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The day started with me rising early and organizing and packing a few items as I wrote the blog. The threat of dangerous driving (and walking) conditions from a storm increased overnight. I cleaned up, shaved, took my medications, and headed for the complimentary breakfast in the lobby of my hotel in the greater Detroit Area. Deborah got there before 9; she lives a short drive away and enjoyed the breakfast (my room is for two, a note for people who wonder if I am doing something wrong). We planned for an outdoor market on Monday, but with the cold and the storm, I was heading out early instead.

I loaded Air Kia business class seats and cargo hold with items. I did not refold my shirts and pants into my luggage but kept them on hangers in Air Kia. I put my soiled laundry in a bag I brought. I remembered my dress shoes (brought to me by Deborah, who rescued them from the previous hotel and visit), and I was ready soon. I finished breakfast with Deborah, but she worried I would face a mess. Linda, my sister who resided in the Greater Lansing Area, said the bad weather was already starting. It was decided, for safety reasons, that I would leave now instead of spending the day with Deborah.

After a long goodbye, I checked out of the hotel, and with a coffee to-go, I boarded Air Kia and used CarPlay to direct me to my next hotel in East Lansing, Homewood Suites by Hilton. Highway 75 was an exercise in constraint as Air Kia proved that it quickly reaches and handles well at over 90, which is even illegal in fast-driving Michigan. I was not passing at 90+! This was with rain and the beginning of the storm; the traffic did not slow.

I switched to Highway 69 to swing southwest as it was faster to stay on Highways (unlike Portland, where Highways have many of the characteristics of parking lots) and even drive a bit out of your way to connect and get there faster. It was only 90 minutes, or less, to Lansing! The traffic was flying. I had to move to slower lanes while trying to stay under 80!

The rain and freezing rain struck on 69. I called Barb, Susie’s sister, as I was in her area at the switch of highways, Grand Blanc, and explained my changed plans and discovered she was only twenty minutes ahead of me headed to Lansing to see and help out Leta (Susie’s mother) and was in a mess. There were cars and trucks spun out and wrecked. Soon, I was slowing and slipping, too. The traffic took on a more Portland-like look, suddenly down to 10. Barb briefed me about the wrecks, and I was ready for them. We stayed talking as we both went slowly to Lansing. Barb rang off once she hit the more complex, driving across Lansing to reach Leta’s home in the southern part of Lansing.

A semi stopped me from passing (apparently, the truck driver could see that it was not a good plan to use that lane) and drove in the middle lane. I was eventually allowed back into a safe lane. An aggressive driver threatened to wreck the Kia instead of letting me back in, but when I made him choose, he backed off. I grew up in Michigan and knew nobody smashes a car, no matter how scary they try to be.

I followed the semi until I reached Lansing, deciding I could go slower, which put me in front of the aggressive driver. I decided he needed to see my bumper for a while. We both stayed safe behind the semi. When headed on to Highway 127, I passed the semi and soon was at my hotel without any more slipping or challenges.

I was happy to be checked in and got my room at noonish. I carried all my items in two trips to my room, 207. I was tempted to sleep, but I had plans. Barb and Leta were having lunch at the Panera Bread near the Lansing Mall, and I was invited to join them. I checked that the stove top worked, the frig was cold, and plates, glasses, and cooking implements were in place. Yes! This place has a small kitchen with all the needed items and a dishwasher. When I stayed last time, I knew this would be a good choice for future trips. I met with the sales manager and learned the discounts start at two-week stays (or longer). The pool was excellent, too.

The heavy pencil plan is to make a small dinner for Barb Wild and me in room 207 and have Christmas here. Linda and family were exposed to COVID-19, and Christmas will be over before they are outside of exposure waiting time. And while the rules are lighter for exposure, Barb Wild and I count as folks who cannot risk exposure, so the five-day wait is usual for us. This means I am making Christmas dinner for Barb Wild and me.

I put in the directions, and while chatting with Deborah while I was driving, I missed my turn for the highway (which was slippery and had wrecks from the bad weather, according to Barb) and took the streets instead. I was about five minutes late.

I had a bowl of chili and half a tuna fish sandwich. Barb, Leta, and I talked about travels and plans. Leta suggested dinner before church, and I connected with Linda, my sister, and Barb Wild (my mom). It looks possible to do Long Horn Steakhouse before church, with Leta saying we need to be there at Grace United Methodist Church at 6:30 as it may be packed for the 7PM service.

Next, I stopped by the ABC Liquor store to find they were sold out of moderate and small sizes of Kailua, so I went for the cheaper version but found a small bottle of Bailey’s and turned heads when I asked for a pint of cheap vodka. They were amused as it was an unusual request for a “Cheap pint of vodka for cooking.” I wished the staff Merry Christmas.

Next, I traveled across Lansing to East Lansing to the new Trader Joe’s, which was not crazy busy in the late afternoon, a surprise to me. Ours would have a line by now. I managed to find everything I needed to make a Vodka sauce pasta dinner. I also get some eggs, breakfast food, and ice cream for dessert. Also, if the pasta is not a hit, then scrambled eggs will do. I will pick up some bread and diet soda tomorrow. The checker learns that it is my first time at this store and that I am from Oregon; she rings the bell, gets a bouquet of flowers paid for by her, and gives them to me to celebrate my first time there and the holidays. “You can use them to decorate your hotel room,” she says after I told her I was making Christmas dinner now in my hotel room. The kindness of strangers always amazes me on my trips!

I load up Air Kia and return to my hotel with flowers, pasta, veggies, and other items. The rain is sleet now, and the salt is everywhere, and it says to me, “Welcome to the Midwest; we can handle shitty weather without a thought.” I returned to my hotel and saw that the salt truck was already covering the parking lot. I get all my groceries and booze to 207 without slipping. I put away everything (though there is no cabinet for food), and soon, with the flowers in a beer glass, it looks like a real kitchen now with the counters full of items for dinner and breakfast.

I rest and nod off after some family drama best not repeated here. The drive, time change, and all the exercise for the last couple of days have left me sleepy. I decided to risk visiting the local BJ’s Brewhouse a few minutes away in Air Kia. The streets and parking lots are just wet. I sat at the bar and had a red ale, one of my favorites. I am not hungry; I ordered the California Flatbread, one of their best items. This version is good, even with the distance to California from East Lansing, Michigan. Two guys are next to me (I have forgotten their names), and they buy me a beer, and we chat. One owns a local bar, and the other travels for a living. I am retired, and they say they are 40 months from that happy moment. I enjoyed the second beer, talking with them, and soon headed out. My head was a little less clear, but driving was OK.

I change into a swimsuit and find the pool with only one stop back to the room for a hotel towel. The water is slightly cool but still warm enough for a twenty-minute swim. I try just floating and see what happens, and my balance sends me into a long arc into the pool wall with a light thud. No pain or risk, just a reminder that I still have to be careful.

Deborah and I send good nights later now that I am in the same time zone. I shower off the pool water and to get warm, and soon have my PJs on and in bed. Sleep is a confusing process in hotel rooms and is never that relaxing on the first night. I set no alarm. I wake to prove hydration, surprised that only a few hours have passed. I wake and sleep and wake and sleep. I am cold, but the temperature is at 69, so I know it is just a reaction to dreams I cannot remember. I woke at 5ish, thought it was too f**king early, and slipped back to sleep.

Thanks for reading!

Plans change, and one must be ready for changes when traveling. Today, it was just too f**king cold to go to an outdoor market. Deborah decided we would change our plans and head to the Rust Belt Market in Ferndale, Michigan. Further, we connected with Jim W and his husband Chris, who could join us after church there. Deborah and I went to elementary and high school with Jim.

I started the day by rising before sunrise at 7 and then started on the blog. I wrote for about an hour in the room but wanted to let the staff clean. I stopped, cleaned myself up, shaved, dressed, and left for the lobby with my Apple. In the lobby, I met the weekend food staff. I don’t remember her name, but she told me she is 70, happy to still work for a living, and still going strong. We talked about the cold, and she was always worried about her hands and suggested gloves; while there may be heaters at the outdoor markets, she would be worried about freezing your hands there, “you might not notice until it happens.”

I had the usual industrial hotel breakfast with excellent baked biscuits and food service-supplied gravy. I get the same scrambled eggs everywhere, but the pork sausage was darkened and better cooked. I also had a banana. I ate and wrote until about 10AM and then published the blog.

Deborah appeared in the blue-colored Air Mini, and I boarded in the single-digit (6F or -14C) weather. It was lovely blue skies with a cold Midwest sun that promised warmth, but not today. We were tightly bound in coats and gloves. We crossed various roads to Highway 75 and headed south to Ferndale, Michigan, which, according to the Internet, is one of the best places to live in Michigan and has a large LGBT+ community.

Soon, we were hunting for parking in Ferndale, and Deborah landed Air Mini in a public parking spot, and we learned parking was free on Sunday. Yay! We walked into the Rust Belt Market, an ample open inside space now divided into little stalls and rooms made from partitions for each vendor and even a radio station for the Market. The items were handmade primarily and ranged from food to antiques (dead things floating in bottles). I found a T-shirt for Z and some cards. I was tempted by the caramel corn and other goodies. The stall that made dried flat flowers was interesting. It was an excellent market, and more importantly, it was warm.

Jim and Chris soon showed up, and we walked two frozen blocks to Anita’s Kitchen to get some Lebanese flavors. We had an off-menu appetizer of whipped goat cheese and hummus with pita chips there. I had the lemon lentil soup and the lamb burger. The food and the desserts, except the rice pudding, were excellent. We talked about old times and newer events. It was a nice time for all.

It was more difficult to leave than to park. All these cars pulled out, and then another driver aggressively took the parking place and had us waiting multiple times to get out of the parking. We took the long way back through Royal Oak to return to Deborah’s home. There, I got to pet the doggies, Zelda and Trixie. Deborah took them out and then fed them. Deborah and I then spent a lovely afternoon together, enjoying each other’s company.

Dinner was just us at RH House, Deborah’s favorite place to get salmon. This is new to me, Scottish salmon and their soup, Tomato Bisque; I got a taste of Deborah’s, which could become a quest for some foodies. It was that good. The salmon was fantastic and was done with a teriyaki hinting sauce over set over rice. Deborah kept half of hers for later.

And I returned to the hotel and called my sister and Mom Wild. Linda and her family were exposed to COVID-19, and thus, the Christmas plans were changed. I am having Christmas with Mom Wild and cooking dinner. Luckily, my hotel room in Lansing includes a stovetop, pans, plates, and even a dishwasher, so we can use it for a Christmas dinner. I am back into caregiver mode and planning. Then, a messy snowstorm is coming on Monday, so I need to get to Lansing around noon. Maybe shop in Lansing instead of here as originally planned, with lunch and some time spent with Deborah.

Well…with images of cooking Vodka sauce for Christmas for Mom Wild…I fell asleep quickly after showering and all that.

Thanks for reading.

 

Saturday started with my being woken by my alarm. I had risen a few times to prove hydration, and it still felt like the middle of the night. I could have slept until late in the local morning! I had one coffee pod left for the Keurig. The coffee purports to be liberal and Fair Trade and is called Green Mountain Coffee Roasters. According to the Internet, its flavor was designed by Keven Costner, and the company has been double-certified organic and fair trade. Yes, I have been drinking liberal coffee all the time here at the Holiday Inn Suites.

With the first cup of liberal coffee, dreaming of universal health care, I started writing the blog and spent the next couple of hours on the blog. I soon cleaned up, dressed, took my laptop to the lobby, had breakfast, and continued writing. A different staff I did not meet today ran the complimentary buffet breakfast–mostly industrial food. However, one staff member was getting some food and coffee while other staff and managers were suggesting they get to work. I smiled and nodded.

A gentleman, younger than me but with gray hair, lectured me (I believe the term is ‘mansplained’) on conservative politics and why he was right, and I was obviously wrong. He was sure that COVID-19 was made in a lab in China (science officially has no answer, but I was told to ‘stay in my lane’ and that there was no way that the virus was from natural processes–he read the reports–the same one I have read that clearly says we still don’t know) and knows that Joe Biden is mentally gone, knows that all the spending was Joe’s fault and that nothing good happened for the last four years than wasting money, and could not explain to me why lifting the debt ceiling was good (it did not happen) and why Trump wants to spend more money beyond the ceiling. He is sure it is a left-wing plot, and it must be stopped. Removing the debt ceiling will allow a balanced budget and reduce spending–somewhat nonsensical to my moderate financial and political stance–was the right thing to do. I was polite, and he tried to argue that gender-affirming help was child abuse, which got me to tell him to stop; I was not going to argue out of my opposing view, which got some respect from him. I also told him I believed he was using logic and that he firmly believed what he said, but I also believed other views as strongly. We shook hands, and he soon left, and I saw him head out of the hotel, flying back to Florida.

I went back to writing and soon completed both breakfast and the blog. Deborah was awake, and we had plans for the day. I put the laptop in the room, which was still not cleaned, got my coat, hat, and car keys, and soon took Air Kia to Deborah’s place using CarPlay and the maps on my phone. Liam was just having breakfast there, and the dogs, Zelda and Trixie, enjoyed my attention. Deborah had a library book to pick up, so we headed there while Liam, her son, continued his morning rituals.

Deborah and I headed to the library, a new and remarkable monument to what can be done right and public. The library was neat and full of services, including Deborah’s favorite: the ability to check out household items for a short time instead of buying them and then putting them in a drawer for years. We marveled at a microfilm reader (they still have them), but now with a digital camera and screen. School was still open, and the place was not busy, but Deborah assured me the place would be filled with younger folks when school was out.

Liam would meet us at the Detroit Institute of Arts (DIA), and we left the local temple of reading and services and headed to Detroit. I drove, and soon, we parked outside the DIA in a near-perfect four-hour space at the base of the steps for the DIA. Our parking would run out about the same time as the movie’s end, British Arrows 2024, so we would rush out after the film.

The gal was friendly and smiled a lot. As a local resident, Deborah gets free access (the locals’ taxes pay for the DIA), while I paid $20, a low price now for a city art center. We waved at the gal, both cashier and information desk when we passed her by a few times. The spirit of the place seemed to me to be pride and wonder.

First, we just spun around in awe of the Diego M. Rivera 1930s frescos in one of the courtyards. We had already smiled at the Pewabic tiles on the floor and used them for a water fountain as we walked into the next courtyard to be stunned, once again, by the beauty and messaging from the 1930s art. The docent updated Deborah, who, as a local teacher, has been here many times. Deborah says she learns something new from a docent each time she visits. Today, we learned that the executive at work combines Henry Ford’s and Edison’s looks. Also, the turbine behind the executive combination figure is shaped like an ear, representing the spying Ford ordered on his employees (something illegal now). The docent also showed us the image of Rivera slipped into the painting.

After enjoying the fresco, we headed downstairs for lunch. We found that the Kresge Court had a great club sandwich with cranberry sauce and homemade potato chips for us; we passed on the café. The area resembles a medieval castle courtyard crossed with the Tavern of the Green. Excellent. Deborah was served by a former student, and they were happy to see each other.

We wandered for a bit, finding just a few sets of armor that did not match my childhood memory of rooms with this stuff. Liam joined us, and we headed to the rooms of excellent Impressionists. It was always a treat. And while the DIA collection can not compete with the volume at Chicago’s museum, the quality and relevance of the twenty or so paintings were excellent (more modern, but what I would still call Impressionists were elsewhere and will have to wait for another day). The self-portraits and landscapes were terrific, and a Van Gough still-life had me confusing him with others–a most excellent example of shared styles.

My Sunday school teacher took over as we visited the mummy collection in the Egyptian Arts section. I also marveled at the recipes from four thousand years ago from the Middle East, making my IT heart happy to see ancient document storage (fired clay) still working after thousands of years. Yes, that is a receipt for a cow from three thousand years ago!

We reconnected with Liam, who got lunch while we wandered, and headed to the attached theater, an old-style theater with a stage set for a movie. It was general seating, something you don’t see that much now, and we sat close to the front with an aisle for Liam.

I forgot my hat at the Kresge Court and rushed there, found it exactly where I left it, and then rushed back. The info desk staff and the security folks waved me through and smiled. With the tragedy of another lost hat avoided, I was ready to enjoy the British Arrow awards choices for 2024 with Deborah and Liam. These are the Best British Commercial Ads awards. As you, dear reader, can imagine, the ads ran from sad to insane, and some were on the edge of tears or slap-sticks. I cried and sobbed on the one about end-of-life services and why it is OK. Recommended, Arrow Awards 2024!

Deborah and I reached Air Kia in the still-freezing air before I had a mandatory payment to the City of Detroit and returned to her house. Trixie and Zelda were happy to see us, get fed, and be taken out. Trixie leaned into me, seemed weak, and pushed me to pet her, but belied her weakness when she leaped in the air and dived for the food when Deborah brought out their dishes. Deborah believes that Trixie learned to be cute and docile when she was a stray. Deborah adopted the former stray. Trixie’s look worked on me!

Deborah recommended Lucky’s Prime Time for prime rib. The place was packed, but we got a seat at the bar when a family of three held a spot for us. The prices are slow for the food quality, and Luck’s Prime Time is a Michigan chain of two places. We had the prime rib, 16 oz, for about $24, and we took 1/2 of it as leftovers. We also had a few glasses of excellent, not-too-sweet wine, Chateau Grand Traverse Late Harvest Riesling, a Michigan wine. The folks next to us were having dinner with their daughter back from college for the holiday. It was a happy bunch as we marveled at each other’s food. The guy beside me had a smaller prime rib with a massive slab of ribs. He was impressed with the enormous slabs Deborah and I got, and I said they were middle-sized versions!

And with dinner done, I think I will stop there. Thanks for reading!

 

Friday was a difficult start as I had, as usual, the first night in a hotel, and in a new time zone, sleep comes slowly and is often interrupted. I rose 7ish after ignoring a 6:30 alarm. I made coffee by summoning ritual and the hotel Keurig machine and pods. This involves the sacrifice of one pod per cup.

Deborah had slept in and did not hear from her until later in the morning, which would never happen when we were in different time zones.  We did not connect for breakfast. I realized I had no alternative numbers for Deborah, and she had none for me. Everything was fine, but we exchanged some numbers and soon were working out plans for Friday.

I remained in my room with a Don’t Disturb sign on my door and wrote until 9. I then switched to the lobby. Kurt is in charge of breakfast, and we talked a few times. I like to get to know the staff as they try to be invisible, but I appreciate their work. People want to be seen, and soon, we talked about travel and Oregon. Breakfast was the usual hotel, including breakfast with industrial scrambled eggs, sausages, and potatoes. Excellent biscuits with industrial gravy were a nice addition. There is a pancake machine; I did go that way, too. All good with excellent coffee.

I wrote for hours in the lobby, recalling my travels from Portland to the Greater Detroit Area. I was trying to rush to get to Deborah and some sights, but I wanted to get the whole story done and assembled with some skill despite the lack of sleep and the slightly confused state of my mind on the first day in a new time zone.

At this moment, I panicked. The keys to Air Kia were missing. I took apart the room, and they were not there. I walked outside in the snow and did not find the keys in the snow or in the car, then back to my room. I returned to the front desk to get a keycard (I left it in the room). I managed over 6,000 steps, many in the first hours. Finally, I found the keys in my gym bag’s outer pocket. Yikes! It was a black web and perfectly disguised the black key fob.

Deborah appeared in her blue Mini-Cooper. She drove, and we soon enjoyed our travels into the city. Detroit looks better. There are plenty of boarded-up buildings, but the snow covers many sins. There are many older houses with lovely yards. Some apartments have gone condos that tempt me back to Michigan. As always happens, be it here or in New Orleans or Chicago, I want to buy a home and rent it out when I am not there. I love the emotion of recovery, albeit slow and strained, and love for the city shines.

Deborah has dreamed of visiting the old pottery company in the USA in downtown Detroit, Pewabic Pottery. Today, we pull in, and we are enchanted. It is Friday, and they are open, and the work areas are open for us to walk through–only on Fridays; excellent. We marvel at the tiles and what they are known for, and the artisans explain their glazing process; we get to see the pottery items fresh from the kiln. We also watch the stamping of tiles using a more modern method. All interesting and fun. We saw stacks and stacks of older-style molds that we were told take a long time to safely de-mold. We toured their museum and enjoyed learning the history of the process and company since the early 1900s. We had a good time. We managed to resist buying a tile. Deborah dreamed of her house numbers done in Pewabec tiles (@ $42 a number) and looked at what that would look like. Maybe someday!

Next, we needed food, and Deborah and I decided on a place, Slows Bar-B-Q, on the way to John K. King Used and Rare Books’ main store. We found parking and realized that we were at the renovated Train Station. Something we had on the list to see, but we headed to food. We crossed the four-lane road to get to the place. The main door is somewhat hidden, with signs on the wrong door that says, “This is not Slows Bar-B-Q.” I spotted a door made of reused floorwood that matched the facade, and that was it. We wait for a seat at the bar, and soon, a group leaves, and we take a seat.

We have a dinner-sized lunch there, with me taking It’s Legit and Deborah (believing she will take some home) Deuces. I got thru a 1/2 pound of pulled pork–my favorite. I had slaw (not ordering again; good but not great) and baked beans (I will dream of them). Deborah has perfect brisket and pulled pork with only the fries and the pork making it to a box, plus a bottle of their Apple sauce. I cannot praise them enough; once again, this experience reminds me not to order BBQ in the Pacific Northwest!

Stuffed, we fit back into the Air Mini and soon park as another car leaves near John K. King Used and Rare Books. Neither of us has been here before. It is a stacks used book store, something rare now; most are gone now. There are messy piles of books and things all over four floors. Deborah sees Mr. King, as he is called, and the staff all wear a smock referred to by the first name. Everyone seems happy or overwhelmed by the chaos. I feel happy and warm in a stacked used book store. Our big store in Portland, Powell’s, is neat and well-lighted, but I remember it being more worn like this one twenty years ago. Cameroon Books and other stores, all gone now, looked more like this, as do a few in New Orleans.

Their catalog is held in the heads of the staff. You ask Deborah, the woman at the sales location, to tell you if she has seen it and direct you to where it may be found. She also knows what they have not got out yet and will get that for you, too. My Deborah asked for signed items and soon walked over to cases with Deborah and reviewed various options. It is so old-school, but it feels new and fresh. With items put in a cubby hole, we walk to the top and walk through the whole store. It is a wonder in endless choices, most cheap, and we explore but are mostly overwhelmed by the options, though the Rex Stout items were few. There are overhead lights that you pull a string to light. The mildew has us sneezing on the top floor, but the rest smells of old books and fading magazines.

We pay for our items retrieved from the cubby hole. First, unique gifts for Deborah’s boys, and I have, with some chaos, a translation of all the famous ancient Greek plays in four volumes mailed to the house in Oregon. I try to avoid carrying books home. We marvel at the manual sales ledger and putting receipts in different envelopes for later reconciliation, which is old school, indeed. I am given a complex recipe and told to call a different phone number and ask for ‘Tom’ if something is wrong with the shipment, “Tom handles shipments.”

We head out with our purchases and food, and soon, Air Mini has us at Deborah’s home. The dogs, Trixie and Zelda, are thrilled to have a new source of petting. I am warned to turn my back on Zelda if she jumps, and I do, and it works. Soon, I will be busy petting and making the doggies happy while Deborah arranges food and other items.

We leave the dogs, who were happy to see us, and next, get a drink at a local bar, Grand Tavern. And there I will stop. Thanks for reading.

 

I was up early as it was a travel day. Sleep was troubled with one break for proof of hydration. My colon was also back, demanding some attention with late-night requirements. After the loss of 25 cm of my colon to cancer, I have trouble knowing when things are ready, and if I am not taking extra breaks, I find myself with sudden, often middle-of-the-night events. With all the packing and getting ready for my long, almost three-week trip, I had not been careful enough.

It was difficult to rise, but I had a 7:05 Uber car reservation, and I started at 6:30. I rushed, but I was mostly packed, and only the Apple and my hairbrush needed to be added to my carry-on red gym Nike bag. I forgot to replenish my biz cards and have none to give out. That is too bad, as I had multiple opportunities to give them out on the plane and in the waiting area.

My Uber was five minutes late. I had my luggage in the street as the meeting location was mid-street and not at the house. It was strange to have no vehicle at the house, now returning to its original name, Chateau Wild. Soon, Uber arrived, a Tesla. I learned there was a nice trunk on these models and relearned the mystery of Tesla door handles.

Soon, I was on the MAX after waiting seven minutes for a Red Line train to the Airport, PDX. There was another gal on the train with luggage. It was the usual silence of headphones and earbuds with little eye contact you find on most subways and buses now. I read Analog, a SciFi magazine, reading a physical copy. I finished the story of a union meeting voting to continue the alliance in the union of AI, called instances, and other workers. It seemed like a version of the recent election and politics set in the near future when artificial intelligences join the workforce. I enjoyed the novelette “The Compromise” by Tom R. Pike.

The ride was about ninety minutes, and I arrived as planned at about 8:30. I started the walking. Airports are about walking now. My day would include more than 8,000 steps. I found the bag check for Delta in the lovely and newly rebuilt terminal, printed off my $35 tag, attached it to my bag, remembered to take my phone used to scan the boarding barcode, and handed it over to a friendly agent who also viewed by driver’s license, a Real ID, that cost an extra $100.

To get a Real ID requires you to bring additional proof of your address and birth (or US citizenship) and pay extra when updating your state-issued driver’s license at the DMV. I see it as a version of a poll tax and a political means to have all Americans carry ‘papers.’ I think it is awful, Facist, unnecessary, but I complied.

My colon decided it wanted more attention, and I spent some time in the restroom attending to its needs.

Security was a short process, with the new machines already looking worn and the machines requiring a patdown for my arms. My hat was, as usual, worn and then hand-checked by an officer. My Real ID was scanned, and a photo was taken compared to the measurements and images supplied by my Real ID. The photo, which passed, according to the sign, was then deleted. Now, the cameras in the area are a different story…

I put back on my belt and shoes and headed to breakfast near my gate. Grassa is a local pasta chain, but they make breakfast here in PDX in the morning, which was terrific. I had a breakfast sandwich after asking the staff what they liked. That and coffee was an excellent start now that I was on the other side of security. I completed the blog and posted it.

I was surprised that Grassa had more choices for drinks than food, fitting our unique thinking in greater Portland. Once it was 10, the lunch/dinner menu was put up. I spoke to the manager when I saw that the prices were reasonable. Fifteen bucks for spaghetti and meatballs with freshly made pasta is a good deal in an airport–pretty good anywhere. I was told that PDX requires all prices to match the street price. This was more proof that we do better things at PDX.

Soon, I was on my plane, having stopped once more at the restroom, but my colon was still grumbling when I boarded. I had the window seat and sat next to a couple returning to Baltimore after going to an event for event companies. Yes, it is an event event. Alden and I talked on and off the five hours of travel time. He gave me his card. I also met Mary Ann in the boarding area, and she was interested in my blog (again, my biz cards would have been lovely to have), and she looked it up. Thanks!

The flight was the usual experience with water, Ginger Ale, and coffee. I watched the How the Universe Works show from Discovery with a warning that it may not be appropriate for children. I was expecting this meant that the science would include a profane version of Bill Nye. No, it was flashy, well-done science covering cosmology and the state of knowledge in 2021–nothing scary or profane. It was f**king good and nothing to protect children from. Yikes!

Soon, I headed out with Alden and friend headed to their next flight. I found the baggage claim after yet another visit to the restroom. I was then redirected from 10 baggage claim to 1, more steps, and soon acquired my bag. Next, I found Hertz, and after a short bus ride, took any car in the Gold section (I signed in online and provided everything ahead of time). I picked a Kia Sportage as it looked ready for snow. I passed by the white ones, as that never seems the best color for winter in Michigan. One I first liked had a dead bird next to it; I decided not to risk that one (cursed or just strange). Soon, I was headed around in circles as my CarPlay directions were set to a multiple-stop trip (how?), and soon I pulled over and corrected the mistake after visiting the DTW a second time, f**k.

The trip was exciting as it was dark, the rain turned to snow, and I had 50 minutes of driving to learn a new car with snow and new places. Michigan drivers are aggressive and fast. Fast means 80+ here. This is not some car trying to reach 35, like in Portland; this is where cars are born and driven at those top speeds on busy roads. I stayed in the slow lane! Soon, I was up to 85 on the Kia. Everyone slowed; this is Michigan, and wet, slick roads mean everyone slowed to a safe 60 when we passed two spun-out cars loaded up for an insurance-filled holiday.

I found the hotel, and I will stop there. I was safe and fine at the hotel.

Thanks for reading.