only Time
So here we are with this today, not a big threat at the moment but looks like it could curve around and maybe give us fits this Time next week? Maybe, maybe not. Our hurricane kit of food &c is ready to go on a moment's notice, but we'll need a tank of gasoline. Not to mention bringing all the stuff in off 7H porches. Thinking positive, though. In event of evacuation, where to head out to? The worst would be out on the road stuck in unmoving traffic as a major hurricane sweeps through. And as always, my concern would be Kristen. The place having stood strong (but with damage) through Category 5 Hurricane Michael in October 2018, we might be safest sticking right here in Harbour Village no matter what, eh? As Yul Brynner pondered in The King and I, "... is a puzzlement." Time will tell.
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Earth continues its course around the Sun and the calendar - - an earthling construct of Time that means nothing in the greater immensities of the Universe - - moves on such that I'm two and a half months from turning 91 before I've even accommodated to being 90. These are big numbers, folks, wait till you get here. Age 90 has brought on a certain, elusive insanity that begs description or even, at least in me, understanding. The last Time a birthday dumbfounded and consternated me was turning 30 back in 1965. Navy career, we were living in Japan and I was traveling a lot in my Navy job, all over the Far East. Or, all over Japan, Taiwan, and South Korea.
A memory of my South Korea adventure is finding myself in a small plane with three passenger seats on each side of the center aisle. I was a Navy lieutenant. The only other passenger, the Navy captain in front of me, broke out a large bag of salted peanuts to snack on, and, seeing me eye them, motioned (the plane was too noisy loud to talk and hear) me to hold my hand out, which I did and he tilted the bag and filled my hand with peanuts.
The only other thing I remember about that trip was that South Korea was icy cold and muddy, and that when I presented myself to the commander of the Navy facility I was sent to visit for a surprise financial audit, he challenged my right and authority to be there and said I couldn't come in. I said, "Sir, I'm here at the direction of the Secretary of the Navy, neither of us has any choice about this, so you might as well let me in." Which he did.
Wandering again, Bozo.
But the craziness, the illusive insanity. I have nothing to do (that I want to do, oh, there's plenty here to do alright, but I don't want to use up my Time of life doing any of it), so I either read or browse all my waking hours, someTimes (as right now) I blog some rambling bit of nonsense or other, I exercise on the machine, called an under desk elliptical though all it exercises is hips, upper legs, knees, lower legs, ankles, feet and toes. I watch my right leg ankle foot half again the size of my left leg ankle foot. I take my heart meds and some other stuff. Depending on the bad news when I step on my bathroom scale, I take my furosemide, after which I dare not leave the apartment. I nap, take a two or three hour nap after breakfast. I try to have a sensible size noon dinner, which may or may not bring on another two or three hour nap. I may drop half dead into bed between seven-thirty and eight o'clock only to rise at two or three AM, turn on my hot & black, and do the walk as I sip it. On days when the naps visit heavily I may not turn out the light at night until eleven or twelve, even later, and sleep until seven or eight o'clock. It's crazy, I don't need any advice about it, I just need to complain, which is what this is about. Deeper and deeper into my Time of extreme old age and being both the participant and the observer.
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Did I blog about the pans? Linda read that the scratched nonstick pans we have been using release dangerous poisons into our food, and she wanted me to order titanium pans. So I ordered a set of titanium pans, supposedly Japanese. That choice turned apparently bad, so I ordered a set of ceramic pans from Greenpan, then I saw titanium pans at Hestan and ordered a set of those. All the pans have arrived, all three sets, and we now have pans for life. So far, Linda likes best the Hestan pans and the pans from Greenpan. Okura, the so-called Japan pans, cook well but stain that we haven't been able to remove, at least not yet, so far.
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The blogging gets old after nearly sixteen years, but it's what's to do if I feel inclined to release the dancing fingers. Who knows what will be set down on the computer screen? The Shadow knows. Uncle Bubba sure as aitch knows nothing.
T90