life in the old lane

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.

Sort of a nothing day. And there is nothing wrong with that.
I even went to an art class. 

Not easy being an old woman.

It’s beginning to look a lot like Vietnam. 

The very best thing I can say about today’s weather is that I cannot see Washington. Which, under the circumstances, may be a feature, not a problem.

A little more from yesterday’s spring walk.

On my way back from an exciting visit to Goodwill, I came across a perfect figure-8 coil of fiber optic cable. Who knew?

Back in the torn paper tape days of Baudot code and TTY machines, we wound tape the same way across our fingers so it wouldn’t twist, snarl, or jam in the reader.

Apparently, some things never change.

Whether it’s paper tape or fiber optic cable, the rule still holds:
Don’t let the tape (or wire) fight itself.

Nice to see that a bit of old-school technique is still alive, just at a much larger scale.

Meanwhile, the Pixel phone provisioning saga appears to be over.
Google has declared it fixed and issued a $20 credit.

A hard way to earn $20.

Woke up this morning, and, as ChatGPT predicted, my phone found the tower while I was sleeping. Late this afternoon, Google emailed an interim workaround. Which I will keep handy. Hopefully, this will never happen again.

Spent lots of time outdoors.
Some spring photos from “The Wilderness Trail”.

Those photos were all taken using the aforementioned Pixel Phone.
A fine start to April.

The plan:

Late breakfast.
Uber to the hospital.
In-person yoga.
Leisurely walk.
Bus the rest of the way home.
Read a trashy novel.
Dinner with my besties.

And then.

Before I even got into the Uber, there was no cell service.

Just like that.

Exactly how does one function when suddenly transported back to 1978?

Fortunately, I had a little cash. The Uber driver got tipped. Yoga was good. I visited with an old friend and ran into a fellow Asylum inmate.

So far, so good.

Now: how to get home?

I have a bus map in my head.
I have a plastic bus pass.

What I do not have is real-time information.

Which bus is best today?
Where to transfer for the best connection now?

For familiar routes, no problem.

For anything new — potential disaster.

On the first bus, I started poking at my phone.

This is what I saw.

Exactly what one wants to see when one is already off the grid.

When I got home, I called the helpful human number.
On the phone that is not working.

One hour and three minutes later, I was still on hold.

I stopped holding.

Meanwhile, my iPad, also on an eSIM, is working perfectly. My account appears fine. My phone has decided it no longer believes in towers.

Google Fi helpfully notes:

“We are investigating a known issue…”

Of course you are.

ChatGPT suggested I have a glass of wine and wait for things to magically resolve themselves.

Gemini suggested dialing *#*#34866#*#*.

For now, I am going with wine.