life in the old lane

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.

Fogged in today.

Which makes me wonder what might be in store for my little flight south tomorrow. I also find myself wondering about TSA. And the Air Traffic Control system.

Plan B is the train.
Same Plan B for coming back.

I checked the longer-range forecast. It might be wise to throw the waterproof windbreaker into the mix. Or maybe just wing it and assume the hotel will have umbrellas.

I try not to pack for Plan B.

I’ve figured something out about myself.
I’m an old processor running beta software, trying to operate in a Version 26.3 world. The operating system still works. Most functions still run.
But:

• Some apps open slower.
• Battery management is critical.
• Updates arrive unpredictably.
• Certain features are deprecated.
• And occasionally the system reboots for no apparent reason.

Still grateful that the machine starts up every morning.

I’d best finish packing.
The less you take, the more careful you have to be.

I have even bored myself.

But there are worse things in life than being bored. Truth be told, I’m probably more fatigued than bored. Which brings to mind General McClellan’s horses, always reported to be fatigued, though no one could quite determine what they had done.

Sometimes I go back through the blog and see what I was up to years ago.

Twenty years ago
Fifteen years ago
Ten years ago
Five years ago

I have said before that I really write this blog for myself.

For example, on March 6, 2006, I was worrying about not getting all of my travel in because I was getting old. The next day I planned to apply for Social Security. I took it early.

At the time, I calculated that if I lived to be 82, I would have made the wrong decision. I would have been financially “better off” waiting.

On the other hand, Carlton also took his Social Security early, and he didn’t make it past 79.

So you pay your money, and you take your chances.

Changed the “important paper” today. Which led me to wonder: who invented toilet paper?

Wikipedia, of course, has much to say about the history of the “important paper.”

For most of human history, people used whatever was handy. The Romans shared a sponge on a stick in public latrines. Rural Americans relied on newspapers, catalogs, or corn cobs. Hygiene was largely improvisational. Indoor plumbing was rare.

Paper entered the story early in China, but it wasn’t until 1857 that Joseph Gayetty began selling packaged “medicated paper” in the United States. It lasted until the 1920s but was never wildly popular. Many Americans were perfectly content with the Sears & Roebuck catalog.

In 1890, the Scott Paper Company introduced toilet paper on a roll. Perforations came later. In 1935, one brand proudly advertised its product as “splinter-free,” which raises unsettling questions about the competition.

Here at the Asylum, management provides the TP. Long before my time, a committee was convened to select the optimal product. It was known, with full seriousness, as “The Tissue Issue.”

I like to imagine earnest residents comparing ply, tensile strength, absorbency, and dignity — all in service of the common good.

Civilization is fragile.
But thanks to the “Tissue Issue” Committee, my toilet paper is splinter-free.

Snow. Again.
War expanding.
Clowns at the wheel.
I am concerned.
Unacceptable.

That’s enough to get me out of bed.

Nice. Sun. March. You can leave now, winter.

If this is Sunday, it must be Water Day for the orchids. Some serious repotting, etc., is required soon. Maybe when I get back from Charleston.

Went out to inspect and work on the Garden Box. But I miscalculated the weather. It seemed to be over 50° and sunny. Dressed accordingly. Garden box, in the shade and in a wind tunnel. Nope. Gardening exercise delayed.

Considering giving up my garden box. My only concern is the demise of  Ray the Rosemary. When I got the box 10 summers ago, it got “enough” sun. Now it is mostly in shade. It might be time to surrender the box to someone on the waiting list for a garden box. I have had it for 10 years. Don’t need to decide this today. Or even this week.

And then there is AI. It is already out of the box — and I doubt it’s going back in.

I am just a little old lady in Allbirds, but it seems obvious that AI has the potential to wipe out many white-collar jobs and make a respectable dent in blue-collar ones as well.

I’m trying not to be a Luddite. Humans need work. Real work. If we don’t have it, we invent other occupations — Congressperson. Influencer. Commentator on nothing in particular. And look how that’s going.

Still, I have no doubt we humans are fully capable of wrecking the planet all by ourselves, long before AI gets around to finishing the job.

Aside: They didn’t have real work.