Category: The DayBook

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.

It’s Aloha Friday, no work ’til Monday.

Still in a slight spring cleaning, death cleaning mode.
Nothing too extreme.
Nothing too grim.
Just a belief/hope that the coming years will be smoother if they are simpler.

When I was young, we said:

Never play cards with a man named Doc.
Never order the seafood combination platter.
Never sleep with someone who has more problems than you do.
Never help a friend move.

I am off now to help a friend move. 

Busy day at The Asylum. Two hundred prospective residents touring the facility.
Which is good.

Because, in a way, The Asylum is a Ponzi scheme. We require a steady stream of younger residents to support those of us already here.

I can only hope the elevators were on their best behavior.

My sole accomplishment today was a ten-year kitchen inventory.
I pretended I was moving.
What would I take?
What haven’t I used in ten years?

I cleaned filters, corners, and the mysterious spaces behind things.

Conclusion:

I own six dinner plates. I use one.
I own eight wine glasses. I need fewer than that.

But six plates take up the same space as two.
And when the time comes to close the kitchen, eight glasses will be just as easy to dispose of as two.

So I got rid of very little.

But I did clear the countertops.
Progress?

Now that my Physician’s Orders for Life-Sustaining Treatment is completed, printed, and posted, I see them every time I leave the apartment.

A daily reminder of my personal impermanence.
Nobody is promised tomorrow.
Still, it’s a bit… direct.

And finally, tulips.

Still trying.

And I enjoyed a pleasant old woman-kind of a day. 

Happy that no nukes were launched last night. 
Enough bad things have happened lately.

Make America Boring Again.

But then there is this:

“A whole civilization will die tonight, never to be brought back again.”
— posted on social media.

Perhaps someone should revisit a bit of history.

Around 550 BC, Croesus of Lydia consulted the Oracle of Delphi about attacking Persia. The Oracle told him he would “destroy a great empire.”

He did.
His own.

Nice day overall.

Went to see my doctor. Walked over five miles getting there and back.
So I must be OK.

Had lunch out. 
Strolled through the Dog Park.
Discovered a new bus route.

Also had the doctor sign my POLST.

Which, in plain language, says: I have had a good life. Let’s not complicate the final act with feeding tubes or CPR.

Practical paperwork.

And then, spring.

Bright and early, I set out to procure bagels.

The Asylum believes frozen mini-bagels are bagels.

They are not.
They are an insult to lox.

Not the best in the area, but the best I can obtain without involving Uber.

And, several hours later.

We had a very good brunch.
I suppose the next brunch will be Mother’s Day.

In the meantime, I try to enjoy every bagel.
Because nobody is promised tomorrow.
Or another bagel.

Another lazy day.
Heck I could be a Congressperson. I am almost that useless.

I am now officially retired from outdoor gardening. Yesterday I returned my roll of twine and my four “useful” garden tools to the community garden shed. That feels fairly final.

Every year I try to get an interesting photo of a tulip.
Every year, I fail.
But I keep trying.

Management has decided to “spiff up” The Asylum.

I understand old people. We are not going to welcome having our granny’s cast-off elevator lobbies replaced with Ikea-chic. But management is going to do what management is going to do.

I am not going to say a word.

Speaking of words.

Some things don’t require Google Translate.

Pretty sure that says Vance and the TechBros will be the death of democracy in America.