Nobody is Promised Tomorrow. . .
Easy, lazy day.
And that is a blessing.
Acceptance.
Peace.
Virginia voted for gerrymandering yesterday.
Back to acceptance and peace.
So what did I do?
Went for a walk.
Cleaned out the freezer.
Made an excellent “garbage” soup.
Bought bread and cheese.
Plotted my next escape.
Control the controllable.
I like exterior wall art better than interior wall art.
But, I am just a renter here.
Election Day here in Virginia.
I voted for gerrymandering.
Desperate times require desperate measures.
And I made it to in-person yoga.
Voting and yoga.
That was it.
The rock.
Years ago, the hospital chaplains cleaned out their office and put a box of rocks in the trash. Being a long-time urban recycler, I rescued the largest rock and placed it on the Old Bat Cave window ledge.
This was before the orchids. Back when I could actually lower the blinds.
I briefly considered that the rock might belong to a Wiccan. Possibly imbued with powers.
According to Google — so you know it must be true:
Clear quartz is known as the master healer. It amplifies energy, thoughts, and vibrations. It connects you with your higher self, intuition, and spirit guides.
It does not appear to be working.
Unless my spirit guide is a slug.
Life is fairly tranquil right now.
Tranquil is good.
Not exciting but good.
The wheels can fall off at any time.
So we enjoy the quiet while we have it.
Today’s accomplishment:
I learned how to make a small butterfly that slips neatly over the corner of an envelope.
That’s it.
No mushroom cloud. Yet.
So far, so good.
Chores today.
And a nap.
Trigeminal neuralgia was acting up. Eating triggered small zaps.
A sensible person would have chosen cottage cheese and herbal tea.
I decided that if eating was going to hurt, it should be worth it.
Filet.
Broccoli.
Onion.
Red pepper.
Cut small. Briefly sautéed.
Washed down with a Guinness. Excellent.
Good to know there is still something in DC not under the thrall of the current regime.
I spent most of the day chasing accounting dust bunnies, as evidenced by my desktop.
I got everything within sight of the finish line.
And then.
ID.me.
Or something equally determined to prove that I am not myself.
At that point, my ChatterBot, Robot, advised:
“Go do something human.”
Sound advice.
So I did.
Went outside.
Looked at the light.
Took a photograph you are not supposed to take — directly into the sun.
Carlton and I never made much of birthdays or holidays.
But we had a fantastic time along the way.
Every day was a gift, especially during his last year, when we finally understood that nobody is promised tomorrow.
As a widow, my spouse never ages.
So Carlton is still 79.
He rides his bike every day, plays singles tennis three times a week, and continues to nudge me gently in a better direction.
Note to Carlton:
You wouldn’t believe what has happened since you moved on to the next level.
It feels like we are stuck in a Kabuki drama.
Or maybe a really bad production of Waiting for Godot.
And we got one.
The MacBook claims it was 91° at 4:30.
I did not set out to be lazy today.
It just happened.
Dr. Kawasaki, who designed this rose, died last month at age 70. I suspect that every paper folder on the planet has made at least one rose in his honor.
I finally folded mine today.
Why did I wait so long?
I think I was afraid I might not be able to do it anymore.
Thank you, Kawasaki-san.
Thank you.
More film-time Carlton photos.
This is about as close as Carlton ever got to riding a horse. He wouldn’t even ride the merry-go-round horses when he worked at Glen Echo Park.
He was a cautious man.
So what was he doing with me?
The man was almost fifty years old and had never left the country.
I fixed that.
And today would have been Carlton’s 91st birthday.
His mother said April 16.
His birth certificate said April 17.
Possibly a strategy to get more cake and ice cream.
It’s not easy being an old woman. Today’s only event was going to a real movie in a real movie theater. Gotta do that more often.
Walked to the movie. Bused back to The Asylum. I am trying to imprint some additional bus routes in my brain.
More Carlton. From film time.
Carlton was 51 years old, and he retired at the end of 1986. We bummed around New Zealand for 3 or 4 months in early 1987.
Summer today.
I enjoyed it.
Sun. Warm, but not too hot.
Zoom yoga — hard, but doable.
After yoga and lunch, I retreated to my personal outdoor reading room for some quality time with my Kindle, David Baldacci, and an iced coffee.
A perfect way to spend a summer afternoon.
And then — Carlton.
This photo was taken in 1994, in Waimea Canyon.
He would have been 59.
He made me happy.
And I believe I made him happy, too.
I know I made his life more interesting.
And he made my life saner.
SPRING 2026.
Happening today only.
SUMMER 2026.
Begins tomorrow.
I enjoyed my new mattress topper last night.
Which raises an important question:
What, exactly, does “memory foam” remember?
In my case, nothing happening on that bed is worth archiving.
If it really does hit 90° tomorrow, as promised, that will be the end of tulip season.
A brief run.
Like spring.
I have now been in the Old Bat’s Cave for over ten years.
Time for an upgrade to my sleeping arrangements.
I acquired a mattress topper.
Installing it was… entertaining. Sort of like wrestling a forty-pound burrito.
The Old Bat prevailed.
The topper comes with a ten-year warranty.
That should be sufficient.
Back in the day, an “upgrade to my sleeping arrangements” would not have involved a mattress topper!
Times change. Priorities evolve.
Decided I needed a little adventure today.
No plan.
Out the door. Down to the bus stop. Get on the first bus that comes along.
On the bus, I decide: Old Town Alexandria.
Of course, the bus I am on does not go to Alexandria.
Transfer to Metro.
The train pulls into National Airport.
This does not look promising.
The train stops. After a while, we are told to get off. Then, a bit later, to leave the station. The trains leave sans passengers.
There is nowhere to go except into the airport.
Fire trucks. Firefighters. No one running. No one shouting. No one looking particularly alarmed.
Which usually means someone left a backpack somewhere and the system is doing exactly what it is supposed to do.
The best part was the signage.
Southbound platform: go to the northbound platform.
Northbound platform: go to the southbound platform.
A Metro Möbius strip.
Eventually, the firemen leave. The trains return. The passengers get back on.
Metro charged me 15 cents for that trip, and the adventure continued.
Walked to the waterfront to inspect the latest public art installation.
Walked to the waterfront to inspect the latest public art.
Had a small ice cream.
Took the bus home to The Asylum.
Adventure complete.