Dodge again

It is a consistent, known problem.  I think too much.  I worry too much.  I look forward to things, but I can become so debilitated by my own brain that something I want to do, something I am looking forward to and know that I enjoy, can be put off over and over again because I feel, for no actual reason, like I'm not going to be able to, because I'm chicken.  It's human, I know.  But I get so sick of it as a human condition.

Am not!

The last time I went sailing was aboard the Betsy D in February.  Since then I have survived the cold of winter, the pollen of spring, the exhaustion of work, the ordeal of Zanne having an emergency cholecystectomy (she's OK), the shock of G'Ma nearly flatlining at Group Health Bellevue (she's OK), the stress of a drawn out move, and the damned old feeling that came with my own diagnosis of hypertension.  There's been a lot going on, but I have to admit that procrastination and needless worry are just as responsible.  Not any more.  On Tuesday, Zanne and I joined Dan on the Mirus again and returned to the Duck Dodge.  I'm back on the water.

Liberation is not without its bumps

June...

1.  The relocation is done.  There is detritus, but there was no other way.  Our old landlord, always more than a bit clueless, was previously informed yet inevitably surprised and, thence, luckily (knock on wood) and fortunately silent.  Now we settle in...nest, if you will.  This will take a while, but in the mean time we have a second floor deck with a phenomenal view of Lake Washington.  I just spent a couple of hours watching the shifting wind and how one little sailboat, main only and trying on a broad reach, responded to the weather change.  We also have a newly adopted pet, the most purely white cat I have ever seen, a big girl transitioning by name from 'Mara' to 'Pyewacket,' which, in case you didn't know, is a moniker important both historically and fictionally.

meow

2.  Liquor in Washington State has been emancipated.  This event is rightly to be celebrated and remembered, akin to Juneteeneth.  Yet I must admit to both mixed emotions and initially mixed results.  First, I had come to know the staff of the Renton State Liquor Store on a first name and very familiar basis.  Amy was Faire kin, and Christopher was a kindly, young soul...who also kept me in free moving boxes.  I'm not sure if I'll ever see them again.  Then there's Safeway.  A week before you could actually get any, there was an aisle previously occupied by bulk wine that was slowly stocked but unpriced and unattainable.  On June 1st, after work, I headed to our local supermarket to mark the event that I could get booze at our local supermarket.  The shoppers milled about, crowded and dazed, like they were not only new to drinking but also unsure how to deal with it.  I entered this confused school of thirsty fish knowing what I wanted but left a bit disappointed.  Gosling's satisfied me, naturally, but Gentleman Jack did not satisfy Zanne's taste for real bourbon, and there was no sign of legitimate potato vodka.  I was assured by the store manager that this would get better as they could actually order for themselves.   It never occurred to me that Initiative 1183 was going to be like transitioning private preschoolers to public kindergarten, but I should have known.  It's a learning experience.  It will get better.

So long, it's been good to know yuh.

I'll meet you at the rendezvous point on Tatooine

Latest Rebel dispatch (many Bothans died)...  The move continues.  I cannot divulge the location of the new base, but the Falcon has already landed.  Full relocation of the troops, originally slated for only two days from today, has been delayed one week, which all involved consider to be a more reasonable timeline.  Transports and escorts have been rescheduled.  In the mean time, usual safety protocols and broadcast silence will be maintained.  Long live the Old Republic...

On the drinker's frontier

Humans...are so fragile.

In a concerted effort not only to explore the (legal) borders of drinking but also to maintain HIPAA compliance, I want to report the following.  At an unnamed medical institution I am currently visiting, the good-health Fascists have taken over.  All regular vending machines are gone, replaced by "HUMAN" Vending.  Even the staff of ER admission rolled their eyes at the loss of Coke and candy bars.  I love, love, love Pirate Booty (it's pirates...and cheese!), but don't get me wrong.  Stevia--"sweetleaf," whatever you want to call it--in its ginger ale form as Zevia is a cocktail killer, just too damned, well, green, to keep the purpose of drinking true.  Sure, I'm starting with cheap rum, but add ginger ale, even and perhaps especially organic ginger ale, and you should have classic, palatable tipple.  But Stevia lingers like a bad licorice candy; not only do I not like licorice (oddly, raw anise is good with me), but it just doesn't communicate with aged rum and ginger.  My only solution was to cut this with orange Pellegrino, just to add an element that was not Stevia.  I deem this most desperate of concoctions the West Tower Wipeout...a recipe I urge my fellow mixologists and scalawags NOT to take on.

Landostache

In a continuing effort to achieve the clichéed fifteen minutes of fame, I am claiming the completely un-Google-able term "Landostache," referring to the inimitable yet instantly recognizable facial hair of the legendary Mr. Billy Dee Williams in The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi, with due credit to James Pickens, Jr., who possessed said 'stache as Dr. Richard Webber in the early years of Grey's Anatomy, as well as a cocktail made with cheap Montego Bay rum and the longest run-on sentence I am ever likely to write.