Author: Peg

Looks pleasant enough — but still too cold for mid-March.

Yoga today via Zoom. Too chilly to take the bus. Too cheap to Uber. So Zoom it was.

Some time ago I resolved to stop complaining publicly about the food here at the Asylum. It is unlikely to improve.

However…

This week’s “Plant Forward” offering appeared.

I am not complaining.
I am documenting.

This is not a complaint.
It is a memory aid.

So that in future weeks, when I am feeling forgetful, I will remember exactly what I chose not to eat.

The weather forecasters seriously oversold today’s storm. We were promised wind, torrential rain, thunder, lightning, hail, and possibly tornadoes. Schools were closed in advance.

So far we’ve had… sprinkles.

Maybe the excitement will arrive later.
Who knows what to believe anymore about weather or anything else?

One hundred years ago today, Robert Goddard successfully launched the first liquid-fuel rocket. He recorded in his diary:

March 16. Went to Auburn with S[achs] in am. E[sther] and Mr. Roope came out at 1 p.m. Tried rocket at 2.30. It rose 41 feet & went 184 feet, in 2.5 secs., after the lower half of the nozzle burned off. Brought materials to lab. …

I am sure there is a lesson in this somewhere. But I haven’t a clue what it is.

In the summer of 2019, I took myself on a trip around the world. By plane. I wanted to be in charge of my journey and not just a passenger. I stopped in Dubai, where you can find almost anything if you look hard enough.

At the time it all felt adventurous. Possible.

I’m not entirely sure I would feel safe in that same hotel today.
Truth be told, I’m not sure I feel entirely safe anywhere right now.

Breakfast table conversations have not been especially cheerful lately.

Nope. I don’t think so.

I decided to settle into my comfy chair and continue culling and cataloging last year’s photos. Maybe even start assembling the 2025 Photo Book.

There is absolutely no real reason to keep making these books. I started making them for Carlton. He liked his pictures on paper, not on screens.

Every year I say, “Maybe this will be the last one.”

And one year, of course, it will be.

No one is promised tomorrow. Much less next year.

Note to the Clean-Up Crew:
Just toss the books in the dumpster. I am not Ansel Adams.

Note to Peg:
Be completely finished with 2025 photos by April Fools’ Day.
Book done. Photos archived. Space reclaimed on the MacBook.
Finished.

While digging around, I discovered I never downloaded the images from my 21 hours in exciting downtown Agana, Guam.

Even brief adventures leave digital evidence.

Thank you, Sun. I needed you today.

A fairly dull, old-woman kind of day. Nothing wrong with that.

Number of things destroyed: zero.
Number of things accomplished: zero.

A perfect balance.

Did get some good cardio on my walk.

Tonight is Free Wine and Beer Night.
And there is steak on the menu.

So.

I have no complaints about anything I can actually control.
Which is more than can be said for most of the world.

Some days I just feel… old.
Or maybe I feel old every day. My denial mechanism simply works better most days.

Today’s big accomplishment was turning in my garden box.

I got it in May 2016. The bush behind it was maybe two feet tall back then. Now it has staged a full hostile takeover and completely blocks the sun.

There is a waiting list for garden boxes. And I no longer really want mine.

So it was time.

What about Ray the Rosemary?

He was doing great until the vicious cold snap in late January. I’m fairly sure he can recover with pruning and TLC.

But that is entirely up to the next box-holder.

I had six or seven good summers with that box before it was conquered by shade. (Also, three or four summers wondering why plants were not thriving. )

Shade isn’t a bad thing. Just not my thing.

I had a nice AI chat about my garden box. I’ve had it for ten years, but it doesn’t get much sun anymore. I think it’s time to pass it along to someone on the waiting list.

The garden box no longer passes the Marie Kondo “sparks joy” test.

Breakfast was nice.
I did laundry.

But then.

It started snowing.

If I were a mature person, I would be deeply grateful that it didn’t snow yesterday afternoon while I was cavorting home on the bus.

I am not a mature person.

There seems to be a move to post unflattering images of SecWar.

I can play this game. It’s not hard. I am not a mature person. 
Old yes.
Mature no.

But Wait.

Very smooth trip back to The Asylum.

Uber to the airport was in surge pricing mode. I waited five minutes and the price dropped back to what I call “high-normal.” No problem.

TSA was almost invisible. I didn’t have to show ID or even a boarding pass. All face recognition. Even more amazing, I boarded the plane using my watch.

It’s all a little spooky. But I’m no longer convinced there is any such thing as privacy anyway. So I might as well enjoy the convenience.

Forty-five minutes after landing, I was back in the Old Bat Cave. Did not Uber home. Took Metro and bus. $1.10. That helped offset the $53.91 Uber ride to the airport. (Including a $13 tip.)

I came home with 189 images. Let’s look at a few.

I vote for the water bottle version.

And see they actually have cannon balls in addition to the other accoutrements. I sat on a bench in the shade and was incredibly grateful.

• • Able to walk 1.25 miles in order to sit on a bench.
  • Hearing at least 5 different bird songs. Haven’t a clue what birds were singing. But that’s nothing new.
  • I could hear foot steps on the paths and see to read..
  • And there’s zero rush. On any given day, I have all the time in the world.

And one grom last evening.

Heading home tomorrow before noon. I might need a vacation from my vacation.

What’s not to love? Sun, salt air, and a path that is almost safe for old ladies.

While sitting on the bench I thought about all the girls in summer dresses. Or less.

But I digress.

Enough sitting around. I headed off north until I got hungry. Then head south.

By the time I made it back to the hotel, I had wandered 5 slow miles.

Goodie I do believe it is time for wine. 

The two hour plus service went by in a flash. We all sang happy birthday to a 93 year old man. And then again to a 101 year old woman.The Black version of Happy Birthday of course. The 101 year old woman announced the she still cooked her meals, washed her dishes and got dressed every day. I will report that she was better dressed than I.

Then it was time to head out on slow walk.

It was a lovely warm day. Girls were out wearing sun dresses and tennis shoes. By evening the girls were sunburned still wearing summer dresses but they had switched to uncomfortable shoes.

Those 19th century people knew how to exit. They didn’t end up in plastic crematorium boxes in someone’s garage.

Then I returned to the hotel to rest up prior to going to my birthday linner.

That was enough. That’s the SMALL portion. Didn’t have dessert or cocktails. Maybe tomorrow I will just have cocktails and dessert.

82 is not the new 62. 82 is Accept and Adapt.

It’s a lovely small hotel in a very friendly neighborhood for old women without cars.

Day 1 has been great.