The Flooded Car Dream

To begin, I found myself in a car that became trapped in a flood and incapacitated. That meant I wasn’t going to make my destination on schedule.

I wasn’t bothered. Getting out of the car — no idea of its make, model, or color — I waded out of flood waters. Two things began working in parallel: I started making arangements for a rental replacement and I worked on understanding my location. With the former, I learned in phone calls that a car was available but wouldn’t be there for several hours. In the matter of location, I found that I was close to my father’s house. I could visit him and his family while waiting for my rental car.

Their home is in the southwestern U.S. in the dream. In real life, Dad lives in Texas but in the dream, I was unclear if it was New Mexico, Arizona, or Texas. With dream magic swiftness, I arrived at Dad’s and was knocking on their door. A family member I didn’t recognize answered the door. They recognized me, introduced themselves in a vague way and let me in. Then I remembered them.

Then, it was visitor time. Cousins on my father’s side were living with him. Two of these cousins have already passed away in real life. The other point is that I’m 5’8″ in real life and the cousins are half a foot plus taller. My dream had these roles reversed. That surprised m and it came to a point that I realized, I’m tall, they’re looking up at me.

Food and drinks were offered and accepted. After I ate, my father’s current wife entered the cosy western room where a fireplace hosted blazing logs. I explained the situation to her and asked her about my father and seeing him. A little distracted, she told me Dad was there and he wanted to see me but he had to do some things first and it would be a little bit later.

My Dad’s wife’s daughter called from open French doors in the rear that there was an animal playing in the water. I moved there to see a young wild cat chasing something through the water. Almost simultaneously, I realized that night was falling, it was pouring rain, that the house was built by an arroyo, and that flash flooding was underway. On the next moment, I saw that there was a much larger wildcat — about the size of an adult cougar — in the water and figured it was mom, and another little one. Those three animals easily moved their powerful bodies through the raging muddy waters. Mom cat noticed us and that’s when the next pair of realizations bolted in: that back door was just feet from the raging waters, and three wild predatory animals were also just feet away. But the animals went on and we backed into the house and eventually closed the door.

More family members briefly visited but all had other things to go do. I ended up alone. I noticed that they had this small, rough shaped wooden table, about the size of a petite coffee table. A piece of art was worked into the table’s top. I thought I’d fix it up as a gift to them so I took it to a small shop I located on the property and cleaned the top until some western piece of cowboys with lassos in iron and style was revealed.

After polishing it up, I returned to the house. Dad’s wife met me. I showed her and others the table. They were really pleased. None had noticed the top. The piece was a family heirloom and they were told it was priceless but they didn’t know anything about the art.

My rental car had been delivered and I needed to leave. It was night and Dad hadn’t shown. I left and went to the car. Once I reached, I laughed: I was still carrying the table in one hand. Going back to the house, I saw several of them through the window. The lights were on inside. They looked right at me. I realized that they couldn’t see me because of the lights and reflections, so I just went in, showed them the table, joked about almost leaving with it, and then left again.

Boom! I still had the table. I realized this in a few steps and hastily rushed back in, set the table down, and left the house. The dream ended as I reversed the rental car, turned it around, and drove into the night.

Fridaz’s Theme Music

So we chug into Fridaz, Feb. 21, 2025. Blue sky has it over my views of Ashlandia. Plentiful sunshine pelts the scene with rays. It’s 32 F with mid 50s likely, ‘they’ say.

All that is my perspective. Per habit, I inquire of the weather for us from Alexa. It says it’s 40 degrees. Tells me about the fog. ? Says it’ll be mostly cloudy today.

What we have here is some kind of failure of something. Maybe it’s in a different reality; perhaps I am. Or Alexa landed in a different Ashland. There’s a bunch of ’em in America. Or…since she’s Amazon…and Jeff Bezos…and he’s getting along so well with Trusk…Alexa is trying to gaslight me. Ah, such possibilities to contemplate on a Fridaz morning.

Oatmeal with blueberries are being consumed. A Chicago song is going through my morning mental music stream. “You’re My Inspiration.” You know the words:

You’re the meaning in my life
You’re the inspiration
You bring feeling to my life
You’re the inspiration
Wanna have you near me

h/t to Genius.com

I figure The Neurons are calculating and channeling emotions about Tucker’s passing. Seems logical, right? But, The Neurons are not always logical. Then again, neither are emotions. Hell, neither is life.

The music certainly didn’t come from my dreams. They were trippy. I’ll almost certainly write a post about one of them later. It’s ‘almost certainly’ because it’s a busy day planned. So, it’s a time permitting thing. Then again, there’s not a general call for more of my dreams, nor is there a time limit. It’s not like someone sent me memo, “Post about a dream by Fridaz.” If they did, I didn’t receive the memo. I guess I should check my spam and junk mail, see if it didn’t get ditched there.

Coffee and I are doing the morning tango. Hope you have a solid day, and things begin looking and getting better for all of us. Here’s the 1984 music, fresh out of a recording made in 1992. Papi the ginger blade (aka Meep, Butter Butt) has arrived for his morning cuddle session. Gotta go. Cheers

Tucker (Pronounced Tuck-ah)

I was in the kitchen at midnight. A white flash crossed my vision’s edge.

I knew without doubt that Tucker had just bolted across the rainbow bridge. With some hot fluid boiling out of my eyes, I went in and made confirmation. Another era was over.

He went so quickly, it shocked us. He didn’t respond to any medication. All we could do is take a seat and console him and ourselves as best as we could.

Tucker was another in a long line of BFFs (Best Floof Friends). I’ve been grateful for them all and pleased that each chose to spend their time with me, sharing their secrets, insights, and love. I’m a wealthier person for them all.

And after I ached from my heart out through my chest and my face crumbled and the fluid burned my eyes more and blurred my vision, I squared up to go on. Because this is just part of the fucking roller coaster of life, up and fucking down, again and again. I hurt and will hurt for probably years because that’s just who I am. But I’ll continue moving forward, left foot, right foot, doing what I need to do.

Because all of my BFFs would always do the same. But man, I do still miss them all. Especially that last black and white handsome fellow that had to take his leave.

His name is Tucker. Pronounced Tuck-ah.

Thurzda’s Wandering Thoughts

I often wear a hat. Not in the house, except sometimes to bed, but that’s another night’s tale. The hat is a wide-brimmed green Tilley. A dozen pins decorates it.

When I checked in for my medical appointment yesterday, the young guy doing my intake looked at my hat and grinned.

“I was just admiring your pins.”

I replied, “That’s my flair.”

His grin grew wider. “You can never have too much flair.”

I answered, “No, but I think I need to speak to you about your flair.”

Laughter answered me. “I know. I gotta work on that.”

We both nodded. It was all an unspoken reference to Office Space from 1999. I figured the kid I was speaking to is about 29 years old, five or take, you know. But just a child when the movie came out.

I feel like we’re part of a secret tribe. The tribe of flare.

Thurzda’s Wandering Political Thoughts

My wife spoke with her group of friends for coffee on Wednesday. All are college grads and retired professionals. All are liberals, progressives, or Democrats. They range in age from the early sixties to mid 80s. They’d just finished an exercise class at the Ashlandia Family Y. My wife was trying to gage their reactions to Trump’s moves via his musk rat and the DOdGEy operation running at his behest.

They were puzzled. One shrugged. “It’ll be over in two years.”

My wife was shocked, disconcerted, dumbfounded. “What do you think about the cuts at the Bonneville Power Administration?”

BPA provides Ashlandia’s power. BPA also manages the power grid in the Pacific Northwest.

Although BPA is part of the DOE, it is self-funded and covers its costs by selling its products and services at cost. The BPA provides about 28% of the electricity used in the region. BPA transmits and sells wholesale electricity in eight western states: WashingtonOregonIdahoMontanaWyomingUtahNevada, and California.[1] Its minimum wholesale rate is 3.49 cents per kilowatt-hour; the BPA generated $4.72 billion in operating revenue in 2022.

h/t to Wikipedia.org

Up to six hundred people were being let go at the BPA. To save money, of course.

Yeah? What about this?

BPA makes 41st straight Treasury payment

“On Sept. 30, the Bonneville Power Administration made its annual payment to the U.S. Department of the Treasury for the 41st consecutive year on time and in full, bringing cumulative payments to approximately $35.4 billion over this period. The total payment for fiscal year 2024 was $792.3 million.”

Returning to my wife’s friends, only one of them was aware of the personnel cuts.

They disturb my wife and I because they’re thinking that all of this is business as usual. In a period when Trump is getting referred to as a king, we’re abandoning our NATO commitments and allying ourselves with Russia instead, and women’s rights are rapidly regressing (see the SAVE act, fer instance) while Trump dismisses the Constitutional checks and balances, they’re basically shrugging their shoulders.

I’m happy to say that it’s not necessarily the prevailing feeling in Ashlandia.

Presidents Day protest draws crowd to Ashland Plaza 

I don’t have a crystal ball or any other means of predicting the future. But reading the Trusk moves and watching the GOTP back those moves with little resistance, I gotta say, Ima little worried.

Thurzda’s Theme Music

They say it’s partly sunny in Ashlandia’s valley today Thurzda, Feb. 20, 2025, but I find if fully sunny. The clouds hanging around are rice-paper thin. Wandering aimlessly as a cloud, they break up as easily whipped cream in hot chocolate. 43 F right now, the temperature-measuring thingy is expected to test the fifties before the sun begins its wind down.

A sick cat & personal medical appointments has frayed my routines. Accomodating both — cat (Tucker, the still-handsome black and white floof whose name is pronounced Tuck-ah) and my med appointments are high priorities. So are my twice-daily rituals of self-massaging my bod using the techniques taught me to stimulate my lymphatic system. The wraps and self-massaging seem to be working. My left limb/foot is stabilized and doesn’t swell during the day. I have very minor swelling on the right side, mostly focused on the 3-4-5 toes. As for Tucker, he’s on antibiotics, so we’ll see where it goes. His nocturnal issues diced my sleep into bite-sized chunks, so I was late rolling out of bed. Anyway, the efforts involved in these things cut into my reading/writing/posting/surface hours, and I’m the crankier for it. I know, I am such a whiner.

Today’s song is another odd choice for The Neurons. I have “Let’s Hear It for the Boy” from the 1984 movie, Footloose, with Kevin Bacon. Deniece Williams sings the song,

Folks, this thing was released over 40 years ago. The movie never thrilled my sensibilities but I had plenty o’ younger friends who enjoyed it. Those who liked it were mostly feminine and enticed by Bacon and his dancing. The movie begat several hit songs which seemed perpetually on the radio of the time. Why it’s in my morning mental music stream is beyond my reasoning skills. The Neurons often have their way with me and rarely devote elucidation about it. It’s okay, though, as I’m pleased to not have songs associated with the 2025 PINO Trusk Shitstorm in my head.

Coffee and I made a handshake agreement and I’m gulping like it’s going out of style. Hope you have a solid day. Cheers

Wenzda’s Theme Music

This Wenzda, February 19, 2025, is being rinsed off. Yes, it’s 43 F and rain is falling. Papi the ginger blade, aka Meep, Butter Butt and Butter Booger, has chosen to ensconce himself on the living room sofa, not far from the fireplace’s steady warmth. Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) remains under the weather and is staying on a bed under the influence of antibiotics. He’s showing a slow but steady recovery. Fingers and toes remain interwoven, as in crossing.

I’m running late due to tending the cat but also because today’s lymphedema massage therapy appointment is at high noon. So I’m ’bout to bust out the door. I bathed with a wash cloth and then did my self-massaging and moisturing, but then washed my hair. A hope is lit that I’ll be done with the thick wraps today. That’s because I’ve shown steady improvement, and the swelling has drastically declined. My efforts certaintly contributed but she added some thicker padding at several locations, and I noticed a dramatic impact from that. Although the wraps only remain on my lower right limb and foot, I can’t properly bathe while working them. I’m aching for a solid, warm shower, you know?

The Neurons have a weird song playing in my head. Not a weird song, sorry; it’s an excellent song, emblamatic of an era and attitude. But why today? That is the question. The song in question plowing my morning mental music stream is “Super Bad” from 1970 by James Brown. Nothing to do with dreams, cats, weather, food, coffee, or news. So what the heck, right?

Love all the different dance moves of the period the young dancer employs.

Quick reminder. Friday, Feb. 28, 2025, is a planned day of boycott. Hope you’ll participate. We are. The more the merrier. While it’s targeted on corporations which rolled back DEI policies under PINO Trusk’s encouragement, like Amazon, Target, Best Buy, PBS, NPR, Coca Cola, Pepsico, McDonald’s, Starbucks, and more. Costco is one of the few major corporations which stood firm against DEI changes. Share the news. Make it real. It begins at 00:01 AM on Feb 28th and ends at 11:59 PM.

I approached coffee with an offer and it accepted, so I’m blissfully in a cup. Hope your day delivers for you. Time to funk out. Cheers

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