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I rose at around 7:30 as the coffee, assembled the night before and the button pushed for timed delivery, was ready and still being heated. With a cup, I returned to the office and began a more focused writing of the blog. I also scooped up the dirty laundry and loaded The Machine and processed it for two and a fraction of an hour. Just coffee, as I was out of bananas still, and I had an appointment with the Red Cross at 1.

As is my usual morning start, I summoned all the transactions from my busy accounts with a click (sometimes it feels less like technology and more like wizardry), both income and expense, and centralized them into Quicken. There were a few adjustments. PayPal is poor at documenting why a deposit is made, and each must be manually updated. I also logged into US Bank and checked my IRA balance, discovered it had been reduced by the planned $35, and I made a matching update to the balance in Quicken. The IRA downloads and information are only basic for Quicken; I keep it simple and manual, and only track the balance (also, the solution for the very arcane US Treasury account).

I read the email and continue to select unsubscribe to liberal causes, as I will not be a source of their funding, as I am retired and have nearly no income. I spend my funds on travel, dinners with Deborah, and some hobbies (although I am trying to be restrained even for those). But it is hard to resist good causes and liberal political options.

I write and read the news here and there, and find KINK.FM is too repetitive of late, and I switch to my playlists on my laptop while I write. I write and look out my office window. The aphids are thick on my rose out my window, and I wonder why the hummingbirds are not feasting. I may have to wash them away.

I write and publish around 10, and The Machine demands that I get my finished product. I hang up the shirts and pants and toss the rest on the pile from Monday. I will fold and put it away soon, I tell myself.

I unload the dishes, grab my laptop and a book, and head to First United Methodist Church for my donation appointment. I had previously called the Red Cross help desk. My appointments made no sense and were somehow rescheduled for Thursday at a different location. They could not untangle them, but agreed I could just create a new one at the church, and I did. I learned that the Rapid system is only valid for the day it was used, which is why I was rescheduled for Thursday and a different location. I will fill it out online the day of the appointment next time.

I reach the Red Cross set up at my church, and they agree that I can return at 1 AFTER I have eaten and drank more water for lunch. Oops. I walk to Ava Roastery and order their special with water, replacing the cookie with a fruit tart (more calories but different ones) for an upcharge. I had them pick the sandwich, and the turkey with melted cheese and pesto was fantastic. I drank two glasses of water, and that, with the food, filled me. I was worried about barfing (oops!) instead of passing out, but I was better once the water was absorbed.

I returned and followed the process, and Liz ran me through it; I passed. The Iceland trip was not a reason to be excluded. I was soon squeezing a foam thing in my left arm as I filled a bag. I was happy not to be dizzy this time and chatted with Rodger, another guy who was donating at the other table. They can do two at a time. We talked about Iceland, and he was looking for a place to travel and burn up some of his flight miles. It was a pleasant chat, and it remains true that in our country, strangers can converse without fighting over politics. It gives me hope.

I was feeling tired, and walking seemed harder. It was not a balance issue, but I could feel the change, and my body was trying to adjust to less blood. I am happy to donate blood at my own church. It just felt right.

I dropped off Mom Wild’s card at the post office. I now deliver them to a post box every day instead of rushing them in the morning. I like finding a box or visiting a post office. It also gets me outside and more sun.

Somewhere in the day, I discovered that my eBay account is unreachable because the password reset is only available through a phone I don’t have. I do what everyone else does: I use another email and create a new account. For my email, alohawild@me.com is conveniently serviced by alohawild@mac.com. This came up as a “Persian Carpet” revenue stamp was on auction at 1/10 the usual price from a reputable dealer I have acquired stamps from before. My bid is not likely to succeed, but it is worth a try. That is how I acquired my last Zepplin stamp for a reasonable price.

I took Air VW the Gray to the Pearl District (not the flaming Hell stated by Trump and his allies, but an excellent tourist stop and home of Powell’s City of Books main store). I find no easy parking and park underground in a garage. There, I discover an EV charger is open and charge the EV while shopping. It is a slow charge and will likely add only 10%, but at a low price (84 cents, compared to a supercharger that would cost me $10 or more).

Plugged in, I head to Powell’s and walk through the store. I ask for help and learn that they do not have any of the 1920s crime novels I am looking for. These are before China became the focus of crime novels of the 1920s-30s. I wanted to see how well the villains match Sax Rohmer’s text. But they had none, and I just wondered and found nothing today except a cheap math book, I think I could use — I could risk $6 on it. I was also tired from the blood donation and could not focus. I did find plenty of new postcards and cards, and soon checked out.

My checker, a young man wearing a mask (a good idea when you consider the number of people he is exposed to every day at work), looked at the book and told me that he found math much more interesting now that he was out of school. I lingered and suggested that he consider data science and artificial intelligence. I explained that the coding involves calling prebuilt routines, but the understanding requires a strong mathematical background and a clear understanding of advanced statistical methods. He thanked me, and he said he would think about it.

On the streets, someone was singing — bright and wonderful, and I gave them a dollar, got a fist bump and a smile, and another young person was in some distress and got a dollar too. I try to remember to bring ones when I am out and about. I gave a buck to a gal I have seen often at post offices the day before, when mailing Mom Wild’s card.

I found the EV, unlocked it, paid the low price, and then paid an additional $14 for the privilege of using the garage. I try not to react to that, as I knew that it would be about that. I will search harder for Parking Kitty spots next time.

I met Kathleen at Schilling Cider House & Gluten Free Kitchen. We were both worn out by then, and we spent the next couple of hours in this new place, parking for free on the streets, and enjoying the food and staff. Recommended. I did have a cider and revised my list of drinks to one beer and one cider a week. Less booze in their house cider too; it was sweet and friendly flavored. Very much how I find Portland, fresh and a little drunk. We talked and had dinner; I went with a pulled pork sandwich (gluten-free), and Kathleen had the de rigueur fried chicken sandwich.

I wrote a bit, Kathleen made a few edits, but we agreed that it was too much for today. We headed out before sundown. We will be back; we liked the place and the area near the Clint Theater. Next time, I will walk the area, saving at least $14.

The trip home was bouncing all over Portland with Nav. Traffic was complex and weird for a Friday late. It seemed everyone was late leaving Portland. I hit the tunnel on Highway 26, and the traffic vanished. Odd. The sunset over the Coastal Mountains was incredible when viewed from Sylvan Hill on 26. The air was clean, and the high clouds burned golden with the sun behind the mountains and the sea. The alternative name for the highway is the Sunset Highway, and today everyone was driving slower to look at the view (yes, we get sun jams).

Home was reading, doing the dishes, and heading to bed. It was a good day. I ignored the invasion threat from Trump to Portland, as well as other political news meant to steal headlines and prevent one word from appearing in the press (E-something). I found my PJs, still in the pile I will someday fold and put away, and crawled into bed. I spoke to Deborah for some time that evening, and we just chatted on the phone. I did send her words I did not know from the 1920s story, an early story by Dashiell Hammett. It was excellent, and I was wondering how he managed those interesting turns of phrase. It was a remarkable short story, “The House in Turk Street.” Deborah rang off to sleep, and I read more until sleep took me. I slept the night except for one waking.

Thanks for reading!

It is always strange when I try to remember the day before. I would, in the past, often write the blog before going to bed, and all the events were crisp and new. Now, the day before is a flash of memories, and they never come in the correct order. Often, I miss something as I follow the tangled sequence; some branches are missing, seemingly they appear in another memory that suddenly pops into my thoughts after the blog is published. Yesterday’s blog failed to note that I walked my usual mile and felt good with no pain and it felt good.

I also forgot to include yesterday’s, but it is not very interesting that I put stamps in my album. I have the strips of Showgard plastic containers for the stamps to cover most sizes now. I found a letter and stamps from months ago, and I learned I had made duplicate purchases again. Puke! But I was happy to get some more places filled. None of these were expensive stamps, and since I obtain them at auction, they are about 50% of the catalog value or even a better deal. Later, I bid on some more stamps, and I think I missed all the auctions as the prices were too high. The emotions of an auction can get you to bid too high. I prefer to spend my money on travel and dinners with Deborah; there is always another auction (as evidenced by my US 8A in my collection, which was purchased for less than one-quarter of the catalog value).

Today, I am writing Thursday’s story on Friday morning, and I feel especially tangled, but let me try to shake out the net of my memories and tell the story.

I rose around 7:30, and the coffee was made and still being heated. I poured a cup and grabbed the last banana (and while many folks here the song “Yes, we have no bananas,” I instead always hear a rewording of the Parrothead song, “The last banana in paradise,” here). I then head to the office, happy to see the mess is better and the desk just needs to be straightened up. So much better!

My favorite Parrothead music here and this one (you can’t have just one). Music that makes you swing and dance while singing.

I complete the blog (the missing bits I described) and get it published. I created another report on the refresh work, my seventh, and sent it out as well. I then completed my class notes for Sunday’s class and sent them out.

I then rushed to get to meet Scott for lunch, our usual Thursday meeting. Shower, shave, dress, and out the door with my laptop. I was only a few minutes late, and Scott was a few minutes early. He was an inch into his beer. I ordered my one beer-a-week, and we talked and ate. McMenamins Cedar Hills has a lunch special, and I had half a tuna with salad and a cup of soup. Our waiter did not know what the soup was, but we laughed and ordered it anyway (hearty veggie).

Scott and I talked about my battle with depression of late and my self-treatment of light, which is helping. He was also surprised to learn I fear the dark; I can sleep in the dark, but when I am ill, I often sleep with the lights on. We discussed our travel plans, and Scott headed to Florida before Christmas. I will see if I can overlap with him in Key Largo; I have never been there before.

Scott’s experiment of taking some of his retirement savings and investing it himself has produced a higher return than his Fidelity investments. Interesting. M@ says the same thing. I need the services provided by US Bank Wealth Management and am content, for now, to let them manage my affairs. We will both be in the area for a few more weeks, and we plan to meet again next week.

I headed to Hillsboro. I was surprised to get a parking spot on Main Street that was easy to pull into. I can do parallel parking (Air VW the Gray is smaller than anything I have owned before, and I can slide it into slots with ease), but I prefer something easier. I locked it and walked on the streets. I toured the antique stores, looking for excellent furniture and 1920s reference books. I found an Agatha Christie book, for too much money for an old hardcover, but it was a story I wanted to read: Elephants Can Remember. It includes the character Ariadne Oliver, which I feel is Agatha adding a version of herself into her stories. Hercule Poirot, her famous detective, is often heckled by Ariadne in the stories; I love that. Elephants Can Remember is a favorite of mine from the BBC show with David Suchet, but I have not read the book.

I stopped by the corner store and Bennett Urban Farm Store and spent too much on pasta, pasta sauce, and new locally roasted and ground coffee. We discussed how the past seems to be divided into ‘before’ and ‘after’ the Pandemic. I remember wearing a mask and buying coffee from them. We both agreed it was great to still be here.

I sat in the local Insomniate Coffee shop, a local competitor of Starbucks, and had their honey biscuit and a pumpkin spice something chai hot drink. It was recommended. I enjoyed the biscuit with butter (it, by itself, was enough of a diabetic crime, and I skipped more honey or jam). There, I assemble a list of events and travel plans for the Southern Trip, as we call it, for the church in November.

With my email out and time running away from me, I head to the house in the EV. I defrost some chicken thighs (boneless and skinless) in running water. I start watching some shows, but then talk to Deborah for a while. We spoke for nearly an hour. At the same time (timing is a bit unclear in my memory), I also cut up the chicken, fried it in a pan, drained the fat, and continued to fry it until it was browned. Next, I added the curry sauce. I also cooked grits, as they are easier to make than rice in small amounts. I managed not to get it to stick to the bottom of the pan. It was still a bit crunchy when done. Hmmm.

I put half of the chicken away and enjoyed most of the grits, 1/2 cup dry, with it. Better than rice, I think. Deborah, finishing her day with me, rang off and went to sleep. I read and was at loose ends. Instead of doing something useful, I read and tried to enjoy the evening.

I picked up a new book, Bismarck, and the terrible writing of the biography was getting to me, but I nodded off during the introduction, which included Chinatown stories from the 1920s and ’30s. Before my eyes grew heavy, I learned that before the ‘Yellow Peril,’ the villains were Italian, and that most of the villains were boilerplate characters that could be updated for whatever sold. I folded over the corner and will look for one and try, ‘Italian Peril.’

I turned off the light, sighed at the darkness, and slept in what seemed like a dreamless sleep.

Thanks for reading.

I woke up, rolled over, and didn’t rise until the coffee was getting cold, after 8. I had no plans for Wednesday as Z had soccer on Wednesday night. I plan to finish my preparation for the Sunday School Class I am teaching. One more class on the last Sunday in September. I rose, found the coffee, and returned to the office, where I started writing the blog.

I wrote for some time and did not finish until late morning. I only had coffee, and I was hungry by the time I finished.  I also had the lamp on that is full-spectrum, and that seemed to help as well. Trying to fight against the depression I have been feeling. I have had the lights off in the house and lived as a troglodyte, thinking to save money and help the environment, but now I am well-lit. I had lights on at night, and that helped.

The coughing and sneezing season in the Greater Portland Area has begun. I need more rain to wash this pollen from the air! My eyes are red and my nose is full!

I sat outside at McMenamins Cornelius Pass Roadhouse for my lunch, drinking iced tea. There, I had a mystic burger (not meat) with some fries. A yellow jacket and I fought over who would eat the burger, but I managed to knock it away, and nearly caught it once in my hand (which would not have had happy results for me or the wasp). I wrote my notes for the class and completed my plans for it. I will review them on Thursday, make any corrections and additions, and then send them out.

With that done and the afternoon disappearing at an alarming rate, I wrote a card to Mom Wild. I had earlier written a postcard to the FCC chairman. I was happy to find one with the correct sentiment I wanted to share with Mr. Carr.

I ran the EV through the carwash. There was a bug splat or bird poo on the windshield that was less when the process was completed. I will later carefully clean off the remains with just a paper towel and a spray cleaner. Remember, dear reader, windshield glass is contained inside a plastic layer and is easily scratched.

Deborah was busy working like most Americans on weekdays. I spoke to her here and there all day and got to wish her goodnight as she ended her day and went to sleep. It is a pleasure to start and finish our days together.

Deborah and I watched the second episode of Murders Only in the Building together today. And while the first episode had the actors seemingly unable to sparkle and find their footing, this one was wonderful and one of the best episodes ever. It added more elements and a richer story to the series while maintaining its beauty.

Dinner consisted of the remains of excellent aged Gouda cheese, some thin-sliced prosciutto, and herring in cream with onions. This with crackers, and I finished the first season of the Foundation series on Apple+. It was an interesting ending, and I will start the next one soon. But Slow Horses also started its new season, and I watched the first episode of that. It began where it left off, and I enjoyed the total confusion that is the show’s storylines.

I was somewhere between shows when I went into the office and began to bring order to the chaotic mess I had let slip into my inner sanctum. I added a second notebook to my US Bank Wealth Management papers. I receive a printed write-up on every investment, along with all the updates to the same. This has filled a notebook over the past half year, as I punch holes in most of them. I examined the expense costs of the index shares, which are stocks that track the market, and was surprised by the high expense ratio. Wall Street always wants a cut of your action. My other investments are low-cost. Hmmm.

Aside: Various politicians in Washington, dear reader, remember that the only currency is power, and they want to transfer all of Social Security to Wall Street. This way, politicians can control investments and thus have power over them. It would be a massive payout for Wall Street and would undoubtedly be a windfall for political power (and contributions). Nobody mentions that Americans receive a 10% return on a conservative investment with a cost ratio so small that it cannot be calculated, thus zero. Nothing Wall Street could even approach without risking the principal on less safe investments (junk bonds, anyone). And that the balance of the principle of Social Security is invested in treasuries, and thus the US Debt is mainly owed to Social Security payers. Yes, you, dear reader, are the holder of the debt. When the politicians and nutty billionaires talk about walking away from the National Debt, remember they are talking about your money.

I hand-cut up some checks, and take out the paper for recycling. I remembered to put out the recycling and trash on Wednesday night. I am still getting used to the new day. I do the dishes and clean up the kitchen. I assembled the coffee for Thursday morning.

Bed is calling, and time seems to have advanced. All evening I had the lights on. I feel better. I read my biography of Bismarck and can’t believe anyone would write this terribly. The author is a sycophant of a dead man. I push through, as I am unfamiliar with this history beyond the usual Western Civ bullet points.

I soon sleep. I woke up and tried some electrolytes in some water. I wake again, and this time, I use painkillers. The combination seems to work, and I sleep.

Thanks for reading

I managed to skip the alcohol drinks on Tuesday, but I did have a large plate of chili con carne yesterday. My PJs seem to be tighter on Wednesday when I write this, I am sure it is my imagination…

Tuesdays include traveling to Portland in post-rush-hour traffic to Richard’s place to play cooperative games with Richard and James. The 6:30 alarm was unwelcome, but I managed to rise with it. I did not, as is my usual, wake minutes before it, but instead it blasted me out of my dreams. Coffee was assembled but not yet brewing as it is set to 7. I started it.

I, with focus, wrote the blog and quickly processed my transactions in Quicken, peeked at the news (depressing), and rushed through my email, unsubscribing from retail and political money-collecting emails. I am trying to help both by reducing their costs and setting appropriate expectations. I am retired with very limited income opportunities. Most of my inbound cash is generated from interest and dividends on the money I have invested in interest-bearing accounts and some limited short-term instruments.

I completed the blog but running into my time-box, rushed my shower, and found myself in light but still slow-moving traffic in Air VW the Gray. It was the lightest traffic I have experienced on this trip this year, but it was still a 45-minute trip to Richard’s place. Even the signs were saying 50 mph while we were going 10, a sort of cheerleading from ODoT. I was ten minutes late. James, coming the other way from Washington State, was also late.

We returned to Tainted Grail and learned, to some frustration, that the Holy Grail we had finally recovered was a copy. Our characters are starting to work more effectively together and gain improved abilities as we collect resources and move around more frequently. We are working more like a team. I also think this chapter, 3A, is better assembled and gives me hope for the remaining ten chapters. We play, trying to move the story forward, until 1:45, most of the time was invested in playing and less in game mechanics and accounting. These role-playing game-style board games with an app often are, to me, filled with a mind-numbing process and upkeep. I prefer paper-and-pencil versions or online tools that fit that model, like Roll20, but it has been interesting to play these games. I like the combat system and the diplomacy.

We take a risk and undertake a challenging diplomatic task that I was initially against trying. Too many times have I seen that you suddenly have no resources and cannot play without spending hours restocking. Totally boring to me. However, we all managed to push it through with some luck and a lot of cards played.

(I loved this sign at the Broadway Grill)

I had mixed feelings about the game, as I felt we were spending too much time on the process. I also detected the colors running out of the world and sadness rising in me. So, I ignore my doubts about the game and instead stop at the Broadway Grill for a late lunch. Iced tea and a falafel pita sandwich were my calorie-appropriate lunch. I also wrote a card for Mom Wild.

I carried my Apple laptop with me. I began researching flights to Boston for the Thanksgiving holiday. I found reasonable holiday flights (under $600) once I spread out my travel dates. I will chat with Clint later to set dates.

I started my work on preparing for the class on Sunday. This one is about our church, and mostly me to compose and execute. I will invest more time on Wednesday and Thursday, and then stop. Four times the length of the class is more than enough time to invest in preparing.

Feeling the depression rising, I walk in Portland searching for a mailbox for my card. I see many places that interest me, and I take pictures of the area. I find the colors returning, and the sadness fades into a memory. It will haunt me a few times for the rest of the day.

I find that the Postal Annex has a box, and I drop my card there. I skip the excellent bakery and cross the street. In Portland, the cars stop for you at marked crossings. I was trying to get my phone out for a photo when I heard the tap of a horn, raised my arm in acknowledgment of the mistake, and walked the rest of the way red-faced.

I reached the Broadway Bookstore and found cards and political postcards with messages for our elected officials, and I picked up a few of those. One is headed soon to the FCC Chairman. You can see the postcards at Stronge Feeling Press’s website (here).

I had parked the EV on Broadway, which is now reduced to two lanes and has angled parking. This means folks will back into traffic. The staff, while appreciating the changes (I could now find a parking spot), noted that there have been many accidents and that traffic is slower through the area now. Richard had mentioned that he resides in Portland a few times and dislikes it.

I returned home via tall bridges and then drove back into Portland NW to connect to an alternative way when I saw the huge traffic mess just off the bridge. My Nav was repeatedly telling me it was messy and had a twenty-minute wait. Instead, I got to enjoy seeing areas in NW I had not seen in a few years, and then crossed the hills on backroads.

I returned to the house without further adventures. I blew through one red light that I didn’t see until it was too late. I also made some messy lane changes as I corrected. I also drove the EV fast in the curves until I discovered the usual slower traffic. Again, despite the extra-legal mistakes and speeding, it was a nice drive.

Home, I got the mail, rested for a bit, and managed not to eat anything. I was tired and started the Foundation on Apple+ to relax. I am ending season 1. I have been told that season 3 is the best.

Off to Beaverton and meeting Dondrea and Z for a birthday dinner for Dondrea. We talked about travel, school, sports, and some items from my class. Dondrea and I love the chili Colorado, and Z got Mexican-style tacos. We shared a flan that was thick and more caramel-flavored than most I have had (almost a thick pudding). Excellent.

With us saying goodbye, I returned home. The colors suddenly ran out again (notice the sun is down), and I am sad, I am sure I do not want to go on, and unbidden thoughts run through my mind. I am reacting to the dark! Richard’s basement has no sunlight (but some lightning). I need to turn on the lights and not sit in the dark, like when I am driving. Wow! Never been here before.

Susie had the issue, and I changed the lights, but I have not kept that up. I will update the lights and ensure I have lights. I noticed that I slept better a few times with the light on. Hmmm. I am also always scared in the dark. My imagination runs riot.

With a light on, I watch Foundation and feel better. I am tired, get in my PJs, read in bed with a light, and feel better. I do turn off the light and sleep as I am nodding off in my book, Bismarck.

Light and exercise! Thanks for reading.

 

 

I have started to watch all the late-night host monologues as my news feed. I still read the news in the morning in The New York Times, which I do not read for its liberal editorial (which isn’t that liberal, but at least not the voice of some zombie self-focused multinational corporation or worse, some twisted billionaire), but for its focus on language and storytelling. Even their cooking articles are brilliantly composed. Their writing is meant to catch your eye at the start, and as the writing flows naturally, it keeps your attention and adds more and more interesting items. I forgive their use of the Oxford Comma, and look carefully at how they use punctuation, especially how they break for paragraphs. I am reading less and less during the day.

Monday is my day to relax and go wherever I please. I seldom have plans on this first day of the working week; many of my friends are busy changing their mental gears from living the weekend and now grinding in the week. I glide into Monday. It is a laundry day, and often things leak into it. I have a church meeting in the afternoon and a CT scan following Monday at a new location at OHSU in Portland (no tram rides this time, as I will be on the river).

Grammarly gave me my “Everything’s Coming Up Roses” 350-week continuing writing award (over six years). They seem to be inventing new awards just for me; I suspect I am one of the few, possibly the only one, who has used their tool every week for this many years. And I am happy that it has been years since I last had to talk to their helpdesk folks. I am, though always fighting with it, glad to have it watching and helping. And it never likes to start a sentence with a connecting word, such as ‘and,’ for example. Although it is legal, I often use this technique to break up the writing and engage the reader, but the AI tool highlights it every time, suggesting that it is incorrect or unwise. But, I digress.

Returning to our story, I struggled to find my focus on a day when I didn’t need it. I managed to publish the blog in the morning and start the first load of laundry after stripping the bed, gathering towels, and having breakfast of a banana and some cheese (finishing the blue from Market of Choice). I shower. Deborah, back to work, and I text as the day goes on. We enjoy starting and ending our days together. She was an excellent distraction from finding my focus!

I am not as sore as I was yesterday, and I try to ignore the cold house at 64°F (18°C). There is no dampness to it, making it easier to tolerate, and I am happy to spend no resources again today on heating or cooling (though the fan is running constantly to keep the air moving through the filters).

I cook, some sticking to the bottom of the pan but not burning, some grits for lunch. I add the last of the French-style beef, heated in the microwave. I had no cheese to make the grits extra special, but honestly, I don’t need those extra calories. I cooked 1/4 cup of dried grits, just enough for the meal.

Off to church by way of the post office to mail a card to Mom Wild. I arrive, and folks for the refresh meeting are there. We even have a little person join us. We talk about the details of the refresh and the bids. I check my understanding of all the work. Wendy from the church office joins us for a while, and we decide on a bid, agreeing to move forward. I sign the letter to transfer the last of the money as a donation in front of them, adding a bit of ceremonial flair. We pray, and it begins.

I take the EV home, putter around the house, do some more paperwork, and start more laundry. My plan for a walk never materializes; I will have to be more careful with that. I want to close that ring every day. I make dinner at home (saving money, my waistline, and using up all the food I bought). I defrost more Costco chicken in running water, find the curry sauce in a jar, and cook some rice. Again, I chose to make 1/2 a cup of dried rice to prevent over-consumption. The skinless and boneless chicken thighs are cut into 1″ pieces and browned in a pan, and then the sauce is added. I did eat all the chicken, but I was hungry from the merger lunch and avoided snacking. It was delicious.

I watched more of Apple+ Foundation and enjoyed where the show is going, a surprise to me. I like the action, acting, and the expansion of what I thought were secondary characters. It reminds me of The Explanse and their reworking of the books. Recommended.

I talk to Clint (Married to Susie’s cousin, and an outlaw like me), I will join them around Thanksgiving, I think, and we will play some games, and also collect his large group of role-players and do D&D again. Details have yet to be finalized.

I read more role-playing game (RPG) rules, Shadow Dark, and even an adventure. This is a GM-focused game with rules light and a strong focus on combat and flow; that is more my style (Game master, or dungeon master, runs the game and decides on rules, for those who do not speak RPG). It makes spell casting a risk, and I would reduce or eliminate other mechanics to make it more enjoyable for the players. I am tempted to get a group together to try it. It comes with adventures, though the details are light, they would be a reason to play.

My usual complaint is that there is no playable material, but these rules and the one expansion come with adventures. It also comes with premade characters ready to play (all obviously ignoring the character creation rules, which I would immediately discard). I am player-focused, not GM.

I turn to my 1980s biography of Bismarck and read more of the “great man.” I get a few more pages, and then sleep comes. I put the book away and surrender to the darkness. The new sheets on the bed feel wonderful in the cold evening. Dreams come, but they are not remembered. Pain comes too. My legs ache. Painkillers do not work. Taking some electrolights does. I sleep the rest of the night, sliding deep into my blankets.

Thanks for reading.