From time to time, I still miss my long dead dogs. All so wonderfully different, and each in their own way chewed their indelible graffito into the tender bark of my heart.

For cuddling, none quite outshone Czar. Drafty, cold evenings in front of warming fires, wrapped around his bulky form, snoozing, with my nose buried in the coarse, curly mane of his nape, my fingers left to feel the beat of his heart. He was the hugger and snuggler extraordinaire, sidling up unexpectedly, pushing his shoulder into my hip, or cleaving his form betwixt any embrace. Wanting, welcoming of affection, he was genuinely appreciative of closeness, and sweet to the core. Any warmth lavished on him radiated back in multiples with generosity.

Despite his size, no space was too tiny to wedge himself into, as long as it would allow him to be near his favorite people. A tired arm, dangled loosely from the sofa was welcomed with a soft, approving groan.

Kid, you left an awfully large hole.  

Earl Grey, Hot

A few days after Victrola's most incompetent barista told me that he couldn’t sell me any tea unless it was steeped, and in a cup, I was shot down at PCC by the manager, following a search through their tea stockpile. She'd caught up with me in the check out line and explained that her earlier hopeful guess at having our favored variety back in stock might have been wrong as they'd already been out for at least ten days. With two failed attempts tucked in my belt, I knew that it was time to use a little logic for finding some loose leaf, Earl Grey tea to constitute a part of my darling's birthday present. I decided to search the internet and call ahead.

Holly picked up the call and said “hello.” Momentarily taken aback at the lack of a company identifier, and hoping the number I'd dug out of Google hadn't changed hands, I asked “is this Necessitea?” She said “oh, yes.” Without giving her time to breathe, I immediately cut to the important question. “Do you sell loose leaf teas?” She answered “yes, I do.” I was elated. “Do you have Earl Grey?” Her affirmative response made me sit up straight. “What time are you open until?” I asked. “I could be there in a few minutes. I'm just on the other side of the West Seattle Bridge from you.” She hemmed and hawed a little, and told me that she does most of her business through the mail, that parking was impossible near her house, and asked if I would meet her at Cafe Luna. As I was starving by this point, I told her that would be OK by me. She asked me how many ounces I wanted and I asked how many portions I could divvy an ounce up into. After she told me that an ounce could be broken up into about twenty to twenty five splits, the feeling of deja vu, that was engulfing me, took only a short time to be recognized as an actual memory, or several recollections. “Holly,” I said, “this sounds just like a conversation I could have had, years ago, about a different substance.” A moment of silence and both of us started laughing.

On my way out of the door, I ran into Robert. “Are you hungry” I asked, still chuckling as I recounted my phone call to him. His first response was, “are you sure you were talking about tea?” I told him I was certain but he said that he didn't think he'd want to be there for that. I imagined visions of potential, unintended, yet still botched drug deals playing out in his head.

As I sat down at at the counter at Cafe Luna only a few minutes later, a girl at the end of the bar counter, and the woman across the counter from her, halted their conversation, and the woman walked away. Finding myself at the point of hunger where forgetting to call Holly and trying to maintain focus on the menu was only natural, my eyes and mind wandered all around this visually pungent, intentionally kitschy place. The woman behind the bar returned to her conversation with the pink haired girl and, very openly, handed her a fat-in-the-middle kind of joint, followed by the words “I'm sorry, I know it's supposed to be more of a cone, but that's all I got”. I was stunned and the first thought to pop into my head was “don't be Holly.” The next two, almost simultaneously, were a hurt feeling at the possibility of my being a cop being so obviously, and immediately discounted, and “Shit, forgot to call.” I was relieved when the ringing stopped and the voice to answer was not hooked to the woman behind the bar. The real Holly showed up a moment after I ordered a tuna melt. She was easy to spot by the bag clutched in her left hand as she walked in the door. We extended our right hands toward each other and I'd already placed the money we discussed in mine. After we shook, I squeezed the folded bills into the palm of hers as I pulled mine away. It took a couple of seconds for her to notice that I'd left something there. When she did, she laughed.

Black Tea: 2–3 minutes at 99 °C (210 °F), good for 2-3 infusions

Later that day, I cropped my coiffe more closely than any curmudgeonly cop's new crew cut. 

Someone on Linkedin recently asked "Why is building only to minimum code an injustice to our clients?" Maybe more for the wording of the question, but it's an interesting point to contemplate. 

After all, this is a question we ask ourselves every time clients require us to design buildings that are to be erected for the lowest cost per area. While it can be seen as an obligation of the design, or construction professional to edify the client, I think it's rare, if not unheard of, to do a building life-cycle cost analysis for projects that are going to be built at $80/SF. There's probably too little time in anybody's budget to make that happen. 

In fact, the answer is, that our being asked to design or construct a building to the lowest cost, is a reflection of a cultural norm, in much of North America, that buildings are disposable. This transient nature is, in part, a consequence of the dynamic social, economic, and geographic mobility of our society. 

Much as we'd all like to raise monuments to stand in perpetuity, there's little point, if a building will be razed for a higher density project within a quarter of a century. 

As a parallel, Lotus Cars were reputed to have built their formula one racers of the seventies each to win one race. If they were capable to go much further, after that race, they were considered overbuilt for the task at hand. 

Of course, at a level where we work with clients whose need or desire it is to reduce annual maintenance (and associated costs), and who are able to defray that cost via a higher initial investment in construction cost, the question starts to be valid, and simultaneously becomes moot. 

A question that grows out of the original one, is why we don't have a standard that requires a high degree of recyclability of buildings and components. Maybe this could be a voluntary standard, incentivized by a reduction in impact fees, or permitting costs. After all, if it is the fate of these buildings to not be around for very long, we are fools to not simply morph them into another reincarnation. This could reduce construction costs, C02 emissions, VOC emissions, save valuable natural resources, and possibly have more far-reaching, positive consequences. 

What may be a more effective way to approach the incentive, is to move at least part of that reward to end of each life cycle. This could look like a free demolition permit, or a reduced building permitting fee for the next project on the site. In so doing, the added resale/market value would be a part of the benefit to an owner. In theory we can thus ensure that a project is deconstructed responsibly, in such a way as to create viable components for new constructs, as opposed to simply rewarding that it was built with the option to do so. 

In the end, instead of asking why we build to minimum standards, we could be asking why our least expensive building methods are still so costly, and so wasteful. 

B.