ‘Methodists,’ this might be harder for us. “Would you like to serve on a committee?”). A tour of Sunday morning TV would likely show any viewer how far we have to go!

Wincing again, I rose after Dondrea, our worship leader, called me to finish the training. I reminded the listeners, especially after the sermon, that our denomination’s focus on Safe Sanctuary policies and processes was not corporate box-checking or rule-making. We needed to focus on protecting vulnerable folks, and this policy is one of the tools that enables us. Dondrea and others told me I managed to teach and make people laugh. I completed the training and even got applause.

Aside: I have learned from doing magic tricks and reading about WC Fields (yes, the drunk guy) that you can pretend you are not good at this and get the audience to cheer for you. WC Fields was a juggler before he was an actor and famous drunk. According to what I read, he found that this perfect juggling execution bored the audience, but when he pretended to be drunk and almost dropped the plates and stumble and made impossible recoveries, he was a hit. The audience was engaged. While others may emulate Lincoln or Jesus or Moses, I try to engage my audience, get some laughs, and remember WC Fields and his juggling when speaking, “What would Fields do?”

Returning to my narrative, I escape to the house, tired and stumbling a bit. I stay home and disassemble my outfit. I make beef and broccoli from a Trader Joe’s frozen Asian-style dinner. This mainly involves defrosting and reheating already-made food, but it is still good to go through the process. The broccoli is cooked and slightly steamed first. The beef is fried or more like reheated in some oil. This is recombined with a spicy sweat sauce (according to the packaging, it says “spicy sweat sauce”) and is excellent. I have this with some Basmati rice that was ready but not quite simultaneously. Sequence issues on my cooking. But soon, I had it all assembled and enjoyed “Lord of the Rings: Ring of Powers.”

The episode is the final one for the season (there is another season), and is packed through with action and an amazing amount of gymnastic writing to align the season to some various degrees to the cannon of LOTR. The unexpected sword fight between Galadriel and Sauron, with Sauron using Morgoth’s Iron Crown as a weapon, is excellent writing, wonderful action, and fits the story well. But we know they both go on, so it is unnecessary and a waste. Celebrimbo’s dying words (we know he was doomed from the beginning, not a spoiler) bring back one of the most powerful elements in the cannon, The Oath, and the Naming of Sauron as Lord of the Rings while the song for the ring is played darkly in the background. This felt more like Tolkien. We also learn the wizard’s name, The Stranger, and we again see Tolkien’s power of naming (no spoilers). The Dwarves are always my favorite, and they start the episode. This section is likely the best part of the series to date–no spoilers. While many would be unhappy with the acting and lack of reliance on the cannon, I still enjoyed the season and will likely watch it again from the start to see how it is woven together. I liked it and look forward to the next season.

Next, after resting, I head to Matt’s house. Today, we have another adventure for Dungeons and Dragons 5.0 with some elements from the 2024 new version. With other groups yet to reach the same section, thus avoiding spoilers, I will briefly say we have been pounded by creatures and encounters that we would have best avoided, but I am unsure how to prevent them. We have absorbed the most damage I think we have ever taken. I think our chances of success are low in our resource-poor condition. We are also on a clock, which means no stopping to recover our resources. Trying to make this work in three weeks when we play again will be fun. I am sure the other players will be wondering what to do.

Matt made burgers for the game. They were excellent.

I returned home in Air Volvo and soon showered, dressed in PJs, and read in bed. I was tired and soon nodded off while trying to read. I dreamed of a story when my Kindle hit me, as it fell from my hand as I drifted off to sleep. Putting the machine down, I rolled over and soon was asleep. I did not thrash or wake until nearly 8 on Monday.

Between the undeserved parking ticket and my colon deciding it had been ignored enough, Saturday ended with difficulty. Sunday morning is at 4ish, as I could not sleep anymore. Thus, I am writing the blog with the night still in the sky, and the coffee made too early but still good.

Returning to my memories and recalling experiences of Saturday, I rose with my alarm more like a Dracula than a happy start to my day. I seemed to float, rise, sit, and look at my footwear, wondering why it did not put itself on. Eventually, likely at least five minutes of waiting, I grab and put on the slippers, leave my bedroom, and search for the morning in the house. Morning was in the kitchen.

I was time-boxed again for a Cthulhu Prayer Breakfast meeting at 10AM in Portland at Sonder Listening Bar in the Hollywood district. After yesterday’s experience of being late, I planned to arrive after an hour’s commute. I first arranged for coffee.

Breakfast was paid for in Portland, so I just made liberal coffee in my French press. When others lived in the house, I would make a pot of coffee in the coffee maker and leave the pot on all day in an empty house, which seemed like a waste and created the possibility of a coffee-based catastrophe. Today, hot water is boiled in my electric pot and poured into my French press after filling the bottom with liberal coffee.

While I have told many amusing stories about coffee in the last couple of blog posts, dear reader, know that I think about left-leaning, pro-world coffee every morning. I try to be worthy of my coffee and accept the responsibility that even an honest cup of coffee can change the world. Some of you would accuse me of next asking for the clapping for Tinkerbell and other dramatic performances, exaggerating the importance of my caffeinated hot beverage, but know that what we do matters, even making coffee, and yes, clap if you think it helps (Tinkerbell would be happy).

I write the blog quickly and publish it before 8:30. I clean up and soon dress. Today, I am wearing blue-gray cotton pants, a lightly striped white and blue dress shirt with a button-down collar, another Structures tie from the 1980s, and a navy blue sweater vest. The day starts in heavy fog, and I pick the warm brown wool hat today. Air Volvo is ready for me, and soon, I will fly through Beaverton and Portland and arrive thirty minutes early. I make a mistake. I scan the QR code, put in the plate numbers, and press enter. It fails to finish, but I think I am good. Later, a ticket will be placed on Air Volvo at 8PM for $50 in honor of parking there.

Unaware of the parking calamity, I blissfully head to Sonder’s, across the parking lot from the former Rite Aid, which has roof parking. I saw Cody in his priestly vestment, alerting me I was in the right place; he was already there. A small group of us selected this, not all VIPs, Cthulu Pray Breakfast, and soon we were jockeying for a seat in the limited seating. This is the first time here, and the logistics are complex, and seating is less flexible than expected. The food is excellent, and the coffee, although I am unsure if it is liberal, is good.

Cody Goodman leads that program and even gives a sermon. There is singing of hymns to various Lovecraftian gods which ring close to Methodist hymns such that I manage to sing strongly and boldly (remembering John Wesley’s instructions) to the surprise of my table mates; churchgoers are not usually present at this prayer breakfast and would indeed object to the new words. I know the melodies! My fellow cultists expect me to be excommunicated, but I point out that I am on that committee, being a wise cultist, and that was unlikely. That did get some raised eyebrows as the internal workings of a Christian church are foreign to these folks and seem as arcane as any of the texts they purport to study. Breakfast was excellent, and the singing was terrible, as usual.

High Priest Cody’s sermon again starts with the disappointing (and obvious) news that the apocalypse did not happen last year. Cthulhu still sleeps, and the Way is not open. Cody explains that normal folks accuse their neighbors of various crimes without evidence, using a picture of Cody with a pet as an example. Cody is shocked to report that we cultists appear to be more reasonable and respectful than most political organizations (“When did we become the ‘sane’ people?”). That factless conspiracy-based beliefs are no longer just for us cultists. But Brother Cody is hopeful that this year will be our last because of humanity’s general loss of connection to kindness, inward focus, and global warming’s impact. “We lurk.” We chant and know in our optimism there is no chance we will meet again next year.

Various music events follow different levels of success. Breakfast breaks up as we approach noon and the start of Day 2 of the H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival here in the Hollywood Theater. I find my usual seat, the third-row aisle on the left side, and Elizabeth takes her seat behind me and even brings her parents, who are surprised to meet me and to learn that we have years of experience sitting next to each other.

I sat through the start and then headed out, as the movie was starting too late for me to see more than one-third of it. I give up my good seat and head to Battle Grounds coffee and gaming store, a few blocks away. I am early for the Dreamland game offered at 2:30 to 6:30 (overlapping the films). Stephen is there for any folks overflowing for the Dreamland game, and I chat with him. I have brought Ottoman Sunset, a solo board game that simulates your efforts to save the Ottomans from history; the empire fell in 1919 after World War 1. He is fascinated and looks through the game while I get coffee and tour the store; I have time.

Stephen is teaching Arkham Horror Role-Playing Game, which is based on the board and card game and on the Mythos, not the DC comic. The system is a single box with a single story and is more traditional for RPGs, as it has a group of players and one person to run the adventure. The box set is impressive and includes puzzles and handouts (both parts of Mytho-based adventures in many other systems).

Jason appears. He is the author of the new Dreamland role-playing game. I soon realized this is not a Call of Cthulhu role playing game version based on Lovecraft’s other stories, such as The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath, but different rules to be more connected to dreaming and story creation. Today, I play a merchant and a dreamer in the “real world” who manifests in Dreamland as “Lefty,” the Merchant. I speak and seem allied to flying and black as night night-gaunts who bring me various mysterious dusts of magic. Two other players are also dreamers. Jason begins a story that he has already mapped out in his mind. But the details come from word cards he deals out, and he displays them tarot cards-like to us.

In the game, I have a few abilities as a merchant, including haggling and persuasion, for which I can roll dice. However, I must use the word cards and make a story for other things. The colored cards are more powerful (and descriptive) words, and if I use too many, I may cause a change in the dreaming and partially wake up, which is not a good thing. The other players have other abilities, and Jason moves the story forward with each of us participating.

This is Jason’s story, and I will not recount it here as he is making a living by making this story and the game work. I was hoping he would send me the picture he took of our group, but so far, it has not happened.

I found that I would listen to the story and not notice when Jason directed it to me, meaning I had to pay more attention. Jason did well, but I could see it was an effort to create the whole story, fitting it to the players’ dreamers, teaching us how to play, and recording notes to move the story forward.

I found it to be an enjoyable game, and we succeeded, whereas most groups failed, according to Jason. Sadly, my dreamer was unable to receive any benefits from the dream as I failed my awakening roll and would only be allowed to have dark memories should I play again with the character (no, but not for any reason other than the game is still being created). Our rat catcher and fellow dreamer, who slew the princess at the end of the adventure (her soul was polluted with darkness), succeeded. The final seemed too based on dice for my taste and I thought some parts of the game need more structure, but overall I liked it and will support its upcoming Kickstarter.

The designer is Jason Bradley Thompson, and his game Dreamland from Exalted Funeral can be found on dreamrpg.com.

Tired and late for the start of the festival, I find my usual seat is taken, and instead, I pick row two and one chair over to the left. I stay through the keynote and the first block of shorts. A film creator, Aaron Horehead, for some well-known (though I don’t like them) films, gave a presentation about octopuses and how we seem to use tentacles and octopuses to represent alien intelligence. He includes tentacle-based shorts from his movies in the presentation and points out that his films were called Lovecraftian before he knew what that meant. While entertaining, I did not learn much more other than not to eat octopuses as they are intelligent.

The shorts were darker and more brutal than the previous set. There were no jump scares. The movies were based on stories about the unknown, time travel, and alien invasions. All were well done.

I was tired, and it was 9:30. I headed to Air Volvo to find the ticket on the windshield, which really soured my mood. The return across Portland and Beaverton was in high traffic that was moving fast, with some cars racing. Passing in the tunnel is never a good idea, but the blasting sounds of engines filled the tunnel. I was traveling below 65 this time, which was my slowest trip, as cars were everywhere and speeds seemed random.

I am disappointed to find no reference to paying for parking despite using the app. I will have to pay for the ticket. It is unfair but accurate. I have no proof of payment as the app did run me through the process and then did not charge me. F**k.

I showered and went to bed. I was back up at 3 with proof of hydration, and my colon wanted to empty unexpectedly after 3 and 4:30. Realizing I would not get more rest, I rose.

But that is for another day’s blog. Thank you for reading!

I am time-boxed this Saturday morning and will only cover the highlights of Friday.

I rose and made liberal coffee, which I have been drinking since President Trump was elected. The coffee reminds me to be vigilant and “wokes” me to the possibilities of a better world. The bitterness reminds me of how hard that will be and how long it will take. Trust liberal with your coffee and taste the possibilities.

Rushing, I wrote the blog while having breakfast and finished it before 9:30. Today, it is the black suit, looking more Lovecraftian, with a blood-red vest and another 1980s tie. I leave at 10 with an hour to get to my game. It is raining, not just Oregon Mist, and the traffic, seemingly never experiencing rain before, is extra slow. The roads, still with summer’s mess on them, are slick. I crawl in Air Volvo towards the Hollywood District in Portland. Through the tunnel, a car slows and then brakes. I react, but the safety controls slam the brakes, anti-lock braking takes over, and Air Volvo stops within a few feet of the vehicle. I believe I would have stopped the car in time, but Air Volvo was sure it was time to stop, bringing us to a complete stop sooner. The cars behind me do not take me out. We continue to crawl across Portland, undamaged

I arrive at the Hollywood district with minutes to spare, enjoying an ambulance’s passage on Highway I-84. I park Air Volvo on (really ‘on’) the old, now defunct RiteAid; you park on the roof and have to walk down the ramp. It is wet, and I have to walk four blocks. I am a few minutes late and damp; a spare seat is there.

Battle Grounds, a new gaming store and coffee house (a good combination), is a neat, clean-smelling gaming store on Sandy, just a few blocks from the Hollywood Theater. We all had $20 credit each and a separate space with a door. We could close off the noise of the rest of the store. They brought me coffee (a holy ritual producing a European-style cup) and, later, for lunch, a sausage and cheese bagel sandwich on pepper spiced bagel. It almost made my eyes water. Sean from the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society was hosting the game with props, some sizable, and provided us with characters that we selected at random; I was Colleta, the local librarian and widow.

This is unpublished and professional material, so I will not recount the story here.

Sean tells a great, terrible story and voices and acts for all the characters we meet in the story. While the rules of Call of Cthulhu Role-Playing Game are manifold and explained in two one-inch texts, like most games, there was seldom any reference to the rules and not a single rule text on the table (I left mine in the cargo hold). This is a prop-heavy theater of the mind game and adult fiction with enough horror that the story still bothers me. Perfect.

Sean said they will likely soon publish this adventure and may release a prop set for purchase. I would be willing to invest in this story, set in the Great Depression year of 1935 in Providence, Road Island, and H.P. Lovecraft’s home. I will lurk and hope it shows up soon. While playing, my character managed to go insane temporarily, and as I was a librarian, Colleta was later found reading Agatha Christe at the local library. After my characters’s brush with insanity and the mythos, most of my words involved books; I threw books at bad guys and wandered often. I make every sanity check after that. Colleta had seen this before and accepted it, like any scary book.

We finished the game with only partial success, which is usually all you can hope for. We broke up, and soon I found solace in pizza nearby. The Festival did not start until 6 and was always late, so I had time for pizza. Some of my fellow agents located pizza, too, and we chatted. Soon, I was in line to enter the Hollywood Theater in the shorter VIP line, shaking hands with friends not seen in a year. This theater, built in Portland in the 1920s, is pretty but violates many safety rules, and one must be careful. I did not fall, but I did need to be more cautious than my last visit (before the brain surgery).

I acquired my usual seat in the main theater, an aisle seat on the third row left side with a perfect view of the screen and stage. I put my hat and umbrella there. Then, I went off for beer, popcorn, and my goodies from being a Kickstarter supporter (that is how I got the VIP status and was included in the CoC game with Sean). I return loaded up and realize I still have more time. I would usually risk the ramp to the second floor, but once was enough for me with my new revised one-sided balance system. I am also feeling fatigued. But the hallway outside of the main theater was lined with vendors. Matt, whom I met last year, remembers me and sells me Tenebrous Press’s new magazine, issue 0 and 1. I still have not finished the books he sold me last year, so I demur when offered Tenebrous Press’s latest books.

When I see him, Cody Goodman, dressed in a priestly vestment, salutes back to my raised beer. Only fifteen minutes late, a new record for quickness for the festival, Cody walks on stage with a gal dressed in a tight costume, reminding us of Cthuhu (known as Cthulhu girl), and leads us in the main theater in chants to open the film festival. Gwen and Brian, who run the show and the Kickstarter, come on stage to provide opening remarks and some instructions. Friends from the early game sit next to me. Folks from last year sat behind me, and we chatted before the start. One of the filmmakers sits in front of me. For me, the H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival reconnects me with fellow cultists I see about once a year and some new ones.

In the main theater was block 1 of short films; my favorite part of the festival was the shorts made by small teams, but often scary or funny. The first film was a short educational film on how to be a good parasite-host, and while not really a Lovecraftian Mythos-based film, it was funny. Some other films were disturbing and usually focused on one terrible and sleep-losing theme. Excellent. One had jump scares (yes, I jumped), something we don’t usually see. Block 1, according to Brian, who introduced it, was a tour of styles and types of shorts. I enjoyed it, but I was growing weary.

I collected my stuff at 9, when the first break happened, and left. I was dragging and soon returned to Air Volvo, which got me home without incident, but it seemed like a long ride. In the Volvo Cave, I disassemble my apparel, shower, and find my bed comfortable in my PJs. I read Slow Horses for a while but soon fell asleep, though I was wired a bit from the horror shorts. I do not recall my dreams, which is good, I suspect.

Thanks for reading!

I rose early with my alarm to start the blog, enabling me to finish the blog before lunch plans, Scott. Scott and I have both retired from Nike. I put on my slippers and headed to the kitchen–it was still in the same place; the house was cold, 66F (13C), and the orchids seemed to enjoy it. I did not stop by the 185th Corner fruit and veggie stand, meaning I had no bananas for breakfast. Instead, I would open a can of peaches, 1/2 for breakfast, and go with a few scoops of cottage cheese dusted with sea salt and smoked paprika.

I had liberal joy in my cup. I was tasting the opportunity to help others and maybe raise taxes on those who can afford it to pay for it and make a real, measurable difference. My cup of liberal coffee glows with opportunities, suggesting a minimum tax in the bitterness to pay for helping others—not direct inflationary payments, but improving and maintaining the country’s infrastructure and creating real jobs while reducing pollution. My coffee, Equal Exchange brand, made in my French press, was flavored with “Yes We Can!”

I spent the early morning writing, reading emails, checking the news (looking at Jerusalem Post, NW Times, and CNN), and updating my transactions in Quicken. I write for about two hours to get a story done. I am fighting with Grammarly and often have to retype my sentences to return them to their original meaning. I still use it to correct wrong words, typos, missing plurals, and mixed tenses in sentences. Still, it often offers a fix to the paragraph, not just a typo fix, and those I usually reject as I later find the changes are more profound than I realized. I did notice that I had a malformed sentence, which caused the AI to go out of its mind. Once I re-wrote the sentence, we both aligned. I will carefully check that Grammarly is crazy because I have a poorly formed sentence.

Next, Apple fails to email me the photos from my iPhone. I have seen this before. I try again. No email. I text myself the images and then download them to my Apple’s picture directory. I’m not sure what is wrong with Apple-land, but the emails never surfaced (it did work for this blog). I publish the blog, dillydally for a while, and then dress and head out.

The trip across Beaverton took no time, and soon, Air Volvo had me at Elephants Delicatessen at Cedar Hills Crossing. I decide on the Italian, a cold sub, and Scott selects the delicious and artery-freezing Ruban sandwich that is so good (I might have sandwich envy). And while I often have a like sub from other sandwich shops, Elephant’s does not taste like generic deli packs laid on bread, but somehow is more complex and suggests that this is really a sub with roots in Italy.

Scott and I talked about travel, including my recent trip to Chicago and my upcoming trip to New Orleans. Scott and his family are meeting in Italy in December. We chatted about housework and politics. It was a pleasant chat.

I return home and just hang out. Next, I dress in my blue suit with a golden vest plus a 1980s tie. I remember older friends telling me they had ties older than me. When did I become that guy? Next, I added black shoes with dark socks to my ensemble, which I had to put on three times to find a matching pair (when did I get so many black socks that don’t match!?). I pick the boater hat as this for the H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival VIP and summoning party. It seemed an excellent choice on a sunny day. It is now past the summer, and the hat is not technically allowed, but still, it looks good on a sunny day. In days in the distant past, I read that hooligans would knock off the straw hats worn in the fall and warn the wearer to change to proper headwear. I received no criticism today.

I boarded Air Volvo early as Rossi Farms was hosting the summoning near the airport, and I had never been there. It was Thursday rush hour, the worst day for travel in Portland. I would rely on Nav to get me there.

Nav was unhappy as I headed to the car wash and cleaned Air Volvo because it was too early to leave. Next, Carl’s Jr. supplied one of my guilty pleasures: a single Western Burger. Bacon, onion rings, BBQ sauce on a burger, and a promise to add to your waistline and thicken those artery walls!  But it is so good, and I have anti-cholesterol drugs (my doctor is grimacing somewhere). I forgo the fries and drink a chemical-rich Diet Coke, thinking it will help.

After finishing the burger and managing not to spill food on my tie or vest, I headed across Beaverton and Portland. The traffic was, as expected, heavy, and once again, I was amazed at how polite and slow our drivers were. I queued, took two light cycles, and reached the highway, but I was in no danger of reaching the speed limit. The Highway 26 parking lot was available today. A new thing is that motorcycles run fast between lanes, likely an extra-legal expediency. I am unsure I could stomach flying between lines on a cycle with only a helmet to make my remains, post-crash, recognizable (I see no other value of a helmet in this type of driving). But I am glad something is moving (being overly polite Oregon drivers, we just smile and applaud their risk-taking).

(We listen to songs from the period or appropriate to the theme, including Mac the Knife and Anything Goes)

I was not in a hurry and running too early. I watched aggressive and useless lane changes. Also, I witnessed the frustrating vehicles that cut in after I politely crept along for ten minutes. But we, being overly polite and passive-aggressive, just rolled our eyes and let them in. Soon, I will be above 12 miles an hour, and traffic, while packed, will increase its pace. I am shocked by the apparent non-moving exit to the airport, a warning for my next trip. I exit the now-moving highway traffic and soon am forty minutes early.

(Cody summoning the festival)

I read my book on my iPhone’s Kindle app, which syncs with my iPhone and Kindle device. I see a group of folks waiting, and I join them. I started reconnecting with folks who, like me, are here yearly. We are lined up and getting our badges nearly on time, which is unusual for this event. Soon, the following line is no charge for wine and beer. I join folks (names escape me again) at a table from Canada I have seen for the last two years. Other folks I have not seen for a year connect with me, and I will see many of them in the Call of Cthulhu game on Friday morning.

I talked with a local author, Cody Goodman, about AI. Later, he led us in two summoning rituals held in Rossi Farm’s ghost town section. The second one was longer and more funny, including a prayer to stop any criticism of the ritual. I chatted about food, travel, and AI stuff. There is finger food, including the ubiquitous, for catering, meatballs in a red sauce, and country fall desserts like donut wholes and pumpkin pie.

By 9:30ish, I am cold and ready to have Air Volvo wisk me across Portland and Beaverton to the Volvo Cave. I am more tired than I realize, and the other drivers are more drunk or high than they should be. My fellow drivers seem to believe drifting across the lane lines is usual. Air Volov arrives with all its paint, and I am happy to put the blue suit away without tears, torn bits, or blood stains.

I am soon showered, in my PJs, and reading. I fall asleep while reading, put away the Kindle, and turn off the light. I sleep through the night.

Thanks for reading.

 

I rose later, around 8AM. I had slept but rose once for proof of hydration. I woke at 5, 6, and 7, still sleepy, rolled over, and tried to sleep some more. Waking and seeing it was past 8 on my clock, I rose and put on my slippers. I was wide awake already to start my morning.

And a song for those who stay up all night: here.

My mornings now mean writing the blog and updating myself with the news, emails, and transactions for Quicken. It is no longer rushing to prepare for the first meetings at the shoe company here or at the office. Dressing and getting ready for the rest of the day is delayed until I finish the blog. There is no sense of rush or working.

The movement in food production to use cooperatives and provide a reasonable price for items has produced excellent products like Equal Exchange brand items, including coffee, chocolate, dried fruits, and nuts. There is a Fair Trade logo for other products. Please look for these brands or logos; they cost more, but they are, as they say, fair-traded.

When I lift my cup of liberal coffee, black in the morning, it is flavored with justice and kindness. We are called by God, and I think the universe, to justice and compassion, even in a cup of joe. My coffee speaks to me in the morning and says, “Here is justice!” Drink deeply and listen to the liberal coffee! “Here is compassion!”

With all the justice and compassion in my coffee, I had yogurt and toast. The toast finished my two-serving little jars of jam. Instead of having large jars of jam, I bought a handful of these jars with different flavors. There is only me here. Yum, Orange Marmalade is a favorite for me.

I wrote my blog, tried to recall the previous day, and filled in my set pieces (boilerplates, if you like). I also looked at the dirty dishes to remember lunch. I remembered, and soon, the day was being recreated in words in WordPress. I enjoyed my craft, and the day’s story was decorated here and there with some fun writing.

I did remember something later and inserted that; it often happens even a day later. Memory is not linear; it is more like hooks for ornaments and paper chains on a Christmas tree that is your previous day. You will remember them in bright bits, and then handmade chains slowly form and connect once you find the start. You can never recall the whole tree, just bits. Slowly, the image reforms and is transformed into a story.

I let the morning expire, and I am still not dressed. I make lunch in my PJs, a BLT with one of Dondrea’s tomatoes. I watch more ShipHappens, a show about rebuilding a WW2 small ship. They are testing their engines on the old boat, and the port engine has a cooling issue. Water is not following through the engine. The through-hull is blocked, and when they cleared it, a wincing moment to watch, the water rushed into the ship (a through-hull is a hole in the hull that lets water in, hopefully in a controlled manner). They managed to shut the valve. Oh my. The port engine worked once they cleaned the filter, unblocked the through-hull, and reconnected everything. Yikes.

I was dressed, and it was a lovely sunny but hot day, so I decided to head to Portland and the Chinese garden. I boarded Air Volvo after checking that my iPhone and Kindle were correctly synced. I only needed to take the iPhone. I brought up the Hop app and soon, after four tries, got my app to recognize the scan post at the station with Air Volvo parked in the free parking lot. The new cars are excellent on the red line now extended to our area.

I read and enjoyed the trip. The tunnel is loud, but my new less hearing means less noise, an unexpected bonus. Soon, I am at the last stop, China Town, before crossing the river and de-train. It is two blocks from the garden.

I gave my ID and soon got a pass; I am a member with a two-person pass. At the entrance, I am told I am minutes from the start of a tour and join the tour. Charles is giving a tour; we soon learn he is a former school teacher. He lectures and has a plan for his lesson. I asked many questions, as others did, and to Charle’s credit, he can ‘check and adjust’ and answered our questions as best as he could. He changed his talk to fit our group, and we focused on plants more. He covers about 1/2 of the garden and illuminates for me the purpose of some of the rooms and what a Scholar’s Garden is. The Portland Garden is designed after the existing Scholar’s Gardens in China. A couple, Brent and Anne, befriended me, and we exchanged information. They have just sold their house, stored their items, and now are touring, looking at possible places to live, and enjoying the travel. They have been traveling for months, and Anne let me know that after a hot and sticking month in Boston, that location is off the list.

I have a snack and tea at the tea house, wonton soup and wontons. I walk through the garden, prepare to leave, and buy the books containing translations of the inscriptions (Charles had one, and they are in the gift shop) when I see I am missing a credit card. I walk back to the tea house and find it. It is gray colored on gray tiles. It had fallen out of my pocket (a new hazard of looser fitting pants). I know I should return the card to my wallet each time I use it, but I made an error, slipped it in my pocket, and forgot it. I am happy to recover the loss and buy the book.

I walk to Ground Kontrol (only a few blocks from the garden), as I still have some credit left on my card. Security gives me a blue wristband, signaling I am allowed to order adult drinks, but instead, I head to the pinball machines and prove that these low scores are possible even when trying. In one pinball game, I believe I never hit the ball with a paddle, creating a score so low the machine gave me a free ball. Yes, I get pity from the machines! I managed one good game, for me, on the newer Adam’s Family machine (the classic ones that survive are now collector items and not found here for mere mortals to use). This was followed by two dreadful games. I also tried to play the old Tron game, remembering Eric mastering it and winning, but I never completed a light cycle contest in three plays (yes, I never left the RPG level, my first programming language I learned on the job). The older video games are half-priced here, which is an incentive for me. I returned to pinball and enjoyed that more. There is a room for new edgy games that are higher priced, but I never bother to do more than look at them. Still, I enjoyed myself and will be back.

Next, I walk to the local Irish pub, Kells, and have a locally made Irish-style red. I also ordered and ate a shepherd’s pie very slowly, so hot from the oven that I warmed my hands over it. I read Slow Horses on my iPhone and just relax. I am in no hurry today, and the beer hits me harder. I decide on dessert and read more. The bread pudding and coffee are perfect together.

I walked a short distance to the MAX station. It was cool, and I only had a T-shirt. I quickly boarded a train. A couple boarded, and I gave up my seat for them. I got a seat a few stops later, as the train soon emptied. The gal lost her bracelet in the seat. The other passengers and I helped her get it out of the benches. It had fallen off her wrist and into the space between the bench and the wall. She was relieved and managed to get it back before her stop.

Air Volvo was there when I de-trained. I soon returned home and decided to try Kaos on Netflix. Imagine our world ruled by the Greek gods and all the advertisements and culture directed towards the gods. This is an excellent re-skinning of our world. The series retells the myths mixing freely from American Gods, a reality TV format, and current shows like Wednesday and the Sandman. I managed two episodes but found none of the characters sympathetic, like in Greek myths. I cannot recommend it, but it is well-executed and worth a peek to see if you like it.

I did not return to coding, writing, or some church work. I will have to rise early on Thursday to do that. I read more Slow Horses, which is getting better. The first season seems to closely follow the book’s story and pathos. So far, I can keep going.

I closed my Kindle (which did sync with my iPhone reading). I managed to fall asleep before midnight. I do wake at 3ish to prove hydration.

Thanks for reading.