A plot and a plan

 Welcome to the morning! Unless you are in another timezone, which I am, so it is afternoon. It's complicated but ultimately, who cares. Happy daze to all.

After a night's sleep (not mine...the night's) I began my gustatory assault. First stop, and therefore first annoyance is the Teller Cafe on Agripas. Except the street isn't called Agripas if you come at it from the side that, say, "I" wasn't coming from. So I walked too far and found myself somewhere else which is eactly where I looked for myself, so there I was. When I realized that I wasn't where I was, i had to stop, sit on a bench and look things up on a map, Like. A. Tourist.  I have become what I beheld and I am content that I have done right! I found my way back and walked in. It seems nice and I heard that it was a favorite haunt of my dad, even before he was dead, so there's that. I did  notice that there was no place to wash so I skipped the bread opportunities (I have since learned that you have to ask...how very selective). I also noticed that on most every pastry, there was something that could easily pass for nuts so I skipped all of that. Instead, I went to the nice lady at the counter and asked for a black coffee. She told me that they didn't have black coffee. Strange (I have since learned that black coffee means Turkish coffee...one wonders what you get if you order Turkish coffee), but she reassured me that they had Americano. I hate Amerircano (for the unitiaited, they make an espresso and water it down to approximate a cup of coffee. A waste of water, I say). But for the lack of anything else, I bought. NIS 12! Crazy, right? But I sat and (sans milk) milked the coffee and steamed about the situation, again, without milk. Caffeine, do your stuff.

Truth is, I'm overjoyed to be here and have little to complain about so i should just shut up and enjoy. Which I did.

I marvel at the history of all of this. I walked down Nissim Behar and see the people who now live in areas that there ancestors struggled to make into a viable city despite all the challenges. I think back further through the mists of time. In biblical days, what was it like right here? Did King David buy coffee here? Was it an Americano? Was he angry, just like me? Is this where Abraham illegally dumped his construction refuse or got a haircut? Did Samuel stop his car here and get honked by an impatient cab who needed to get just two block down? History. Wow, the bible comes alive.

I walked back to the Swidler house and then David and I walked to his parents' place which is approximately a level 7 maze away from his house. I know a hill was involved bu beyond that, nothing. We drove to the cemetery because it had been over 8 hours since I had been last depressed so, you know, laws and all that. I saw my parents' final resting place, though with all the construction, who can rest? I cried a little, then washed my hands fo the affair and we walked back to the car, and drove it to return to his parents. Shhhhh. Maybe they don't know we took it.

From their place we walked to the shuk, wandered some and ended up at Hatch for wings and (in my case) beer. After a cup of coffee for breakfast, this seemed like a reasonable lunch.

I had the stout that they offered because I am personally insulted by the idea of pale ales. Get some sun, jerks. Their stout was cold (!) and simple. Like me. It wasn't a complex beer -- no overtones or subtle flavors but it ended up that, for the wings, it was perfect. I got a whole mess of "naked" wings -- no sauces. There were sauces for dipping but they (while delicious) weren't actually needed. We sat "outside" which in the shuk means "just inside the market, not inside the restaurant, but, yes, still inside"; I had forgotten the simple pleasure of eating downrange of cigarette smoke. Ah, Israel.

Many wings and a stout later I was in a better emotional state. A fruit slushie for dessert and I'm ready for what the world has to offer.

By the way, if you didn't get it, the plot is the cemetery and the plan is what I "hatched". So there.