Tuesday’s Theme Music – All Mixed Up

Ashland, Oregon — Tuesday, March 31, 2026.

March’s last day finds a dismal spring day in our valley. Rain, 49 F, high of 60 F, cloudy. Papi curls up and broods. I’m with him.

Mom reports blood in her urine and a UTI. She said she’s reported it to the staff, but nobody has seen her about it or given her antibiotics. Sis has volunteered to pick up Mom and take her to Urgent care.

Mom also said she is walking better, using her walker, and says she only fell once, when she was using the bathroom. She only uses her wheelchair when going to the bathroom.

My sisters are suddenly talking about Mom moving to an apartment. I can guess this is being pushed by finances. It’s not sustainable for Mom to stay in assisted living. Just costs too much.

I don’t see how moving her to an apartment is better than being on her own in her house. I’m sure Mom will argue that same point with my sister. My other sister had already said that Mom can’t live alone at home because of the mechanics of living: buying and preparing food, laundry, personal hygiene, cleaning. How will being in an apartment be any different?

I’m staying mute. Let them work it out for the moment. I’m weary of saying, “But, but, but — .” They want to follow this course, let it ride.

My wife addressed politics and world news this morning. “I can understand why people aren’t keeping up with the news. Trump started a war, kidnapped a president, talks about starting other wars, the ballroom. Then there’s all these other things going on. He’s having this named after himself or that. Prices are going through the roof. It’s all crazy and upsetting.”

Florida has chosen to rename an international airport after Trump. Trump showed drawings of a Miami skyscraper that’s said to be his library.

I think Florida should go all in, rename the state after him: Trumpistan. Why will become clear as extreme weather driven by climate change sinks and damages Florida. It’ll be the perfect symbol for misplaced lies, greed, and denial.

My wife laughed when she read the article about Trump’s library, saying, “Oh, honey, we’re gonna burn everything down that you ever touched.”

“Let It Ride” is in my morning mental music stream. The Neurons promoted it after I was thinking about trying — trying to do things, figure things out and understand, try to endure. That translated to try, try, try. Hearing that in my head, The Neurons added, “Would you let it ride.” So here we are.

Sis is giving updates that she has Mom at Urgent care. No drama yet, fingers crossed, knock on wood.

Cheers