Oceanic News:Maritime Matters ship pictures has Peter Knego's latest photos of the OCEANIC (ex INDEPENDENCE, SEA LUCK I, OCEANIC INDEPENDENCE, INDEPENDENCE) towed under the Golden Gate Bridge for the last time. Heart breaking.
Fort Guijarros: We have been invited to the Annual Celebration of the Battle of San Diego bay “presented by Casa de Espana and Naval Base Point Loma. Did someone sell a mailing list? The organization appears real, and there’s a real RSVP number. It looks like a fund raiser to me, but I will see what G thinks. That base and it’s historic artifacts is usually closed to the public. We are certainly public.
Me: Enjoying my doodles as much as you all seem to be. There are no new ones, so I will parcel these old ones out in small bits.
Lunch with the OGPS was a bit sad. One had a terrible headache, another in a line of terrible headaches, so very sad. She left early. JJ had dentist appointment but read another chapter in her very lively, traumatic, funny horror story before she left. MB did a sock-it-to-us reading from her bio of a vanished land, and Ge read a poignant love poem. All this over good, street Mexican food at a Nati’s window.
G: Left for work while making ThomaS’s copyrighted jokes. Insists he has the copyright.
- I’ll be gone this weekend. It’s the USA Seven’s Rugby Tournament at Petco Park this weekend. No calm, peaceful, purposeful activities at home Chaos at Petco, and “Oh, Boy, a matinee,” from G. Maybe I will see Pete, but I don’t think I will see you as there will be no time for entries. I’ll be back Monday.
- Phone lines are out all over the complex. Many tenants are pulling their hair out……literally. “My phone doesn’t work,” says one when I approach to offer a pleasantry….such as, ‘Gee you are looking great.’ “Have you called repair?” “I don’t have time…it’s an emergency….I don’t know the number….I have to reach the doctor,” she says rushing off toward her unit. Or, how bout, Knock, Knock, and there’s a neighbor at my door asking, “Is your phone working?” “Yes,” I reply. “Both my phone and Earthlink are down.” “Have you called the repair number?” Instead I get, “Do you know how important the phone is to my job? I don’t have time to call…I don’t know the number.” Off she goes ranting.
Is this logical? We think not. Yet, why are they all acting like this.
- I couldn’t get anywhere online this morning. First it was Open Diary which seems to be down, or burping, again. Very frustrating. I’m being tactful. Five tries later, I’m in. But I have to sign in again. And again. And again….yes, I send a report. Most pages take three long and intensive tries to get in then not everything loads. Snapfish, my photo host? Only parts of things load.
This happened yesterday too. Posting an entry here will be an exercise in doggedness this morning. Then again, is my struggle to get to OD part of the ATT mess that’s out in the middle of the complex, is it the failing and burping router, or my overworked, antique computer. All this began yesterday afternoon after, of course, all those fleets of ATT trucks left for home.
“Cannot find server” seems to be the mantra of the day. Ommmmmmmmmmmmmm.
- House: Everything room finally looks neat and tidy and organized at last. The old stove is out and the dark new one is in, and after G tightened down the top we loaded pans in the bottom. It works fine. I’d post pictures but I do not want to chance the struggle to get online to do that. Slipcovers washed. Exercises done while dusting et al. Walked to store to get veggies….enough siting. Dinner: We had quiche, ratatouille, and biscuits for dinner. Very unhealthy…think of all the butter on three biscuits. I loved every bite.
- Duck: We are back to the dark side. When we arrived there was no Duck to be seen anywhere in the dining room. We even walked all the way in doubting our eyes.
“We will go get him,” we told the CNA serving dinner.
There he was, in the dark, lying on his bed.
“Why are you still here?” G asked.
“Waiting for them to bring me my dinner,” he replied sitting up.
“You eat in the dining room,” G said bustling him into his chair and rolling him down the hall.
I asked the aide, “Why was he in his room?”
“His dinner is here on the tray,” was the reply. But it wasn’t, and I got upset with all the new aids.
“He always eats in the dining room,” I stressed without hitting their heads together. “Always! As long as he can be gotten to the dining room for socialization, he needs to go. He’s supposed to be there.” They were too dismissive, too busy to listen.
I joined Duck, G, Allie, and the new guy at dinner and slathered mayo on his sandwich. We discovered that he will eat more if there’s mayo on the bread.
Sometimes there’s progress.