last night here. flying back tomorrow at noon. writing in the den with the fish.

Comments are added in the local viewer; this copy is read-only.

From the app's own code (viewer/app_export.sh): Not made yet: run viewer/app_export.sh young-renter.

The graph nodes the build makes for it: the record, and its phones, emails, addresses, pictures and files.

{
 "$type": "n_type_journal_entry",
 "id": "n_journal_2025_12_27",
 "createdAt": "1766877300000",
 "date": "2025-12-27T23:15:00.000Z",
 "body": "last night here. flying back tomorrow at noon. writing in the den with the fish.\n\nthe week. I want all of it.\n\nObaachan gets up at five and I've been getting up with her, which nobody asked me to do. she sweeps the patio in the dark, the same strokes, and then she makes tea and sits at the kitchen table and paints. she started in the spring. his brushes, his ink stone, the cheap newsprint not the good paper. she does one thing a day and she is not good at it and does not care. tuesday it was the broom. wednesday it was my shoes by the door. she says \"he painted the same six things for fifty years. I am going to paint everything else.\" I sat across from her and drew her hands doing it, every morning, and by friday I had the zine I said I'd make in 2023 and never asked her about. I asked. she looked at the pages and said \"my hands are older than that\" and then \"you may.\"\n\nchristmas was loud. Colleen and Marcel flew in, first time in years, so dad had his sister in the kitchen telling stories about him at fifteen and he just stood there on his new knee and took it. Hana brought the boyfriend nobody is supposed to know about, as \"a friend from work,\" and Obaachan gave him the third degree in two languages and then put more food on his plate than anyone's, so he's in.\n\ndad and I did the radio jigsaw, two thousand pieces, over three nights. he doesn't talk when he does a puzzle. around eleven on the second night he said, to the puzzle, \"I wasn't sure about the art thing. when you went. I want you to know I was wrong about that.\" I said you paid for half of it. he said \"I know. I was wrong while paying.\" we found the edge piece we'd been missing.\n\nmom took me to her school library on the 23rd, empty, to help shelve. she's put The Salt Orchard face-out on the adult shelf by her desk even though it's an elementary school. she tells every teacher who comes in. she asked if I was all right, really, and I told her about the pills and Renee. she already knew about the pills, she'd seen the bottle on a video call in may. she said \"I wondered when you'd tell me. I wasn't going to push.\" we shelved two carts. she cried a little at the 500s.\n\nHana and I went out to the garage. his workbench is exactly as it was. the coffee can of screws. the baby food jars, empty, lined up on the shelf, clean. I picked up the can and it was heavy and I thought about pouring it out and sorting it, and I looked at Hana, and she said \"do it.\" so we did, the two of us, at twenty-seven and twenty-four, for an hour, by size, into the jars. and then we poured them all back, because that's how it's done.\n\ntoday Obaachan made ozoni, early, for me, and made me write it down as she went. she put the first bowl in front of his picture and stood there a second and then took it away and brought another because the first wasn't hot enough.\n\nthe persimmon tree is bare. she says there were a hundred and sixty. she left the top three for the birds, like he did.\n\nin april 2027 she wants to take him back to Yuasa. she said it at dinner like she was mentioning the weather. everyone stopped eating. dad said \"then we'll all go.\" so I guess we're all going.\n\nI don't want to leave. I also want my desk, and my cat, and the bay window.\n"
}

personas/young-renter/records/journal-2025.yaml:478

- id: journal-2025-12-27
  kind: journal_entry
  date: 2025-12-27 23:15
  body: |
    last night here. flying back tomorrow at noon. writing in the den with the fish.

    the week. I want all of it.

    Obaachan gets up at five and I've been getting up with her, which nobody asked me to do. she sweeps the patio in the dark, the same strokes, and then she makes tea and sits at the kitchen table and paints. she started in the spring. his brushes, his ink stone, the cheap newsprint not the good paper. she does one thing a day and she is not good at it and does not care. tuesday it was the broom. wednesday it was my shoes by the door. she says "he painted the same six things for fifty years. I am going to paint everything else." I sat across from her and drew her hands doing it, every morning, and by friday I had the zine I said I'd make in 2023 and never asked her about. I asked. she looked at the pages and said "my hands are older than that" and then "you may."

    christmas was loud. Colleen and Marcel flew in, first time in years, so dad had his sister in the kitchen telling stories about him at fifteen and he just stood there on his new knee and took it. Hana brought the boyfriend nobody is supposed to know about, as "a friend from work," and Obaachan gave him the third degree in two languages and then put more food on his plate than anyone's, so he's in.

    dad and I did the radio jigsaw, two thousand pieces, over three nights. he doesn't talk when he does a puzzle. around eleven on the second night he said, to the puzzle, "I wasn't sure about the art thing. when you went. I want you to know I was wrong about that." I said you paid for half of it. he said "I know. I was wrong while paying." we found the edge piece we'd been missing.

    mom took me to her school library on the 23rd, empty, to help shelve. she's put The Salt Orchard face-out on the adult shelf by her desk even though it's an elementary school. she tells every teacher who comes in. she asked if I was all right, really, and I told her about the pills and Renee. she already knew about the pills, she'd seen the bottle on a video call in may. she said "I wondered when you'd tell me. I wasn't going to push." we shelved two carts. she cried a little at the 500s.

    Hana and I went out to the garage. his workbench is exactly as it was. the coffee can of screws. the baby food jars, empty, lined up on the shelf, clean. I picked up the can and it was heavy and I thought about pouring it out and sorting it, and I looked at Hana, and she said "do it." so we did, the two of us, at twenty-seven and twenty-four, for an hour, by size, into the jars. and then we poured them all back, because that's how it's done.

    today Obaachan made ozoni, early, for me, and made me write it down as she went. she put the first bowl in front of his picture and stood there a second and then took it away and brought another because the first wasn't hot enough.

    the persimmon tree is bare. she says there were a hundred and sixty. she left the top three for the birds, like he did.

    in april 2027 she wants to take him back to Yuasa. she said it at dinner like she was mentioning the weather. everyone stopped eating. dad said "then we'll all go." so I guess we're all going.

    I don't want to leave. I also want my desk, and my cat, and the bay window.