Category: coffee

Sunda’s Theme Music

Good mornin’! It’s Sunda, February 9, 2025. Sunshine is crowding the window, pressing its rays up against the glass. We started the AM at 25 F in my locale but the sun soon had us soaring past 33 F. ‘They’ tell us 43 is possible. Don’t know if their fingers were crossed behind their backs.

The sun has been working its magic. Trees and bushes are pushing their heavy lids of snow back and stretching and flexing into their normal postures. Seeing sunshine, both floofs clamored to escape the house. Checking on them later, the two sat, eyes closed, soaking up rays on the patio’s sun-warmed cement. After being sun-doused, they returned to the house. One is now napping on a bed while the other is in a chair in sunshine snoozing.

What a night of dreams. Another military dream was among them. Classic of these dreams, I’m in the military again, and again coping with a uniform malfunction. In other words, I was out of compliance and trying to solve that. It’s my version of being pantless in school. But a twist arrived when an officer accosted me and asked, “What are you doing?” I figured he was going to ladle grief on me for my uniform. I whipped out an explanation and told him I was trying to rectify it. “Why?” he responded, surprising me. Then he added, “You retired.”

Oh, yeah.

That sunshine had me thinking, I hunger for a bouncy, energetic song. Something as an antitdote to PINO Trusk’s destruction. Drifting back into time, The Neurons surfaced with a Who offering from 1972. Although the video is silly with them miming playing their instruments and singing, the infectious blending of instruments stirred the kind of hope I felt when I was sixteen. That — and coffee — is just what my spirit ordered.

Coffee saved me again. Brekkie is done, cats are fed. Time to gen up other activities. Hope your day serves you well. Cheers

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Friedaz’s Theme Music

We’ve clocked into Friedaz, February 7, 2024. Snowfall greeted me when I checked the weather. A couple more inches had been added during night’s rule. Now 30 F, more was piling up.

Or was it? The temperature crept up to 31. 32. 32.3. 32.4.

Papi the ginger blade, aka, ginger butt, had a vet appointment. 10 AM. I’d made it three weeks ago. He was suffering fur loss, ravenous appetite and some weight loss. Hyperactive thyroid was suspected by us. We’d seen the same in Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah). In fact, based on that, we’d started sharing Tucker’s medicine with Papi. Stopped it on Monday so we could get it out of his system and see the test results.

After strapping chains onto the tires and putting a complaining Papi into a kennel, I made the drive under heavy snowfall.

Turned out that chains were only needed for our driveway and street. The city’s main roads were plowed. As we traveled west and north, the temperature rose. Snow became rain. Precipitation ceased by the time we reached the vet.

That’s okay. Little inconvenienced. Important thing is to get Papi checked and healthy. Yeah, blood work shows hyperactive thyroid. Five hundred clams later, she prescribed the same med that Tucker is getting. Wants to check him in a month.

BTW, I researched why we call money ‘clams’. Turns out that it’s an old joke, based on settlers observing natives using clams for cash. Actually, I made that up. Figure that in this era of fake news, what’s a little more?

I have a 1974 Procol Harum song, “Pandora’s Box”, in the morning mental music stream. Procol Harum often brought interesting music to the scene. This is one I knew from their albums but I don’t believe I ever heard it played on the radio. Funny enough, Aerosmith had a song with the same title in the year before. That caused some confusion among some of us. The two songs sound nothing at all alike, with vastly different intentions presented by the lyrics. I later bet a friend about who performed the song, cleverly inserting the year as part of the bet. I won but he accused me of being underhanded and taking advantage of him. Guilty! But the bet was just a beer, come on. It was at the NCO club and was five dollars for a pitcher. Of course, it was American lager…Miller Lite, I think.

Coffee has resuscitated my energy levels again. Time to get on the day and ride. Hope your day fills your needs.

Hey, look, the snow has stopped and the sun is out.

By the way, I thought I’d utilize the original spelling used today, Friedaz. In doing research, I learned that ‘day’ was actually ‘daz’ almost universally until it became Anglicized. And the prefix, Fri, was originally Frig or Frigga, after a Nordic Goddess. Those rebelling against Nordic influence because they were chaffing from looting done during Viking raids in Europe, changed it to Frie. That spelling upset Christians, as Frigga day or Frieday was a day of fasting. People thought that calling it Friedaz gave them permission to eat fried food. Hence, they started eating fried fish on Friedaz, giving rise to the Catholic rule of eating fish on Friday. The spelling was changed to try to stop people from eating fried foods on Friedaz, but it had became too embedded. Even so, a last ditch attempt was made by religious authorities: they changed the spelling to Friday. And that’s why we have that spelling.

Naw, I made that up, too. Blame the coffee. It’s always forcing me to write and say crazy things.

Until another time, cheers

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Thursdaz’s Theme Music

The sixth day of February has boarded our minds in the year of 2025 CE, a Thursdaz. Crazy frog — our home’s expression for freezing fog, based on a mondetext — has stolen the sunlight, gifting us twilight colors of, gray, white, and black. No snow falling but ‘they’ are warning us that more is on the way. It’s 32 F and greater warmth isn’t anticipated. Snow might be on the way. Or rain.

The primary roads have been plowed here but get off them and yer on yer own. Sidewalks on not cleared, so people must walk on the streets. Everyone gives pedestrians on the roads wide passage but given the environment, I imagine people walking worry with every step about someone losing control of their vehicle.

Weather caused cancellation of my first two lymphedema massage therapy sessions. Another one is scheduled for tomorrow. Also have an appointment for Papi the ginger blade, aka butter butt, Meep, and butter booger, to see what’s going on about his fur shedding.

The Ban Man is at it. Trump bans with a petulant thump. “Ban transsexuals in women’s sports.” Thump. “If I can’t have fun and play sports, neither can they.” “Ban DEI. I’m a rich white guy, born into a wealthy white household. I don’t understand how that was an advantage over others.” Thump. “Ban it all, everything that isn’t me.” Thump.

Of course, the craziness of the first term is still flowering. ‘The U.S. will take over Gaza. Move the Palestinians out.’ What? Friggin’ nuts. Then his ‘team’ scrambles to make it sound sane, plausible, and supported by everyone, and then Trump realizes how nuts he sounded and tries to change what he said. Brother.

It was a busy morning. Friend called to ask advice about his ailing cat. Another called for help with his recalcitrant computer. And, caught up with Mom drama via texts with Mom and a sis. Mom fell again. She refuses assistance and she’s been at war with her live-in boyfriend for months. She’s 89 and he’s 94. I have never witnessed him be anything but polite and nice to her but she declares him mean. My siblings and I have a lifetime of Mom so her claims draw leeriness as a first response. It’s unfortunate but she’s been married multiple times and has had several boyfriends, and drama is her drug. She makes everything contentious with everyone. It’s a sigh-inducing relationship with her.

With that gray-tinged white world staring back at us, it’s no surprise that The Neurons pulled a Cream song, “White Room”, into the morning mental music stream. It’s a Cream favorite o’ mine. A poet, Pete Brown, was responsible for the lyrics, which strike many as enigmatic. I think iyhat pushes me to look inside myself.

My favorite part is this stanza, followed by the chorus.

You said no strings could secure you at the station
Platform ticket, restless diesels,goodbye windows
I walked into such a sad time at the station
As I walked out, felt my own need, just beginning

[Chorus]
I’ll wait in the queue when the trains come back
Lie with you where the shadows run from themselves

h/t to genius.com

I like the way the stanza is belted out, angry, defiant, challenging, before the softly resigned introspection presented by the chorus.

Then, too, there are three phenomenal rock performers demonstrating their craft with bass guitar, lead guitar, and drums. Awesome.

Coffee and I introduced ourselves to one another again and I’m indulging in more caffeine-infused dark goodness. Hope your day offers some escape from the world’s woes and some satisfaction to your plans. Cheers

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Sunda’s Theme Music

Sunda, February 2, 2025, arrived in Ashlandia as inviting as a gray, wet mop. Sunshine feels like an alien life form. 35 F, the thermometer says the air temp is, and ‘they’ tell me that the temperature will punch up to 36 F. Light snow is falling.

Kind of light snow is falling. Sometimes, it’s rain, sometimes it’s sleet. A position can’t be staked and claimed for the local weather. Reactions on NextDoor about the weather are frequently amusing about this. “The forecast is for rain. Or snow! Maybe we’ll get zero inches, maybe we’ll get 88! Who knows?!!!” I can imagine someone looking a little wild-eyed and giggling to themselves typing this up. But she has aptly captured the general flow of thoughts.

Part of all this is elevation. Ashland is built on a series of southern mountain slopes. Weather changes are experienced as you slipslide up and down. Our house resides around 2100 feet. Looking up the street, where elevation increases a few hundred more, snow is visible lining roofs.

A winter storm warning is out for our area, so ‘they’ think it’s gonna be something. The rest of us are giving the forecast a jaundiced ‘we’ll see’ gaze. It is good soup weather. Soup, with hot buttered bread, as been conditioned into me. Mom had a practice of dishing out soup on days like this. Campbell’s had advertising campaigns predicated on the need. My wife is also out of that school. Her eyes and expression gain a little light as she states the idea, “This looks like a good soup day.” Best of all on a day like this, with trouble in the news — I haven’t looked but this is now the Trump era, and that’s all there is since he’s been installed as POTUS — would be a big bowl of Mom’s chili. She had an awesome recipe, and I could eat that stuff eight days a week.

Today’s theme music emerges from more conversations with my wife. A lifelong feminist who took on the ideology that everyone is born with equal rights regardless of anything else at an early age, the Trump’s administration to break the world and shove us back into the 1800s has her GRRRRRRR cranked up to eleven. The match point from the convos is that Trump respects nothing. We suspect that he doesn’t even have much self-respect; although he blusters about how great it is, his statements ring with a desperate need to be believed. That’s why he lieks his rallies, where the gullibles line up to worship him as he needs.

The other portion of these talks is that Elon Musk doesn’t respect the Trumpet at all. Being genuinely more intelligent, craven, and cruel, Musk is eagerly taking advantage of Trump to plunder the United States, with eyes on plundering the world. He has no respect for anyone but himself.

All these talking about respect invited The Neurons to pulled up a song from my teen years and dropped it into the moring mental music stream. “Respect Yourself” begins with the lyrics, “If you disrespect everbody that you run into, how in the world do you think anybody’s gonna respect you?” Trump thinks he can get respect by bullying everyone; he’s convinced himself that’s how it works, and his sycophants feed him a steady diet of ‘you got that right, sir’, so he never hears — or learns — otherwise. So this 1971 tune by The Staple Singers is dedicated to Trump and the Grand Ol’ Trump Party as they go about disrespected all others. No one is gonna give you respect in return.

Beyond the sentiments of the song, I love the funkiness dropped by the electric piano and bass. What a sweet sound. With its beat and vocals, it’s an excellent song to sing along with as you dance around the house. Feel free to turn it up loud.

Coffee has suggested that I have a cup. I didn’t want to be rude, so I agreed. And off we go, into the gray and white yonder. Look, it’s raining again. Or is that snow?

Cheers

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Saturda’s Theme Music

January of 2024 has concluded and we’ve shifted into a new month. Yes, today is Saturday, Feb 1, 2025. It’s foggy, 40, rainy, and foggy in Ashlandia, foggy enough that it’s mentioned twice. Rain commenced early Friday morning and has stayed for Saturday coffee. Looks like it might be here for dinner, too. The respective highs and lows will be 47 and 37 F degrees.

My wife and I were discussing the news yesterday. Talking about what’s going on. That immediately kicked Marvin Gaye up from the mental memory cellar into the morning mental music stream. First up was the song, “What’s Going On”. Released in 1971, Marvin Gaye’s song captured and conveyed the sense of unrest and frustration permeating the nation in those years.

But the rest of the album was also awesome. “Save the Children”. “Mercy Mercy Me”. “Inner City Blues (Makes Me Wanna Holler)”. I ended up with “Mercy Mercy Me” dominating the morning mental music stream. Gaye’s softly voiced observations, “Things aren’t what they used to be,” resonants with now. Things aren’t what they used to be, and much of it is not good.

The song’s entire title is, “Mercy Mercy Me (The Ecology)”. At the time, our environment was a disaster and getting worse. The song’s lyrics reflect this.

Whoa, ah, mercy mercy me
Oh things ain't what they used to be, no no
Where did all the blue skies go?
Poison is the wind that blows from the north and south and east

Whoa mercy, mercy me,
Oh things ain't what they used to be, no no
Oil wasted on the oceans and upon our seas, fish full of mercury

Ah, oh mercy, mercy me
Ah things ain't what they used to be, no no
Radiation under ground and in the sky
Animals and birds who live nearby are dying

Oh mercy, mercy me
Oh things ain't what they used to be
What about this overcrowded land
How much more abuse from man can she stand?

h/t to Lyric.com

Concerted efforts were made to clear up the air, land, and sea in the years since. It’s clear that the challenge is never ending. But under this repressive and regressive administration led by Trump, they’re trying to roll that back, too. The motivation behind rolling it back is to make it easier to make more money. Make ‘America First’. Which makes no sense if there’s not air that we can breathe and water that we can drink.

That makes me circle back to, what’s going on? Well, we know what’s going on. The greed of some will kill the people and the planet, and they’re good with that.

As it happens, this is also the beginning of Black History Month. Anytime is a good time to enjoy Marvin Gaye’s powerful talents, but it’s more timely today.

Coffee and I have amended our agreement for me to enjoy its company again today. Hope you have the best day you can. Enjoy the music video. Cheers

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Frieda’s Theme Music

And on the last day of January of 2025, rain fell on Ashlandia.

Yes, it’s Frieda, January 31, 2025, and rain is peppering Ashlandia. 41 F outside, ‘they’ inform us that it’ll edge close to 50 F before day surrenders to night. Visibility is limited by low, white clouds. Can’t look across the valley to see what’s happening there, or further up the southern range, to see if this precipitation has cast its lot with snow anywhere.

I’m happy with the rain, but not all in the household share the pleasure. Papi has traveled in and out in search of better weather. My wife said that at one point, she opened the door for him to come back in, but he acted like he wanted her to come outside. “I think he was saying, it’s raining, come out here and change the weather,” she related.

Alas, we don’t have the weather change app yet so we couldn’t help him. That forces him to go out and in and forces us to open and close doors for his travels. It’s become stale after ten rounds. We might be starkers by mid-afternoon.

Spending of starkers — no, I’m not going into politics yet. Too damn early to burst my spirit with tales from the dark side. I will say that I read that one Trump supporter, a Muslim, approves of Trump’s first days of activity. I’m waiting for the other shoe on that FAFO situation to drop. Like that man who wholly supported Trump’s actions until they came and took his wife away. Then, suddenly, he is crying, woe is me, and personally begging Trump himself to not take his wife away. They just don’t get it, do they? Trump and his minions care for no one but themselves. For that matter, Trump only cares about Trump. And he’ll lie in a breath without a thought. He’ll also speak without a thought, too, as he keeps proving. On further evidence, Trump supporters are like Trump in many ways, unaffected by these policies until it hits them, thinking only of themselves until it hits them, blissfully oblivious to what they say and do until it comes back and bites them in the ass.

The Neurons have brought up a 1993 Billy Joel tune. “The River of Dreams” is playing in the morning mental music stream. It has a sort of Gospel/spiritual flavor infusing it. The Neurons offered it to the stream after I’d gotten up in the middle of the night. Yes, a cat was involved. After taking care of the cat need, I had several needs, involving trips to the kitchen and the bathroom. I hadn’t turned on any lights, but we have several recessed night lights installed. Anyway, I also wandered to the window to check on the rain. That’s when the song came in. Joel sings, “In the middle of the night, I go walking in my sleep.” Seemed kinda apt at the time, in The Neurons’ opinion. Yes, although there are millions of them, the usually speak with one collective opinion.

Coffee is making its way through my systems, delivering whatever help it can. Time to fly. Hope your day is up to your hopes and aspirations wherever you might travel or whatever you do.* Here we go. Cheers

*Certain restrictions may apply.

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Wezda’s Theme Music

Here we go. It’s 2025’s first month’s final Wezda. Yes, 29 Jan. 2025. What a month it’s been. Nine days of assault on the U.S. Constitution, human rights, and common decency. Meanwhile, Ashlandia still has had no snow or rain. We’re bathing in another day of blue sky, sunshine, and stagnant air. Yowza. 33 now, up from the 26 F overnight low, we’re expecting to visit 56 F by the time the sun’s regional visit end. That’s exactly how it went yestiday, too.

Happy Chinese New Year! It’s the Year of the Snake. I don’t know what merits and deficiencies are presented by the snake in Chinese culture or elsewhere, but here in ‘Merica, snakes are deadly and are not to be trusted. So the Year of the Snake is apropros for the sick actors now occupying positions of authority in Wash., DC and the halls of power, starting with that head snake, DJ Trump and his henchmen, the GOTP.

I’m not gonna visit that shitshow yet. Not ready. Coffee and I made a handshake agreement but I’m just indulging in my first cuppa. I need more than that before approaching the news in this age. So it’s on to music.

I don’t know why Der Neurons dug up today’s song. But they have dragged “Trippin’ on a Hole in a Paper Heart” by Stone Temple Pilots into the morning mental music stream. I have part of the song’s 1996 chorus popping through my mouth: “I am I am I said, I’m not myself, I’m not dead and I’m not for sale.” Is it grunge or just modern rock? The labels are useful for many to decide before they consume it. It’s not soul, R&B, or bubblegum. I can tell you that it’s upbeat and guitar driven with solid bass lines and masterful drum work.

This is another song that I got to know while working traffic in the SF-SJ Bay Area, on my way to and from places like shopping and employment. Our main artery was Highway 101. Wherever and whenever between six AM and like 9 PM, traffic was heavy and a challenge to your sanity. Plenty of sudden, rarely explained stops, with waits to move again. So having the radio there for news and music helped.

Hope you enjoy the music and find a way through the day, whatever it brings you, whatever it brings us. Courage, as the man said to himself as the firing squad lined up. Courage.

Cheers

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Twosda’s Theme Music

This is Twosda, January 28, 2025. Sunshine has won another Ashlandia winter morning. It’s been served with a lavish side of blue sky and a big bowl of stagnant air. Temperature is 34 and will probably achieve something in the low 50s F, ‘they’ tell me. That’s where it went yesterday. They keep telling us cold weather is on the way but it’s remained generally the same for a few weeks. Still no snow, and no sign of any arriving soon. Nor have we had rain in a while. The Southern Oregon University graphics paint the scene.

I went into the stagnant air late yesterday afternoon to do a few quickies: collect mail, put out the trash and recycle, pet Papi as he rolled around on the driveway. The air had a funky smell. It reminded me of the odor that came with pouring starter fluid on charcoal briquets and lighting them. Don’t know if you’re familiar with that scent. I know it well from childhood. Not a good smell to have no matter where you walk outside. I don’t think it’s healthy, you know?

Trump and the GOTP continue their grand destruction tour. He thinks bullying Colombia with tariffs demonstrate how ‘tough’ the U.S. is. He’s such a sad joke leading a sad party. It’s terrible that ignorance et al has empowered him. Well, the FAFO hits will just keep stacking. Overreach, followed by a tipping point and a crash will bring the party to a calamitous halt. Tragically, given his obstinate nature and his circle of sycophants, the signs will be missed until it’s a HFM. That’s those morons’ proven history in this century.

In dreamland, I am now embarked on this weird erotic dream series. I seem to have one every other night for the past two weeks. My dreams often go into cycles. The normal cycles focus on driving cars, making discoveries, surviving disasters, or being reassured. I also cycle into periods of dreams that seem like adventure movies. I often wonder about the conditions which trigger these different cycles. I have a sketchy grasp on some but the bigger picture eludes me.

Der Neurons have brought music by the Offspring into the morning mental music stream. The 1997 song is called “Gone Away”. A box of thoughts kicked the song out of the mental dust and into the MMMS. Thoughts about going away, combined with thoughts of checks and powers going away, with a tincture of reflections about about who have passed, and there you have it.

Coffee made some overtures to me, and I accepted. Now we’re sitting together, enjoying a hot cuppa. Hope you have a strong day and a satisfying life. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Munda’s Theme Music

We’re rolling through January now, picking up steam for 2025. It’s the 27 and Munda. Blue skies and sunshine are storming our valley. Air temp resides at 36 F and the stagnant air has settled back in. High today will check out at 52 F, which is what we saw yesterday. No snow yet in the winter of 2024-2025 in Ashlandia. No snow yet in 2025.

Tech stocks tumbled. ‘It’ — they — are worried about China’s AI advances, but Trump occupies the Oval Office, so it’s his fault, isn’t it? Sure is. Same thinkin’ they threw at President Biden must be adhered to here and now, brothers and sisters. Trump has taken over and before his first month in office, look at how the tech industry is reacting. Tsk, tsk. Terrible, terrible, Taken a great market and turned it into trash.

The California wildfire situation has gotten worse since Trump has taken over, with new fires exploding into new areas. Why everything is burning up under Trump’s guidance. This must be the worst administration ever, the actual absolute worse. He’s done nothing to put them out. What an abysmal record on fire fighting and disasters. And it’s having such a devastating impact on multiple industries, which will translate to unemployment and inflation both rising while the insurance industry bleeds and the economy tanks. What a terrible person he is. Absolute worst person for the job, and it’s already showing in all of these areas.

The Neurons are piping the Killers into the morning mental music stream. Today’s offering is “All These Things that I have Done” from 2004. This is directly related to the U.S. political situation as Trump and the GOTP trample the Constitution and everything it stood for while attempting to drag us back into the 1800s. The song features lyrics which keep repeating, “If you can, hold on, if you can, hold on, hold on.” My word for 2025 is courage, and my motto, “If you can, hold on.”

Coffee and I re-assessed our positions and have concluded a mutual aid agreement that lets me brew and drink. So begins another day. Here’s the music. Hope you watch and listen. Cheers

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Saturday’s Theme Music

Ashlandia is soaking in blue sky and sunshine. The temperature has topped 33 degrees F. But the good weather news is that the conditions causing the stagnant air has ended. Besides causing an accumulation of pollution and reducing the air quality, stagnant air in the winter seems to amplify the cold. Feels like that cold air is just marching walls. Maybe that’s just my impression but when I mentioned it to friends, they agreed that they noticed the same. Anyway, we’ll going to scale the thermometer all the way up into the fifties again. A cold spell is on the way, though. Don’t know if it’ll bring any snow; we still have not had winter snow.

The cats inspired The Neurons this morning. The floofs began singing ‘feed me’ while I was still burrowed in my warm bed. Each took turns entering the room to sing, “Feed me.” Soon, their singing had taken on the cadence of a 1998 song by Sixpence None The Richer called “Kiss Me”. Not long after that, “Kiss Me” chased the dreams out of my head and was circulating in the morning mental music stream. I have no choice but to make it today’s theme music for this Saturday, January 25, 2025. You should mark this day as special, because historians say that there will never again be a 1/25/2025. I don’t know if you believe that, because historians are a flighty bunch, prone to partying and making wild claims.

Speaking of kissing, coffee and I have made up and kissed. There was just a small spate, brought on by my quasi-firm rule not to drink coffee after 4 PM. It hurt coffee’s feelings. So I had to apologize to it this morning, reassuring it, “Of course I’ll drink you after four.” Had to repeat it a few times because coffee was like, “You’re just saying that.” But coffee finally accepted, and now I’m drinking it again.

Hope you have a strong day in your location, no matter your activity, although certain restrictions about murder and abuse apply. Here’s the song. It’s a solid soft rock-pop offering with delicate folksy overtones. Hope it helps your Saturday on its way. Cheers

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