Back in the ’60s and early ’70s, I was a card-carrying member of the Longshoremen’s Union, ILWU Local 142. We didn’t cross picket lines. We looked for the union label. And we never ate California table grapes. We did drink California table jug wine, though.
This is the beginning of “nice sunset season.” When your only windows face east, you make do with reflected sunsets. That’s a Southwest Airlines plane coming in to land at National Airport.
The plan is to have the crane wreaths finished by September 20. I think I’m on schedule for four of them. Not sure if the process will speed up. Keen eyes will notice I’m using lots of hat pins to hold things together until the glue dries. A glue gun would be faster, but my one and only glue-gun experience ended with me gluing my hair to the stove.
Old folks’ homes are strange places. The company that owns The Asylum wants to build a new one about a mile from here. Growth, I get. But it’s funny to look at the plans and hear the sales spiel. They’re promising a mixologist on staff. Meanwhile, my breakfast group talked about how we could get better doctors here this morning.
The architectural “focal point” of the new building will be a grand staircase. The actual focal point of The Asylum? Rollator traffic jams. The thing is, old folks’ homes are designed by people 40 years younger than the residents, to attract people 25 years younger than the residents.
I’ll be dead before the new joint is finished. Not my problem. Or, as the young folks say: IDNC.