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Two nights ago I had to complete the ornery task of moving all the balcony furniture inside to the Blue room due to a floor coating being applied by the apartment complex at some point in the next two weeks. None too thrilled to have furniture in a heap where it doesn’t belong (insert Joe Pesci curmudgeoning here). Fine were it a one-off event- maintenance, upkeep, and all that, BUT. This is the fourthish notice in recent weeks, and I just get everything back in place in time for a new notice for yet another task they wanna complete on the balconies. Yay! A game I don’t wanna play. I called and left them an earful about transparent scheduling, proper heads up, an overall plan of disclosure, due notice, operating in a one fell swoop kinda deal versus a nickel and diming tactic, etc. I’m sure it was as lovely to listen to as it is to read.


This time though, every single itty bitty thing had to be removed from the balcony floor making it the straw that broke the camel’s back, the piece that tumbled the mighty Jenga tower. In so doing, I managed to unearth a small hive nested away in one of my fabric drapings (I’m Bohemian chic like that.) I heard the tearing of what must’ve been the exterior hive layers, as I saw pieces strewn about on the ground and some still attached to the fabric. The comb stayed firmly adhered to the cloth, exposed and abandoned. This must surely explain the myriad of dead bees I’ve encountered in my home since last summer. Random placement too, not along the oft typical window sill. Groggily making my way to the ever royal commode in the morning only to be greeted with a lone dead bee at its base. Step lightly. They’ve been here, they’ve been there, making me wonder, hey, you got a message for me, God? Bees- why they gotta be dead? Not only struggling out in the world, listed as endangered, but right here in my own home? Coincidentally, a friend sent me a letter recently with the verse “Pleasant words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.” -Proverbs 16:24.


Went to the EMP Museum last week with Bean and sweet Edie (Bobby-Do!), where I finally got to see the Captain Kirk, I mean, Star Trek exhibit. All sorts of wonderful and varied exhibitions there currently! On the way, I encountered giant nannas dangling from a tree. Seemed profound in the moment.



Of all the props, set pieces, and costumes experienced at the Star Trek exhibit, this portion was what set me over into welled tears (crying again, woman, sheesh). The worn bits on the sleeve and pants here made the costume so very real (doesn’t quite show in the photo as much as in person). The same can be said for Mork’s suit which was on display within the museum as well. There are pilled bits of fabric and faded coloring on the costume and it endures me to it every time I see it. Last viewing of it was at the Cinerama theatre last year.


Walked through the video game exhibit a bit wistfully as well, as I loved them so much growing up. I’m sure my thumbs are still programmed to conquer Super Mario Bros. 1, 2, and 3 complete with turtle-stair-flagpole infinite life 1-ups galore.



Pinball meets Pollock, you say? I’m paying attention. There are so many wonderful things to do, that I don’t bother with game apps due to their consuming nature. Exception(al)! Gotta check out this Inks app momentarily.


Edie had fallen asleep in her stroller so we took the opportunity to head to the horror exhibit, pulling the cover closed over her head for extra visual protection in case she chose to wake up without any warning. Bean took the elevator down, encouraging me to walk the spiraling stairs so that I could view the mosaic of black and white photos featuring screaming people. Joy! Not particularly frightening, though slightly oppressive as the steps wound down and the number of pictures grew in expanse creeping up the wall to the ceiling above, enveloping people on the stairs. Surprisingly, disappointingly (?), the exhibit set up wasn’t particularly scary, or so I thought. I joined Bean in the elevator on the way back up, and as the door swept closed, I jumped. “Really?” she said, as I looked away from the large black and white face of a screaming man plastered to the inside of the door.



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