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Some days are just travel, and Wednesday was one of those.

I rose, showered, shaved, and all of that. I dressed and managed to fit a few items into my luggage, then closed it up. Check-out is at noon at the Club Quarter Hotel in Boston’s Financial District. I headed next door to get breakfast at Elephant and Castle and spent about $20 on their Sunrise breakfast with poached eggs, bangers, bacon, and potato bits. I had that with lots of coffee. There, Benjamin, my waiter again for breakfast, kept filling my coffee while I wrote the rest of the blog that I had started in my room. He put me in the corner, with my permission, and I got a view of the whole war. It, and like the hotel lobby, seems a bit frayed at the edges. Light out, slipped panels, and water damage show that some basic repairs are not being done. My taxi driver commented that the Financial District was busy until the pandemic, and it has never returned to that level of activity. Corporations discovered the hidden cost of offices, and employees found they cannot do just as well, and often better, working from home. I think this explains the wear and tear.

Breakfast was good, and I said goodbye to Elephant and Castle (Benjamin brought me the room card that I left on the table) and returned to my room, checked again for anything missed, and left 408 and soon turned in my key, checked out, and waited for a taxi back to Logan Airport. My ride in was as fast as it was between rush hours (and unlike Portland and other American cities, there is no lunch traffic), and soon I was getting my bag tag. I did not realize you must leave your QR code on the screen while getting a bag tag (not wanting to forget my phone, I had flashed the code and put it back in my pocket); the station just locked up until I put the iPhone back.

With that interruption, the process was easy. The lines were short, but the maze of stanchions was in place, meaning I walked the whole thing to get to TSA. There was a special section for the US Military, and TSA pre-approved that someone had taped US flags to the retractable tape stanchions (I had to look up what they are called), which I thought looked like a strange-looking flag corridor and led to the same place I discovered. My ID, Oregon Driver’s License with the REAL ID star, was examined with great care and even put under a monocular to check it. I have never seen it checked like this.

I, my ID, my bag, and other items passed the remaining tests without incident or any further checks. I walked across Logan to my gate. I found a bar near my gate, sat there, and ordered a bowl of Clam Chowder with Ginger Ale (I was already tired). I had upgraded for 5K miles to comfort, as I knew I would be tired when I ordered the tickets. Zone 3 and 11A worked for me. Soon, I was watching the new Fantastic Four movie and on my way to my connection.

On landing, I took my time crossing the airport in Minneapolis, even stopping at a bookstore on the way. I had officially 90 minutes, but when I arrived, I had ten minutes until boarding?! Not quite sure what happened, but I found a turkey-and-cheese on a croissant and then boarded the plane.

I had my bottle of water I’d filled in Boston, and that helped, and soon I was watching another movie, Julie & Julia (I love movies about cooking). The plane needed to be de-iced, and we spent 30 minutes having stuff squirted all over it. Finally, we were in the air, and I enjoyed cooking more. I make the same Beef Bourguignon mentioned in the movie from a recipe revised by Evelyn’s Midtown Kitchen in Detroit (here).

I read and nodded off a few times. I was in Comfort and thus got some complimentary chips to go with my sandwich (I could have bought a snack box on the plane, but my sandwich was excellent, as were the sea-salt, homemade-style chips). Just as I was getting tired of flying, the landing was announced.

The rest is the usual blur of trying not to forget something and walking PDX to baggage claim. I found my bag in a few minutes, and soon Joan S, who is driving now, picked me up. We chatted while she drove me home. Another blur, as I was tired and the time zones had changed.

(Yes, the Martini Glass is back!)

At home, I aired the house out, got the mail (which was delivered today after being on hold), and soon was in my PJs, resting in my comfortable bed. I seemed to sleep well and woke just before my 7 a.m. alarm.

Thanks for reading.

 

 

I spent the whole day, my only whole day in Boston, walking around Boston until the sun went down. I did not have my heavy coat, and my layers were not resistant to real cold and winds, which is Boston’s winter. But I pressed on as it was my plan to see some of Boston.

I watched as my transactions were published through my accounts, and there are no shanaggins on my credit cards or bank accounts. I did have a declined card when buying my annual fruitcake and fudge mailing. I did use the Visa for a few more (I have about four left to send out). I called AMEX, they said everything was in order, I paid the bar bill with AMEX, and there were no issues. I recall the same issue last year, it is on the fruitcake maker side, and I think it will clear. I picked up a few Christmas gifts on my trip, all small and easy to include in my luggage.

Breakfast was next door at the Elephant and Castle, and my waiter, Benjamin, recommended the Eggs Benedict. It was a good choice, but not as good as some. I ate that with some potatoes, which were good with some green onions, and wrote the blog. I got a few cups of coffee while I wrote.

The weather was going to be a challenge as it was going to rain, not the polite Oregon mist, and include some cold winds. I put on a sweater and hoped that my coat would be enough. It would not be. I was uncomfortable all day, but I did not let that stop me. I walked and walked to get an understanding of the area. I tried, for $11, the Boston Athenaeum Library, thinking it was another library I follow, but that one is in Providence, Rhode Island. I pay to see the collection, and it is interesting (and warm and dry). They have many plaster casts of classical sculptures from the 1700s into the early 1900s. There is even a marble here and there. All copies of classics that once were the thing to have in your home to show how cultured you were, here in New England. I saw two paintings that I have seen reproduced quite a few times, and now I know where the originals are. It was all interesting and not. I was not looking for plaster heads of our founding fathers (though they were in Jefferson’s house), but still, it was worth it. I saw a graveyard next to the place, but now it was cold and drizzling, meaning I thought it best to delay that visit or skip it altogether.

I walked a few blocks and found the Massachusetts State House, the one in use, and entered through the General Hooker entrance with a life-sized horse and general in bronze. “May God have mercy on General Lee, for I will have none,” the general is reported to have said. He was defeated by Lee (often), and one of the worst (Chancellorsville) defeats encouraged Lee to try to end the war by invading the North, leading to the Battle of Gettysburg (Hooker was relieved before that battle started and replaced by Meade). But he was remembered well by the troops, and history had been kind to Hooker.

 

As I walked towards the general, I was stopped by some protesters who, having paused their protest, were happy to direct me to the capital and suggested I skip the tour and just walk the place. I took their advice after passing security and found the place a cold marble-filled maze. The white marble, high ceiling, and extra bright light made the place feel emotionally cold. But the security and folks at the desks welcomed me with smiles and told me to just walk in and look around. They are proud of their building and that it is open to the public, like people like me, just walking in.

With some backtracking, I found the Senate and House (most states echo the bicameral design of the Federal Government, though Massachusetts, not a state but a commonwealth, though treated as a state at the Federal level, and has been in existence before the US) and the Governor’s Office. There, I told the staff I was originally from Michigan, and they proudly pointed to the Mitt Romney painting, still remembered as a popular and successful governor (and the security guard remembered Mitt, and we both agreed Mitt was his happiest here).

I found the bookstore that offered, for a small price, various official documents, but no postcard of the State House. I found one that said ‘Massachusetts’ and ‘Boston’ and bought it for $1.06. Massachusetts is infamous for its taxes (“Tax-a-chusetts”). The protestors, now drenched by the rain, were happy to see me and asked what I liked. They offered me various protest materials about the evils of the petroleum industry, but when they learned I was from Oregon and drove an EV, they were satisfied I was one of them. They offered to take my picture in front of the State House, having plenty of pictures already, I demurred. They were happy to have someone to talk to; I think they get mostly ignored.

Leaving and waving to the protestors, looking odd with the giant horse and general beside them, I headed to someplace warm. They reminded me of Hooker’s optimism; I wish them success (with low casualties). I stopped at the Old Meeting House and bought a ticket for both the Old Meeting House and the Old State House. A staffer met me, happy to have a customer; she later told me that winter is hard as they have so few visitors.

The Old Meeting House is a church, and here the plot for the Boston Tea Party was hatched, not at a government or the more formal King’s Chapel nearby, but here in the rented pews and benches in a fiercely independent, anti-iconoclastic protestant meeting hall. I felt at home. My guide covered her favorite items. I loved the horseshoe the British found later. The occupying troops wrecked the meeting house and turned it into a riding arena. My guide pointed out the statue of a man, a normal-looking shoemaker, who was there for the meeting, the Party, and later events. She pointed out the few remaining structures that survived the remodels and the British troops, a pew and a staircase. Plus the outside walls. We talked about slavery (she had just graduated in African Studies), and she pointed out that most folks remember the abolitionists and not the fact that slavery started here in Massachusetts before the South. Here were the first slave owners in the colonies and the first place to abolish slavery.

I thanked her and hoped to be back (the rain turned heavy, and I returned, soaked, to my hotel room instead). King’s Chapel, built in the 1600s, was open for music today. I walked the short distance there and was happy to find the church was well-heated. I donated the recommended $5 to the player and spent thirty minutes walking around the building. There were informational signs in place, and I did my self-guided touring, which today would be about. The pews are boxes, like in the Old Meeting House, and families rented them. Paul Revere’s 33 box was near the Governor’s, and the bell was made in his shop (though not by him). He described it as some of their best work, with a “Sweat” sound. One pew box was from the judge who ruled on Dred Scott. Another Wordsworth mentioned his distaste for abolitionists. George Washington had sat in the Governor’s Pew during a concert.

And while the massive organ sounded lovely, but the selection was 1700s holiday music that had me nod off once. I suspect that was why the pews were so well-padded. While the pulpit is the oldest in use in the USA (recovered from the previous church), I imagine the pastor would see many listeners resting. Though old, the building was constructed from the remains of an older church. I will not make the crypt tour and other interesting options, but maybe for a later trip.

The wet was cold, and my coat was soaked, but I managed to walk to the Old State House and did another self-guided tour. And while the material was interesting (including a cannonball found on/in Bunker Hill and a hat that was likely worn at the Tea Party), I was sad to see that the interior had been replaced. Still, it was interesting.

 

I walked, in the increasing cold and rain, to the graveyard I had seen earlier. It holds the graves of Franklin’s parents and many other Founding Fathers, including John Hancock and Samuel Adams. I was cold and wet too, and I quickly walked out.

I located another used bookstore, Brattle Book Shop, and decided to endure the cold again. I stopped at a coffee place (it was one of the Christian-focused The Well Coffee Houses, which I usually avoid, but I was cold) before I headed out. Slighly drier, I walked six or more blocks to the theater area outside of the Finance District, where I was staying at the Club Quarters Hotel.

The theater was all lit up, and the Christmas lights around Macy’s looked ready for the snow (which never appeared as it just rained). I found the bookstore around a corner, three stories of used books and prints. They had posters of their best books, marked “Sold” for huge prices. Wow!

I found a few books on WW1 that I liked. I added a murder mystery and then paid $10 to ship them home. I did walk up to the second floor, and there were interesting items there, but the rare book floor was a treasure of cool old stuff. I was so tempted by a Civil War set that has wonderful pictures. I remember seeing it in my school library and loving to look through it. I remember seeing a photo in the book that showed, among other things, the wreck of the CSS Virginia blocking the James River. The wreck was partially salvaged; parts of the ship are in Richmond. The rest was dredged, like many Civil War river wrecks, and lost.

Resisting the $250 price tag for the set, I returned to the cold, wet, and reached my hotel, where I dried out.

I called Deborah a few times. We said good night.

Somewhere in the evening, I was again at Elephant and Castle for a drink and then dinner. I had planned to try somewhere else, but it was raining hard, and the wind was blowing. I tried the curry as the bartender said it was excellent. It was excellent Butter Chicken with pita bread filling in for naan and rice. The bar was loud and friendly, and I talked to a few folks visiting and listened to the bartender’s worries that Christmas was coming too soon. His wife was setting up the tree that night with his son.

I was in my room, asleep, before midnight local time. I slept the night through and woke just before my alarm. My dreams are forgotten, but I remember they were pleasant. I dreamed, remembering now, that I weighed myself and had lost weight — only in my dreams!

Thanks for reading.

 

 

 

 

Monday was the start of traveling alone days. I travel well alone, and I was soon packed and ready after a shower and dressing in the clothing I had set aside during packing. I picked a dress shirt with a gray sweater vest for Monday. I write the blog while eating the complementary breakfast (I have to buy my next ones) and finish it. The lobby is quiet as everyone has gone back home, except me and a few other stragglers or folks there for work. Construction folks are often the other breakfast people, but I miss them since I start later (writing the first half of the blog in my room).

I finish and publish the blog, then head to the room to gather my suitcase, gym bag, and coat. I recheck the room for missed items. Mentally, I checked that I brought one pair of shoes. My black shoes often disappear into the room’s color and shadows and require a careful check. Deborah had to retrieve them for me once.

My plan to drive the car to the front desk is confused by a delivery that blocks that path. Instead, I circle back to the entrance on various streets and traffic lights, check out, and tell the staff that the hotel is in good shape (it is from the 1980s!) and that I appreciate their efforts to make it work. It was in better shape than some of the ones I have stayed at. I am on the road to Boston!

There is not much to recount on the drive. There was a complex of connections and one or two to dive to the correct exit. But no drama and no scraped paint. The traffic at the airport was long lines of cars and crazy, long one-way streets to a parking garage packed with vehicles. A man waved me to a halt, “In all my 23 years, I have never seen it like this,” he told me as they shuffled cars to get me a place. I have yet to see the bill (I am writing this on Tuesday).

I ask, and taxis are cheaper from the terminal, and I get one of the giant three-part buses and toss my bags in the rack. I talk to other passengers, and we are all amazed by the mess that is the Rental Car Return at Logan. I was going to take the subway, but the terrible mess made me jump off the bus with my bags and walk to the taxi line. I am soon with a friendly Tesla driver who gets me through all the tunnels and tolls, racking up a bill of about $40 to downtown with a tip. My later explorations revealed that the subways are like those in NYC and Chicago, with lots of stairs; no place for heavy bags!

My hotel is pleasant and looks like many I stayed with, but slightly higher class, meaning it is more expensive, and late checkout is $48. The room, which was ready when I got there around noon, is smaller than IHG’s; city rooms are often smaller.

Tuesday and Wednesday are supposed to be cold, messy, and stormy. I walked, using my iPhone for direction (looking like all the other tourists), to James Hook & Company for an expensive (they are always costly) lobster roll. It is cold lobster meat, freshly cooked, mixed with some mayo (butter, the other choice, for more $), on toasted bread. I had a local beer with it. And while good (and checking off a box for me, eating a lobster roll in Boston at the harbor), it is plain food (also, my tastes never recovered from the mouth infection after the brain surgery).

 

I order an Uber, and Brian, in a Ford Explorer, picks me up. He is chatty, and we walk around Boston and Portland, and he is repairing the Ford since he hit a trailer. It seemed OK to me. The JFK library is in an area that juts out into the harbor, offering a breezy yet lovely view of Boston and the harbor.

The library starts with a film, then descends into itself. They focus on JFK’s words and his wife’s experiences. The 1960 election and years in the white house take up most of the space. It is pleasant and the movie on the Cuban Missile Crisis is excellent. There is only a tiny section about the assassination, with Walter Cronkite’s reporting of the shooting and death of the president being the only thing covered.

A guide was giving a tour, and he talked about one bad day for JFK as he watched on TV Wallace’s declaration of segregation forever speech, his brother’s decision to fight Wallace, a monk set himself on fire and died to protest the war in Viet Nam, and then JFK, having asked the speakers to keep it bland, watches as Martin Luther King’s suddenly drops the agreed to boring speech and ad libs what is known as the “I Have a Dream Speech.” JFK later meets MLK, shakes his hand, and thanks him. “What a day,” the tour guide said as he stood in the Oval Office model in the museum with the original rocking chair that JFK likely used when watching TV. Indeed.

I stop by the shop and get trinkets that easily fit in my bags and are easy to carry. I then, directed by my iPhone, walk five blocks to the bus station. I stop and take pictures of an old armory. A MassU student tells me to just board a MassU transfer bus with them to get to the subway. I do, then get help at the station, and have to remember that the pronunciations of locations here on the East Coast are just as made-up as the West’s, when I am directed, and I cannot understand at first. I put it together and get on the correct train.

 

(Hemingway’s recipe for burgers; the two libraries work together)

It is just a few blocks away, but there are many, many steps to reach my hotel. I drop off my JFK Library items and head back out. It is dark now, but the bookstore around the corner is open. It is a used book and print store. Yay! Commonwealth Books ships, and soon I find two paperbacks that I might have read, but one is signed (the author long gone), and the other is a Judge Dee story (here). I bought them and then paid to have them shipped home.

I next stopped at Elephant and Castle, next door to my hotel. There, I had a few beers and then tried their flight of pies. The chicken pot pie and the steak and mushroom were excellent. The leeks and potatoes were also good.

I returned to my room stuffed and talked to Deborah for a while.

I also received the first bill for the refresh (about 50%) and sent it for payment. There were some questions, but the bill is now being processed. All good.

I slept through the night. The food, the beer, the nearly 8,000 steps, and a comfortable bed helped.

Thanks for reading.

 

 

 

 

 

I rose for my last full day in New Hampshire on Sunday, sleeping in as Annika was not feeling well and was thus not ready to rally the family and get them to church. I wrote the blog slowly and spent some time organizing and getting ready to make everything fit in the small bags again. I had the usual breakfast, and the lobby was busy with many folks finishing their holiday weekend in Merrimack, New Hampshire. I am ramping down, have less planned each day, and the blog was no more than 1,000 words for Saturday’s remembrances.

I spoke to Deborah a few times, and we texted often during the day.

Sunday was the usual messy post-Thanksgiving day, opening into the last rush of work (for some) and holiday purchases, decorating, and travel (for many). It can be daunting. Dear reader, remember to be good to yourself (extra rum in the eggnog, as needed).

I met Clint for brunch at the Riverwalk Cafe in Nashua, near the river and in old town. I had a pastrami egg sandwich on a homemade biscuit, and Clint had a burrito with chorizo sausage. All good.

I parked the rental, then saw the ‘no parking’ sign in this lot (even on Sundays), and moved the car downhill to a public lot. Giant empty parking lots with no-parking signs (unless allowed by some unknown process) are dotted throughout the area. Hmmm.

Liquid Therapy was nearby, and we drank our lunch there, with me getting a sourish ale and Clint a flight of their strange beers. We, having just eaten, passed on the fine food that they constantly asked us about. We also went to ‘Order Here’ first, and were then told by the bartender that they have table service. We sat at a table and had a beer.

Deborah complained to me that I cannot associate all the aggressive driving and some of the unique customer service options with the New Hampshire motto, seen on their license plates: “Live Free or Die.” But I think it explains a lot, gas prices, traffic patterns, toll roads, and so on.

Satisfied with the sour beers and some types I have never seen before, a golden stout (?!), we returned to Annika’s and Clint’s place and tried our hands at playing the older board game Terra Mystica. This game, which I have not played the original, is the starting point for many games, and I was interested in enjoying the original version. I would see from the start that the game is about capturing and using board locations, and this can create conflicts. It was just Clint and me in this game, and we avoided most conflicts, but I could see some angry words when someone blocked another player. It is a resource management and worker placement game without conflict or discovery (thus avoiding 4X issues).

We played as we learned, and some things we discovered we should have been doing, definitely a learning game. It was a pleasant, enjoyable game, and I was able to get a few points over Clint, but we likely missed some scoring opportunities. It is one to return to after watching some videos or finding someone who has played it before. Not a bad game, but it did feel a bit dated to me.

Mad Dog, one of the graybeards of Linux (here), was at the bar that Clint and I traveled to after the game of Terra Mystica. Mad Dog was interested in sharing his experiences, and I know where he was going (I may have purchased his Linux Red Hat book years ago). Mad Dog went over his efforts to build a server-quality chip set for heavy Linux processing in Brazil. I was told that Raspberry Pi licensing prevented building them in Brazil, which led Mad Dog to help get server-grade processors made in Brazil. Mad Dog and his associates are focusing on RISC-based processing. We spent two beers of time talking shop.

Clint and I returned to his home, and I said good night and goodbye to Anniak and Ryder (but still mixed her up with the one in college). I apologized but still offered to take her to a play or musical if I am in Manhattan, and she can get there.

It was cold, and there was some snow, and I reached the hotel soon. I managed to close my suitcase and soon was talking to folks on the phone, saying goodnight to Deborah, and getting a ride from the PDX from Joan S (thanks, Joan!).

Thanks for reading.

 

 

I woke early because we had plans in the morning, dressed, checked my Quicken transactions (downloaded and updated), and looked at the news for any tragedies (including the killing of survivors of an attack by US forces on a declared drug runner boat). I know that in clandestine actions, killing is to protect the forces and operations, but I do not know if this operation would be classified as such. I wait for more information.

When you elect a Hoteller to run the country, I am not surprised that he treats the world as his staff. In my view, Trump sees us as Hotel America, and you are a wealthy guest or staff; it reminds me of a John Wick Movie. “Enjoy your stay at the Continental,” you say to the assassin in the movie. Here is what I see in my mind as I watch Trump make us into his hotel: Wick. I could see Pete Hegeth getting a ‘tasting’ at the Pentagon. A new service at the Continental would be ‘spin control’.

Putting aside my usual fantasy thoughts, and obviously, I have had too much coffee before writing this on Sunday morning (I have no plans), let me return to yesterday.

Clint finds me at the hotel at 8:45, and we discover that there is 1/2 half an inch of snow in Manchester, and we are thirty minutes early. We tried a nearby cafe that looked well-rated, but after driving there, we discovered they’re closed for the holiday week. We return to the Currier Museum of Art, which uses their shuttle to take us to their Frank Lloyd Wright houses.

It is cold, and the trip is short. We are lectured for thirty minutes, and we are now very cold. The Zimmerman House is the first house that they acquired as a bequest from the original owners. The house is kept as if the Zommermans just stepped out (they are buried here). It is an interesting mix of compressed spaces that suddenly and beautifully open into wonderful spaces bathed in natural light. The edges are sharp, bricks and hard lines on wood, and the place would not be somewhere to grow old in! It is smaller than I expected, but it still uses space well. The high ceiling is interrupted by a middle ceiling, creating a fantastic set of shelves and lighting options. Clint and I agree that the house is impractical in many ways that could and should have been changed. But this is the story, as I have read and heard, of Frank Lloyd Homes. Aesthetic rule.

Toufic H. Kalil House was purchased by a gift to the museum in 2019, when someone on a tour saw it was for sale and decided to cover the acquisition (we learned it was about $700K and needed work). It is a kit house made of cement bricks and a flat roof of cement too. The roof leaked as some of Frank Lloyd Wright’s inventions faltered. Also, the tolerances were too tight, and much of the work was repeated, driving the initial cost from $25K (in the 1950s) to over three times that. This house, one of the last, is an attempt to build a home that could be built for a reasonable price and with all the modern conveniences (including a top-loading dishwasher), and is one of the few Unosian Automatic houses.

The house had a high ceiling and relied less on compression and release, and seemed more practical and warmer. The white cement bricks and the wood seemed to be more welcoming. Also, the house was less dressed, and this made it seem more like a model than a home. I would have liked it better if it had larger windows (likely impractical because of the cement structure and heavy roof. The intermediate ceiling in the Zimmerman house would have been a good addition to break up the look, I think.

It was a pleasure to see my first Frank Lloyd Wright houses, and I recommend a visit. We then walked through the art museum on our return. Riley, who was quiet for most of the trip, was good at showing a twenty-something, bored but intelligent look. I did see Riley take a few pictures here and there. I think Riley liked the trip.

A quick search of the Internet, and we were at the Waterworks for lunch. Riley had pancakes and Clint, and I tried the French Dip, which was excellent (thought their roast beef was a bit tough, but not industrial). Food done, Clint dropped me off at the hotel. I rested a bit and read some news.

I reboarded the rental and took it on the now familiar twenty minutes to Clint’s and Annika’s place. Misha, Hope, and their girls (who said hello to me a few times) were here. Soon, some food was delivered by the Gaming Night folks (the house was filling up), and Misha beat me at Tiny Epic Galaxies. Later, after pizza, Clint, I, and five others tried out Root. It was messy and took until 11. The Woodland Alliance (‘Toast’) won as the player knew the game, beat on my faction (the only other player who could play), and the others (despite my pleas) just tried to run their confusing factions. The Toast just exploded and ran away with the game. What I have seen in many games is that when The Woodland Alliance or Lizards get a foothold that is not challenged. Root is a complex game, as every faction is running its own game while all play out on the same board. Root is competitive, mean (there are only so many resources that need to be snatched up), and demands conflict. When played right, a sudden victory after everyone pushes and punches to a good score is the usual. I scored zero (don’t laugh). Still, it was fun.

I chatted about board games and offered to play Scythe and teach it on my next visit. I headed back and soon was asleep in my PJs in my room around midnight. I managed to sleep.

Thanks for reading.