Day One Thousand Ninety Two #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

The Captain got his wish today. Tomas escorted him down to the dock area to visit their former vessel. I wanted to go along but Elijah decided our presence was more necessary here.

I’m looking forward to their return and to what news they will share.

Mei, Mawuli and Sy and Elam went out into the city at Elam’s request to look around. The guards accompanied them as an escort for their protection, not in the least restrictive.

Elijah found a room in the apartment for a set apart place and asked me to join him in a time for intercession. Consequently we missed the return of both parties, and hence did not learn about their news until much later.


I Boil Water

I Boil Water

1n 1977 we left behind our little apartment on the Monorail in downtown Seattle and moved into our first home – a cinder block affair up in the Highlands area of Renton, WA. It was a simple rectangle comprised of – a living room, kitchen/dining room, bath, and two bedrooms. We’d been married only three years, and were expecting our first child (hence the need for a bigger place).

We were familiar with the area – down NE 8th St to Monroe Avenue NE, then west took us to Bethlehem Lutheran Church, where we were married. (And by a singular curiosity, going left on Monroe took us by Greenwood Memorial Park, and the gravesite of Jimi Hendrix).

I wasn’t much of a cook or a baker or even a bottle-washer. But I did pride myself that I could do breakfast – i. e. boil water.

I was going about this task one morning. The wife was out and I had the kitchen all to myself, and I had decided to make some oatmeal for my breakfast. So, I completed steps one through three –

1- put the water in a pot

2 – placed the pot on the stove, and

3 – turned the burner to high.

Something distracted my attention before step four, putting the oatmeal in. The exact detail escapes me. Newspaper delivery, perhaps. Something that needed my attention out in front of the house, anyway. That’s how I found myself out on the front yard, doing whatever it was – only come time to turn back and re-enter the house, I found a locked front door staring me in the face.

For some reason I pounded on the door – (maybe just to test if it really were locked, and not just stuck closed instead). Then panic sunk in as I realized that that pot of water was merrily bubbling away full blast on the stove. What could happen if I did not get back in, in time? And how much time would be too much time?

I waited too long under that particular sword of Damacles until I screwed up the resolve and broke a window in the back door and gained access to the kitchen.

But sadly, it was too late for the pot. The water had had enough time to boil completely off, destroying the pot (one of our wedding presents, of course). I had to explain the reason behind its demise and the state of the window to my wife upon her return.

I still make oatmeal for myself. It is still a favorite for breakfast. But these days, I always use the microwave.

HQ for Adventure

Lafayette St Apt


Our apartment in Salem was also on Lafayette Street.  So it was a short walk to and from school every day.
The building consisted of four stories, with businesses on the ground floor and six apartments on the three floors above. Ours was on the third floor on the left as viewed from outside the building.
The front door opened onto a small vestibule and hallway.  A small room was on the immediate left, which during autumns and winters was my grandmother’s.  Straight ahead was a room with a bay window which according to the normal plan, was the living room.  But for our purposes it was my parents’ bedroom.  There was a small room at the back of theirs that was my sister’s.
Taking the hallway to the right of the vestibule led to the rest of the apartment.  It was a long hall, broken by a right turn and followed by a left turn that led to the dining room.
The dining room also doubled as the living room with the kitchen beyond that.  A back balcony perched off the kitchen where my mom would pin up clothes to dry.
I shared a room with my brother.  It opened off of that first right turn of the hallway.  We had twin metal beds, painted to look like wood with a fancy heraldic type chevron as a decoration.  From our window we only had a view of the apartment building across the way, but a bit of Salem poked up into view beyond it – the three smoke stacks of the Salem coal-burning power plant.
Such was our apartment, and the headquarters for the adventures of my young life.