Aging

Gwyneth Paltrow’s Naturopath by Akira Ohiso

A friend parks his vintage Jaguar in an apartment garage around the corner. The management company rents out spaces to maximize profits - sandwich boards and grommet banners advertise vacancies.

This weekend, someone tried to hotwire the car but failed. Still, the steering column is significantly damaged. Metal interior finishings, such as seat belt buckles, handles, and the rearview mirror, were stolen, like Seattle was from the Duwamish.

A new proposed policy would require homeowners to give their homes to the original landowner without a profit from the lake to the sound. 😉

There may be Indigenous bones under your Craftsman.

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El is visiting her parents this week. She has Sandwich Gen responsibilities in Florida. Her plane, a Boeing 737-9 Max, flew over the destruction left by Helene just days ago and landed in Fort Lauderdale. The aircraft did not lose a door.

She sends a photo of a distant sunset over Boca Raton from the wing window seat. When she lands, she will spend the week saying goodbye to her mom, who seems to have taken a turn for the worse. We sense she is close and talks about going on a trip. Before my father passed, he focused on train tickets and having enough money in his wallet for an upcoming trip. He clutched his travel bag with his life.

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What can I make with hot dogs and almost spoiled vegetables in the frig? I Google “hot dogs and peas recipe.”

I am seeing a trend of cooking shows moving away from haute cuisine to focus on budget-conscious viewers. Shows are filmed in the chef’s domestic kitchen (not a studio), where they use canned goods, frozen vegetables, plebeian supermarket utensils, and half-bags of pasta from the pantry. Jamie Oliver’s Cooking For Less and Alison Roman’s Home Movies are examples. DIY production value has replaced the Emeril Lagasse tasting table, live studio audiences, and Martha Stewart’s farm-to-table ethos.

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On 14th Ave NW, a city crew uses gas-powered industrial scythes to weed-wack the matted and prickly brush on the median. Workers wear goggles and face masks and look like lefty rioters, a fashionable fad these days.

The streets are temporarily free of parked cars, and the feeling is palpable. I walked to Ballard Market (Rebranded name: Town & Country) for the basics—butter, milk, cheese, Japanese rice, chilled green tea, bananas, and grain-free cat food to prevent crystals in their bladders. Cat healthcare is more of a priority than human healthcare in this country.

When you go to the vet, they shame you for all that you are not doing for your pet: recommendations for fancy diets, tinctures, mood scents for anxiety, and enriching stimulation like Gweneth Paltrow’s naturopath.

Ikigai by Akira Ohiso

Digital Art: Ohiso

My cats enjoy the initial traces of spring—eyes like saucers for bugs and birds, crows on gutter spouts, and seemingly precarious branches that bend towards the earth. They turn their noses to breezes and sunspots.

The cats teach me boredom in wandering thoughts of the unknown without expectations. I feel my heart slow to meet the pace of presence. I think about the movie Perfect Days, which I continue to think about weeks later. It’s the story of an older man who cleans toilets in Tokyo and leads a simple life of reading, listening to cassette tapes, daily routines, and taking pictures of tree canopies.

He has found his “ikigai,” meaning “reason to live.”