life in the old lane

Took a day off. Off from what, you might well ask? Hey, it’s a lot of work, being ancient. Hope you’re lucky enough to find that out for yourself.

And management complied — at least for now. I’m certain not all the residents agree.

We, the people, have brought more destruction to our country than our enemies could have ever delivered.

Nevertheless.

Never Forget 911.
Remember Pearl Harbor.
Remember Manzanar.
Remember Nagasaki.
Remember the St. Louis.

I first put this on my blog shortly after 9/11.

It came from an old set of photos, pulled from a PowerPoint presentation sent to me  in Alaska on September 12 by a Navy buddy. Check it out.

Twenty-four years out, 9/11 feels like a minor wound compared to the injuries we’ve inflicted on ourselves since.

Just enough rain to let me take a day off from outdoor exercise – and maybe enough to water the garden box a bit.

I spent most of the day working on the origami wreaths. Four are finished, and I sorta started on a fifth. Not sure if it will be a go. Honestly, I have absolutely no problem stuffing the whole lot into a big bag and sending it down the trash chute. It’s past time to death clean the Origami Dojo.

 

Decades ago, I traded commodities futures. That was when I was young and fearless. Carlton always worried I’d miscalculate and end up having to take delivery on a tanker car of frozen orange juice concentrate.

Here at The Asylum, it feels like someone has taken delivery on a shipping container of chickpeas. I did a little digging:

Chickpeas (a.k.a. garbanzos) have been around for 7,000 years, first grown in the Middle East. Today the big producers are India, Australia, Turkey, Mexico, and the U.S. (mostly Washington, Idaho, and Montana).

They are usually transported in bulk (sacks, bulk railcars, or containers) or canned (pallets by truck). Either way, they’re cheap, protein-rich, and shelf-stable — perfect for food service distributors like Sysco. And Sysco pulls up to the Asylum every morning.

Order once, and you’ve got enough to feed a small army. Or Asylum. Maybe Sysco even has a “subscribe and save” button like Amazon — accidentally check the box, and voilà, a ton of chickpeas every month.

Absolutely the most boring old woman on the planet today.

I didn’t kill anyone today. Yet. The day isn’t over.

Sat in my comfy chair.
Drank tea.
Grocery shopped.
Finished up the third wreath.

It was suggested I consider large-scale metal origami — like the pieces in Origami in the Garden.
Note: Not happening.

If I get less boring, you’ll be the first to know.

I completely exhausted myself trying to get as much cardio in as my watch demanded. Why were 1–9 points fine yesterday, but today it insisted on 23–27? I got 31. Yay, me.

Exhausted or not, I still got my normal Sunday orchid watering and fertilizing done. And the third wreath is almost finished.

Started culling and cataloging the Alaska photos. Culling becomes much more important if I keep shooting at 50MP resolution.

In keeping with yesterday’s American Civil War 2.0 theme, I recommend that everyone download The Simple Sabotage Field Manual from Project Gutenberg.

It’s dated, but you’ll get some excellent ideas.

Got a meme in email: All in all, if we’re going to have a former heroin addict in charge of the nation’s public health policy, I’d rather it be Keith Richards.

McClellan did theatrics. 47 does too.

Following the first Battle of Manassas, George McClellan staged a massive troop review to boost morale. On November 20, 1861, the parade route stretched along Leesburg Pike from Bailey’s Crossroads to Munson Hill. Hundreds of soldiers bivouacked at Camp Bailey’s Crossroads. Lincoln and his entire cabinet came out from Washington to review 60,000 troops with their horses, carts, wagons, and cannons — the show went on all day and into the evening.

Among the 20,000 visitors was a young poet, Julia Ward Howe. Riding back to the Willard Hotel that night, with soldiers marching alongside singing “John Brown’s body lies a-moldering in the grave…” a traveling companion, Boston Unitarian minister James Freeman Clarke, suggested she write new words to the tune. Back in her room, she penned The Battle Hymn of the Republic.

This happened right here in Bailey’s Crossroads. Where today we have The Asylum.

Looking east out my window, I may yet witness the start of The American Civil War 2.0.

General McClellan was better at theatrics than at fighting to win. One can only hope the same is true of 47.

 

This is it. The last time my neighbor and I make origami to sell. That’s why we’re treating this year’s sale like a going-out-of-business sale — an Origami Garage Bankruptcy Sale. Everything must go.

Doom-scrolling past some senior clickbait today. The bait was: “Rosemary and Sage, New Treatment for Alzheimer’s.” My garden box is stuffed with both.

If rosemary and sage cure anything, I’m set.

I bought the ticket. And the second flight on to Tokyo — the plane that leaves Guam at 7:05 PM. All on one ticket, which becomes very important when (not if) I miss the connection.

No sane person would do this trip. But then again, no one has ever accused me of excessive sanity. Or any sanity, for that matter.

Meanwhile, while I was at dinner, United changed the Guam–Tokyo flight’s departure from 7:05 to 7:20. Every little bit helps.

Just another fine early fall day. And another dull day in the life of this dull old woman. Actually, at my age, dull isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

So, I amused myself thinking about the Island Hopper.

With another leg onward to Tokyo. There’s 40 minutes to make the connection to the Tokyo flight. No way, no how will I make that flight. But really — what’s not to love about the price? How often is business class way cheaper than economy?

For sure, I’ll end up spending the night at the Guam airport. But there are hotels nearby. And the way I figure it: it’s United’s problem, not mine. It will not be dull.

I’ve got a ticket on hold. Three more days to ponder. Unless I’m suddenly struck rational, most likely it’s a go.

Notice the Washington Monument. It is gray because it is in the shade of one of those fine, puffy white clouds. This happens, especially at this time of year, and I am always amused.

I am very easily entertained. So was Carlton. Life is easier that way.

Spent the day doing grownup stuff. Answering emails. Finding enough money to pay my estimated taxes. Trying to get all my ducks lined up. Why is lining up ducks a good thing? Aren’t you just going to shoot the buggers?

Had a great fun dinner with my Asylum Sisters. Outside. Free wine (and beer) tonight.  Lots and lots of laughs. It’s not about the food. It’s about the friends. And the free booze doesn’t hurt.

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.