GI Prep

My gastroenterology team really thinks I need a colonoscopy now that three years has elapsed since they removed three benign polyps.  Now in my mid-70s, I've accumulated multiple conditions, none an immediate threat, all competing with each other to see which escapes indolent first.  My medical team now expands well beyond GI, which began innocently with normal surveillance colonoscopies at age 50 and 60, an inadequate cleansing at age 70 requiring a do-over, and now concern that something invasive may arise before either my actuarial table catches up with me or some other lingering process needs more than semi-annual lab assessment.  The NP answered all my questions.  The procedure got scheduled far more promptly than the last two times.  And I've been treated better by the office, which I suspect is a regional private equity enterprise that pays the lawyers who compose all their forms to sign more than they pay their endoscopists.  Or they have taken patient feedback more seriously than I remember.

With a failed procedure in the past, I extended my clear liquid restriction, as I did three years ago.  My tolerance has been good.  A little thirst, no hunger.  And no change in my weekly weight measurement from the previous week on an unrestricted diet.  

The cleansing procedure has changed.  Now I mix my own polyethylene glycol in two batches, one of two quarts, the other a half amount of powder and liquid.  I've taken the first capsule laxatives with no notable effect over the first hour.  The laxative powder mixes poorly in the lemonade, but a two hour head start should allow it to dissolve.  The second dose of laxative times to the procedure, so I will need to set an alarm for pre-dawn, but mix the powder after I have a lull from the first ingestion and its effect.  Or my wife can mix it.

As I get older, nearly all personal goals other than my 50th anniversary achieved, feeling pretty decent despite the vagaries and warning flags of the lab, a question of when to stop cannot be avoided.  When indolent moves to aggressive, biopsies, catheterizations, endoscopies, chemotherapy, and surgery remain consent procedures.  Some alleviate suffering, others delay the inevitable.  

Today, I just want to complete the intended colonic inspection and any new biopsies that the doctor does.  A few minutes with propofol will probably offset sleep deprivation of the dawn purging.  Then a summer's respite from medical care.  A chance to travel a little with my wife, share our next anniversary, maybe visit the grandchildren, express myself in cyberspace, entertain a guest perhaps, do something of use at synagogue once or twice.  The purpose of the GI ordeal and other lab surveillance should be to enable those things.  I can cooperate with a few days of deprivation to achieve all those things.

Pocket Notebook

My alumni rep assigned to my region contacted me about a year ago. Though my donations over the years would barely qualify for having my name engraved on a flush handle, I had referred the previous representative to a more accomplished classmate in the same city who chaired a medical school department.  He made a huge gift.  The referral got me an online invitation to a small-group meeting with the University President.  More  recently, the new alumni rep arranged for us to chat over a beer.

As a promotional gift, he left me with a chocolate colored genuine Moleskine notebook embossed with the University seal.  It remains in mint condition, unopened, on an honored surface of my desk, its matching elastic cord still keeping the pages shut.  I had never used one of these.  For much of my career, I depended on a seven-ring Franklin Planner, investing time to create core values, then intermediate and long term objectives,  Each day I listed tasks with priorities, just as the Franklin Planner tapes instructed.  Retirement largely retired my daily organizer, though I still revise what initiatives I plan to pursue twice a year.  Each Sunday morning, I list the items whose progress would comprise a Good Week, then every evening I create a list of activities for the following day.  All on loose sheets of paper using color coded pens.  I have desk journals, marble or spiral books obtained at back to school sales.  Each week I monitor my exercise progress.  Each day I select three personal achievements worth recording.  And at the suggestion of a Harvard professor, I mark something each day that annoyed me, then revisit this observation one month and six months later.  So I am very used to maintaining personal notebooks for different purposes.  Yet it would never occur to me to keep one on my person to pull out randomly, let alone pay a premium to acquire and maintain one like that moleskine.

Periodically, I receive gift cards, sometimes to Amazon, which I assign to frivolity.  Maybe I could use a pocket notebook.  Since these sell for many times what my marble or spiral notebooks cost, they must have a justification for that premium.  Indeed, as I searched YouTube trying to decide which to get, I encountered a notebook or high-end stationery subculture.  Ratings of different brands.  Quality of paper.  Lined, grid, dotted, or plain paper.  Some did not handle fountain pens or even gel pens very well, with smudging and commonly bleeding through to the reverse side.  Bindings that allow some to lay flat better than others.  Little frills, like a small envelope near the back cover to insert loose paper fragments, paper clips, and thin magnets.  Some come with an elastic pen loop, others offer a sticky pad with elastic to create one.  My local Target, Staples, and Barnes & Noble all carry displays of Moleskines in a variety of sizes, also standardized by the industry as A or B series followed by a code number indicating size.  Target had only Moleskine, which had gotten many critical YouTube reviews, often at a cost above $12.  Staples had a house brand.  Amazon had several brands. though only moleskine in pocket size.  Amazon had all the brands assessed by the YouTube content creators.  I selected on Amazon a two pack made by a Japanese company.  Lined paper, two flimsy ribbons as bookmarks, tiny envelope at the back.  I added an adhesive address label to which I added my cell phone number should I lose it.  One notebook went atop my University's Moleskine gift, the other into my cross-chest pouch.

These notebooks typically become EDC or Every Day Carry items.  I have mine.  My smartphone, two kippot, a microfiber lens cloth, and a cloth face mask not used since the COVID years in my left pocket.  Keys, coin pouch, and handkerchief to the right.  A Flash drive in the coin pouch.  And an overstuffed wallet in the left back pocket.  A wristwatch. My bifocals.  I also purchased a nylon cross chest carrier for an overseas trip.  When I go to OLLI or short errands, I sling this over my neck.  It has paper, a multicolored pen, foldable rain poncho, microrecorder, sunglass clip-ons, earphne.  My new Aisbugur pocket notebook wedges perfectly over the poncho.  After pasting a sticky with my name and address at the inside cover and adding my cell phone number, I took it to a coffee shop.  It took less than half a porcelain mug to date and fill out the first page.

Key decision point.  How to use this.  The library lent me an ebook on the history of notebooks which have acquired a myriad of purposes since first appearing in Italy when commercial paper became economical.  Notebooks of various sizes became the prototype for business accounting ledgers, personal diaries, collections of thoughts, preliminary sketches for artists, venting of various types, planning ones day, lists for shopping or errands.  I decided to dedicate mine to recording what I think at the time I write in it.

These undertakings go better with rules.  It had been my initial intent to rent some space at a coffee shop for a half-hour in the form of a purchse, while I sit undistracted.  Each page would have a date, prompted by a printed Date at the top of each page.  The lined paper would be filled to the bottom with sentences, then closed, with the elastic strap moved to mark where I left off.  Not continued on the next page.  I made a quick modification.  I did not need the isolation of a coffee shop, just the coffee and a few moments of focus on a small page that reflected my observations, aspirations, and irritations.  That has worked well.  No competition with phone, laptop, or even Daily Task List as I fill each page with cursive in ball-point that does not seep into the reverse page.  I did not reserve two pages for an index, though as I reach the end, I could jot down what appears on each page.  They do not come pre-numbered, though.  Indeed, some notebooks have perforated margins that enable users to detach pages.  For me, I have designated it not as a diary that records things I have done, nor a surrogate psychiatrist where I can express what I feel.  It is a place to write text, to connect mind to paper.  A useful tool, dedicated to a purpose, much like my marble and spiral books.  

YouTube videos greatly expand the culture of these books and the different instruments that people use to enter content.  I found people like me, fascinated by pens.  Previous Amazon gift card frivolities got me two low-end fountain pens. My Flair pens come as a full multi-colored set, stored in a separate pouch of Burberry Plaid.  Apparently, Japan hosts stationery expos where people can sample pens with different inks and price points, stationery products though screens have replaced premium Crane's paper and most professional letterhead for correspondence.  The pocket notebook, with its assigned purpose, becomes one element of linking brain to paper, whether the record be disposable or permanent.  

Thus far, I have found my new pocket notebook a worthy destination, a valued partner with a mug of brewed coffee, and a setting apart from competing distractions.

Commenting

In another era, though well within my lifetime, celebrities used to get cards and letters.  President Kennedy asked his staff to pull every 50th for his personal reading.  Betty Smith, author of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, noted that about a quarter of her fan mail was addressed to Francie Nolan, her book's main character, instead of to her.  People took the time to form opinions and express them.  Unlike Letters to the Editor that got selected for print, correspondence to public officials and celebrities remained private communications.  Responses were few, but people still selected stationery from doodle pads to Crane's, pens from Bic to Mt. Blanc or typewriter, reserved time to express on paper, and applied postage.

Our electronics have transformed how we express our opinions to people of fame and influence.  Pen and paper have given way to screen and keyboard.  Though not exactly.  Thoughts often organize better for later expression when outlined in a person's recognizable handwriting before composing sentences and paragraphs.  Admirers and critics alike still target public figures, but what we tell them no longer gets shared exclusively with them or staff hired to deal with correspondence.  A comment on Twitter intended as feedback for a VIP gets read by anyone.  Responses are more likely to come from random strangers than from the influencer to whom the writer directed the feedback.

Because of the ease of submission, volume has increased.  A censorship of cultural norms has yielded to bluntness, though that may have also been true when cards and letters came through verbal provocation of an Influencer on TV.  

Mechanisms of contact have changed.  Pre-computer, we did not know where celebrities lived.  Actors got mail addressed to their studios, authors to the publishers.  Our Congressional Delegation had published office addresses and an allocation to hire somebody to respond to constituent needs, if not opinions.  In the early email era, people had accessible email addresses.  their name or variant @ company or university . com org or edu.  Major publications solicited feedback at the end of news stories.  These could go into the thousands, created an expense to hire screeners to determine if standards of reader comments were violated, and largely disappeared.  Individual journalists and authors now often have their own websites which invariably include a contact option.

Who is worthy of a response has also shifted.  We never expect a movie star to write back, beyond maybe having a studio agent send a stock autographed photo.  Academics and think tank representatives used to respond to me much more than they do now.  Maybe volume, maybe pressure on time, maybe delegation of the response task.  Perhaps my most interesting sorting comes from my own Jewish biome.  As online educational sites became available, a lecture could be accessed, a question sent to the speaker, and a brief response suggesting that the query was read and understood would appear in a few days.  The Orthodox and Reform officials invariably acknowledged my approaching them.  The Conservatives screened me out or deflected me to my own Rabbi.  They seemed to have some fear of undermining the hierarchy and authority of intermediaries.

Much of these dialogues of cyberspace have transformed again.  We now have Substack.  Subscribers can pay a monthly fee, which includes both wisdom of the writer and access.  The Atlantic, one of my paid subscriptions, now has a comment section at the end of each article. Responses number in the hundreds.  While a substantial fraction conveys impressions of the article, far more of these create a conversation with what the original poster began.  Nearly all with a nom de plume of some type to preserve anonymity.

The role of correspondence seems in transition.  In the written era, the cards and letters served as a vote up or down.  The early days of email created more of a private conversation.  Modern forums using platforms or feedback boxes at the end of journal articles seem to bifurcate.  Some, like FB and Twitter, have become arenas for verbal combat requiring no expertise.  Others like Reddit and Substack function more like communities.  People of common interest exposed to identical material express to each other their views of what they read or what they had been asked.  Those are invariably more civil than the arenas.  Responders do their best to use their knowledge to guide a person with less familiarity or a valid but opposing view.  Private communication has expanded to public engagement among strangers.  Expectations have changed.  In the paper era, I expected no response, in the early electronic era targeted responses, now more of a melee or gathering of minds, depending on the platform.  Of the models, I have found the community of shared interest most appealing and most engaging.  It has its limitations, but for me, when I have something to enhance another person's perspective or their expertise advances mine, we each do better.  

Best Deal

My wife and I have a disparity of vacation preferences.  She seems perfectly content at home, willing to go to our kids' homes hours away when somebody else gets her there, and mostly stays inside their places when there.  I have more of a preference to escape to the new, willing to burden myself a bit to do this.  When at the kids, I zip around SF's Muni System, walk the neighborhoods, occasionally book a tour that I go on myself.  At my son's, I walk the blocks near his inner city house and drive around to different places. Hop-on Hop-off buses get a ticket, even though few stops see me exit to explore up close.  I seek the window seat on planes and buses.  New places interest me, even if they are daily stops to those who live there.

Day Trips, typically three, usually occupy my semi-annual agenda, mostly fulfilled by driving somewhere alone or using my free SEPTA Senior Pass to get me to a place I've not visited before.  It's time to get away again, though with a hotel.  Couples time.  The Good Old Summertime.  

My wife and I had our discussion, mostly her setting boundaries.  Our last two multiday road trips did not go well.  Cruises to the Maritimes would fill her need to minimize effort and my need to explore new places.  All filled up by the time we explored cruise options online.  As much as I like National Parks, flights of significant distance followed by a rental car for the multi-hour connection of hub to park fell outside the parameters, before we even get into the park and its requirements for driving and light hiking.

We settled on a three-night excursion within five hours of home.  Electric maps have made that easy.  In five hours, as our distance driving is never shared, I can cover about 250 miles.  Draw a radius from my home address.  I've already visited most of the places inside that circle during my working years.  Only Long Island as a tourist and the Capital Region of NY remain novel.  I looked at both.  Long Island is closer and has more to do.  Generous responders on FB's Visit All 50 States and r/long island of Reddit assured me that a senior couple would have things to do there beyond attending a Bar Mitzvah or funeral within my extended family.  Historical sites, wineries, landscapes, ferries, and gawking at old and new money.  Good for a few days.  For all the antagonisms of social media, sometimes the groups function as communities of helpful people instead of the more typical arena model.

When to go?  I picked dates.  My doctor picked the same dates for a periodic procedure that has gotten a little overdue.  I picked later dates, a time that significantly lowered the hotel prices for the places that seemed most suitable geographically.

Now dates in place, recovery from medical procedure anticipated, alternate dates adjustable by a day or two if hotel rates come down in a different three-night stay, it's time to find a place to stay.  Long Island is the largest island in the continental USA.  It takes hours to drive its length.  It might also take an hour to get past the two boroughs of NYC that comprise its western portion, which I would prefer to avoid this vacation.  I don't want to access beaches, at least not as a swimmer or basker.  Still, the tourism that I seek stretches hours, from the gilded, repurposed mansions at the western and northern extreme to Montauk at the southern and western extreme, would require some driving.  If I stayed in the middle, which seems to be near the island's airport, I would still have an hour to get to the end of the North and South Forks.  Where the forks separate, a town called Riverhead, might serve as a base.  Hotel prices for that convenience come at more of a premium than I am willing to spend.

By now, I've gotten experienced at selecting hotels and airline reservations through online travel sites, though I always check directly with the hotels and carriers to see if they pass some of what they save by avoiding the travel site fee  back to the vacationer.  It usually doesn't.  For accommodations, unless an overnight rest before the next day's flight when a simple bed will do, I have my preferred amenities.  I like the place I choose to have a pool if I am staying more than one day, preferably indoor.  Most hotel stays I enter it.  In warm places, outdoor usually suffices, but I've been to SC in their shoulder season where the outdoor option proved chilly.  Wi-Fi in room has become a must.  For all the legitimate critiques of global connections' downsides, I have learned to ration how I use this, yet still feel deprived without it.  Even on cruises, I purchase a minimal internet package.  For an American hotel, I ask the travel sites to eliminate places that have a surcharge.  I also need parking, whether driving with my own car or a rental.  It's one hassle that I find objectionable.  Within reason, I am willing to pay for assured garage space in a big city, but most of the places I select in recent years occupy enclaves of a few hotels in proximity of a shopping center.  This serves me well.  And exercise on schedule borders as a must.  Most places have small work-out areas with a treadmill whose settings options surpass what I use at home.  Breakfast buffet does not appear on my screens.  They are convenient, usually adequate.  I often prefer to drive to a local breakfast place with a menu, sit there with my wife as we choose eggs or pancakes.  I take the anticipated price of eating at a diner into account.

That still leaves a significant number of options.  Then sort by price.  Mostly, I cannot assess location.  For Long Island, I know that the airport and Brookhaven National Labs are in the middle, Stony Brook where I almost attended school sits in the north, the Hamptons, which I cannot afford lie to the south, and Riverhead where the forks branch is closest to the optimal location.  I'll drive a bit more with my own car for a lower prices.  

My wife deferred the selection to me, after we reviewed the various options together.  I chose one near Brookhaven with the amenities I need and the ability to drive to places tourists to Long Island might like to go.  Best Deal?  Probably not.  This is one of those projects where the perfect undermines the good.  To be sure, I agreed to a surcharge for at-will cancellation.

Living Spaces

My children and their friends live differently from me.  As much as I enjoy going to a big city periodically, and have lived in a few, my upbringing took place in a free standing suburban house designed from an architectural template.  My adult life had its base in an even larger home, ample bedrooms, basement, garage, attic.  And it filled with stuff that will eventurally find its way to some blend of dumpster and estate sale.  A small city sits a few minutes drive, accessed primarily for synagogue and OLLI.  A major city, where I can travel for free with my Senior Transit Pass makes for a periodic but random visit, usually to visit a museum or historical site.  The city has things that my town does not, but not alluring enough to want to be in proximity.  Even in my time in three major cities, my focus always remained school or work, never trendy places to eat.  Even for shopping, when I had a car, I drove to a suburban mall.

My children attended school in NYC and StL.  They settled and now have families in central parts of SF and Pittsburgh.  Their pre-earnings and early career homes were compact apartments, as were mine.  Not a lot of stuff.  Higher incomes, and now children, did not change that much.  Each lives near a main thoroughfare with short walks to places to eat, most inexpensive.  Supermarkets lie a little farther away, but are not the regional megamarts that send me their sales fliers in the mail every Wednesday.  The streets appear neat, though hardly scrupulously clean.  Parking is scarce, driving requires less distance between cars for longer stretches of time than I am used to.

While my son has a town house with ample interior space, very drivable to suburbia, the SF and NY environments of my daughter and her friends require more adaptation.  I've stayed with her and house-sat for friends on both coasts.  Space utilization requires thought.  Two bedrooms, one bathroom.  A recent stay in Brooklyn had me walking up four flights, as it lacked an elevator.  The apartments, carved from houses, all had strategic designs with nooks dedicated to workspace, a wall transformed to an entertainment zone, kitchens dedicated to food preparation and storage, though not always eating.  That takes place in another nook.  A massive dining room table with two leaves and a breakfront in a separate formal room cannot happen.  I stayed at a duplex in NYC with two outdoor patios, each accessible through sliding glass doors and modified as expanded living or entertainment space.  No yards exist, but planters can be placed outside to nurture culinary herbs.

Despite the limited space, by my standards, the people can do most of the things that I do, though without dedicated rooms.  They all have large flat TVs, internet access, cooking, small modern appliances, washer/dryers standing atop each other in a converted closet instead of next to each other in a laundry room.  What they cannot do, that I can, is accumulate stuff and stick it somewhere.  As a result, the smaller living spaces that I visited seem more selective in what they display.  A few pictures.  Strategically placed flowers.  Shelves with books sharing space with knick-knacks.  Area rugs on wooden floors in lieu of wall-to-wall.

Perhaps the biggest difference is where you walk or cycle to.  From my house, a walk usually has an exercise purpose.  In SF or Brooklyn, or even Central West End St. Louis, a walk has a destination, even if not predetermined.  It may be specialty coffee, the library, the subway station, or a haircut.  Shops along the sidewalk, few with the recognizable from anywhere national chains.  Sometimes green grocers set up produce outside their entrances.  During the daylight, people walk from place to place, sometimes block to block.  Cars some by, speed depending on traffic and traffic signals.  Architecture usually has some variation, gingerbread pastels of SF, elegant townhouses and midrises of another era in the Central West End, reclaimed shells in Pittsburgh.  Parks and schools with playgrounds interrupt the commercial and residential sections.  Churches seem few, but imposing where they occur.  

Despite my multiple rooms, as an empty nester, I use very little.  Clutter has kept the cars out of the garage for decades, though I do appreciate my driveway.  A few blocks from my daughter's SF apartment, there are small single-family houses with downsloping driveways into single-car garages.  I have a place where I write, surf a laptop, watch YouTube on a big screen, and listen to a stereo.  Bedroom serves mostly sleeping and closet, not requiring much space.  Rarely entertain in the living room.  Family room is now for my treadmill, something that would fit into My Space if I could get help moving it upstairs.  Spacious kitchen and formal dining rooms remain used frequently.  And multiple bathrooms all get used.  So my kids and their city friends do not seem to be at much disadvantage for living in places that require judicious decisions on what to place where.  They still get to do the things I spread out to do.  And they have more purposeful destinations nearby.  

Every Contingency

Overnight trip upcoming.  By car.  With wallet and credit card and enough cash.  To a major city with retail options exceeding what I have at home.  I should be able to put my worldly goods in something more compact than my airline carry-on. Clothing for the next day.  Grooming needs for the morning. PJs.  Even my laptop with its charging cord.

But over an adult lifetime of short trips, my ability to plan sensibly has yielded to the what-ifs and what else might I like to do while away.  Some things I never take, especially stuff that's not mine.  My two checked-out library books stay home.  When I complete the return drive, I may not go directly home, as I have a synagogue event to attend.  A casual one, but not t-shirt and shorts for a kabbalat shabbat gathering.  I will need to drive home in something I can wear there.  And I will need an extra outfit in 

case I spill something on what I would have worn in either direction.

My grooming kit is largely set from previous longer travel.  It takes some room, and I probably won't use more than a comb and dental supplies which can fit in a TSA quart-size clear plastic bag, much smaller than my dopp kit.  Spare glasses can stay in their usual car compartment.  I need them most when I need to drive home, though I always exchange my good pair for a more expendable set when I risk losing them at a beach or amusement park.  Neither of these destinations planned.  

Even though I will only be with my daughter and granddaughter for about 24 hours, they may want to eat out.  Need something suitable.  Bought a VLog kit to record the little one.  Have to take that.  And there are things I work on.  Laptop.  Mini-recorder.  Moleskine clone.  Some pens.  Maybe a small portfolio with paper.  Transistor radio?  Can stay home.  My medicines I will transfer to another case.  Two pills at night, seven the next morning.  No reason to take two weekly pill cases.  Prescriptions I cannot easily purchase while away, though nothing will seriously happen to me if I miss those pills for one dose.  Or maybe not work on stuff for two days, other than what I can directly perform on a laptop and cell phone.  Charging cords?  I keep a car charging cord, so I could charge the cell phone en route or use that charging cord in my hostess' port that she uses.  And VLog charging cords part of the package.  Same port as cell phone. Maybe leave smart watch home and wear the more functional Casio 168, which needs no charging.  Cell phone can do pretty much the smart watch tasks that I use.  Count down timer mostly.

YouTube has ample short videos of how to best pack.  Most are based on experience.  None addresses my fears of not having what I need when I need it, let alone the easy ability to compensate.  I'll overpack as usual, but try to show some restraint.

Learning a VLog

My two grandchildren, each not quite a year old had scheduled visits.  With a $50 Amazon gift card as an honorarium for serving as a university research subject, I spent the majority of it on a VLog kit, anticipating not only my grandchildren's encounters but some other summer travel.

It arrived the day before the order tracker indicated it would.  I unpacked the plastic Yamaha recorder, two sham moleskines, and a package of purple highlighters that comprised the rest of this Amazon submission.  The VLog kit on the screen looked very portable.  It had a backlight and a microphone.  Its wand could stay handheld or it could be extended for placement on a floor.  It all came compactly packed in a not fully hard case with a zipper.  It stayed as I received it until my son and his wife escorted my grandson into our living room.  I really did not need this to take a photo of his adorable face or a short video of him crawling in our lower hall.  

As we schmoozed in our living room, I unzipped the case.  It had more parts than I expected, along with instructions printed on the front and back of a single page with print too small to discern with my bifocals.  I handed it to my son.  The illustration enabled me to unfold the tripod base.  Extending the tripod from handheld to free-standing took longer.  I placed the phone horizontally in its adjustable receptacle.  I do not know if will take the phone in its vertical dimension, but the receptacle rotates so I can position the phone that way.  The backlight came in a separate compartment.  Attaching it was not obvious, but I deduced where it must fit.  By rotating the phone, I could get the bottom of the light to fit in a portion of the stand.  It had an on/off switch that did not seem part of the instruction sheet.  It worked.  I remembered to turn it off.  That's as far as I got before they had to leave for their five-hour drive home.

Later in the afternoon, I decided to tackle the rest.  It has a remote control that I will need to pair with the phone.  It also comes with two microphones and a receiver.  All ports are USB-C which makes it easy. Cables included. Everything seems to come pre-charged.  The microphones have a special instruction sheet.  The exposed side seems to be Chinese or Japanese.  When I open the folded part and turn it over, English appears.  Larger print than the main instructions.  I checked the transmitter.  It fits into the charging port of the phone.  Each microphone has a clip.  I cannot tell if these also need to be charged, but I will do that before I travel to meet my granddaughter in a few days.  I'll pair everything before I go to sleep tonight.

It amazes me how inexpensive these adjuncts to a phone have become.  I have no interest in creating professional YouTubes, but would like a more sophisticated record of the people most dear to me and of the places I visit.  Everything fits in a small case easily transported in a carry-on or backpack, though perhaps not my briefcase.  Not especially user-friendly, since I have to repackage everything to transport it.  Reading the instruction's miniscule print did not go easily.  But by my next trip in a few days and mini-vacation in a few weeks, I should have this upgrade ready for use. 

Overscheduled Week

Retirement usually offers ample, maybe excessive, time flexibility.  Appointments are few.  During the academic year OLLI classes require me to be at a certain place at a certain time.  Shabbos comes every Friday night.  Saturdays are more flexible depending on what synagogue obligations I've undertaken.  Doctors' appointments and prepartory lab testing appear on my schedule more than they once did, though not in a burdensome way.  And I have special events:  birthdays, anniversary, Seder, Thanksgiving, Mother's Day.  But mostly not much needs entry in a scheduling grid.  I can travel when I want, mostly.  Shop at times I choose.  Find time at My Space and in my kitchen.  I've committed to doing things, but mostly control when to do them, sometimes at the expense of accountability.

So with some trepidation, I look to a rare upcoming week where other people impose my activities.  My children and grandchildren who live a distance away will each be coming my way a few days apart.  Very high priority.  I will have an overnight trip for one, have to prepare a luncheon for the other.  At mid-week, other events appear.  An organization to which I have done important things sponsors a semi-annual reception.  It is my chance to meet the remarkable students that my committee has awarded scholarships.  As that early evening gathering concludes, my synagogue holds its annual meeting.  I contribute or reap very little from that event but as a Board Member and frequent contributor of skill to their ongoing worship program, I probably ought to go, at least via Zoom.  While I do useful things for them, I create nothing, unlike the scholarship committee where my analytical input has transformed how the committee decides which applicants to award.  

The next day I have a doctor's appointment with my most irritating practice.  They are tracking a few things, not always in the most expedient way.  Appointments for office and procedures are at a premium, so I take what I can.  For this encounter, an online visit, I know what I want to accomplish.

Then travel the next day, leaving me about 24 hours with daughter and granddaughter.  They will have traveled from SF to NY a few days before, so should be rested.  I do not desire much tourism.  From there, I drive home in time for a pre-shabbos barbecue at the synagogue.  I have mixed feelings about these events, as the last cookout I found problematic.  Shabbos services the next day, with my wife a key participant.  Then Fathers' Day where I make my own special dinner.

These events of specified times add up.  They come with the opportunity cost of what I could be doing instead, but seeing kids and scholarship recipients offers high value.  A doctor's visit by Zoom takes less than a half hour.  The synagogue activities disrupt a bit more, though not having to make Friday night dinner at home offsets what I would usually find myself doing.  Even travel slows down from the norm.  When I go to NYC once or twice a year, I center it around attractions of a tourist destination.  Focusing on people this time reduces some of the decision stress, though I still do not know where I will park my car near my destination in Brooklyn.

The cluster of events forces me to immerse myself in other people.  Less time at my laptop, more holding grandchildren and shaking hands.  Not that much more in my car.  Less with myself, less checking off what tasks I've completed each day.  Probably a beneficial reset for the more usual weeks that follow. 

Paper and Pen and Mind

They made me take typing in 9th grade.  Manual typewriter.  Office model that could not be stolen easily, though the Junior High did not chain them to the desks.  I typed poorly.  Fewer Words per Minute than most, but also fewer typos than most.  I peeked at the paper, something the teacher discouraged.  It became a useful skill.  When my mother typed my term papers, the Greeks became Freeks.  When I left enough time to type them myself, using high grade erasable paper, my spelling upgraded to flawless.  In college I moved up to an electric typewriter, which I still have in its case, placed in a nook in My Space.  I cannot remember the last time I used it.  And then came Word Processing, which transformed not only how I typed and edited, but how I thought.

My typewriter served me as a tool.  I composed what I wanted to express, except for the briefest of letters, on paper.  Sometimes a canary-lined pad bound but tearable at the top, other times with loose-leaf paper removed from a binder.  I'd also had index cards that i could sequence to create a more coherent composition.  But most of my prose needing submission started on lined paper in my own marginal handwriting.  Before even opening the typewriter case and plugging the machine into the outlet, I'd proofread the text.  Then typing became a chore intended for presentation.  Thinking always took place on paper first.

Not everyone did this, even back in the day.  Journalists often carried portable typewriters to their assignments.  They typed their reports on-site, transmitted them to their editors and proofreaders, who amended sentence structure, spelling, and grammar.  Often the editor enhanced readability, a hint that maybe the best thinking and expression took a hit when typed.  Then onto the typesetters.

Word Processing and computerized editing changed that.  Now available for 30 years, I and undoubtedly a majority, now think and type, bypassing the pen altogether.  Editing for presentation still takes as much effort as composition, but most output never has public readers as its intent.  Is the thinking that goes into creation as discerning when ideas go directly to keyboard?  Some studies and YouTube Videos suggest not.  As a result, the sales of pocket notebooks and desktop journals have increased.  Personal planners with 7-rings and removable pages still compete successfully with computerized personal productivity programs.  There are elements that the computers have not yet matched.  The electronics excel at reminding or carrying over individual tasks.  It does not do as well in creating priorities or sorting goals.

While I do my best to go from mind to keyboard to create compositions, respond to the written work of others, and generate emails, some mental tasks still seem to perform better with a pen and paper.  Every night I take out a marble composition book to jot down three of the day's accomplishments.  My exercise attainments goes into a written log each week.  Every day I write something that annoyed me into a spiral notebook, then turn back one month and six months to see how the untoward experiences of those days have largely resolved.

I've tried electronic planning. Todoist doesn't even come close to a writing pad.  Weekly outline every Sunday, color coded by type of task.  Every evening, that weekly outline gets reviewed with the next day's intended activities transcribed onto what is effectively a half-sheet of blank computer paper.  My six month projects appear not on a screen but on a whiteboard in my line of sight to the left of my desk.  Not only does it enable me to think, to discern, but my handwriting remains recognizable as mine.

I've never abandoned pen and paper.  Perhaps I should use them more.  On my last Amazon order, I included two pocket notebooks.  The first went into my cross-chest carrier, along with a mini digital recorder.  I can generate thoughts portably, in airplane or in coffee shop.  Ideas and reflection still require thinking, pausing, and transcribing.  Not very different than how the best of my teachers taught me how to create and record.  Predictions of the computer making paper obsolete just did not materialize, and for good reason.

Strangers Responding

I posted requests on Reddit's r/long island and FB's Visit all 50 States.  My wife accepted an abbreviated vacation this summer, with more arduous travel vetoed for now.  We opted to visit Long Island, a three hour car trip.  I had been to various parts many times, though always purposeful.  Weddings, Bar Mitzvah's, Funerals.  Visiting my grandfather's siblings, including an outing onto Rockaway Beach.  Stony Brook as a likely place I might attend.  Tourism only occurred one time when my daughter, who then lived in Queens, suggested Father-Daughter Bonding for Father's Day.  She drove me the full length of the Island's North Shore, a very pleasant afternoon, though a lot of time in the car between my round-trip drive home and the east-west dimension of America's largest island.

This time we go as pure tourists.  No intention of visiting anyone, though I know people who live there.  While residents of Metro NY flock to their beaches, I have suitable beaches readily accessible in my home state.  This time we go to get away from home, seek out places unique to the geography and culture of where we visit.  Museums, history, mansions, unique sites, wineries.  Sources for destinations on The Island abound.  YouTube videos, I Love NY, a variety of agencies to promote local tourism, Trip Advisor.  I looked at all of these.  From them I could stake out the Gilded Mansions repurposed for public use, the distribution of vineyards, enclaves of the nouveau riches of today that might still let a peasant couple gawk from not too close, historical lighthouses, ferry access when an escape might be needed.  Like much data, it comes as a mostly unsorted jumble.  So I asked people who had familiarity on social media platforms, each trusted from prior use.

People responded very quickly, about a dozen each on FB and Reddit.  It made it more of an annotated list, places to give priority when time is limited.  In this era of social media trolls, the generosity and candor of those who responded did not surprise me.  As much as I ration FB, the assigned days to sign on usually bring me to the Visit 50 States site.  I live in an obscure state that people want to cross off their list and in a multistate area where travelers want to check off 4-6 states on their road trip.  If somebody asks what to do nearby, I guide them.  Often they will post with traveler information, where they originate, ages of kids, elderly people in car with them, pets.  I can adapt suggestions to that.  What might a grade schooler like to visit, maybe where kids go on our local school class trips?  Have they ever been on a subway.  Ever seen Amish or Hasidim who live in isolated enclaves?  My familiarity can be very helpful, something a generic YouTube or vlog cannot easily duplicate.  That insight I offered to posters' queries about where I live now and in the past was reciprocated to me that afternoon.  

Reddit, at least when used in my judicious way, has never displayed the toxicity of FB, nor the incessant insertion of advertising or news feeds chosen by an algorithm to make me irate enough to stay logged on.  I ration which days I access and mostly what I access.  People share my interest in Judaism and Jewish cooking.  Many have less experience than me, so I try to be as helpful as possible to people going to the synagogue for the first time or seeking resources to learn more about Judaism.  I have had inquiries about a potholes on the roadways and a library misadventure.  My questions got many informative responses from civil engineers and librarians, as did my request to enhance my few days on Long Island.

If there is a message from this experience, both as benevolent contributor and reciepient, social media need not be the electronic cesspool that users so often encounter, one dominated by trolls and conflict entrepreneurs.  There is business model that capitalizes on exploiting pushing people's buttons, one where some regulation would enhance public experience.  Most users, though, when give the chance, come to these platforms with a measure of good will.  We find people who seek information, reassurance,  guidance through a dilemma, or recovery from an untoward experience.  Strangers, whether with names on FB or avatars or Reddit, reach out when we can.  We want the other people to have good experiences when they visit our places, whether geographic or places of worship, or from the recipes that challenge them in their kitchens.  The users come through on this, creating the expanded communities where people benefit each other.  Nothing demeaning, nothing malicious.  

To get to these generous people, though, you sometimes have to wade through and set aside some of the odious posters, more on FB than Reddit.  Like many people, I read about the downsides of these platforms.  Anti-Semitism, neonazism shielded by anonymity, attacks of people's appearance at vulnerable times in their lives.  I experience very little of this, though enough to exit all platforms for six months, to ration my presence on my return, and to write off of few platforms as places to not enter.  But as a selective tool, people can connect to some very fine people ranging from HS friends who share lives in retirement, experts in various subjects, the people who root for the same teams as you, and people who you will never meet who serve as gracious advisors.  It's a challenge to stay selective and not get rattled by the people you'd rather avoid.  I haven't since my judidious return, and won't meet any of them either.

Choosing a Place

At one time, though a number of years ago, at least one coffee outing a week took place on schedule.  Every Sunday morning I would slip my black nylon pouch which contained my weekly planning supplies and head out for coffee.  One place dominated, a local shop that offered a choice of three blends and a table to customize with sweeteners, lighteners, and spice shakers.  Then I would spread paper, pen, and markers across a table.  By the time the last drop got sipped, I returned to my car with two completed lists, one enumerating projects for the week, the other with initiatives for that Sunday, all coded by color.  Sometimes I'd order a pastry, mostly not.  I changed the destination occasionally, preferring Einstein's across the street when I had a Bagel and Schmear coupon, or the Starbucks around the corner.  My local shop had the advantage of offering the coffee in a porcelain mug.

I don't remember how long ago I last did that.  Now My Space serves the Sunday mornings.  Coffee brews over a k-cup.  Colored pens sit in empty spice jars in my line of sight, colored markers in a frosted plastic box from a back-to-school sale on my left.  Very little need to visit a coffee shop.

When Starbucks became a ubiquitous international destination, its founders modeled its locations on a European coffee bistro, a meeting place dating perhaps to the 18th century.  Coffee could not be obtained as easily in that era.  Now with mass marketing of coffee, or beer for that matter, we still have a social need for a coffee house or pub experience.  Coffee houses became places to exchange ideas, pubs to connect with a community.  In America, pre-Starbucks, perhaps the local diner or taverns close to big factories served that gathering function.  Each had an element of convenience, but Starbucks strove to create an experience.

And for a while I could go to the local places that offer specialty coffee, run into somebody I know with predictable frequency, and complete some work that I brought with me.  

I rarely seek these places out in recent years.  When traveling, coffee from WaWa fits in the cup holder as I drive.  Overpriced coffee from an airport kiosk replaces what I would have made at home were I not pressed by schedule.  I purchase a beverage at those places, not an experience.  Every few months, though, I want a break from my house.  For $3.50 or so, I can rent a table which allows me to type on my laptop or outline ideas on a writing pad.  The coffee, flavored as I like it, gets sipped.  It does not serve a social purpose but a carved out half-hour to sit alone with my mind in creative mode,  free of the distractions of My Space.

I still buy experience, but a different one than outlining my week on a Sunday morning.   My local options have not changed.  Large franchises:  Starbucks, Einstein's, Panera, Dunkin, and the small regional chain.  Some give you a disposable cup to fill, much as WaWa would.  Others have an attendant taking customer orders.  Things to eat while sipping the hot coffee have accelerated in price, with only a Dunkin Donut remaining close to my price point.  Starbucks and Dunkin now sell coffee more than experience.  Attendants at Starbucks have lines of cars awaiting their turn at the drive-in windows.  People inside, at least at suburban locations, have become the exception.  They removed the cream thermoses and spice shakers during the pandemic, never replacing them.  Dunkin just pours hot liquid splashed with something white.  Tables have an IKEA look, chairs of plastic.  Not a place to do best thinking.  

Where to go?  The biweekly cleaners had come.  I could close the door to My Space, but I found the bustle a distraction.  After they finished vacuuming the upper landing, I headed downstairs with my cross chest travel pack for a morning of coffee.  Front door obstructed.  I left by the back door.  Panera maybe.  They have porcelain cups, adequate seating, quiet nooks.  I drove past their strip mall.  Einstein and Starbucks not the respite I sought.  Local shop, perhaps.  Finally, after driving in a loop, I returned home to find the cleaner's van still in front of my house.  And I wanted to do some mental activity.  Nearest option, Dunkin.  

As a company, there are a lot of them nearby.  While they once had Fred the Baker getting up at 3AM to create luscious donuts for the morning rush, the CEO retired him.  Making and selling coffee is much less labor intensive.   Coupons for coffee and donut discounts used to arrive in the mail or as a newpaper supplement frequently.  These have faded into consumer history.  I drove to a strip mall, squeezed my Toyota into one of the few remaining spaces, and headed inside at mid-morning.  Menu on a flat screen, donuts in a case, store promotions more for cold drinks than coffee.  I picked a French cruller, standard coffee, handing the counter lady a $20 bill.  I kept $15 in change, leaving the unspent 50 cents in the tip jar.  They had processed me through efficiently.

I placed the cardboard container on the flimsy table, pulled the tiny white plastic tab back and took a sip. A paper bag, recyclable if not soiled by residual donut fying oil, held the cruller.  I took that out and ate the first bite.  Then another sip.  From my travel pouch, I removed a pocket notebook and pen.  Bite of donut, sip of coffee, two ideas entered into notebook.  Repeat until donut fully consumed and page of notebook filled to capacity.  Majority of very mediocre coffee remained, its white plastic travel top still on, and kept reasonably hot by the engineers who designed the cardboard coffee mugs.  Accomplished my purpose, which was writing in the notebook.  Got a pretty good donut as a bonus.  Coffee, the excuse for making the side trip, mostly an afterthought.

Gathering spots, which Starbucks envisioned, have fallen from grace.  Britain still has pubs.  Maybe major cities, European and American, have espresso bars.  The few times I treat myself to a happy hour beer, it never looks like Cheers.  No people interacting with anyone else other than the person who accompanied them.  I go to parks frequently, invariably the oldest person there.  Kids play on swings and slides, parents keep them safe.  People who walk their dogs sometimes let their pet interact with other visitors, never interact themselves.  My favorite diner closed, but at its peak, the people at the counter seemed recognizable every week, a mini-community of each other plus the waitress, if not including me in the chatter.  Since the pandemic, OLLI no longer has people sitting in chairs or at tables talking to each other during the half hour that separates class sessions.  People seem mostly content with their screens, small for phone and laptop, giant for TV streaming.  

There are still some events that attract throngs.  Sports stadiums, political rallies, Yom Kippur, Pride Parades.  People come in part to enjoy the event, mostly as witness unless a direct participant.  Meeting random people rarely makes the agenda.  Even the candidates who work the crowds, grabbing as many hands as their reach allows, want those present to meet them, not a desiring public servant seeking to acquaint with the people.

So my coffee excursion did not fulfill Starbuck's vision as a gathering place.  I had a task. whether weekly planning on Sunday mornings gone by or introducing myself to my new pocket notebook just delivered by Amazon.  The cruller made writing in the notebook more pleasant, the Dunkin coffee and the plastic chairs contributed little.

Treadmill Respite

Every month at the end I offer myself three consecutive days without treadmill sessions.  Those days are 29-30-31 or 29-30-1, depending on the month.  They are welcome, they are needed.  Often I find myself sore, mostly legs, as most recent months I push myself to a new walking duration or up the speed by 0.1mph.  Many months, including the one currently transitioning, have setbacks, days of illness or injury.  I do my very best to avoid any zero days, mostly succeeding.  But a drastically reduced session rarely resumes at the full level of where I left off.  This allows me to reset at sessions 5-10 minutes below where I had exercised previously, then resume to full sessions, usually by month's end.

Those three days pass rather quickly, often with recovery more functional than complete.  Back still a little stiff, knees still needing local care, if not a couple doses of naproxen.  The new month invariably begins, filled with some optimism of reaching another new level when the new month concludes.

I have been fortunate that limitations have been mostly orthopedic, not cardiovascular.  I had some symptomatic volume depletion following a blood donation this past month, one that reduced this timed walk to five minutes.  I've also over-extended, feeling energetic enough at 25 minutes to push for 30.  Additions of two minutes go un-noticed, even reset the new normal.  Additions of five minutes bring soreness. This creates a branch point, endure or cut back?  I mostly choose the prudent option and reset my sessions downward.

Having now done this for a couple of years into my 70's, I definitely feel more energetic, maybe adapting to a basal level of lower extremity soreness.  Good decision to allow some healing each month.

Best Hours

Retirement mostly allows me to choose what I do when.  No commuting times, not many scheduled meetings, few appointments.  That's not to imply lack of schedule.  One reason for a very successful last couple of years has been to assign times for certain activities.  Up at the same time each morning.  Treadmill as close to 7:50AM on scheduled days as I can get it.  Big mug of water consumed every morning as soon as I go downstairs, which usually follows dental hygiene, then coffee goes into that mug with a splash of creamer.  All goes to My Space where I select three priority activities for the day.  Email follows, not before.  While coffee brews and I sip water in the kitchen, I head outside to retrieve my wife's newspaper.  I also wash some dishes.  The mornings are subdivided into times for specific activities.  Some of these assignments do not always serve me in the best way.  It is convenient to take my blood pressure when I make coffee, before exercise.  However, assessment of where my blood pressure ranges requires that it be taken at different hours, which I try to do.  By 9AM, my Daily Task list has a few items crossed off.  Other than treadmill, none of these activities are things I might make excuses not to do.

Deep work, focus with a timer, has not adapted to scheduling quite as well.  Some hours link to creativity or perspective.  In my working years, mornings generally found me more engaged than afternoons, though I did some of my best reflective work closer to quitting time.  There may be a difference between my motivation to perform and what I accomplish.  Some tasks require mental acuity, others require attention to routine.  

I think my higher CNS centers do best after a second cup of morning coffee.  I can compose new thoughts and express them in the best way.  That 9-11AM window has very little structure.  During that time, I should be typing, not shopping for groceries, and certainly not scrolling FB.  That's time best suited to create something from a blank screen or page.  Yet it has not acquired an inviolate protection of my schedule the way the scheduled treadmill efforts have.

In the afternoons, tend to read and respond.  The Atlantic now has a section to invite reader comments after each article.  So does eJewish Philanthropy and Moment Magazine.  I guess their editors figured out that Twitter, where journalists prefer to interact, has repelled enough readers, myself among them, that they need to offer a more acceptable forum.  I read and respond, mostly early afternoons.  My thinking prowess seems a little diminished from its peak, but still adequate.

That mid-day segment, 11AM to 1PM seems something of an ebb for me. OLLI classes during the school year cluster during that time.  When not engaged in classes, struggling to stay attentive, I gravitate to my activities that do not require much mindfulness.  That's the time to go to the supermarket or scroll FB.

Late afternoon becomes another lull, a time for my mind to retreat.  There are studies which show doctors are least attentive in those hours and make more faulty decisions than they do before lunch.  I find myself struggling to express myself in an articulate way at that part of the daily cycle.

The evening restores an element of routine, though perhaps not the best routine.  I make supper, one usually planned much earlier.  I'm not very creative but don't have to be to boil some pasta or sautee some garden burgers.  Then eat, PM medicine, and return to My Space, though this time surfing YouTube instead of actively engaged at my desk.  It's not dead time.   I choose videos that add to my knowledge.  I often read the books I am tackling.  But I do not engage in expressive, creative work in a meaningful way after supper, other than planning the activities for the following day and checking off what I did that day. I have a late-day routine, less rigid than my morning one, but there is a set time to shut down the laptop and phone.  At the end of the day, I read some more, rehearse any Torah readings I have committed to performing in the near future, and recap what went well and what did not over the course of the day.  Then lights out at 10PM unless my wife needs to keep them on to read.  

I think there are parts of each day best suited to different tasks.  Identifying that slots suit what activities has a lot of uncertainty.  For jobholders, assignments determine them.  I retirement I have control.  It's still not clear if what I choose to do at different times enhances or undermines actual performance.

The routines at the beginning and end of each day have served me well.

Spending My Gift Card

As a research subject, a common pursuit in retirement, many projects offer honoraria.  I donate the money but redeem the gift cards.  For several months I've had $50 entitlement to the endless array of stuff that Amazon offers, but the e-card remains unused in some part of my email Inbox.  It's not that I've not purchased anything on Amazon since receiving the gift from the University's research grant,  I have.  But I paid with my own Visa card for a few items I felt I needed.  These freebies go for the more frivolous desires.  I've bought a violin bow in the past. And two ink cartridge pens.  I have a fondness for pens of all types. Don't remember what else.  Frivolous occupies space without being used much.  As a senior, I have enough things, so many that minimizing clutter creates a challenge.

I have enough clothing.  Dress clothing only gets worn to synagogue these days.  Ties once attracted me by the designs they have and the statements they make.  That age has long passed.  I have bought watches, a retro and a smart watch, but did not use the gift card.  By now I have a collection of art supplies that remain dormant.  Good stationery was once something I found attractive, but has become obsolete with electronic communication.    Musical instrument.  A flutophone, if they still make them, will not bite into that $50 very much.  I have unused harmonicas.  I think a mandolin would sell for more than $100.  Bongos probably in budget.  Ukelele maybe.

I like retro electronics.  Tape recorders, small boom boxes.  Those are better obtained used on eBay.  I have enough Judaica.  At one time I found fragrances indulgent.  Jade East and Hai Karate could be found on tables at my favorite discounters.  Those iconic scents may still exist, and probably within my gift card's limit.  And some barbershop classics, though I have some of these

What about logos?  My alma maters. The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.  Swag of all types.  I have clothing, coffee mugs, beer steins.  I like to get them either as souvenirs of a campus visit or a store display.  I don't think I'd acquire them on Amazon.

YouTube influencers know that dedicated Amazon consumers abound, mostly young people in their acquisition time of life.  Video clips of 15-30 minutes reveal all sorts of gadgets, many creative electronics, that they might find on Amazon.  I watched some.  The majority omit the prices in the presentation.  Whatever I get will be within budget.

While I have no incentive to ever redeem this gift, or really a minor earning on my part as the research project occupied me for about two hours, I don't want it to languish. Nor do I want my effort to redeem it to occupy a lot more time than earning it did.  Surf the Amazon site and those YouTube videos a bit more, then set an evening to just make a purchase.  It does have to be something I would not have indulged myself with my own income.  

 

Travel Preferences

OLLI Spring Semester concluded. Shavuot observed.  A time gap follows until classes resume after Labor Day.  That leaves three months, largely unscheduled, months of opportunity for exploration.  Some fixed points, or semi-fixed points, appear, but not many.  A rendevous with daughter and granddaughter on their travels.  A scheduled doctor's appointment.  Father's Day.  Our anniversary. Tisha B'Av in late July this secular calendar year.  No pressing household chores.  Outdoor gardens need little maintenance.  No pets to arrange care. Mostly possibilities.  Three months of possibilities merged with priorities.

While the current price of fuel has spiked, getting away from home periodically remains a priority.  My wife and I clashed on how this should play out.  Programmed with no hassle suits her.  Minor adventure with new experiences falls high on my radar.  When I set my current semi-annual projects six months ago, I included air travel as an initiative.  Wife sorta OK with that until we arrive at a destination.  Then a thumbs down to car rental and multihour drive.  We discussed cruising.  Conceptually fine.  Europe no.  Canada sold out for the peak of our summer.  Road trip of any type requiring overnight motels along the route has not gone well the last few times.

We diverge on political overtones.  Scenery and marvels of nature and much of history has been populated by people who vote differently than we do.  I just want to have new experiences.  She wants to restrict who benefits from our money.  

So we worked out a pact.  For the peak summer, we would travel by car for a few days.  The air travel would bring us to our grandchild who lives in a place that votes more like we do, but with some nature and resorts.  Not irreconcilable differences.

Big trip the following calendar year, special personal milestone, contingent on health.  A reasonable accommodation to each other.

Shavout Experience

Of the Jewish Festivals, Shavuot often gets treated in a subordinate way.  People look forward to the High Holy Days, a time when synagogue dues get paid up to enable large attendance.  People shop for new clothing to greet old friends not seen since last Rosh HaShanah.  We hear Shofar.  We eat apples and honey. We return to school.  Sukkot has us entering sukkahs.  If we do not have our own, the synagogue has one or we are likely to be invited to a friend's sukkah for dinner sometime in the week.  Hanukkah coincides on the calendar with the more widely observed Christian holidays.  We Jews claim our stake to the season.  We shop for gifts, light candles, eat latkes.  After we put our menorahs back to year round display on a shelf, we transition to the next calendar year.  Winter vacation gives us a break from school or work.  

Then a long winter.  By Pesach, we could use a renewal.  Clean house.  Hard work exchanging dishes.  Expensive outlay for suitable food.  The preparation shares elements of engagement and annoyance.  But then Seder arrives.  For many the first elegant meal with gathering of special people since Thanksgiving.  A week's break from school gets inserted somewhere, usually before Pesach for college spring break hedonism, better timed to the Easter culmination for lower grades.  Pesach, like Rosh HaShanah and Hanukkah, serves as carved out time. 

Shavuot often seems anticlimactic.  We anticipate the others spontaneously, awaiting their mostly festive experience.  Anticipation of Shavuot, though, has more formality, one commanded in Torah.  Every night after dark, we count the Omer, 49 days, seven weeks, both counted each night with a blessing.  I have to set my timer to remind me at 9:10PM, go downstairs where I keep the log of what number arrives, spend two minutes doing it, then return to what I was doing.  It registers in my mind as obligation, even intrusion, more than anticipation.  Its place amid the secular calendar which can vary between years, does not have the consistency of the other Festivals.  More often college has ended but public school has not.  Schedulers of graduations and class trips do not always accommodate their observant Jewish students, forcing some priority choices.  As school years conclude, friends are as likely to scatter as they are to gather.  Shavuot lacks a visible ritual.  We celebrate Torah, the core of Jewish existence, with more obligation than revelry.  The synagogue experience, while only two days, often seems long with additions of Hallel, Akdemut, Ruth, and Yizkor, all just as the weather sometimes becomes hot.  And all while too soon for the youngsters to head off to camp, their real source of anticipation.

As this Feast of Weeks nears its arrival, I have faithfully completed the Omer count.  It is tradtional to spend the evening of onset learning, often late into the night.  Some find this energizing, others add it as another extension  of burden one more night.  I focus on food.  Shavuot has its classical foods.  Blintzes and cheesecake.  Meals are traditionally dairy, with a variety of reasons to justify this tradition.  I will be a synagogue participant, though a minor one, chanting a portion of the Book of Ruth with its delicate, enchanting melody.  Most years, I have a guest to share dinner the second night when no competing synagogue activities occur.  Menu preparation and execution challenge my creativity and organizationsl skills.

The Menu:

1. Kiddush in the manner of Manischewitz
2. Challah made by me, with its elements timed to do some before services, some after
3. Blintzes with cottage cheese and raisin filling.
4. Vegetable soup.
5. Asian Cucumber Salad.
6. Coulibiac, a Russian fish pie in puff pastry, requiring a few different steps. 
7. Lecso to honor my Hungarian heritage.
8. Austrian Linzertorte to avoid the cheesecake cliche, which they can have at synagogue.
9. Kosher white wine.
10. Herb Tea.

All within my capacity.  It takes a step-child of a holiday and brings it a little closer to the others.  I'm long past graduations, not past summer vacation.  Shavuot retains its significant seasonal intersection.

Historical Synagogue

My twelve semi-annual projects often include a quota of day trips or other visits to places I've not been before.  One opportunity came my way unexpectedly.  The American Jewish Committee, among my favorite advocacy groups, invited me to a special luncheon in Philadelphia.  The local chapter has a memorial endowment to honor an esteemed historian of American Judaism.  Lunch would be kosher, priced at $36 for the entire event.  They announced the two guest speakers.  The Mayor would offer her remarks on the role of Jews in our city.  Another esteemed historian, this one a retired Reform Rabbi of local prominence and protege of the endowed professor, would follow with a presentation on the role of Philadelphia's small contingent of Jews in the American Revolution, as national preparations proceed to celebrate the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence this summer.  I reserved a place.

With attacks on places where Jews gather becoming distressingly common, many of our agencies have avoided announcing the location of events until the day before, and then only broadcast by email to those registered to attend.  It would have to take place at a site the Mayor could easily access, either near City Hall or the Historical Area.  My email directed me to Mikveh Israel Synagogue, the city's oldest.  I'd never visited, though I knew of its historical prominence in the development of American Judaism.

The day arrived.  As a senior, I have an unlimited pass that gives me free access to SEPTA regional rail system, provided I do not cross any of Pennsylvania's borders.  The transportation will only cost $2 for parking at the train station a few miles from my home.  I checked the schedule two days before.  Take the 9:36AM commuter train, which will bring me about seven blocks from the synagogue.  From there, I could either take a bus or the subway to within a block of the event, or just walk the distance.  The train pulled into Marcus Hook station a few minutes late but arrived at Philadelphia's Jefferson Station uneventfully.  This terminal has its own attractions.  The City Hall complex can be seen to the west.  Tunnels take visitors to what they designate as the Fashion District and the famous Reading Terminal Market, which serves an array of ethnic cuisines.  The Convention Center sits just beyond that, and Philadelphia's small but active Chinatown another block in the direction of the Historical Area.  I opted to walk, it being a pleasant mid-morning.  

Market Street.  Once the city's main thoroughfare.  Addresses read North or South depending on their direction from Market Street.  The surroundings near the train station have long since lost their elegance.  Iconic department stores, many of Jewish origin, have closed.  Their repurposed buildings now anchor retail chains that die in parallel at regional malls.  I strolled onto the Historical Area.  The green next to the Independence Hall Visitors Center sponsored a national Prayer Day.  A young lady did a dance on the lawn waving a flag with each arm.  I captured a video.  In one direction I could see Independence Mall with a group of Amish teens in traditional dress heading to their timed tour.  A class trip of grade schoolers followed.  To the north, I could see the Constitution Center and the Mint, each requiring a telephoto of my phone camera.  Franklin sites sat across the street, largely without tourists at mid-morning.  As I reached 4th Street, I turned left.  Address given to me 44 North 4th.  Mikveh Israel should be in the next block.  I didn't see it.  Finally, I reached the Windham Hotel, unsure if I had passed my destination or had yet to reach it.  I entered the lobby, inquiring of the Concierge.  I had passed it.  Rather than sitting beside the sidewalk, the synagogue occupied a nook with a tiny path creating its front entrance.  In this era of synagogue attacks, not being noticeable from the street has a security advantage, one enjoyed by my own congregation.  

I entered a modern brick building, its name in block signage over glass doors that ran most of the synagogue's width.  Two men in suits stood at the entrance, not the uniformed officers whom visitors to American synagogues now encounter first.  I proceeded to a registration table, the first one there.  I showed the AJC official my driver's license.  She then handed me my name tag, placed alphabetically right below the Mayor's.  I peeled the adhesive, then attached it to my shirt.

History had a full display, as did current worship practices.  Glass cases displayed notes from Presidents, Washington first, Trump front and center, Lincoln's in his own handwriting with his personalized Humble and Obedient Servant closing, FDR's typed and signed.  Displays of artifacts from the colonial era and beyond.  Judaica used at various times in the synagogue's history.  As the main game in town from its 1740 founding until mass immigration 150 years later, many of their Baalebatim occupied prominent places in Philadelphia's history, as they do today.  Portraits of these men, all men, lined the walls above the display cases.

One room had a more temporary exhibit.  A member secured a collection of portraits and other photos of diplomats from around the world assigned to 1930s Europe.  They came from South America, the Far East, different parts of Europe.  As Naziism took hold in Germany, then moved to France and eastward, the need for Jews to relocate became apparent.  These diplomats offered exit visas.  One bishop, later known to the world as Pope John XXIII, offered phony baptismal certificates to many.  The exhibit had a display case of books about that era in Europe.  The display's curator, who must have spent considerable time assembling this, personally guided me through the various items.  In modern contentious times, good will still lurks, its abundance uncertain.  Courage may be more scarce.

Too many historical synagogues, from Europe to the Caribbean to the Lower East Side, now function more as museums than as places where Shabbos services take place.  Mikveh Israel remains an active synagogue with a black sign with movable white letters at the entrance announcing prayer times and the name of its Rabbi.  I entered the sanctuary.  It is modeled in the Portuguese style of its origins.  A central table stands in the middle, the Holy Ark on what I think is the east wall.  Behind the central table is a seating area, marble and cushioned, with an ornate patterned rug.   I assume the Rabbi and president sit there.  Worshipers occupy pews running the length of the sanctuary, each facing the center.  The room has four entrances, two to the north, two to the south of the center.  This synagogue follows a tradition of separate seating for men and women.  The latter occupy the back two rows on each side and enter from separate doors.  Unlike most American orthodox synagogues, they do not have a physical barrier to obscure women's view of the proceedings and the genders' view of each other.  The women's two rows of pews sit slightly elevated from the men's.  

Books for worship sit in holders in front of the seats.  Their Siddur has a prominent Sephardic Rabbi as editor.  Their Chumash remains the iconic Hertz, that staple of American synagogues for fifty years, until largely displaced by the emergence of Artscroll.  One person must have been a VIP.  Immediately in front of the central table, at floor level, sat a wooden chair with Kohen Hands decorating its back.  Its protection by plexiglass suggests its antique and fragile origin, as well as its historical significance to Mikveh Israel.  Nearly all synagogues I have visited, including my own, have a wooden box near the entrance where those without their own kippot can borrow one, or if a Bar Mitzvah that day, take one home as a souvenir.  This congregation instead had a box of fedoras that men could wear during worship, along with a supply of prayer shawls draped over a rack.

I did not see their kitchen facilities, but AJC assigned me to Table 8 in the middle of their dining room.  The space could accommodate a significant crowd.  I do not have a sense of how many people attend services, how many Bar Mitzvah celebrations they host, or whether that space enables rental income to offset membership dues.  Along the far wall were washing stations, a series of taps and common sink with two-handled lavers set on a stone ledge.  It is customary for people eating a meal to wash their hands with a blessing before blessing a loaf of bread.  This luncheon did not include bread, probably for the convenience of the observant people in attendance.  Tables were set with white tablecloths and dark cloth napkins.  Literature from the AJC sat over each plate and seat.  The caterer arranged a buffet, two lines of identical dishes.  Salmon poached or grilled as the entree, three salads, two sides.  Beverages and dessert display stood waist-high along another wall.  As a nobody, my table would offer me similarly obscure eating companions, with the partners in the Center City law firms seated at tables closer to the lectern from which Her Honor the Mayor would address the group.  I met a few new people, including an Irish woman from the NYC Embassy and a high school friend of my wife. 

The Mayor has a lot of official duties.  She came to us to speak, not to eat, but she waved at my table of Nobodies as she headed to the front.  More of a Jewish-Black partnership pep rally presentation, though with one compelling story of friends reacquainting decades after fleeing the Holocaust.  The educational session did not disappoint.  No bread for the meal meant no Grace After Meal, so I headed home as soon as the moderator opened the floor for questions to the guest Rabbinical scholar.

Center City Philadelphia in mid-afternoon seemed less populated than I expected.  The Day of Prayer in the open space next to the Visitors Center had moved along in its agenda.  Pastors now occupied the stage, one speaking, though not audible to me, while other late-career men in suits sat on the stage waiting their turn.  The discreet signage of the morning had become more explicit.  Along Market Street a revisit to the same storefronts of places I had no desire to enter.  Seven blocks west of Mikveh Israel, I entered Jefferson Station for the SEPTA train home.  A very pleasant day, well worth the $36 luncheon, probably worth deferring other things I could have engaged in at home.

Did my minor adventure yield what I sought?  Mostly it did.  Often, getting there surpasses the destination.  This time historical Mikveh Israel remained the centerpiece.  In an era where synagogues come under attack, where places like my home congregation with a lesser but still significant legacy struggle with attendance, I found it gratifying that a place could live through much of the history of America, contribute to it, and revel in a display of artifacts and portraits of people.  It had an area for worship, a Beit Tefillah, and a library, or Beit Midrash, each smaller than I'd expect.  But it served more as a Beit Knesset, a place where people of prominence from the Founders of the Colonial era to today's Mayor can assemble.  The synagogue reflected stability, if not growth.  And as a meeting place, people of all social strata could admire the displays, eat a luncheon catered with care, and wash hands at a station next to a person who you do not know but who left a civic imprint.  It seemed a place where Social Capital, bonding and bridging, has remained in continuous progress for more than two hundred years.  Absolutely worth devoting a portion of my time to share it with the synagogue and with the event's AJC sponsor.