Travels with The Rayman

As I lay awake in the early morning hours this a.m., I took to serious thought about my golf game.  This is because yesterday afternoon, we played golf with number one son…nine whole holes laid out before us as sun was going down.  

The course is set in a grove of redwood trees, thank goodness because if the trees were of the leaf-dropping type, we never, ever would have been able to find our balls.   As it was a few times we still had to look hard for those golf balls which tells you something about our skill levels.

But I digress.

Golf is a game of ups and downs.  One minute you are on cloud nine because of a shot you pulled off.  The next minute you feel like a toad for the golf shot you didn’t pull off.  Golf is like life…it is voluntary.  You choose to live, you choose to play golf.  Golf teaches humility and if you are lucky, life teaches you humility.  Golf teaches us how to lose gracefully.  Okay, most of us.  Our President is a golfer but he threatens to cheat to win, he threatens to refuse to concede, he is known for disregarding the rules.  For the rest of us, we regard golf as a game of honor, our own honor.  We do not cheat because in the end, it only hurts us by giving us a lower score… which will drive our handicap down to the point that we cannot win in a low handicap game because we cheated to win.  I know this is a circular example and I wish I could explain it better for my non-golfing friends.    Just trust me on this.  

So, now I’m asking you to trust me and for those of you that know me, you know you can trust me.  Unlike our President who lies every time he opens his mouth, seemingly.    Those that I know that cheat at golf, the funny thing is, so does everyone else know they cheat at golf.  Word gets around.  And when you are known as a cheat, fewer people want to play with you.  Who wants to play with a cheat?  You have to keep an eagle eye out.  How many strokes did they really take?  Did they sneakily move the ball for a better lie?  It takes the fun out of it and it may also have a negative effect on your own game because you can’t truly relax with a cheater.  

So, you see, golf is a microcosm thing.   It is a wonderful game for young people to learn if they learn the lessons of honesty, integrity and the like.  I think it is the only game where a player has been known to call attention to committing a foul and then adding strokes to their score because of the foul.  That is darn cool.  

You know, if Trump had learned about all that and taken it to heart, we would not be in the situation we find ourselves in today.  And neither would he.  

For non-golfers, you may not know this but golf balls can break windows.  And it is on the golfer that hit the ball.  They are responsible.  And most golfers are honorable enough to seek out the owner of the window or leave a note if no one is home.  I’m not convinced Donald would do that.  I don’t know but I’m sure it is true.  (one of Bill Maher’s favorite lines).  

Speaking of Bill Maher, he has been predicting that Trump will refuse to leave office.  He did a montage on his program last week that went back years of him saying Trump will no go.  People thought it was ludicrous.  But, he was right all along.  In golf that would be akin to refusing to lose a match.  It just doesn’t happened.  And it has never happened before in the history of our democracy, politically speaking.   

Ever heard a pro golfer give an interview and call Golf Magazine a hoax?  Of course not.  It has never happened.  Ever heard a player state that if the round isn’t completed by a certain time, that they must stop playing at that time for the match to be legit?  Of course not.   You get the drift by this time, I assume.

Golf is such a wholesome game in so many ways and it is beyond ironic that this man living in the People’s House, has been shown to owe $400 million today on properties that have golf courses.  But, really, when will the dripping ever stop?  

Jeering at a winner in golf just doesn’t happen.  Cheering happens all the time for all the players because anyone who golfs knows just how darn hard the sport really is.  99% of all golfers in the world are duffers…just not that good.  But that doesn’t stop us.  We look forward to the next round hoping for the best, always.  We tell people we are playing with that their shots were good…we never comment when the shot is bad…unless the errant shot ends up next to the pin in the in the hole!!  That is part of the fun and enjoyment.   It is a thrill to see a great shot up close and personal be it mine or someone I’m playing with.  A good shot is a good shot.  It is to be appreciated and admired.  If a person hits a good shot, acknowledging it is akin to saying thank you in a way.  It is just so cool.

Recently I have considered selling my clubs because of my poor play.  However, having written this, I realize, I can’t give it up.  I is a reminder of all that is good in this life.  Playing for fun, enjoying the walk, the nineteenth hole, the challenge and yes, the honor and trust and the humility.  

There.  I left you all on a high note!!

 

After plunking out $250 for the Central Coast Writer’s Conference, I may be concluding that writing a book may just be too much work.  Being allergic to work is one of my ticks.  So…I am rethinking this idea.

So many times in life we are called upon to rethink our thinking.  It’s either that or living with the consequences be they big or small.  

Two squirrels are playing on the fence right now.  Wish you could watch them with me.  They are smallish and that’s why they are playing.  Kids, is all.  They jump from the fence to the tree which is a mighty jump for the little kids.  Then they run around the bole of the tree as though they had in hand a string of lights that they were using to decorate the tree  for xmas.  Up and down and all around.  They are so squirrelly.   Imbedded below is a movie I took in my cousin’s backyard.  Look for the squirrel!!

 

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But I digress.

So I also learned that writing is practice.  You must constantly be practicing.  Therefore, I am practicing on my blog this fine morning.  The sun is shining, the sky is blue, you can safely breathe, you can see Mt. Hood.  It is a good day and I hope the same for you, all three of my faithful readers!!  I appreciate so much my faithful followers.   It gives us a connection of sorts and in this day of so many choices for spending ones time…

Another thing I learned is that we all need to find the funny in situations.  Like if you are in line at CVS, the line is long, there is only pharma person at the register, you might be tempted to say, “Oh, for heavens sake…why are they so short handed.  I have other things I have to do and this is stupid.”  The speaker suggests that we should take a different tack because all our huffing and puffing doesn’t change a darn thing.  So have fun.  You could say to yourself…”it appears I will be here until Thanksgiving.  I wonder if that outdoor furniture over there would help on Turkey Day.   Would it seat 6?  How would the wine glasses fit?”  Admittedly it was funnier when she said it because of her verbal delivery.  The point is well made and well taken.  Lighten up and find the funny.  It truly is all around us.

As we were returning from the Green Dog Organic Health Food Store, Rayman made bedroom eyes at me.  So I thanked him for warning me and giving me ample time to come up with an airtight excuse.  TMI?  Perhaps.  But it was a funny conversation.  We both laughed.

Another thing I learned was the difference between surprise and suspense.  Surprise on the golf course would be chipping in the ball for a birdie.  Suspense is when you are lying 6 in the fairway and wonder if your next shot will get over the water.  Now, suppose you aren’t a golfer.  Surprise is if a man sits down at his desk and a bomb goes off under the desk.  Suspense is if the reader knows there is a bomb under the desk.  The man sits down…suspense is automatically created unless that person is, say, Hitler.  In Hitler’s case, you would hope the bomb would go off negating the suspense.  Or in Hitler’s case, you know he didn’t die this way because you are an esteemed reader of history and so no suspense is forthcoming at all.  Unless it is a Coen movie.  Or a Tarrantino movie.  And the way I deftly moved from writing to movie was not a switch a bait…every movie is written, afterall.  

We, the conferees listened and learned all these tricks of the trade on Zoom.  And by some weird twist of fate, no matter if I got on line before the session started or mid-session….I was always in the far left top corner, usually next to the speaker.  This rendered me somewhat unnerved.  All those people couldn’t help but see me.  It’s like sitting in the front pew Zoom style.  Don’t know how it happened but it did.  Every time.   Of course, the fact that I was in the top left also gave me a sense of being in the right place politically speaking.  Far left.  Top of far left.  While I was not asked my political affiliations, perhaps they instinctively knew.  Nah.  It was just one of those things that required me to comb my hair before signing on.  

There are so many talented people and they made the conference very informative and entertaining.  Sometimes, however, the speaker would be upstaged by a fluke of digital proportions.  All of a sudden, the Hollywood Squares format on Zoom would stop, and one of the conferees would be the only person you could see as the speaker spoke.  And this lead to some embarrassing moments for these folks.  We had a woman  in the afternoon session that got looped on gin and tonic and then cried.  One got caught feeding her dog.  Another laying on her couch.  Ah, Zoom.  It makes for some moments, doesn’t it?

We watched some movie clips.  One was Lucille Ball and Ethel at the candy factory.  As many times as I have seen it, I was left snorting with laughter.  That was one time I muted myself.  It was uproarious.  That was the class where the leader told us that the funniest stuff is people caught in the situation of being human.  And somehow getting caught in the act of being human leads to death…not directly.  But I learned that everyone dies.  Now that was a real revelation.   Did you know that?  And that somehow everything goes back to that because all art, it turns out is based upon death.  As some of us with brains know, we know we will die and we spend our lives trying to come to grips with that central fact.  And this was the session on Being Funny!!

The funny is when you tell the truth about people.  For instance, you have an ordinary guy, struggling against insurmountable odds while lacking talent.  Aah, ha.  That explains my funny blogs…Rayman fits the bill!  Fang filled the bill for Phylis Diller.   Okay.  I got it.

So, your assignment today is to find something funny…or as I do, lots of things that are funny.  They are all around us if we just take the time to notice.  

Please report back on your assignment results.  They should be a scream!!

Today I purchased something I never knew I needed until I signed up for The Writer’s Conference that will be presented this year, not in person, but on Zoom.  The organizers said I really needed a selfie light and I really believe them.  Of course, I’m just learning this today and the conference starts tomorrow and after an extensive search on the internets, nothing can be delivered until Saturday, the last day of the conference,…but I ordered it anyway, because we zoom twice a week and it might help going forward because who the heck knows when it will ever again be safe to be with people in person sans mask and at least 6 feet apart.  

Really, peeps, this is so old, so aggravating, so exasperating…so, so.  

So?  Well, I’m getting this disc of a light that clamps on to your computer, in my case, laptop so it makes me more lit up.  I’m already lit up on oh, so many levels.  My assumption is so are you.

Let’s see, what else is new?  Oh, we took a drive yesterday to the beach.  Cannon Beach where we walked on the beach, Beau ran on the beach.  We gazed at the ocean and had meaningful talks.  It really was a lovely day.  The change of scenery lifted our spirits.  We both recommend you escape the confines of your four walls and at least take a drive down a two lane road.  

We decided we are going to do something differently.  When we get back to California, we are going to play golf together once a week come hell or high water.  Okay, forget the high water.  “Just golfing in the rain…getting soaking wet”.  This refrain should be sung to the tune of “Just Walking in the Rain”.  Rain while golfing is not my thing.  Golfing in the rain is not my thing.  It is just downright uncomfortable.  Which is leading me to the thinking that I should stop walking the golf course in “iffy” weather.  Or stop walking the golf course at all.  It slays me when I see young guys in carts.  How is that a thing?  They look abled bodied and I’m pretty sure I can afford it more than they can.  However, they ride.  So, maybe I should start riding.  If I play a course that has huge amounts of real estate between green to tee, I ride.  I ride in tourneys.  I ride at resorts because they demand it.  But I’m torn.  A good walk is a good walk.  And my Uncle Ralph keeps me wanting to walk.  He rode his bike up the steep roads until he was 85.  A little walk to nothing compared to that.   Anyway, I keep fighting myself on this and I don’t know who will prevail.  

 

We are going to stop spending so much time on our gadgets…iphones, ipads, laptops.  We just watched Social Dilemma and it was just excellent.  It describes the problem social media has wrought on us people of the entire world.  it advocates for solutions by the very smarty pantses that created it all…like, one guy that will not allow his kids on social media at all until they are old enough to understand the real implications.  Pretty drastic for a creator of our world order.  So, we will spend less time doing FB, Twitter, et al.  The exception for me is my writing .  I really love to write.  It is on my laptop.  You can watch it on Netflix.  Really, really thought provoking.

As most of you know I’ve been writing a book for years.  It started as a cookbook with stories  and has now morphed into a book about my family.  Now, when I really look at it I wonder if I should continue.  It feels like a job and I’m opposing to working on general grounds!  So, I’m spending some time noodling through that.  

It’s raining here in Portland as I write.  Love, soft rain.  Our air is clear.  All is well.  Counting our blessings.  

It is now time to leave the house and drive to Costco to get gas.  They pump for you so it’s easy peasy.  It’s a way to break up the day.  To get us off our gadgets and our duffs.   To drink in some fresh air and such.  This is the big activity of the day.  Gassing up….until 5 p.m. when we have our evening cocktail time before dinner.  That will be our second gassing up.  We both feel so good at 5 p.m.  It really is the highlight of the day when the only thing you do is get gas for entertainment.   

Hope you are all finding ways to cope.  And stay safe.  And take care!!

Hope I’m not using the title for the second time or the tenth time.  Lord knows I have kitchen stories all the time.  This time my tome originated on Sunday at family dinner during a wind storm that blew the heck out of Cousin Sue’s giant Douglas fir in her back yard.  No one lingered after dinner…we were all afraid we were going to be crushed by a limb.  The gusts of winds were not unlike those that home…it is that at home, we simply do not walk the dog near any trees.  In Portland, that is literally impossible.  Huge, giant trees tossed around like a they were made of gossamer or silk.  Waving wildly as if they were happily dancing a tango for our enjoyment.  Dramatic moves one minute, holding a pose the next.  We ate looking to the heaven’s.  Not a lot of eye contact going on that evening.  Take a bite, look up.  Take a bite, look up.

But I digress.

The kids were playing corn holes and squealing in delight whenever the bean bag went in.  They never looked up except to look at us so we could clap at their performance.  As this was transpiring, I asked Kristen, Sue’s youngest daughter, if she would like me to bake each twin a cake like I did last year.  “Well, I talked to the kids and they put in a request for a dinosaur cupcake pull-apart cake, color with turquoise, and with “confetti inside”.  

I didn’t know there was such a thing so I said, “Sure.  I can try it.”   She showed me some pictures on the google machine.  

What was I thinking?   I took one decorating class at Diablo Jr. College in the 90s and was flabbergasted to learn that those beautiful roses and intricate icing creations were made partially from Crisco shortening.  I dropped the class.  Crisco?  Who uses Crisco anymore…it is beyond unhealthy?  If roses were made of hydrogenated fats, I could live without them.  This kid will stick to buttercream icing or glazes or…well, anything but Crisco.  I prefer bacon fat over Crisco.  

OH, there I go again.

On Labor Day and Tuesday, I planned my attack for the project.  Since my cupcake pans are in Morro Bay, I borrowed my cousin’s.  Then I tried to find YouTube instructions, written instructions for dinosaur cupcake pull-apart cakes.  There were very few.  One woman on YouTube was a hoot.  She was so chirpy, “Hi, I’m XYZ and I’m here today to show you how to make dinosaur cupcake pull-apart cake.  Kids love them.”  She smiled profusely and as she segued into the instruction, the camera man caught her doing a lips up to down maneuver…it reminded me of Melania and Ivanka at the RNC.  And then she was off to the races.  Way too fast, not enough detailed info.  The article I found, and there may have only been one, was better but still lacking for me, the dinosaur cupcake pull-apart cake novice.  I saw two possibilities.  I googled bakeware shops.  Actually found one south or Portland in the burbs…Tigard, OR.  So, given we live in the age of Williams-Sonoma and Sur la Table, restaurant supply outfits, and Amazon, I was beyond amazed to find a well-stocked store that had more that I needed by a mile.  Oh, and who can forget Kitchen Kaboodle.  It’s a big cookware and home furniture store that lives only in the NW.   I purchased food coloring, a box to transport the cake, colored tin foil that Rayman taped on to the flat board they have for such a job.  The cake was biggish and needed something more than the bottom of a turned over cake pan, for instance.  Old trick that looks, unglamorous.   So, the flat board was my first requirement.  I also bought two tips for applying the frosting and passed on the pastry bags…it was just one project.  Food coloring was required.  Eyes were purchased.  A 6-pack of half eye balls, a tiny package of string licorice (for the mouth).  That may have been it.  Oh, cupcake liners…can’t forget the cupcake liners.

Once inside the bakeware shop, I picked the brain of the masked blonde woman behind the counter.  She knew her stuff.  She also knew the merchandise.  I was full of questions.  She had the answers.  She even reminded me to put a bit of frosting on the bottom of the cupcake so it would stick and the cupcakes wouldn’t get out of wack, a technical term used in the trade.

We then hit the grocery store on the way home and I bought everything I needed except the butter.   Good grief.  FORGOT the butter.  The cupcakes and the frosting were all butter, or so it seemed.  Sometimes, I do not know where my mind goes.  On vacation?  Taking a break?  Lost in space?  No butter.  It would be like forgetting the lightbulb when you bought a new lamp.  Or forgetting to put bubble bath in your bubble bath.  Who takes a bath anymore in CA?  We don’t have the water.  

That was on Tuesday.  

Today, Wednesday, was party day.  I had to perform.  The heat was on.  No, really, the heat was on at 350 degrees.  I brilliantly selected a vanilla cupcake recipe that couldn’t be doubled so I had to prep everything in double.  Made one batch and then the other…and I learned as I went that it was just as well, doing it twice.  I only had so many cupcake pans.  Dumb luck.  So I had two bowls of dry ingredients, two of wet ingredients and two bowls of egg whites with vanilla.  I don’t know how it happened, but I didn’t screw up the cupcakes.  So, then the icing.  Rayman went to the store for more butter.  1 c.  unsalted butter, 590 to 840 grams of powdered sugar,  2 tsp. vanilla, 1/4 tsp. Salt and whole milk (1/2 c.).  Beat to a pulp.  Made it nice and smooth.    Didn’t screw that up either.  In both cases, I had recipes.

The cupcakes once cooled, required surgery.  I had to drill out a 1-in. Hole with a sharp knife, pull it out, and dump sugar sprinkles into the hole, and then recap the hole.  There were 22 cupcakes.  With that done, the actually frosting could be applied.  I had no idea if the icing I had made was enough of do the job.  They said it would cover an 8-in. Two layer cake.  

So, I took a wild leap, made a management decision, and moved some of the frosting into one bowl (maybe a scan fourth).  I had two colors with no directions to follow, I was just SWAGing it it.  SWAG stands for Scientific Wild Ass Guess…it is a technical term from the 60s, and as I consider its derivation, I come to the sudden realization that SWAG is the precursor to LOL etc.  And so is SNAFU.  Okay, this is crazy…SNAFU has been around since Christ was in the army. Ultimately, everything old is new again.

But I digress.

How much coloring should I use?  Decided on 3 shakes of the teal food coloring.  But I decided to add two more.  Looked good.  Going in slow is often a good tactic in life.  Once I did that, I found a picture of a dinosaur cupcake put-apart cake on the google machine and tried to mimic the same layout.  At this point the rubber meets the road.  Applying the goop.  

The lady in the store mentioned that I should buy a number 10 tip for the cupcake tops, and a #6 tip for the stand-up scales on the spine of the dino.  She told me to snip the corner of a storage zip-loc bag and insert the #10 into the hole, load the bag and apply it in a concentric ring starting on the inside and moving to the outside.  Here is a picture of me trying to do that.

My mistake was cutting too big of a snip and the #10 went right thru the bag.  Not wanting to ruin another zip-loc. I made another attempt on the other corner of the same bag and what do you know…it worked…for awhile until somehow the frosting started emerging from the big hole and the #10 tip at the same time.   OMG.  This is when I discovered that the #10 tip was a silly idea.  I whooped up the frosting emerging from the first hole and slammed it onto a cupcake.  I’m here to tell you that it was just as good an application as the other.  Of course, this was long into the process but it reminded me of when scientists discover things by error.  I think 3M stickums were a mistake.

It was sorta like that.

Anyway, after you gruelingly apply the frosting thru the the #10 tip, you then take an off-set spreader, and smooth the icing.   By this time there is teal frosting everywhere.  On the kitchen counter.  On the spreader, on Rayman, on the chair…I’m sure some must have gotten on the chair.  But the mission was going along okay.  It vaguely looked like the body of a dinosaur.  It had a tail, a head, and a neck goiter.  And then I applied an eye and a mouth.  Then I applied some mini chocolate chips for the claws and visual interest down the tail.  I was disappointed but determined not to throw it in the trash.

Then I moved on to the #6 slant tip.  That made more sense because it was suppose to form a tip at the tip.  I used 2 and then another drop of the food coloring which was named…electric yellow.  This time I used a smaller zip-loc, loaded the bag and did my thing without any further instruction from what I had received from the blonde lady with the mask at the well stocked bakeware store.  It didn’t look good at all.  But by this time, the party was too close to run out and buy a cake as a replacement.   So, it was complete.  

At this point a few more observations.  Don’t do this unattended.  Rayman was vital.  He opened the bag for loading, he gave me his opinion on a few things and they were all helpful except when he suggested I put my spatula where the sun did not shine…I’m kidding, he didn’t say that.   He did the most shocking thing of all…he took a picture of me when I wasn’t looking.  He never does that except that time in the bedroom.   He took the picture without my asking.  That’s like your husband bringing flowers for Valentine’s Day without being reminded, say.

When I told my cousin that her daughter had asked me if I could do this cake and I accepted, Sue said, “And you agreed to that?”   I fell on my sword by saying, “Well, there’s not a lot going on…it gives me something to do for the kids.”  

Well, as unaccomplished at the cake looked, the kids loved it.  They didn’t notice it was teal, not aqua.  They didn’t notice the goiter.  The yellow things on the back of the dinosaur didn’t bother them either.  I think they loved it.  

 

 

 

In the age of the pandemic, it might be true that times, they are a boring.  At this point in it all, the days have a sameness about them like they did when we worked for a living…except different with the masks and all.  Get up.  Have coffee.  Read the news.

Ah, ha.  I must interrupt myself…read the news.  It is more like spend an hour spitting out phrases like, “I can’t believe it.  Can he just do that?” or the old stand-by, “This guy is a moron!”.  And while I am at it I would be remiss if I didn’t also repeat a favorite, “Where are the GOP Senators and why aren’t they stopping this insanity?”.   

After arousing my dander, I then have to calm myself down and go about my business of doing…toilet cleaning.  Or dusting, or marinating the meat, or any of the mundane but necessary rituals of life.  

Rayman, for his part, is fast becoming the fastest, bestest solitaire player on the planet.  This hobby of his has me marveling that his neck has heretofore hasn’t atrophied into a permanent state of “hang down”.  He can still rotate and lift his noggin so there is that but this ain’t over yet, is it?

He excels in honey-dos and is fast becoming good friends with the woman behind the cash register at our local market as I cook and realize I don’t have enough honey for the fig-anise ice cream I’m making or the lack of powdered ginger…”how can I not have powdered ginger?”   It can be said that even with lists, things go awry.   Or as Rayman would put it, “You need what?

More reading ensues with my digital magazines (The Atlantic to name just one) and my book whatever it is at the time.   I review the news, the latest outrage and then it is fixing meals.  I have discovered a newfound admiration for my grandma.  She put on the table three square meals a day.  Rare was the day when we ever went out to eat.  My going out to eat as a kid was eating in the school cafeteria until I was in high school and then I broadened my culinary experience by ordering hamburgers from the Fosters Freeze or Wilson’s which were smartly located across the street from the school.  

But I digress.

Cooking has been a hobby of mine for years and even it has lost its luster in this time of cholera.  I love cooking but every day?  It becomes a drag as I try to find recipes, gather the goods, plan my timing and attack the kitchen with vim and vigor only to find myself half way through wanting to take a seat and be waited on.   Sometime I skip the infernal stirring the recipe requires.  Or sometimes I make mistakes.  Often times parsley is chopped and then left on the chopping block because it is required as an adornment to the finished main star of the meal and I completely forget the last step.  That the parsley is missing sometimes isn’t noticed until clean up and there it is found, sitting in a clump on the tiny chopping block from Ikea.

But where was I?  

Oh, yes.  Boring.  Things get boring.  

Yesterday was a respite from boredom.  Rayman and I drove to the Ace Hardware to buy sand for our new umbrella stand.  We need a second umbrella because our neighbor behind us owed three threes that were growing inches from each other … Last summer we offered to have a tree removed…a split leaf maple that was listing toward our house.  Our neighbor accepted our offer.  The tree was chopped down.  When we returned to the SHIP, the middle tree of the trilogy of trees, a sad skinny affair that seemed out of place but happy to be there, had been abused of many of its lower branches.  The Douglas fir has been trimmed of lower branches.    Damn.  We picked our SHIP based on the trees, privacy and the shade.  What to do?  Buy a second umbrella which completes the circle.  Sand will hold down the umbrella in a way that our other existing umbrella stand will not.  If we tilt the umbrella and a gust of wind comes blowing through, the umbrella tips over.  So…we bought another kind of stand that is too big but it will be heavy, the newest umbrella won’t tip and it has wheels so we can move it easily.  

And we need the shade and the privacy that we no longer have.  If we can manage to eek out a few more years, our Japanese maple will provide a certain amount of privacy as it grows higher.  

Then:

While making my chicken piccata I caused a flame of fire in my cast iron pan that almost reached the vent above the stove.  Oddly, that did not set off an alarm except for me.  It burnt its self out as I screamed and waved my spatula around.  After dinner, we drove over to my cousin’s house to pick up the frozen croissants she picked up for us at a patisserie.  They come frozen in a box of 8.  Great to have on hand because they thaw overnight, triple in size, and this allows the cook to bake them and serve and eat them hot out of the oven.  Yum.  

We stayed for a glass of wine and while doing so this conversation ensued:

Sue:  When are you going to try the new Italian restaurant I just found?

Me:  The next time you order from them we will too.

Sue:  How about next Tuesday.  I take Leyla (granddaugher) to Aikido.  The restaurant is right next door to the building where the Aikido is taught.

Rayman:  Akido is the name of an Italian restaurant?  

Sue:  No.  Aikido is the martial arts that Leyla is learning.

Rayman:  Then why are you getting food from there?

It went on from there until Rayman was finally out of the fog.  It could have been  a routine to replace Who is On First.  

Then this ensued:

Dianna:  Guess we should go so I’ll take the croissants now.

Sue:  Okay, I’ll get them and your change.  (an aside, Rayman had given her $20 for the croissants because he lacked the proper change the day before).

Rayman:  What change?

Sue:  You gave me money to buy the croissants and I owe you your change.

Rayman:  I did?  

At this point, I was almost snorting.  

So, as you can see…yesterday was not as dull as some other days.  It really does help to visit with others so I can discover  how far Rayman’s memory has slipped!!  I think it is slipping our of boredom.  Not paying attention to details.  Person, man, woman, TV,…

So…the tree disappeared.  

And Rayman learned about martial arts that doesn’t involve protesters in downtown Portland (PDX) and Aikido is not a restaurant. 

We now have croissants in the freezer.  We ate two for breakfast this morning.  They took on the look of a Pillsbury doughboy because I left them out too long and they just keep rising!!  But they were yummy and the SHIP smells great.  

And Rayman has change in is pocket!!

We made it to Portland (PDX) in good shape although very tired.  Sitting in the car for hours on end is tiring.  Worrying about COVID is tiring.  Let me give you a description of what traveling is like in the age of COVID.

Do yourself a favor and buy a Tinkle Belle type peeing device.  Hope this doesn’t gross you out but I must share my experience.  It was fabulous.  I practiced once in the shower and a myriad of times at home before we hit the road.  All you do is pull down your pants, place the device in the proper place, we all know where that is, and release the pee!!  The urine goes down and hits whatever you happen to be aiming at.  The first day, we had to go so we stopped at a gas station.  Gas stations have closed their restrooms.  Many businesses have.  So we pulled off the freeway just south of Gilroy, opened the door and I stood and peed on the ground.  It was hard to relax because of the worry that someone will drive by and surmise you are doing what you are doing and that is not a relaxing thought.  

The next spot to do our deed was another off ramp that looked okay.  It lead to a private, very private church.  This was above The City.  It was called St. Vincents, I think.  Big signs adorned the road.  PRIVATE PROPERTY.   Sounded perfect for a private outdoor pee adventure.  Turned out okay.  We did the deed in a parking lot below the steeple.  Ha ha. Anyway, what was all that privacy about?  Was it a seminary?  No.  Rayman just looked it up for me on the Google machine.  It was a private school for boys.  Made me suspicious.  The words boys and catholic in the same sentence makes the sentence one of foreboding.  If I was writing a score for the movie about the subject, it would have lots of slow, ominous chords with meaningful punctuation on the drums.  Perhaps I would use violins or harpsicords.  

But I digress.

We arrived in Ukiah which is not where we had intended to go.  Our original plan was to drive to Williams, on Interstate 5.  However, when I called for a reservation, the man told me, yes, they had air conditioners.  He also mentioned mosquitos as it is rice time in the area and mosquitoes hand out because of the water rice requires.  So, I checked with my brother and he suggested we bring a 12-guage for the mosquitos.  After that advice, we changed our plans and decided on hanging closer to the ocean.  Highway 101 was selected.  We stayed at the Comfort Inn, where we had stayed one other trip.  It was a bust this time.  The place was worn, under renovation.  They said there was coffee and rolls in the a.m. only they did not provide anything.  The non-smoking room smelled like smoke.  There was a red stain on the carpet in many places???  Just not a good experience.  I blame COVID.  The guy that checked me in looked like Adam Driver.  I told him so.  I’m not sure he even knew Adam Driver.  Perhaps without the mask…But he was built just like him and did look like him above the nose.

The next day we took off and found a bakery, got a muffin and coffee and headed out.  I had purchased some new “keep hot” thermoses and the coffee was so hot, we couldn’t drink the coffee.  For hours, it was hot.  So we opened the top and the coffee stayed hot for hours more.  Boy does our new keep hot thermoses work.  So to ward off boredom, we listened to the first five chapters of A Confederacy of Dunces.  I bought it for the trip because it seemed so apropos.  Just sayin.  If you haven’t read or listened to this book, I highly encourage you to do it.  Now.  It is a scream.  Ignacious P. Riley is the lead character.  I’ll leave it at that.  

At some point the urge to go asserted itself upon our beings.  We came upon a rest stop that was actually open.  Most weren’t which is another pet peeve of mine.  There I used the contraption to pee into the toilet.  I was still self conscious because in order to use it, you must address the throne like a man.  Your shoes are pointing away from the door.  What will the women in the adjacent stalls suppose, do you suppose?  I worried.  But I triumphed.  

The good news with the hot coffee is it keeps you from drinking too quickly so you don’t have to go as much!!

Following our noses, we flitted through the redwoods, we meandered along the ocean.  It was a fine drive interrupted by snorts of laughter because of the book.  We did turn the book off for a good argument once.  And then we left it off as we came to our senses, declared our undying love and talked about a permanent move to PDX in the future.  It is always fun to talk with Rayman in the car.  We discussed old telephone company stories, most of them horror stories.  That kept us busy until we arrived at Port Orford where we stopped to spend our second night.  The motel was “rustic”, sat right on the highway, had one fan, no air conditioner and it was warm as they placed  us in an upstairs room.  Our main activity was getting dinner at a fish shack down on the port Embarcadero, I guess you could say.  It was a disppointment.  We split a cioppino which was made up of lots of tomatoes and four scallops.  We didn’t see another thing from the sea in it.  Plus we ordered an extra piece of garlic toast which they did not provide.  We ate in our room looking out at the water, the port, and some rocks of great beauty.  We slurped our wine and turned on the TV.  No reception.  JJ, the guy that runs the place, was tipped by the Rayman for helping us with our bags.  The only change he had a $10.  Well, JJ came up to our room and stayed a good 45 minutes resetting every setting there was to reset.  And he got the darn thing working.  Great service.  Good tipping paid off!!  Watched the Dems Convention.  Michelle stole the night.  Really enjoyed hearing positive things from so many of the participants.  Gave us hope.

The next morning, we left the room and headed north.  “Where are my sunglasses?”, Rayman queried.  “I don’t know.  Where did you have them last?”  That was the opening salvo into a daylong head scratching drive to PDX.  Every time we stopped, we searched the car.  And we went back to the motel before we left town to see if they were there.  Nada.  We stopped in Bandon and had delicious biscuits from a Bakery and Brew business.. Oh, my.  Quite a treat.  And we asked for cream in our coffee, at least I did.  So, I could actually drink it a bit faster.  Hard as I tried not to spill anything, I spilled the honey down the front of my tee shirt.  This we discovered as we pulled over at an Elk Observation area at Reedsport.  We walked the dog, continued looking for the sunglasses, and I got my first ever opportunity to pee in a urinal.  Ladies, It is so cool.  No sit pedting.  No squatting, no touching (except for the flush).   Rinsed the tinkle belle with water, and slipped the device back into to it’s little “purse”.  It can go anywhere.  God, I wish I had had it in Turkey and Tanzania.  

From there, we toodled east to the Interstate 5 and came back to the SHIP.

Oh, the SHIP.  A sight for sore eyes.  So glad we worked so hard to fully furnish it.  I would hate to think doing more in this pandemic.  Dodged a bullet by working so hard at it last year.

So, the clothes are hanging on my disappearing clothes line, the rug is back on the front porch, the umbrella is up in the backyard.  And we are happy as clams.  Now we must have to go grocery shopping and such.  Hate to move the car.  Our entire neighborhood feels like it is under construction.  They are redoing corner curbs, redoing some underground utilities, there is a new house under construction across the street (thank goodness.  It was a camp Poodie where the inhabitants played music early and loud.  Glad to see that change.(  Anyway, parking is a nightmare and with no garage, and all the construction people, we are afraid to move the car.  But move it we will.  

In closing, hope you have a sense of what travel is like in the age of pandemic.  Not easy, but doable, not convenient, but nothing insurmountable.  Just buy your tinkle belle and hit the road!!