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The morning started with me rising around 7ish in the Palmer House, 23rd floor, room 258. A one-bed hotel room that is comfortable though a bit small. The one window looks into a building quite taller, and I am glad not to have to use 23 floors of metal fire escape just outside my window! I hear the subway, which reminds me of a sea surf as it approaches and leaves. I never got a coffee maker for my room, meaning I wrote the blog before breakfast and decaffeinated. Monday (I am writing this Tuesday morning) took not long to write as I will not try to describe paintings and art. But the labyrinthine Chicago Art Institute is one of the most excellent museums I have visited. I was done by 10ish and headed to a Dunkin Donuts for a simple Mid-Western Breakfast (and cheap, too).

I started walking in a direction on Wabash I had not gone before and soon found a small Dunkin Donuts that made their coffee too hot, but I could get an Old Fashion donut there, which was excellent. I ordered an Uber to drive more than six miles to the Industrial Arts Museum and home to U-505. The lovely white car arrived within minutes, and soon, I was enjoying a fast trip along the lake. The view was excellent, and I saw Chicago from the shore.

The museum has been updated and revised since I was there as a kid and is much larger. The underground entrance, hallways, displays, and home of U-505 are all new. The place is a learning center and a magical place for families with kids to learn science and industrial history. School was on, and it was Monday, so the place was not busy. The price, including extra for the U-Boat and 007 James Bond Science show, was still less than what I paid at the Chicago Art Institute! I should have bought a membership, as the 10% off for members would have been close to breaking even by the time I did the giftshop and lunch.

Concerned about how long I could last today, I headed to an early appointment for the U-Boat first. The displays on the way were well done but left out the code-breaking on the British side and the fact that the designs of the code-breaking machines came from Alan Turning. I was impressed when I turned the corner and saw that a whole U-Boat was pointed at me and looked fresh and ready.

When I last visited, U-505 was outside and was rusting. Although I knew the curators had placed it inside a building and repaired the boat (submarines are boats, not ships), it was still impressive to see it. The sides of the U-Boat are opened to allow access, and the first compartment, the floor, was lowered to allow for more comfort, but much of the boat is left intact and appeared to have aged well. They have put in sound and lighting to give a feeling of fighting and being depth-charged in a German WW2 submarine. There were fewer than ten of us, and I was able to take some interesting photos. U-505 is the only surviving version of its type, with three newer models also surviving, but I don’t think any are in as good a shape as this one. An awesome display.

It was lunchtime, and after looking at a few displays, including a giant HO-scale train set that reconstructs some of downtown Chicago and Seattle, I found the kitchen and had a Chicago-style hot dog. Next, I head to the 007 show. This is a collection of cars and gadgets with even some interactive displays. There was one of the sharks, great whites, with a note to touch the screen if you dare. I was ready, but the shark image that suddenly attacked from below and “broke” the glass made me jump back.

The golden gun, the Spectra poison knife shoes, and the tux made me smile. It was always the little things that made Bond movies work for me. The scuba gear from “For Your Eyes Only” made me smile as I remember how fun that movie was (it brought the Bond movies back from the well-deserved oblivion of terrible SciFi attempts). Q got many displays and even some screen time as the show was about the science of 007. The little things that made the show special for me, like James Bond’s JB cufflinks. Many displays showed how technology has reached the same level as the show, including a real working jetpack next to the “Thunderball” movie jetpack. I got Dondrea and Z a few items, and some Christmas presents for others.

 

I was happy that only my feet hurt today (though I was only at 3,500+ steps) and continued to look at the various science displays. They have a 727 mounted on the second floor, and the wheels come out, and the wings change for landing. Most of the displays come with something that works. With a reconstructed Wright Flyer, the flight display has various simulators for $5 a ride. I passed on that. I did sit in First Class in the 727.

I discovered the transportation displays in the basement hallways, and there was an impressive set of models and displays. While I have put my models away for now, I want to build a few sailing ships, some from wood, but we will see if I can get back to that. There is so much to do and much Python to code!

I watched a movie demonstrating how to mix the same ingredients to make a commercially available lemon cream pie without natural cream or real lemon. It got its point across about food science sometimes going too far. The place is not a corporate takeover of science.

I walked the third level and decided that 3ish was good to get back before rush hour. The museum shop had no detailed books on U-505 or plans, saving me some money. I found a taxi line outside, and the ready taxi guy said he had been waiting for me. He was happy to get some business and return me to the Palmer House. I accepted and soon cruised the lake shore in a yellow taxi, which cost me less than Uber. The lake looked lovely.

I took my goods back to my room, rested, and read for a few minutes. I headed out and towards the lake shore. I walked again for hours, with only stiffness and not pain, and enjoyed the lakeshore and the river walk. I was tempted by street tacos and tiki bars, but the pizza from last night was in the frig in my room. I did a giant loop and found the bean again. The Mexicans were still parading through the streets but with fewer cars. One could easily fall in love with Chicago Downtown on these warm, dry September nights. I decided I would be back soon.

I returned to my hotel, my legs stiff but no pain. I did re-discover that downtown is one story or more higher than the rest of the town. I had to climb stairs from the river to get back to the street level of Downtown. I know that Chicago raised its streets a story or two years ago, so there are streets and tunnels under the usual roads.

I use a microwave and eat my leftover pizza, which is mostly hot. I don’t want to get it too hot because I have no knife and fork, but it is still wonderful. I eat in the executive spaces to not stink up my room. I return to my room, talk to some folks, and then read. Despite 13,000 steps and no coffee except for breakfast, I still get tired. I go to the bar, have a beer, and watch football. I return and still can’t sleep. Jetlag still. I managed to fall asleep at nearly 1AM.

Thanks for reading.

Sleep was disturbed and limited. I rose, showered, and dressed for a warm but comfortable day in Chicago. The hotel is quiet enough, and the room is cozy. I am on the executive 23rd floor and use an express elevator that stops only at a few floors. It is old school and still has the bench for the attendant. I learned this is the second Palmer House building, but much of the old style of the Civil War-era hotel. The original dishes used at a famous banquet to celebrate the Union heroes are in a case in the lobby and stores; according to the write-up, the rest exist in a vault.

Deborah is safe and returned home on Sunday night. We text now and then. I plan to see much of the Chicago Art Institute, two blocks from the Palmer house and towards the lake. Breakfast is at Goddess and the Baker, a local chain only a few blocks away. There, I selected, after a recommendation, the breakfast burrito filled with scrambled eggs and sausage with various veggies. I had coffee with that and found a seat on a shared bar-like table with a note for laptop users to limit their stay to no more than sixty minutes. The place is overflowing, and I write for only a few minutes before returning to the Palmer House. I find the place packed there as the weddings yesterday are now disassembling with folks checking out. I get a chair at a shared table with an older gentleman who I learned lives in Arizona and officiated at the weddings (and has another one in a few days), who agrees to let me share his space. We chatted, and I learned he missed the reception as he was in the ER for an infection, but he got the wedding done. He tells me he is better and soon heads out. A few less interesting people take his place and are soon replaced repeatedly as folks check out and head out.

I write the blog and soon finish it. I am a few minutes behind my plan of being at the Art Institute by 11. I published the blog and returned my laptop to my room, which is being cleaned. I hid the computer near the luggage, but the gal cleaning the room needed me to produce my room key. I do. She checks that it would have opened the door. It would. I thanked her for being careful and gave her a tip.

The Art Institute is full of stairs, and I am careful when using railings. My legs are stiff, and my balance, while not bad, is not outstanding either. I bought a ticket for the place and for the O’Keeffe show, O’Keefe’s New York, for $42. Annual membership costs $115, but purchasing the membership is not economical unless I return twice, but I always check.

I headed to the impressionists, and that did not disappoint. While Portland’s latest show, closed now, had a few of each, Chicago has a room full of each. The square footage in Monet’s paintings made me almost dizzy. I also saw that a few famous paintings are on loan but are replaced by impressive works by the same artists from another museum in France. There is a brilliant self-portrait of Van Gough. The bronzes are everywhere, too. I see a Degas that matches the bronze I saw in Texas, but this was the less successful nude. The write-up mentions the version I saw before. I have, in my mind, connected the two works. Excellent!

After the first hour of standing, my back started to hurt, which disappointed me as I had planned to spend the whole day in the museum. The area connects to European works, and the museum has a less impressive collection of older paintings, but still something representative. There is a brighter Rembrandt than the ones I saw in New York City and Amsterdam, which surprised me. Once out of the 1600s, I started walking faster.

I head to the modern wing to be turned around to find the American section, and I am lost—the place is enormous and a maze. I discovered that the Café is underground and near the American art in that it is in the same building. After taking too many stairs, I found a strange line and was given a menu; a light lunch was $20. You order and sit, and they bring you the food (tip was included).

I have the gazpacho and the side potato salad that was recommended. The soup was creamy, cold, and drizzled with olive oil. The red potatoes were still warm, and the dressing was a mix of uncooked garlic, onions, and capers. Strange but good.

I head back to the maze and soon find the American works again—rooms and rooms of great works. Night Hawks and American Gothic attract crowds. I liked a Whistler painting I have only seen in books: a misty harbor. My back is better after lunch, but I know the pain will return. I head to the O’Keeffe show as I am in the right location. This does not disappoint. I did not realize she had done paintings in NYC before the more well-known Southwest-themed work and that the lines in the more famous paintings can be traced to her paintings of NYC buildings. I also did not know that Batman Animation was hinting back at her works for the view of Gotham.

I next found the famous Japanese wave print, which was smaller and brighter than I knew. After that, with my back pain increasing, I headed to the German Arms display. Yes, swords, halberds, and mail filled multiple large rooms with two knights on horses jousting. Lastly, the gift store where I picked out something for a friend at a slight discount.

The walk to the Palmer House was mercifully short, and I could rest and nap for a while. Gino’s East was calling me. I rose and found another ten-minute walk was in order. I headed out and found the less polished parts of Chicago to reach the pizza. There, I got a table, and Spinach Margherita was recommended by the hostess and my waiter. I got 1/2 meat and half Margherita to go with my local lager. A proper pizza, deep-dish, and baked solid was delivered to my table, and the waiter gave me the Margherita first. It was bright and a perfect mix with the heavy crust. The cheese is baked but still stretchy. The meat slice was good, but the ham seemed underwhelming compared to the first slice, not as great. Either is good, but the Margherita was a marvel. I would order just pepperoni next time instead of meat. Often, this makes for a near-perfect deep-dish pizza. The pizza was excellent. I took two pieces back and will heat them for dinner on Monday. The executive level has a microwave and tables at which to sit.

It is Mexican Independence Day (15 September), and there is a mass of cars flying flags dressed out in Mexican and other country flags (some countries share the date, I learned) and colors. Soon the streets are choaked as the police coral the cars to some streets. Many honking cars and flags are waving as the roads grid-lock in Downtown Chicago. It is chaotic and loud, and fun. Nobody is unhappy, and the police, who explained this to me, are trying to slow the mess, but I can see they are smiling too. It is an extra-legal parade and party. A slow-moving and friendly riot. I only felt unsafe when there were some fireworks, as I could not tell if they were gunfire, but soon, they were safe again.

I was soon back in the room, reading and trying to sleep. The time difference is still hard on me, but I manage to sleep after midnight.

I rose before my alarm and was dressed by 7ish and writing a blog. Deborah said I need only ask for a coffee maker for my room, yes! But I still had to go without coffee on Saturday in my room. I was dressed and waiting for Deborah, who would soon appear in the lobby. We headed for the hotel restaurant; Deborah had a voucher. We chatted and had very supportive waiters who did not mind being ignored. They did supply us with almost unlimited coffee. I had a pile of bacon with two poached eggs and an English muffin. I have spaced what Deborah had.

Deborah had a 2-ish train to catch back home. We had limited time, and paying $30+ for a big-name museum for a two-hour rushed visit seemed a waste. I discovered the free Museum of Design, and that worked. We enjoyed the modern art (well, some of it) and some excellent modern paintings, which were pointed out by a desk person who had us turn around and see them. There was some across the street in the cultural center. The desk person then explained the building, the tours available in Chicago, and the displays. We took the elevator and started with the Paris and Chicago photo exhibit. We later found a room full of bowls representing the student debt crisis in the USA (something that appealed to Deborah and me).

We were running out of Deborah’s visit and headed to Elephant and Castle, a British-style pub (a local chain), after my phone got us turned around a few times. We ordered pies for lunch. I went with a bubbly Diet Coke, as I think my colon was reacting to too many salads. There were no accidents but a close call at the hotel earlier. 

(At this point, I lost my connection and was forced to use an other editor)

After lunch, we walked to the Amtrak station and arrived forty-five minutes early and then another ten to locate the waiting area. I saw Deborah connect with some nuns and a college student all headed back on the Wolverine, the name of the train. I headed back to the Palmer House. I was already at 9,000+ steps for the day and could use a nap.

I enjoyed the day’s warmth without winds, and the town is quieter on non-work days. I rested and read in my room on the 23rd floor, 258. I also collected some caramel corn and chocolate-covered almonds at the train station, and I munched on them. Deborah kept me up-to-date, and she was fine on the train. 

I dressed in my suit and soon out the door for my evening. I had got a few hours of sleep, at best. I decided on the German place nearby as it was on the way to the Lyric Opera, which was not in the theater district but mixed with all the banking buildings. I think it was there first. Susan was my waiter, and I found a small table. Soon, I was supplied with locally made German-style Dunkel beer; I went for a smaller glass (it comes even in liters) as I wanted to be awake for the opera, Rigoletto, tonight. This is the song you, dear reader, will know here. I went with the cheapest seat in the theater (still about $100 with all the extra charges). 

Susan, my waiter, discussed the menu and decided on the Hungarian Goulash, which I also make, but with spaetzle instead of mashed potatoes. I don’t make spaetzle. It was good, and it had more pepper spices than I used. It did not have the ground rye seeds I am used to using. I think mine was better, but it was good to try it and compare. Also, my tastes are still off from the surgery and the resulting thrush infection. Still, it was great, and Susan gave me coffee to finish with and helped me enjoy the opera. 

I met a couple from the UK at the German place who were popping down by train from visiting relatives in Michigan. We agreed that the USA trains are disappointing but cheaper than the UK trains (something I did not know about). They would be headed to the art museum on Sunday. I recommended, the guy was a retired Royal Navy, the U-boat at the Industrial Arts, too. 

The Lyric Opera House was five blocks away, and my dress shoes and stiff legs and hips were a challenge that I rose to. As I got closer, I noticed that the dress style was becoming more formal. I was feeling better about my clothing choice. It was opening night for the opera!

The place was packed. The crowd was visibly excited and an even mix of younger and older people, something I had not seen before for an evening show. My seat was the last row on the first balcony and about the same distance, or even shorter, as my more expensive seat on the second balcony a few months ago in New York City’s Met. The sound was great, and I could not read the distant translation except for a few words. I could watch the stage or read. I decided to just enjoy the show and only tried to read once in a while. The leads and action were excellent. The staging was minimal and less than I used to, but I think it worked. The chorus was terrific, and the singing was as good as it gets. I am a poor judge, but the audience seemed to love it, too. 

I was happy to have spent the evening at the opera. The walk back was fifteen minutes or longer, as my pace was reduced to a stiff walk. The street crowd consisted of skin-showing young people, middle-aged folks in formal wear from various evening weddings, or older folks in suits and nice dresses. The hotel was rocking with the bar full and the speakeasy closing. I found my room, got in my PJs, and could not sleep as it was too early (my two-hour time difference caught me). I finally slept and woke up often. I am tired this Sunday and stiff.

Thanks for reading. 

The plane lands in the morning after an all-night flight after 5 local time. The Chicago airport is busy, and I walk the long distance and a few level changes to get to the baggage claim. As usual, I waited ten minutes for the bags to arrive, found my black case, and followed the signs to the subway. I will be too early for the hotel, so I decided I could try the inexpensive way to get downtown, the subway.

The distance is impressive, and if it had not been for the other people headed in this direction, I might have been concerned. This is the Blue Line that originates at the airport. I get to the subway station, which resembles an odd mix of NYC new lines and Washington DC Metro cards. I bought a one-way pass as I didn’t plan to use the subway except to get to my hotel and downtown Chicago. I asked for help from a police officer at the info desk. He, putting on a show, demonstrates how to use the card. Only a tiny light shows you that you paid, and no sound, and then you push through the turnstiles. “Don’t be that guy who just stands here for an hour; go through,” the officer says. I do. My gym bag fell, but I managed, and the officer was happy. The transit people were watching the show and didn’t smile. Well, it was fun.

As the officer explained, I headed to the “Next Train” platform, following other people with roller bags. They headed to the first car, but the back cars were the only ones open. We backtrack, and I find a single-seat chair and place my roller bag and gym bag next to me. For the next twenty minutes, people crowded into the car. We start, and soon, every stop adds more and more people. The subway rolls back and forth, and sometimes, the wall hits my arm with force. It is not as smooth as Portland or Washington DC’s trains, but it is not as loud and avoids the stops and starts of NYC’s aging system. At first, it seemed slow, but the miles fell away. I watch the sunrise before the train tracks change to being below ground. I felt safe the whole time; people in the cars are the usual no-eye contact subway travelers.

As we approach downtown, the cars are standing room only and then start to empty. Monroe Street is my station, and I exit there with some folks politely getting out of the way and even making eye contact. There are no NYC musicians or people who you have to aggressively ignore. This is a crowd of working people.

Monroe Street station has no elevator, that I saw, and only stairs. I haul my bags up free separate sets of stairs. I reach the streets, and it is a comfortable, windless morning! I asked a chef smoking a cigarette near the subway station, obviously about to start his day in clean, starched chef whites, and we agreed that the Palmer House is nearby. I use the iPhone, which sends me a different direction than I thought, and I soon walk two blocks, cross, walk two blocks, and then two back. I am not far from where I started and see I am a block away. I cross the street and enter the maze that is the Palmer House’s first floor. I take an escalator to the second floor and lobby. There, I learned I could have a room and pay an extra day, wait until 9, pay $25 for early check-in, or wait until noon for complimentary early check-in. I give a tip the bag guys on the first floor and have breakfast in the hotel restaurant. I need coffee! The bag guys also gave me directions to the Amtrak station.

When I got the biscuits and gravy I ordered, they were not piping hot and were not spicy. The biscuits were good, but the eggs were overcooked for poaching. My waiter, Seth, constantly refilled my water and coffee, which was welcomed. I wrote the blog while eating. This being a work day and some convention was happening (the lanyards giving this away), folks were quickly in and out for breakfast. One table switched twice while I, going at my retired speed, ate slowly and wrote.

Next, I headed out with my laptop in my bags, waiting for a room. I decided to try the walk to the train station to determine if we could hoof it back or if it was a taxi/Uber trip. I walked away from the Great Lakes and headed for the Chicago River. Susie (my late wife) and I took Amtrak from Portland to Chicago some years ago to meet family for Christmas in Michigan, and I spent some time at the station in December as our connection failed to Michigan.

The walk was six blocks long and pleasant. I found more places for dinner and some aggressive panhandlers to whom I gave a buck. I was two hours early when I arrived. I walked through the maze on the lower level with the train platforms and got lost a few times. I slowly worked out the layout. With an hour to burn, I left the station and headed to the nearby former Sears Tower. I asked the staff in the lobby, and an hour was not enough time to do the view from the top. I headed back to the station and read for a while.

Deborah’s train, the Wolverine, ran nearly on time and arrived at track 18. We met and then walked back to the hotel. We put her bags in storage, too. We then went to Miller’s pub, and I had a too-large Greek salad with chicken, with Deborah trying the chowder (New England) and a small Greek salad. We then walked around and decided that $32 was a lot for only two hours in the museum, and a walk in the parks was better for us anyway. We found the Bean and other art attractions, sat, and chatted for an hour or so. We walked back to the Palmer House, checked in, and dressed in our respective rooms (me showering and shaving) for a show and maybe dinner.

Next, now decked out for The Book of Morman at the Cadillac Theater, we stopped by Potter’s Speakeasy in the hotel, had drinks (thinking sober was not the right mindset for the show), and had a small plate, too. We chatted and were soon more relaxed (both of us were out of practice, so one drink was good). We then walked six blocks and waited for the show to open. Once inside, we waited again for the house to open. There was no coffee, which seemed a shame. The songs “I Believe,” “Man Up,” and “Off Switch” were the most memorable and included high-energy dancing and some seldom-seen now tap. The irreverence towards religious beliefs was breathtaking and fun. I would recommend The Book of Morman. I wore my ruby red vest with a conservative tie but saw I should have had a pink vest with sequins for “Off Switch.”

I nodded off during the show as the theater’s hours, walks, drinks, and comfortable warmth overtook me. I reawoke and did not miss any of the show—just a few words. Deborah loved the show and laughed nonstop. Tired and stiff from sitting after walking all day, we walked back and said good night, with a planned meeting on Saturday at 8.

I finished unpacking and disassembling my suit, which included suspenders and a pocket watch. I was soon resting and asleep. The 16,000+ steps hurt my legs for a bit.

Thanks for reading.

As usual, I had trouble sleeping when traveling the next day, even when traveling late. I slept poorly and was awake at 5. I finally accepted my lack of sleep and rose at 6. There were my usual traveling tasks, now that I travel mostly alone, that needed to be completed. I plan to wash the sheets and remake the bed; it will feel fresh on my return. I put away the dishes in the dishwasher and would wash all that was left in another dishwasher run, and even hand wash the few I missed. Clothing and towels were put away. I washed my robe and all the towels I used. I started these tasks and did some while writing the blog. Today would be a blur of activity.

I downloaded the Quicken transactions and looked up the interest paid on my CD investments, as it is not updating. I checked my rate of interest, and it could pay the mortgage for a year if I locked in more cash. I moved some later to reduce the 0% interest in checking. A first step.

I packed my grey suit, dress shoes, underwear, socks, PJs, and so on in my folding luggage. It can be carried on and has wheels but barely closes. I will check it and not be that guy. My meds, spare clothing, laptop, cables, Kindle, and battery pack are in my gym bag, which I will carry on.

I spaced it was Thursday and headed early to the sushi track nearby in the Aloha Mall, a strip mall within walking distance of The Volvo Cave, but I took Air Volvo. I got my first pieces of sushi and miso soup and saw Scott’s text that he would be at lunch. Oops. I paid for my tiny lunch and gave them a 30% tip with apologies. They were happy to get paid. I headed to Elephants Delicatessen in the Cedar Hills Crossing, ten minutes away.

I beat Scott by a few minutes. We both passed on the unique slow process of the deli salads and had tuna melts. I discussed possible travel plans with Scott, thinking more travel would benefit me. Scott is thinking of easier (cheaper) travel in the US, where he could meet his kids for a school break. We talked about money and my reshuffling my 401K to slightly longer horizons but still in the same types of investments. We need to get cash working for us, not in low/zero-interest accounts. High dividend equities were also in our thoughts, with Scott mentioning some mining companies and Verizon. Scott also told me that he is still trying to get used to not working. It is a weird feeling.

After Scott and I said good day and planned to meet in two weeks, Air Volvo took me back to The Volvo Cave. I set the timer for the orchids’ light, and they now get 14 hours of lighting a day. I finished the laundry, made the bed, and replaced the towels. I tried to watch the next episode of “Murders Only in the Building” on Hulu but woke after I nodded off. It was not a problem with the show. I put away the last of the dishes and washed the rest by hand.

I decided not to sleep but instead get some steps in, and I walked about 3,500 steps in the neighborhood between downpours. I have switched to the brown wool cowboy hat. I got some Oregon Mist and talked to the neighbors, who were all happy to get the rain back.

Next, I called Hilton and, after some long waits, got my hotel room assigned to my rewards number. I updated Expedia, and this should not happen again. I have not been able to fix my Alaska miles reward program. I often call when they are closed or don’t have an hour to wait for them.

It is time to move, which means I take a shower (while waiting on the call, ready to kill the water when they return—but I finished before they did) and dress in my traveling clothing. That is a dress shirt under a floppy sweater and nice dark-colored pants (in case I spill something). I shave, which results in me looking cleanly shaved on Friday until the early evening, and other things to keep me fresh while traveling. All learned tricks and skills from many all-nighters.

I put the last power cables into my gym bag and my laptop. I load that and my checked bag into Air Volvo and spend ninety minutes crawling across Beaverton and Portland on Thursday night (the worst) traffic. There is no reason to describe it—it is just slow. I park Air Volvo in the economy red lot near a light and take the first picture of the trip: “Where is Air Volvo parked?” picture. I chat with folks on the bus who explain that Chicago ruined my minorities and leftwing politics. I smile. They point out that things worked when the Daleys were in charge. I do not supply a different opinion as these observations were stated as a form of truth. I have heard the same claims made about Portland (different mayors). I later saw the same guy in first class on my plane to Chicago; he said hello when I greeted him.

I have a Theology Pub at 7 and discover that I am too early to check my bags (this will be a theme for this trip). I found a bar near the Alaska bag check (all new and shiny, as is much of the remodeled entrance hall at PDX). There, I have a gin and tonic and a chicken sandwich (no pet meat, despite rumors to the contrary) and then connect to Zoom for the church meeting. It is well attended tonight, and Z even speaks with her grandmother. The subject is simple and impossible. What is Truth? How do we use it?

While we covered all the obvious items, I think we determined that truth is a process or journey. It is crucial to talk, push against weak arguments, and learn what others think and say. This ability to calmly and clearly discuss allows us to find the truth. Things we believe are true need to be tested and measured. The process is critical and must be fair and transparent.

I paid my bill and moved to baggage check, which is now a do-it-yourself process. I managed to get the sticker on the bag and place it on the scanner, but it refused to scan. I got help, and some careful placing of barcodes made it work. Next, my ID had to be on a plate simultaneously—oops. Once that was corrected, everything went, and my bag was accepted and disappeared on a track.

I misread my boarding pass. I was now assigned seat 8E (an upgrade to premium), but I read that as gate E8. I did security for E, the line was short, and the new equipment was fun. The crew running it was smiling and talking a lot to make us feel more comfortable. Excelllent.

I took the long corridor to C7, which lets you reach other terminals, like C, my actual gate location. I found coconut shrimp for a snack and started this blog. I wrote until twenty minutes before boarding. I was happy to be upgraded (and not pay $108 for the seat). My seat was between two gals who were quiet for the trip. I learned at the bag pick up in Chicago that one was headed to a funeral and the other to see her daughter (one in DC, one in Chicago, and none on the West Coast) and had reservations at Alinea, the greatest restaurant in the USA (and maybe the world). I looked at that and decided not to pay the $700, but I have read the story of the place and have their drink books (I gave them away for Christmas). I was happy for her.

It was a 3:20 flight, and I slept about an hour. It was comfortable, but I was itchy from the dry air, and my feet hurt until I removed my shoes. I read and slept. I also texted Deborah, who was up early, to catch a train to meet me in Chicago.

I will stop there. I made it to the hotel, but that will be in the next blog.