Halloween

Today was pretty great. I had to do a thing in front of the company, which I did in concert with my colleague from the archives. My walk-on music? A harp. Pretty fab.

When I came home I watched the birds vs the dodgers, and it did not go well for us so we go to Game 7.

Then the phone rang with the special ring set aside for my sisters. I assumed it was my oldest sister telling me that my brother-in-law was dead, because he has dementia and things are rough up there. But no.

It was my middle sister, the one I call The Hammer.

I have been joking rather seriously for the last few years that I would like to own a big diamond that belonged to my grandmother, who thought herself quite fancy. This was her wedding ring for marriage #2. I had it appraised a while back, and started wearing it, while tabulating the amount of money that I was spending on my mom. Starting with plane tickets in 2017 and adding all of the things that I bought for her between then and her death I think it's around 37 grand or more (just looked --- $38,400).

So my mom dies and I ask my sister about the jewelry, because she'll want to let the estate attorney know about it. In the past years I've been wearing the diamond, which is hilariously large, but I know it's not really mine until after the estate settles. Or maybe that won't work out. Anyhoo, a while back my sister asks about the 1990s appraisal of the jewelry. She wants me to mail her paper copies. For some reason I didn't do it at first. It made no sense to me. I could have sent her the pdfs that day. I hate mailing things. I don't know what she did with the appraisal. 

A few weeks ago my sister calls to tell me that she's going to tell the estate attorney about the jewelry. Either then or during that weekend's vortex of power meeting she tells me that she's going to tell the estate lawyer that I'd found the jewelry in a box of documents or something. She let me know that I had to decide what the story was because I'd be telling it. Wait. She told a lie about me and now I had to participate in that lie also? I didn't tell her at the time, but if the lawyer asked me I planned to tell the truth. My sister's lie is not my problem.

She calls tonight at 10:30 her time. We are planning to have a family meeting tomorrow morning with the lawyer. My sister has called because she wants to know if we can talk in the morning. She wants to be able to take a Xanax or whatever tonight and go to bed knowing that we can talk in the morning. I asked if we could discuss whatever it is now, because now *I* wasn't going to sleep well wondering what the topic was that she wanted to discuss. I mean really! So I coaxed her into a conversation. It was about the jewelry, and what we were going to say about it. I can't recall all of what was said but I told her that I wasn't going to lie. She tried to manipulate me by saying "You can't possibly know how much I'm doing for the family" etc. I do know this, but the fact that she lied about whether my family had jewelry as part of the estate and now she wants to come clean and lay it on me has nothing to do with that. She said I was "un-generous" and "selfish" and that she was sorry that she had misunderstood what I wanted to have happen to the jewelry (or something). In the meantime, mrguy could hear everything that she was saying and was performing an extraordinary pantomime of self-sacrifice and such while I was on the phone. It was highly entertaining / distracting. I stuck to my guns and did not back down and there were empty silences in which I think she might have understood that I was immovable. Mrguy said he was proud of me. I was proud of me, too.

The Latest

This is what the candles looked like in the light of day. Very different from each other!

And now this is the latest: mrguy's most recent scans are in.

"IMPRESSION:

1. No evidence of metastatic disease."

The other stuff is still in the report, the things I call "old guy stuff". He has an enlarged prostate and some arthritis in his neck, and a cyst on his "robust pancreas". Even his original tumor site, the esophagus, shows only "Stable trace circumferential wall thickening" which makes it seem as if it might be returning to its pre-cancerous appearance? Dunno. Mind you, this cancer often snatches you back at the slightest hesitation. But this is great. Mrguy has been worried. I have not. 

He seems so good on his good days. This morning he made us an avocado cheese omelette using his new favorite pan, and I imagine that right now he's in the man room dancing the tarantella.

So Yesterday Happened

We left the home together! And we bought camel shaped pastries at the Italian bakery in the rain.

After a while, I started making pumpkin salmon soup in advance of watching Game 2 of the World Series. The Blue Jays are my team and I've been looking forward to this for 30+ years. So I got my ingredients and was cutting my many vegetables and listening to an interview with Roy Wood Jr. and Trevor Noah. I began to feel settled, looking out of my kitchen window with my headphones on, while making my cozy soup. Then the day took a turn for a worse.

I saw a woman and her dog pass from my side of the street to the island and deposit a huge bag of dog doo on the island, leaving it there and walking away. I snapped. I ran out of the house, grabbed her bag of poo and shouted down the street "Don't worry. I'll take care of your dog shit for you!!!!" Surprisingly, she heard me, came back halfway and said "I always do that and come back for it later". I turned my back and yelled "I've got it this time!!"

Not my finest moment, and I feel somewhat ashamed, but there I was making something yummy and if I didn't move the dog shit I was going to have to look at it. How did I know she was coming back, and WHATEVER. I regularly see dog doo bags in our front yard left behind by dog owners. And on top of it I was just thinking today about maybe planting something in the barren island in the middle of the street.

So I finished the soup -- and if you use this recipe it really isn't quite the same if you use celery instead of celery root (there was none at the store). But I was just thickening it and putting in the corn and salmon. Mrguy replayed the Canadian national anthem for me, and after the top of the first the power went dead.

The power company told us that the outage would last until 7:45, which would be the end of the game. I decided to pull out some fun candles -- the kind that turn colors as they melt. They did not give off much light, so I added a regular candle. And we listened to a Canadian broadcast of the game on SiriusXM.

The soup was delicious, but we lost Game 2 and are now tied 1 - 1 with the team that mrguy calls The Hated Dodgers.

Here's what caused our outage. 

Bot Fun

I wore out a bot who reached out to me last night while we were watching Game 5 of the ALCS. 

The bot reached out to me because I subscribe to a fan page of a musician I once worked with. In my experience he is a terrible tipper! 

Also we only played music, just so you know. This was my first attempt at bot torture. We have a friend who is really great at it, and that's what inspired me to engage when the bot wanted to talk to me. I made a point of not telling it anything revealing.

No Kings II

Updates: The New York Times today says "thousands" came out to protest. The president then posted an AI video of himself in a fighter plane dumping feces on crowds of protesters, who are then covered in shit. The president is so icky.

++++

Sometimes you just need to get your yayas out. I met with a bunch of (mostly) older folks out on the pavement and waved to cars, getting them to honk.

Woooooo!!!!

Honk if you love America!

Honk if you love Democracy!

Thank you!

and for those who did not honk:

Honk in your heart!

At one point the most beautiful parade of lowriders came through, with gorgeous paint jobs and delightful joie de vivre. Two little kids rode their illegal tiny motorbikes, which would usually make me angry, but they were with the program. We had one student driver pass by who was freaked out by the commotion, but her instructor honked the horn for her.

One lady early on approached me to ask what the fuss was about. I explained the thinking behind the movement and she thanked me. I hope she comes out next time.

I would say that there were close to twice as many people out today. The signs were amusing and heartfelt, the police were respectful, but the shade was sparse. I met a really nice lady who, if I see her again, I want to share contact info with.

I went hard at sign waving and fun making for my fellow protesters, and I hydrated because it was really warm today. After giving my all for an hour, I went home to scoop up mrguy. He had chemo this week and was not feeling well, and also disappointed that he wasn't well enough to go out. He was making himself some toast when I got home, and I took him down in Tiger Brown to see the local protest for himself. He did not, as I suggested, try out my sun roof. We honked and wooed at people and then went to the store to get some juice. It was lovely. He felt great that he got to participate. 

We'll see if I have any voice tomorrow. I was singing in the store and my voice was cracking a bunch...It felt great to go out there and express myself and amuse the people. 

First Amendment, baby.

Thank You, Mr. President

Thank you for ranting about the restoration of this awesome-looking church, the United States Air Force Academy Chapel in Colorado Springs. Without your passion for whatever it is today I would not have known about it. There is a similar looking structure near the airport on Oahu, and I wonder if there is a connection between the two.

The offending church

Here's an interesting interview with the architect, Walter Netsch. By the spelling of his last name I'm guessing that his ancestors were Wendish, by the way.

Here is the Netsch family home, recently restored. He really took "death stairs" to a whole new level.

Loooove this cool library. 

And without the inflammatory post about the church, I would not know about

Cats_Of_Brutalism

Thank you, oh great one!

A Week in October

It's felt really busy at work this week. I wrestled with this guy, that had a document from the 3rd forklift line on it. I had to get the floppy reader, coax it to engage with the floppy, and then I attempted to put the files straight onto the server because I was worried I'd never get the floppy to connect again. That was not permitted by the operating system, so I had to drag it to the desktop. Could not be read by Word, so I opened it in TextEdit, from there into Docx, then tried to put it on the server. Apple, right now you are on my bad list. You know there is a bug in your software that is making my life impossible, and you won't fix it.

So I get my newly converted elderly digital file on the server and it's greyed out. I had to use some backend code that my coworker taught me in order to put a new version (and my all-important readme about the machinations that led to this file still being alive almost 30 years later) on the server without being greyed out. 

Also work -- I wonder if there is a term for something that has been on the free table on multiple occasions. I found this on the free table before the pandemic. I wore it for a while, trimmed the beads off, got tired of it and put it back on the free table. Just found it there again.

This is my beautiful handbag that I found on the free table a few months ago. I love it so much! It contains a special package -- cat poop from my baby boy, to be sent to the vet. All good, but he had a tooth cleaning this week and now he is a little wiggy and sometimes fears me.

I have been very social this week. Talked with the Rev after work on Tuesday. Went out to dinner with Precious Nephew on Thursday. Burned my tongue on Immunity Broth, which I had to get because of its name. Still hurts two days later. Yesterday I went to a luncheon for work (lots of people-ing) and then went out with a girlfriend from the restaurant for dinner (more people-ing). But it was great.

There were some gorgeous skies this week.

My Christmas cactus seems to be an October cactus. Pretty!

And my team is going to the division series for the first time since 1993. There was a lot of baseball. Vlad Guerrero Jr. is so great. I will be rooting for you, young man!

I had two hours of people-ing this morning, attending my Irish genealogy group meeting. By now I am pooped, both literally and figuratively. There's something going on with my innards that is unpleasant and makes me suspect that I should stay home this evening instead of watching a Japanese horror film with friends as I had planned.

More in these pages.

Bucket List 2025

My bucket list is so out of date. I am going to start afresh

1. Meet distant family in Ireland

2. Be a balloon wrangler in the Thanksgiving Day Parade

3. Participate in an archaeological dig

4. Milk a cow

5. Learn to drive a forklift

6. Blow glass

1. This is closer than ever. I have applied myself to my research and I now know who our next generation of rellies is on one side of my family. It feels great to accomplish that step.

2. This is also closer than ever. More in these pages soon

3. Just came to me that I have always wanted to do that

4. I finished listening to an audiobook about a woman who lived on a farm in Norway, and was reminded that I want to do this. How hard could it be to get the opportunity?

5. I have always regretted not taking that .25 unit class at school, but it was early on Saturday mornings

6. I can do this easily. I always assumed that my 30 years of smoking would make this impossible, but I haven't smoked for almost 18, so I am thinking this would be possible.

Big Bouncin' Week

If there is one thing I know for certain, it's that people really like forklifts, and this year marks the 30th anniversary of our first forklift line. There's lots of interest. I've been giving talks about the 30th (in Bologna, and for the special forklift fanclub) and it's been going pretty well. Recently I got an invitation from the John Deere Family Museum to do the 30th presentation there and, well, I was thrilled and nervous to do so.

Then a week or so ago my new uber boss recommended me for membership in the forklift academy. Note that there aren't any archivists or categories for them in ForkAcad. But he thinks I'd be a great addition and wants to try. I got the email from ForkAcad, logged into the application form, and there it was -- the golden forklift, the branding that we all know -- the special font -- even getting the first email felt like an honor. Anyhoo --

I'm in the middle of filling out my application, which is like writing a resume. Writing a resume is the depth of misery, in my opinion. People who have helped me write my first resume and read this blog can attest that it's no fun for anyone involved.

I have imposter syndrome. I'm an introvert. I find summoning the words to describe the work I've done to be a challenge, especially when so much of what we do is collaborative. My therapist thinks that this is a fantastic task for me to have to do right now, and I agree. But it's so haaaaaard! This week I kept asking for feedback on my answers to the questions in the application form, because I don't want to bring the forklift company into disrepute by saying the wrong thing. My regular boss says I need to be less granular about describing the work -- "It's not like anybody told you to do those things you've done. You think them up and do them yourself!" And my uber boss, who has been supportive of me since he arrived at the factory 14 years ago, wants more archives stuff in my answers. He's right. She's right. By the end of the week I felt much more confident about what I was doing and saying. The ForkAcad interface keeps eating my answers when I hit "save", but hopefully by the 5pm deadline tomorrow, my answers will be submitted securely.

Yesterday was my big day at the museum. I rehearsed my presentation the week and day before. I left the house on time. I bought a new dress. I wore slimming garments (not really necessary because my cute new dress is VAST), but whatever. I even used a curling iron. My fabulous hair took a hit from the wind at the gas station, but there's nothing that makes a girl hitting the road feel better than having a full tank of gas, so I decided to take that as a win instead.

My sister from another mister and her husband came to see the presentation and be my moral support. This was essential. They ate lunch with me beforehand, and we all walked down to the theater together. Also she wore my mom's favorite earrings which we gave her after mom died. So sweet.

The talk was a big rousing success. They got me. They got the material. They were all pretty knowledgeable, which I pointed out to them while I was talking, because I could see so many of them nodding their heads when I mentioned certain things that were familiar to them. They laughed! When I put up a photo of some of the forklift designers, all really young, wearing super dorky matching shirts, the audience thought it was hilarious because they knew who those folks were and what they look like now. It made it so much easier for me to relax and be myself. "Goofy but authoritative" is my lane.

There was a Q&A -- "You! Man with long arms in back!" and an autograph signing. I predicted that this would be lightly attended, if at all, based on previous experience, and I was incorrect. There were all kinds of people -- they let me sign their stuff, or book plates. I signed a few books that I'd worked on. A student at my alma mater who studies forklifts especially liked my description of forklift color. A girl in my program at my alma mater said I was famous (which is weird and I doubt because I don't have much of a presence out there). I took it as she meant it and was very grateful. I talked to children. To couples. And a friend who I didn't see in the audience who used to work at John Deere was there! People thanked me for the work we do, and everybody super loved the talk. And my dear friends who came with me really liked it. I was hoping I wouldn't bring shame upon them. They asked me for a tour of the factory, so they *must* have liked it! I love them.

I'm still winding down. And feeling really good about the job I did for my kind hosts. I drove back over the bridge in Tiger Brown with a smile on my face and a full tank. Tomorrow I'll finish that application for ForkAcad and will relax. 

After this, I don't have any big dates coming up until Thanksgiving. 

Whooooooo!!!!

Beach Cleanup

Yesterday I helped with beach cleanup near where I work. It was a gorgeous day, the ground squirrels were flitting in and out of the rocks, and the pelicans were flying overhead. My teammates were from HR. We brought in a lot of trash, and put plant flags in the areas where there were hypodermic needles.

It felt good to be outside doing something and to be done by 11:30. 

I really want to know what this one plant is. And this one I know I've seen, but I can't recall the name.

Then I went to the genealogy library to look at a book about one of my family names. As usual, there were just a few paragraphs about that name in County Meath, where my people were last before emigrating. I took photos of a few pages and then went home.

Then off to the store to buy some boeuf and make chili for mrguy, who was very happy and made a little chili song for me in anticipation of his dinner. Chili, cheese Stonehenge and chips was on the menu. It was super tasty, even though I ran out of oregano.

We watched Fake or Fortune, an English show in which they try to authenticate artwork. I've been watching it for quite some time, after I go to bed, but when I showed it to mrguy recently he started referring to it as "My new favorite show". 

The boy does love his art.

What to Do?

Mrguy's half brother and his extended family left the state, leaving behind family cremains. Somebody thought mrguy wanted his stepdad's ashes, not realizing that he wasn't his real dad. Mrguy's step-niece ended up holding them and she reached out last weekend. What to do?

She isn't related to the ashes and never met them when they were a person.

Mrguy isn't interested in them because his stepdad was a creepy dude who punched him.

We discussed many options, including tossing them in the trash and saluting the pail (my idea). But mrguy is a proper fellow and was torn between wanting to do the right thing for his stepdad and wanting nothing to do with this problem and feeling sorry for our step niece because she was stuck in the middle. I pointed out that, yes, mrguy could make a long drive down to pick up the ashes and maybe get a niche near his mom's, but that he only has so much time and energy in his current situation.

Step niece to the rescue. She mentioned her situation to a friend who has a friend with a boat. For $600 the friend will scatter the ashes in the bay. Mrguy and I paused for a sec because that's where we scattered the big guy, and we don't really want their particles to be mixed up, and that's also where *we* want to be scattered and we don't want any of our creepy dude on us. 

But we will be dead then, and whatever.

Four More Typewriters Leave The Nest

I did a handoff in the parking lot at work this week. They're getting rehabbed at a local typewriter joint, and will be owned by writers who like typewriters.  

I hope they go on to lead happy lives.

That Guy

Do you know this fellow? I'm assuming he's AI, and he interrupts my YouTube feed on the regular. He tells me to stop eating blueberries immediately and to eat butter.

You are not the boss of my gut biome, AI guy.

Another Painting

If this painting weren't 55" x 43" I would consider bidding on it.

I have been in that room and know the view. It's a small corner adjacent to the modest kitchen in the house where I used to pose for artists some mornings. It fascinates me that Charles would paint such a grand-sized and dreamy painting of such an austere space. I remember coming in for a gig one day, and in that kitchen he was serving a pork chop to another man, in his bathrobe. I remember the pork chop, a cast iron pan and a striped terry robe.

Houses of that era just post earthquake often had a steep wooden staircase to the downstairs, with a galvanized pipe serving as the handrail. I remember the sweet smell of raw wood rising from the painting studio as I went downstairs, and the striped curtain on a thin cotton rope offering a bit of modesty as I changed into my own robe in the closet. A bare bulb with a beaded nickel pull chain hung overhead in that tiny space.

Few people who had a relationship with the kitchen in the painting are still alive. It makes me feel as if it would be a sin if I didn't buy it, as if I owe Charles and the painting something for knowing it's out there and disconnected from its context.

Or it's ok. My thoughts are just facts, and what Charles meant by painting this setting may have been something else entirely.

Probably gonna let it go.

The Last Potato Pancake

At one point while I was driving around on Saturday, I got a text from my ex-boss that she was having a really really final day at the restaurant and a final toast. I rsvped yes. Then I got a text from the former GM asking if I was going and whether I'd see if I could rally the ladies. None of them were available, but then a plan formed where a bunch of us who worked together circa 1990-1993 would share a final meal.

But first I had an afternoon date with my girlfriend and neighbor at the wine and dog bar. Very fun to catch up and drink wine and pet dogs.

Sunday was delightful, with a walk with a different girlfriend. It was good to get out in nature-ish. She showed me a beach where we could swim if we have another heat wave. Then I had a bit of a rest and went out to the final meal. It was fun and loud and tasty. The GM and I share a name and he'd brought his daughter and a son who also shares his/our name. It's been so long since I'd been in a room with so many people with our name. Someone would say the name and three of us would turn our heads. Reminded me of Friday nights where there were three of us. I had to change my waitress name on my tickets (usually a letter) because GM had claimed that letter.

Anyhoo, I had my final potato cheese pancake with a side salad. Eaten with my hands, rolled up together in bites. It was a perfect potato cheese pancake. Not because it was the final one, and in fact I had a kinda sub-par one a month ago. It is just that it was perfect.

I took the GM and his kids to public transit. So he heard my latest podcast listen -- a history of women in hip hop. He knows how little I know about the subject and cracked up that I was a) interested b) listening to something so academic about music. I'm back in my own lane now, by the way, listening to the story of people who collect eiderdown from duck nests on an island in Norway.

On Monday, after a walk with my tiny but mighty friend, I had a thought. A good one, not like most of my thoughts. It's been weighing on me that I want to get rid of my 19 typewriters, but didn't know how. Some are enormous and not in good shape. In a flash of brilliance I remembered the reuse / recycle place that's near work.

This is what a dozen-ish typewriters look like in Tiger Brown. And on a cart. I feel accomplished!

While I was cleaning the garage I was inspired to find a home for my clown painting. I put it on the free table, making a lady at work very happy.

And just a few more pictures from the week. Mrguy sent me this photo of boy kitten relaxing on a pillow near his Clayton Bailey jug, enjoying his window.

Also there was a shipwreck at the ob/gyn.

Out and About

Today's another 3 day weekend, which I'm really beginning to enjoy.

I decided to finally buy a plant stand that I'd seen on Craigslist for a few months. The seller was a) a woman b) super nice c) not crazy. We had a really nice chat in the morning heat.

Since I was in one of the old neighborhoods, I decided to go to Foster's Freeze. Hadn't been in years. They have so much stuff! Who knew there was a Red Bull slushie? That should not be such a thing, but I imagine it's pretty popular.

I had a small vanilla cone, dipped. It immediately started bursting through its chocolate barrier and making for the sidewalk. Warm and relatively quiet in the shade, I ate as much and as quickly as I could. It reminded me of sitting half out of the passenger seat of a rental car in the parking lot of Leonard's Malasadas.

Then I brought my new friend home and put existing plants in it, as a proof of concept. I think it will work, although my pots are mostly the wrong sizes. Also you need to work from the ground up in order to get the pots in. 

It's a thing. 

But I think I'll enjoy making it nice.

My Silver Forkliftaversary

This week was my 25th anniversary at the forklift factory. If longevity has meaning, I’ve done something. Mainly I feel such gratitude for having a job that I still love after all of these years. And gratitude that I get to do it with an amazing team of people who I like to spend time with. And for so many nice people who I get to work with less often but I admire. And even for the people who make my life more difficult, because those little effers teach me patience. Because of Hammerslag I have:

-- Visited 11 countries, and worked in museums in Europe and Asia

-- Seen (and smelled!) the the original Blob in the conservation lab at the Academy museum

-- Had the opportunity to do a hundred hours of oral history with fascinating people

-- Had great days in our booth at the forklift show, interacting with fans of forklifts and experiencing the joy that the company gives to people who like forklifts

-- Bought a house — Before the Slag we were so broke. Our entire household income in 2000 was 19,000 (including the three months I worked at the Slag)

-- Received the great gift of my cat boy, Kirby, who came to me through a Slag connection

-- Had great health insurance, which has given me at least a year and a half of extra time with my husband

-- Enjoyed the many fruits of the free table. I give, I receive, I learn, I judge.

A Fantastic Sunday

Lots going on in the background, but I can't complain when I'm listening to slinky bossa nova style Japanese music with mrguy and looking outside at the city far away. The clouds above it make it resemble the Cascades. 

Check out Chiaki Naomi, people! Super relaxing.

Prior to that we were picking out plane tickets for my solo trip to New York for Thanksgiving. Mrguy was invited but doesn't want to go, nor does any one of my friends. Whatever. I am going to NY to spend gobs of money and do one of my bucket list items. I feel untethered from finance because this is literally something I wanted to do before I die, a dream trip, so I am looking at tasting menus at expensive restaurants and all sorts of things that I would not necessarily want to do. But I'm pretty sure that the people who I am crewing with would not want to do those things, so I'm planning for togetherness on Thanksgiving Day and then fending for myself.

And prior to that, we spent a little time in the garage, doing triage. We loaded up several boxes of random stuff in Tiger Brown for me to take to Goodwill. I said goodbye to my dad's little chest that sat on the side of his favorite chair. It was a deep cherry color, and until it went to live at my mom's house, had zero flaws in its finish. The ring pulls on the upper drawer had a distinctive sound that I can't forget but can't quite describe. The upper drawer held all of the coasters you would need to keep everything in the living room pristine. One lower held sable brushes that I would use to dust the semi-precious stone flowers on the Chinese lacquer screens, and the other held our Christmas stockings through the year. You wonder how I came to be a historian? I can mentally walk through my entire childhood house and tell you what's in almost every drawer, because someone before me told its story.

Oh wow, the indignities that that chest endured in my mom's care in her final years. It sat next to her bed, so its finish was removed in various places by potions prescribed and spit into the air (children's Tylenol, for one), and her nightly water glass and juices. It's almost unimaginable that my mom's furniture would have a water ring on it. At one point she broke part of the chest. I glued it back together, an activity that I found completely satisfying. I polished it with diaper paste as a final tribute on Christmas 2022.

But yesterday? I rolled it to the curb at Goodwill and drove away before they could complain about my bringing them furniture, and I am free. Every one of these moments letting go and then actually jettisoning items carves out a bit more freedom. I memorialize them here, and then *poof* I don't have to feel bad about them.

Then I went to the car wash. Three color foam for nine bucks, as you know. A friend from school says she goes for the cheapest one color wash. I told her I file that nine bucks under "entertainment". The car wash seems so extravagant to me. More extravagant than going to New York.

Flaco and Me

There really is no Flaco and Me, but I thought it would sound good.

In the day, in the college town where I colleged, there was a bar called The Club. As I remember it, not as it was, it was on a corner, where the sidewalk ended and the dirt started. It was an old man bar -- dark wood, dry oak floors, two pool tables whose overhead scoring abacus (what else would you call it?) hung with dust. Around the rest of the room were booths, and a back alcove held a perpetual poker game that you could only get in on by invitation.

The Club served minors.

I really only went there a few times, because I didn't want to get busted, but the best times were on weekends. Not sure how, but a guy I knew from class invited me out for a beer one Saturday. As I recall he was from the Central Valley and was studying city planning. Wore a light blue pearl button shirt, which spoke volumes about where he stood, and what his roots were, despite what he was learning at college. He was intellectually provocative, shall we say.

Anyhoo, he hipped me to what I was missing that day as he bought tokens from the bartender and plugged them in the jukebox. That was the day I learned about Flaco Jimenez and the sound of accordion. Damn. In 1983 accordion was considered desperately uncool, but here was this tremendous music spitting at my notion of what it was. That was a great day.

After I moved away the next year, I went up to school a few times on a weekend and sat at the bar with the old guys. They put their dentures on the bar, drank short mixed drinks and watched baseball. I didn't want to interrupt, so I don't think I got to listen to Flaco again in the space where I became acquainted with him, but I never forgot the name.

A few years later, I was living over an Irish bar. I'd briefly played ukulele and sang harmonies in a band that played a combination of pop originals, 70's Americana covers and Texas border conjunto covers. My bandmates brought up Flaco's name again. Shortly after I was tossed out of said band (long story), Flaco came to town. Not only that, he was set to play at the cultural center that was next door to the building I lived in. Faaaantastic! The venue didn't have a backstage, so when Flaco needed to warm up he went into the walkway behind the building and did so. My apartment was on the first floor, so I quietly jimmied my window up a few inches and had a private concert. 

It was divine. Thank you, Flaco. The concert inside an hour or so later couldn't have been as good as these few moments I had you to myself.

Sweet Magnolias. Those Bitches!

We're watching whatever season this is of Sweet Magnolias. I have enjoyed this show even though it's a sweetly terrible throwback. We decided to return to it after a long absence. For some reason I care about these characters, but...

Those bitches!! Your best friend puts on a surprise Halloween wedding for herself and her man. You two get so bent out of shape that the day after your best friend's wedding, when she's up in the clouds with happiness and returns to her home, you sit on her porch, laying in wait, and then drag her for two pages of dialogue about how you two didn't get to participate in the planning of the wedding.

Well, characters on a show based on a book that could have been better, you probably participated in and were happy about the first wedding to that guy Bill, who they killed off at the end of this episode so that we can all come together in sadness. I will not be sorry to see Will Wheaton's (correction: Chris Klein's) squinty face struggling through the terrible dialogue he's given.

Mrguy says he smells another death. This show loves a death.

My prediction: Dana Sue's hot husband whatsisface is next. He tripped while helping Coach Cal move into his new wife's house. Bet he has ALS, which is just the kid of lingering disease they give a man on these shows.

Can I still label this "television"? I'm too old to know. "Content"?

Whatever

First Anniversary-ish

Today's my parents' anniversary. The first one with both of them deceased. In honor of the occasion, one of my sisters sent us all a classic photo of the two of them.

It is one of the nicest photos of the two of them. I kept it on a table in the kitchen for many years.

When Mom had to stay with us for a few weeks during the pandemic, we would walk out of the kitchen and past the photo at bedtime. She would pull over, and pause to turn it face down.

Every 

Single

Day.

And that's what I see when I look at this photo. 

I also see heads. My parents had heads.

Prompt 347, About Senses

Prompt 347

On a Friday in the coldest summer since 1999

I do Pilates over zoom with my friend and trainer, with me in my tiny home office and her in Nevada. She gives me an excellent laugh, describing how she and others on her "I'm moving to Henderson" group responded to someone asking whether there was at least a cooling breeze in the evenings. For those not in the know, apparently it's like living in a convection oven. Also described as "The day is like pointing a blowdryer at yourself on high and night is like pointing a blowdryer at yourself on low." I ended our time together with more energy, less gas, and a reminder that she appreciates all of my weird stuff and I'm to leave it to her when I die. "Just put the clown shoes by the front door".

I drink the leftover coffee. I wish it were hotter but am too lazy to walk ten steps to the microwave.

The sound of a train in the distance -- it's blowing its horn as it moves through our city. I love the sound of a train so much that mrguy and I used to listen to train records when we were first together. "Steam or diesel?" we'd say, choosing an appropriate sound for the occasion.

A week later, I'm cleaning up this text and hear a loud train horn in the distance.

Summer Like Winter

This morning I woke up, came upstairs and it was blowin' like stink, as our old sailor friend used to say. This is the best summer ever, weather-wise. The middle of the country is suffering with heat, and it is dragging the marine layer over our part of the world like a cozy blanket. The little boy cat is in his window, surveying the neighborhood, and mrguy is dressed for cool weather and working in the garage.

The junk folks are coming today to take away much of my mom's old furniture. The tyranny of chairs. Bye chairs! After they leave us we'll have a tiny splash of room in the garage where we can do further triage.

In the meantime, mrguy has still been blown off by the allergy department and will rattle their cage. He had a brain MRI yesterday, and will have an electroencephalograph tomorrow. Hoping they find nothing, but we still have to figure out why his thighs itch and he loses control of parts of his body when he's being infused.

Tomorrow is filming in the archives. Man, do these people like forklift designs! I have to find an outfit and do my nails and think of things to say, in case they ask. They might just want my hands to point at designs. You never know. I am the designated pointer.