Just a little bit rich

A few years ago, I wrote a fun silly post about how, if you only listed its features, you could make the place where I went to elementary and high school seem like a mansion.

It was inspired by Vee over at what unfortunately appears to be the former Millennial Life Crisis writing about someone turning an abandoned elementary school in British Columbia into a house.

Seriously, go read it, and then come back.

Advertisement

Not my kind of party

I am told that today is a very special day, a day of almost religious significance to its adherents, although most of the celebrations are probably over by now.

Gradually that feels like suddenly

It’s now dark when I get up in the morning.

How did that happen?

What should have been

Berkeley Marina was basically a microcosm of our trip to San Francisco.

After a fine day where we went to the Port of San Francisco, Chinatown and downtown and met up with friends from high school who lived in the area, we decided to take in the marina before sunset.

And it was lovely.

More money, same food

My fantasies about being obscenely wealthy start with the thought of money never being an object again.

I’m fortunate enough that my family was solidly middle class when I was growing up, and Suzi and I are the same now, but there’s a difference between “middle class” and “obscenely wealthy.”

Money being no object would mean being able to travel whenever I want, having houses in my favorite cities, going to see games or shows or concerts or whatever I want on a whim.

We should all scream for this: Sept. 25

We can all probably think of some question or issue where if we ask 10 people about it, we’d get 11 different opinions.

But I have stumbled across something that I think everyone, regardless of their stances on any other issue, can agree on.

Everyone should get an ice cream truck for their birthday.

Just these walls

Shower, breakfast, work.

Friday, so my commute was to the desk in the dining room. I was really productive, got a lot done. It felt good.

Lunch, last of the chicken and dumplings.

Our moment has arrived

This is for all the time spent sitting behind the flutes …

… for all the “trom-boner” cracks (not original folks, not really) …

… for all the times we were treated like we were just “there” …

Some sort of fruit

The tree had fruit on it. I had never noticed that before. I had probably never gotten so close.

I couldn’t tell if it was apples or pears — to be honest, they didn’t look all that well-formed — but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t flowers. We have those on our trees.

Cleaning up

I’ve always viewed soaking as something of a universal cure.

Grease, gunk, grime on a dish? Fill it (or find a way to cover it if it’s flat) with hot water and soap, let it sit and whatever’s on there will just slide off.

But the black, burned stuff on the pot wasn’t cooperating, even after washing in the dishwasher, followed by soaking, then soaking, followed by washing.