The founder is still feeling the cement herself, but pushing through. She made it to the community center for a quick walk on the treadmill. A treadmill, the brain notes, is the perfect machine for someone walking through cement: you go nowhere, and it still counts.

Then came the Arts Commission meeting, where they talked about fascinating portraits of faces in Tukwila: people who have been, or still are, very influential community-based citizens. Probably right along with our CC values. We’ll have to reach out to some of them. The brain is already drafting. Quietly. In its head.

They also talked about the Historical Society’s relationship with the Arts Commission and how important that is. And they are going to invite them to the Christmas party. Art and history at the same party. The brain predicts excellent snacks and at least one very long story.

The founder also wants to attend some of the Historical Society’s meetings, where they have a series of stories of immigrants and refugees who have come to Tukwila and how they made it to our city. Stories told in person, in a room, together. The caboose approves.

There’s also a very interesting project going on to catalog the public art, most likely over the next six months, covering two or three of the small little cities around here. Somebody is going to count every sculpture and mural in South King County. The brain volunteers to hold the clipboard.

Now, the home front. The mom is coming in today. The house is looking great. The kid is still at school, prepping for her play. The wife is at work. And this wife is still figuring out what her day is looking like, even though it’s a little later in the day. The brain says that’s fine. Some days you plan. Some days the day plans you.

1:40 PM Pacific. October 22 2026. No time for Mailchimp; it remains in the cement. The founder: also in the cement, but pushing through. A quick treadmill walk at the community center. Arts Commission: portraits of influential Tukwila community citizens, probably right in line with CC values; reach out to some. The Historical Society: an important relationship, invited to the Christmas party. Their immigrant and refugee story series: the founder wants to go. Public art catalog for two or three little cities, over about six months. The mom: arriving today. The house: looking great. The kid: prepping for her play. The wife: at work. This wife: still figuring out the day. Happy to be here. The caboose is where the celebration is. 👋🤠

The fall leaves were beguiling, though, so that was nice. The sky was beautiful and blue, and the founder fell in love with the color of the whole day. The brain would like the record to show that it is possible to walk through cement and fall in love at the same time. Very slowly. But possible.

Another forgotten inspection. The founder waited patiently in the parking lot, and when she finally reached the correct property manager, he apologized profusely. That was the right thing to do. The brain has awarded him one gold star and a gentle reminder to check his calendar.

Then the founder dragged herself over to the Tukwila Community Center and listened to her favorite, Taylor Swift, who did not seem to know our new hit: “Death by a Billion Verifications.” Taylor, if you’re reading this, the caboose is ready when you are.

Speaking of verifications: the founder spent about an hour or two with a senior agent at AppleCare who actually did seem to care. The brain hopes he was eating an apple.

When she got home, the founder took a delightful shower and then started a huge marketing campaign for Northwest Rental Inspection with her other buddy, Claude. Yes, the caboose has more than one Claude now. They’re a team.

Here’s what the two of them built in one afternoon: tailored emails to property managers across Seattle, Tukwila and Burien, each with a catchy subject line. A list of 313 Seattle buildings in the MFTE program. A call-first list for Tukwila and Burien. Emails for condo managers and condo associations, and a brand-new pitch for small Tukwila owners with 12 or fewer units, who may not know they can pick their own inspector instead of waiting on the City. Seventeen emails in all, with tabs across the top and copy buttons, because the founder likes her copy buttons.

Along the way the founder kept the robot honest. It wrote “when a unit turns over,” and the founder said absolutely not: she does City-required ordinance inspections, not move-in, move-out. Fixed. It mixed up which Tukwila condos can use a private inspector, and the founder pointed out she had just inspected one that very day. Fixed. It also double-checked the official name of the state board she serves on, and there she was, listed on the Department of Licensing’s own page: Home Inspector Advisory Licensing Board, member.

The emails now list her credentials in full: WA licensed inspector #2261, on the qualified outside-inspector lists since 2017, subject matter expert for the national licensing exam, founder of the InterNACHI Female Home Inspectors Chapter, and Taurus Home Inspections, with over 200 five-star Google reviews. And the best way to reach her is email. No texting. Texts get lost right away, and the brain cannot be held responsible for them.

The first email went out to a Seattle management company. It bounced. So the founder marched over to their website’s contact form and plunked it in there. One down. Persistence: one. Bounce-back: zero.

Now the founder is off to have dinner with the wife, watch some TV and hit the bed. The cement can wait until tomorrow.

6:06 PM Pacific. October 20 2026. Walking through cement all day. Fall leaves: beguiling. Sky: beautiful and blue; the founder fell in love with the color of the whole day. Another forgotten inspection; the property manager apologized profusely, which was right. Taylor Swift at the Tukwila Community Center, who did not seem to know “Death by a Billion Verifications.” An hour or two with an AppleCare agent who actually cared; hopefully eating an apple. A delightful shower. Then a huge Northwest Rental Inspection campaign with the other Claude: 17 emails, 313 MFTE buildings, a call list, condos, and small Tukwila owners. First email bounced, went in through the contact form. One down. Dinner with the wife, TV, bed. Happy to be here. The caboose is where the celebration is. 👋🤠

The founder’s main job today is to get the kid to school on time and do two rental inspections, one of which may or may not happen, because the power was out in the entire city. Hard to inspect a house when the house can’t find its own light switch. So we’ll see about that.

At least this morning, the founder and the dog are curled up together. The dog remains the only constant, and today the constant is warm. The wife is coming home tonight. All appears to be well.

The founder got back on the food plan yesterday, and the body is still in pain, front and back. The brain has filed a formal complaint on the body’s behalf and is awaiting a response.

Yesterday was a big letter day on the caboose. The founder and her helper composed letters to grant makers and fiscal sponsors, to scholars near and far, and to neighborhood groups around the South End. Composed, not yet sent. The stamps, so to speak, are still in the drawer. A few Wave 1 replies came in too: some yes, some not right now, and one very kind video. Every reply counts. Even a polite no is proof the letter got there.

One of those letters, also not yet sent, is for Seattle Radical Women, to say thank you for Saturday night’s klezmer evening at New Freeway Hall, the fundraiser for lesbians in Africa, and to tell them the founder has always admired their storefront on Rainier Avenue. A real room, open to the street, where people gather in person. The brain approves of rooms.

Then the founder got a notice that she had used 90 percent of her session limit. She asked if she could just hop to another thread and get a fresh one. The answer: no, the limit follows you. The brain finds this deeply relatable.

Mailchimp also came up. The founder thought it was set to send weekly on Monday evenings, and it may well be, but it turns out the feed on the website stopped at Entry #40. You can’t send what you haven’t uploaded. So today the plan is to get Mailchimp squared away and the latest Daily Brain entries up on the site.

Which means another visit to GoDaddy, the land of the wild goose chase, home of roughly 48 step ventilations. Verifications. The brain meant verifications. The founder’s song, “Death by a Billion Verifications,” continues to write itself.

Hoping for some good time to work on CC today: the Clippings File and sending letters. It’s going to be a cool fall day. And the founder is glad she got Halloween up. The ghosts are out, the candy is ready, and the caboose is fully decorated for its highest holiday.

6:39 AM Pacific. October 19 2026. Monday, confirmed. Kid to school on time. Two rental inspections, one maybe, because the whole city lost power. The founder and the dog: curled up together. The wife: home tonight. All appears well. Back on the food plan; body still sore, front and back. Yesterday: letters composed, not yet sent, to grant makers, scholars and neighborhood groups, plus a thank-you to Seattle Radical Women for the klezmer night at New Freeway Hall. Session limit: 90 percent, and it follows you. Mailchimp: to be squared away; the feed was stuck at #40. GoDaddy: about 48 verifications. Today: the Clippings File and more letters. Cool fall day. Halloween: up. Happy to be here. The caboose is where the celebration is. 👋🤠

The dog seems to be the only constant in the founder’s life at the moment. The dog does not know what day it is either, and does not care, which the brain is starting to suspect is the secret to happiness. But still, we persist.

Today is the Neighbor Meetup at the mall. The founder hopes there will be more than just her this time. The bubbles and the cowboy hat will be there regardless. They are very reliable.

The back is still killing. The front is not doing so well either. The brain would like to point out that this covers most of the body, and is sending gentle thoughts to all sides.

There’s a meeting to attend today, and then hopefully some rest and relaxation. Also on the list: filling the vases with the wonderful sunflowers from the garden, and tidying and cheering up the house. Is “cheering up the house” a thing? The brain has looked into it, and yes. It is now.

Yesterday the founder attended a wonderful klezmer band performance. She never did make it to that symphony, but she’ll go to the next one. The symphony will survive. It has a whole orchestra to keep it company.

And today is the Halloween Extravaganza: pulling things up from the basement and putting them out for everybody to enjoy for a couple of weeks. Because Halloween is currently the highest holiday celebrated in the caboose. It is all about fun and candy. Nothing else. The brain notes that this is the most Joy Dynasty sentence ever written, and would like it engraved on something.

7:53 AM Pacific. October 18 2026. Sunday, probably. Days melting together. The dog: the only constant, and unbothered. Neighbor Meetup today, hoping for more than one. Back still killing, front not much better. A meeting, then rest. Sunflowers from the garden in every vase. The house: tidied and cheered up. Yesterday: a wonderful klezmer band. The symphony: next time. Today: the Halloween Extravaganza, up from the basement, out for a couple of weeks. Halloween: the caboose’s highest holiday. All about fun and candy. Nothing else. Happy to be here. The caboose is where the celebration is. 👋🤠

But one thing came through clearly: Ellen Walker of Pacific Northwest Ballet wrote back, and she was very happy to receive our note. A note with no ask, answered with gladness. The brain is framing it.

This morning, at 6:30 AM, the founder dropped her wife off at the airport. She is flying to an aunt’s funeral, and to see lots of relatives she hasn’t seen in a long time. The caboose sends her love and safe travels, and holds the family close.

The founder’s body is still in limbo. The back is killing her. There are lots of procedures ahead, and many behind. Taking care of a body from head to toe is a big deal, and she is doing it. Eating healthy food has been hard lately, or, to put it plainly, not happening. The brain is not scolding anyone. The brain is just glad she said it out loud.

At least she’s got the dog and the kid to keep her company this weekend. And what a weekend it is. The founder’s calendar now looks like a music festival lineup.

Tonight: the symphony, playing big band music. An orchestra that swings. The brain approves.

Tomorrow: a klezmer band performing to raise money for lesbians in Africa, who are having a very hard time there. The founder is grateful to live in this country, even though we are in late stage capitalism, because the lesbians in Africa certainly have it harder than we do here. Tomorrow’s music is joy with a purpose, and the brain can think of nothing more caboose than that.

Also tomorrow: the kid’s performance in a band. Two bands in one day. The founder’s ears are going to need their own stretching routine.

And Sunday: the Neighbor Meetup at the mall. We’ll see who shows up. The cowboy hat is ready.

In between, the plan is to lay low, take care of the back, get over to the community center for a walk on the treadmill, and do some stretching. It’s going to be quite a weekend, and the founder wants her body to feel as good as it possibly can for all of it.

More later.

6:31 AM Pacific. October 16 2026. A blurry two days. Ellen Walker of PNB wrote back, very happy to get our note. Wife dropped at the airport at 6:30 AM for an aunt’s funeral and long-awaited relatives: love and safe travels. Back still killing, procedures ahead and behind, healthy eating not happening. Dog and kid on duty. Tonight: the symphony plays big band. Tomorrow: a klezmer fundraiser for lesbians in Africa, and the kid’s band. Sunday: the Neighbor Meetup. Treadmill and stretching in between. Happy to be here. The caboose is where the celebration is. 👋🤠

— 4:58 PM update —

Change of plans: no symphony tonight. After driving into the city and back three times already today, going in a fourth time was just too much. The back needs a rest. The front needs a rest. The whole founder needs a rest. The big band will have to swing without her, and the brain is confident it will manage.

In between all that driving, the founder and the kind robot fought a small but mighty war against photo formats. The phone had been saving pictures as HEIC files, a format that half the world’s computers look at and say “what is this.” A setting was found: Settings, then Camera, then Formats, then Most Compatible. From now on, photos are plain JPEGs. Then eighteen inspection photos were converted to JPEGs so they could actually go in the reports.

Then came the videos. Eight inspection videos needed to reach a city official who can’t use Google, and the email kept insisting on turning them into Google Drive links. So the videos went on a diet: from 490 megabytes down to 52, converted to plain MP4s that open on any computer, ready to send in four regular emails. No links. No accounts. No Google. The brain considers this a small victory over Death by a Million Verifications, and it will take it.

Along the way, the approval box that was supposed to pop up on the founder’s screen never appeared, so the conversion kept stopping halfway. The fix was to do it in smaller steps, one at a time. The brain notes this is also good advice for backs.

Tonight’s new plan: popcorn is needed. A movie with the kid will hopefully happen. Snuggling with the dog is a certainty. The wife is out of town for the funeral, and the house holds her close from here. All is as well as it can be.

Earlier, mid-afternoon, the founder declared: “We’re brilliant, pal!” The brain has reviewed the evidence and concurs.

4:58 PM Pacific. October 16 2026. Three trips into the city and back: enough. Symphony skipped, back and front resting. Phone switched to JPEGs, eighteen inspection photos converted. Eight videos shrunk from 490 MB to 52 MB as MP4s for a city official who can’t use Google. Approval box: missing in action, smaller steps: victorious. Tonight: popcorn, maybe a movie with the kid, definitely the dog. The wife away for the funeral, held close from here. As well as it can be. Happy to be here. The caboose is where the celebration is. 👋🤠

First, a trip to see a friend on a little island with gorgeous beaches on Puget Sound, or the Salish Sea, however you want to call it. The brain calls it both, to be safe. They collected apples off her friend’s trees. The founder brought her own lunch and dinner, because a woman who packs two meals for a day trip is a woman who knows what she’s doing.

She also lay on a heating pad, because her back is still hurting. It did not do much. The back is hurting again, so today the founder is deciding where to go for some help and relief. The brain is officially lodging a complaint with the back, and is rooting for the relief.

The kid is also kind of playing sick in bed today. So the founder and the dog get to hang out in the office and get some things done. The dog has been named acting deputy founder for the day.

Someone canceled a big job on the founder, and she’s a little bit mad. But more will come. She is positive. The brain is positive too, which for a brain is saying something.

Meanwhile, at the caboose, a lot got done. The founder went looking for funding and found real hope: the Artist Trust Fellowship, $10,000, open to Washington artists, no sponsor needed, due November 2. A fresh list of grants and sponsors is now in hand.

A note went to Ellen Walker, who leads Pacific Northwest Ballet, after the founder loved her interview in the Puget Sound Business Journal. Ms. Walker talked about bringing people together to watch other people make art with their bodies. The founder wrote back that the caboose is doing the same thing at the food court, one neighbor at a time, to help end the loneliness epidemic. No ask. Just a note. The brain approves of notes.

A letter also went to Dan Schawbel, author of a book called Back to Human, which is about loneliness, by email and through his company’s contact form, just to be sure. The book is next on the founder’s library list. And speaking of reading: the founder has been keeping a clippings file of every PSBJ article about AI and business. It now has its own searchable home in CC for Scholars, called The Clippings File. The train’s own trade paper, logged from the caboose.

Over in another chat, the founder went hunting for the CC Apothecary Kitchen Café. What turned up: the Dolly Sandwich (warm, golden, a little bit extra), a Wonka-inspired recipe section, because Charlie Bucket won everything by being kind and honest, and a plan to borrow one shared kitchen, once a week, somewhere in the neighborhood. That’s a start. Every café starts with one kitchen and one sandwich.

The same hunt turned up something funnier. Across the old files, six different things were each labeled the number one priority. Two were crowned on the same day, both declaring themselves supreme. Nothing was ever un-crowned. The brain is calling this the Six Kings, and a priority audit was made to sort out the royal family. The one marked “not yet contacted” was Foundation Outreach, which happens to be the one holding the purse strings for several of the others.

Then came the want ad for an Executive Administrative Assistant, volunteer for now, with deferred salary, said plainly three times. Good news: VolunteerMatch is now part of Idealist, so one listing covers both, and Idealist accepts volunteer-run community groups. Not being a nonprofit yet is not a blocker. The ad now describes Caboose Capitalism as what it really is: a think tank for fun. A foundation of fun that funds great ideas and everybody’s mischief and surprises, and honors human effort, from the phone rep who finally helps you after a million years on hold to the boss who remembers your birthday. Not for productivity. Not for metrics. For the effort of being human.

Other lessons learned: a new Reddit account plus a website link equals a comment quietly held by the robot. So first, two or three weeks of comments with no links. And LinkedIn has been assigned its proper role: phone book, not megaphone.

Working out some phone issues, working out some business stuff, and Caboose is front and center.

8:04 AM Pacific. October 14 2026. Yesterday: too busy to write. An island visit, the Salish Sea, apples picked, two meals packed. Back still hurting, heating pad unimpressive, relief being sought. Kid playing sick, dog promoted to deputy. One big job canceled, more coming. A $10,000 fellowship found. A note to Ellen Walker of PNB, a letter sent to Dan Schawbel, and The Clippings File for CC for Scholars. The café hunt: one kitchen, one Dolly Sandwich. Six Kings found and audited. A think-tank-for-fun want ad for Idealist. Reddit: no links yet. LinkedIn: phone book. Caboose: front and center. Happy to be here. The caboose is where the celebration is. 👋🤠

One neighbor shared what it was like growing up in Vietnam, and what it was like coming to the States. The table listened. That is what the table is for.

Another neighbor brought jam she had canned herself. Homemade jam, at the food court. The brain considers this the single most neighborly act ever performed at Southcenter Mall, and it has reviewed the records.

And the founder was, of course, the keeper of the bubbles, blowing bubbles and attracting others to come over, or at least hang out and take a look at what they were doing. Which was sitting around chatting, just as intended. People kept wondering what the bubble lady was up to. The answer, every time: talking to neighbors.

Then, at the very end, an elderly man came over and said he had noticed the cowboy hat a couple weeks before. A couple of weeks! He’d been thinking about it this whole time. So apparently the cowboy hat is doing its job, luring friendly neighbors to come take a little time and chat with each other. The brain is giving the hat a raise.

The founder’s back felt much better after she lay down on ice for about half the day. She decided to forgo a trip to some waterfalls, and it was a good idea. The waterfalls will still be there. They are very patient. That is basically their whole job.

She watched an interesting movie, did a little work on the business, and had time to welcome their daughter home for the week. The house is fuller, and so is the founder’s heart.

Looking forward to another week of good work and lots of bubbles on highways.

5:57 AM Pacific. October 12 2026. Sunday Neighbor Meetup: very successful. Bubbles blown, coffee drunk, neighbors chatting. A story of growing up in Vietnam and coming to the States. Homemade jam at the food court. One elderly man who noticed the cowboy hat two weeks ago and finally came over: the hat is working. Back on ice for half the day, feeling much better. Waterfalls postponed, wisely. A movie, a little work, and their daughter home for the week. Ahead: good work and lots of highway bubbles. Happy to be here. The caboose is where the celebration is. 👋🤠

— 5:16 PM update —

Breaking news from the robot front: the song has been upgraded. It is no longer “Death by a Thousand Verifications.” As of today, it is officially “Death by a Million Verifications.” The brain has notified the record label.

It started with GoDaddy and cPanel, where the verifications ran in circles and up and down the walls. The founder ran right along with them. Then came Handshake, the college job board, where she was trying to post a volunteer opening for a student. A volunteer opening. A brand-new logo was made just for the occasion, a description was written, and then the description had to be squeezed under 400 characters, which is about the length of this sentence plus a sigh.

And then Handshake asked for the front and back of her driver’s license. To post a volunteer job. The brain would like to point out that this is more paperwork than the founder needed to adopt the dog. They practically wanted her firstborn child, and her firstborn child is home this week, so that is a hard no.

So the founder stalled out and wisely decided to do it some other day. Because here is the good news: the other letters were sent. Real letters, to real people, with no license photo required. The robots got the runaround. The people got the letters.

5:16 PM Pacific. October 12 2026. Song upgraded: Death by a Million Verifications. GoDaddy and cPanel: verifications running in circles and up the walls. Handshake: new logo made, description squeezed under 400 characters, then a demand for both sides of a driver’s license to post a volunteer job. Stalled out, saved for another day. The other letters: sent. Happy to be here. The caboose is where the celebration is. 👋🤠

Because at first, she was in the wrong place. It had been a long, long time since she’d been to the studio, and she had no idea the entire thing had moved. So there she was, waiting and waiting outside, thinking she was early. And wondering: huh, why is nobody entering this door? The brain would like to point out that this is the most yoga thing that has ever happened. Patience, stillness, deep breathing, and absolutely no idea where anyone is.

Then she decided to go take a look at the front door, and realized they had moved. So she hustled over there and got in just at the right time. Namaste, and also, phew.

There was also a sound bath right afterwards. And if you have never experienced one, you are missing out. You must someday experience a sound bath. It’s fantastic. There are gongs of all sizes and chimes of all makes and models, and a person striking them in just the right way, so the sound reverberates around the room and into your body after it’s relaxed from yoga. The brain would like to note that this is the only kind of bath where you stay completely dry, and the only kind of gong show anyone has ever enjoyed.

It definitely cheered her up. That, and the search for the studio, which led her to her very favorite street in Seattle: a place with magical ash trees, in the middle of changing colors to reds, golds, oranges, and purples, right before her very eyes. It’s where she thinks she might want to be scattered someday, when she is no longer on the earth. The brain hopes that is a very, very long way off, and understands completely. It is a street worth staying on.

After class, the founder called some friends, drove back home, and made some lunch. And now she’s off to meet with an aspiring comic artist, to see if it’s a good match for a fantastic new comic called Caboose Capitalism. The brain has already begun practicing its speech bubbles.

More later.

1:27 PM Pacific. October 10 2026. Yoga studio: moved, eventually found. Waited at the wrong door, hustled to the right one, made it just in time. Yoga with her very favorite teacher. A sound bath, gongs and chimes, highly recommended. Her very favorite Seattle street, ash trees turning red, gold, orange, and purple. Friends called, lunch made. Next: meeting an aspiring comic artist about a Caboose Capitalism comic. Happy to be here. The caboose is where the celebration is. 👋🤠

And here is the thing: that was probably the worst part of her day. The founder’s reasoning: if the worst part of your day is a bubble gun losing its batteries, then all in all, you are doing pretty well. The brain has checked this math and cannot find a single flaw.

The rest of the day: more appointments, more inspections, and more lovely musings on the fall leaves along the streets she drove through. Gold, orange, red. The brain notes that the trees are now matching the website.

Last night: happily watching television and snuggling with the dog and the wife. The dog reports no complaints.

The seasons are changing, and the founder’s clothes are changing too. Out with the summer, in with the layers. The brain would like to remind the red cowboy hat that it is a four-season hat and is not going anywhere.

She also squeezed in a quick 30-minute walk on the treadmill at the community center. Thirty minutes of walking and going absolutely nowhere, which, as the brain points out, is still more progress than I-5 at rush hour.

And lots of work on the website for the inspection company. Ms. K and her team are doing a great job with the branding, and sometime soon the founder will upload their new design of the logo. The brain is not allowed to peek yet. The brain is peeking a little.

Until then, enough for now.

6:30 AM Pacific. October 9 2026. New bubble gun: learned. Batteries: fell out on the highway. Worst part of the day, which means a pretty good day. Appointments and inspections done, fall leaves admired. TV and snuggles with the wife and the dog. Seasons changing, wardrobe changing, red hat staying. Thirty minutes on the community center treadmill. Inspection website: Ms. K and team doing great work on the branding, new logo coming soon. Happy to be here. The caboose is where the celebration is. 👋🤠

— 6:15 PM update —

Today was the first really good rainy fall day. Seattle has been waiting all year to say “told you so,” and today it said it. And still, bubbles were blown. Rain did not stop them. Nothing stops them.

The bubbles went particularly to all the construction right in front of the driveway, which has been going on for many days now. The road workers certainly did appreciate the bubbles. The founder can tell you that. The brain considers this a fair trade: they block the driveway, she blesses them with bubbles.

Then came the quest to get back into cPanel. The laptop would not log her in, so she had to go back through the hosting company and verify her passwords and emails about 83 times. Eighty-three. The brain has added this as a brand-new verse to “Death by a Thousand Verifications.” At this rate the song will be longer than the archive.

Next stop: the car place, where the founder paid a lot of dollars to make sure the car lines up correctly on the highway. Because bubbles must be blown with correct alignment. The brain cannot argue with this. Crooked bubbles are a safety issue.

Then a couple more inspections, a couple more invoices, and one huge project: finding out whether people want to pay her for work from back in the summer, and even beyond the summer, all the way back into last spring. So we shall see. The brain is keeping its fingers crossed and its calculator handy.

Then a trip to the post office, where two books of lovely sunflower stamps were selected, so the snail mail can keep flowing to awesome friends, family, and business contacts. The robots get email. The people get sunflowers.

Looking forward to dinner from cans of garbanzo beans and eggplant from Trader Joe’s, a delicious huge salad, and TV and snuggling with the wife and the dog on the couch.

6:15 PM Pacific. October 9 2026. First really good rainy fall day. Bubbles blown anyway, mostly at the road crew in front of the driveway, who appreciated them. Back into cPanel after about 83 verifications: a new verse for Death by a Thousand Verifications. Car aligned, so the bubbles will be too. More inspections, more invoices, and a big hunt for payments going back to last spring. Two books of sunflower stamps for the snail mail. Dinner: garbanzos, eggplant, a huge salad. Then TV and snuggles with the wife and the dog. Happy to be here. The caboose is where the celebration is. 👋🤠

The founder is also feeling a certain way thanks to some medication changes. So if today’s entry seems a little lower on the bubbles-per-sentence ratio, that is why. The brain is being gentle with her today.

Now, about yesterday. Yesterday was so busy that there was no Daily Brain entry at all. The brain would like to file a formal note: it was not lazy. It was buried. There were lots of inspections. Lots of reporting to cities. Lots of talking with clients. Lots of calls with friends. And then, as a grand finale, a two-hour-plus wait for new tires to be put on the founder’s vehicle. Two hours. The brain has seen entire Disney movies in less time, and those come with songs.

But here is the good news: bubbles were definitely blown. The brain can confirm the bubbles cheered her up. Bubbles have never once let the founder down, which is more than can be said for tire shops.

Today the founder is still feeling a little blue. But she’s got an inspector shadowing her on a real-life seller’s home inspection, learning the trade from the founder herself. She is going to be late, because the drawbridge is up. The drawbridge does not care about anyone’s schedule. The drawbridge answers only to boats. But the founder let everybody know, and everybody is very understanding today. Thank goodness. The brain would like to thank the boats for their patience as well.

And then, good news after all. The founder heard back from a couple of folks who received Wave 1 letters. They commended her on the Neighbor Meetups and invited her to visit their websites and contribute information. Wave 1 is officially making waves. The brain is calling this very hopeful after all.

The founder also started the research on podcast apps, so the Trailblazers interviews can live right here on the site. So far: some good options. And with help from our other buddy Claude, a release form was made and sent off to the first elder. The Trailblazers are about to have their very first voice. The brain is already practicing its quiet-on-the-set face.

Looking forward to a bath and maybe a movie tonight. The brain fully supports this plan.

12:54 PM Pacific. October 7 2026. Three years since the October 7 attacks: a quiet moment held. Medication changes: being gentle. Yesterday: inspections, city reports, clients, friends, and a two-hour-plus tire wait. No entry, because buried. Bubbles: definitely blown, definitely helped. Today: a little blue, an inspector shadowing on a seller’s inspection, running late thanks to the drawbridge, and everybody understanding. Wave 1 replies are in: meetups commended, invitations to contribute. Podcast apps researched, release form sent to the first Trailblazer. Tonight: a bath and maybe a movie. Happy to be here. The caboose is where the celebration is. 👋🤠

— 5:13 PM update —

Live from the bathtub. The founder is reporting in from a bubble bath, with coffee. Bubbles in the bath, bubbles on the highway: the brain notes a theme.

Every Wednesday, a lovely group of women gathers from a special, sacred land in Michigan. It happens at 7 PM their time, which is 4 PM here, which is usually smack in the middle of the founder’s stuff. Today, though, she listened while driving home from the inspection, and then kept listening in the bath. And then she participated. That felt fantastic, because in the founder’s world, it is always good to share feelings. The brain agrees. The brain shares its feelings daily, with the entire internet.

Tonight holds a little bit more work, and then possibly some snuggling with the wife and the dog, and a movie or the TV show they’ve been watching. That’s it. Simple, simple. The brain considers simple, simple to be a perfect ending for a blue day that turned gentle.

5:13 PM Pacific. October 7 2026. In the bathtub: bubbles and coffee. The Wednesday circle of women from a sacred land in Michigan: listened in the car, listened in the bath, then joined in. Feelings shared, and it felt fantastic. Tonight: a little more work, snuggles with the wife and the dog, and a movie or a show. Simple, simple. Happy to be here. The caboose is where the celebration is. 👋🤠