Category: coffee

Sa’day’s Theme Music

Mood: Grrrrumpy

It’s raining again. Alexa notified me at 8 PM (or 2000 hours if you prefer) that it was going to start raining near me, starting around 12 AM and going intermittently until 8 PM. About 1.3 inches of rain was expected.

I was listening to the rain hitting the roof, pinging off the vents, splattering the windows, and asked, “Is it raining now?”

“Rain is expected to start at 9:30 PM.”

“Alexa, feedback. It’s 8 PM and it’s raining now.”

Rainy, gray, it’s warmish again, 50 F with a high of 52 F suggested and a low of 46 F. The gray light slanting in through the windows does nada to brighten my mood. Fog swirls around mountain pines and peaks. Dark and pretty in a tragic “Wuthering Heights” sort of fashion.

A perusal of news headlines has me opimistic for 2025. (Yes, that was snark.) Things like the costs of owning and driving a car are jumping. This was a California story. The average price paid for a new car was over $47K. Now it’s jumped to over $52K. And insurance is climbing as well. Again, it’s California, but what happens in California usually ripples out. And, this is before any PINO Trump tariffs are issued.

Then a jolly story covered how the Alum Rock school district is closing or consolidating schools. Oh, boy, let me quit reading that.

Another story told me eggs, already pricy, are going up because of the bird flu. And a related news article informed me that animals were dying from being infected with the bird flu from eating tainted meat.

Next came a recounting that those anti-vaxxing efforts in Louisana are having an effect. Louisana is seeing cases of the flu climb. Surprised? No. They’re one of two states in a ‘Very High ILI’ category. The other state is…Oregon.

What? My state. WTF? Chasing that down, I learn, gosh, vaccinations for COVID-19, RSV, and the flu are trailing data from last year, which was already trailing data from the year before. So the flu, etc., are up.

Grrrrrreat. Yes, that is sarcasm.

I got out of the news before I turned to the national and international scenes. Mood was cratered enough, thanks.

The Neurons already had music picked out and going in the morning mental music stream (Trademark sagging). “Forty Days and Forty Nights” is a 1956 blues number by Muddy Waters. The Neurons had it in my head solely on the line, “Sun shinin’ all day long, but the rain keep falling down.” Yes, it hasn’t been forty solid days if I judge on empirical evidence; it just feels like it to the wife, me, and others who engage in conversations about the weather. The ground is saturated. Rivers and creeks are up. Flooding is possible. On the possy side, our drought seems over for our part of Oregon. Other parts of the state remain abnormally dry.

Could be worse, I remind myself. We are not snowbound, etc.

The Forty Days version I selected was a Steppenwolf cover. Mom bought me the album, Steppnwolf 7, for Christmas in 1970, when the song and I were both fourteen. It has sentimenal attachments to me, see.

Okay, coffee and I have worked out an arrangement for this morning whereby I’ll brew it and pour it into my mouth and swallow. Seems like I’m doing all the work here, but I benefit from it. I don’t think coffee gets anything except perhaps some emotional satisfaction from helping me through the day. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Twosda’s Theme Music

Mood: Merryholidaysism

December 24, 2024 has claimed Twosda in Ashlandia, where the beer is local and cold. Rain fell in clunk drops all night, yielding to an un-Christmasy morning fog. Rain and sunshine have since warred around 43 degrees. Low will be 36 F and the high will be 46 F, cutting a narrow band through the day.

While Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) has shrugged off the weather and remains inside, Butter Butt (previously known as Papi the ginger blade, but also once known as Meep) continues his rigorous testing to verify that better weather is not available through a different door. Several times when he was left in through the front door, he immediately galloped to the back door for egress, as if time was now some critical aspect of his testing.

Beer with friends was done last night as we slid our weekly greet and drink up from Wednesday to Monday due to some holiday happening on Wednesday. Small gathering of the faithful but family members augmented our numbers. A fun time was experienced, as it always is. We raised our glasses in salute of new possible states, Canada, Greenland, and Panama, the latest things PINO-elect Trump has floated. TBS, except for Canada, he hasn’t actually proposed these places be states. As always, he vaguely intones what might happen, suggesting anything is possible. Anything except sanity, sure. Someone suggested Trump has generated more weirdness-based statements because other world events drew the news media’s attention; he thus issued ideas to get the spotlight back on hisself.

I took it on myself to walk the .75 miles down to the watering hole and back. I’ve done the walk many times and know that it used to take me fourteen minutes. Going wasn’t too far of a challenge, as it’s a slight downhill slope all the way, and it was early-ish, and the weather was almost balmy. Returning up the hill, buffeting by wind, spit on by rain, a few pints sloshing around inside me, consumed twenty-two minutes. By the end, my foot was a flaming riot of irritation. Some tender care and soothing words made it right in a while.

In accordance with the rules and customs, I would now air my grievances, as it’s part of that holiday, Festivus. But I’ve pretty much aired my grievances all year, not holding back to wait for one day to spout off. With that out of the way, I turn attention to the music. Staying with the whole X-mas idea, The Noel Neurons brought Eric Clapton singing and playing “Cryin’ Christmas Tears” to the morning mental music stream (Trademark wrapped). Hope you enjoy it.

Hope your days are comfy and joyous no matter what holiday you celebrate, or if you celebrate none at all. Here’s the music. Back to my regularly scheduled coffee and writnig. Cheers

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Sinda’s Theme Music

Mood: Sindawriting

The calendar declares that winter has officially entered the stage. Still feels more like a good fall rather than early winter in Ashlandia, where Teslas are found around every corner. A riled up wind is carousing around the neighborhood, stirring things up. Doesn’t sit well with our floofs. Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) says, “Merci, non.” But Papi the ginger blade insists on thinking, “Maybe it’s different now,” every fifteen minutes. Temperature isn’t bad at 49 F on this winter day, Sinda, December 22, 2024. Light rain and a high of 52 F are expected. Visuals say, yeah, that can be done. Clouds in varying densities from sheers to cotton layers in heather, oatmeal, off-white, and charcoal, pleasingly illuminated with eastern rising sunshine, set off against brittle blue sky, parade along the sky walk.

Today’s song is “Boys Don’t Cry” by the Cure. I don’t know why it’s in the morning mental music stream (Trademark blustery). I only remember one dream and it seems wholly unrelated to its tale of databases, strawberries, and fried food. Just in the kitchen, bustling about with floof feeding activities as Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) asks again about when he’s going to have his order delivered. Click, clink, bonk, the song is playing in the mmms and I’m humming along.

Done with the morning cuppa. Went down well. Brekkie is finished. Dressing’s final touches of shoes, socks, coat are needed, then I’m off to the coffee shop to cavort with muses and do the keyboard finger dance. Hope your day gives sublime satisfaction, no matter which season or weather elements are encountered.

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Sa’day’s Theme Music

Mood: Drowsaday

I slept in today. Three aspects drove it. One, my foot was cranky for rest, two, the night’s weather, and three, my bed was seductively warm and comfortable.

Foot/ankle continues getting better but I press to improve. That sometimes backfires. It’s a two-step, you know, step forward, step back, step forward, step back.

The night weather, though, holy stormy, Batman. Wind was busy when we went to bed. Rain was dumping. Few hours later, I awoke to distinctive moaning and a freight train sound. My youthful tornado experiences mumbled to my sleepy mind, “That sounds like tornado.” I checked the time – 5:05 – and rumbled out of bed and to the outside doors. Looking for tornado funnels, of course. In the dark. Hello.

Papi was out. That dumbfounded me. I checked his back patio condo. His usual refuge, it was disconcertinhly empty. Rain was spraying through the covered patio, because the wind was shoving it sideways. So it wasn’t the safe harbor that it normally was. Given that, I pelted back to the front door. See if Papi was cowering around there. Nope. I did some calling and whistling. No Papi. Repeated that in the back. Watched, waited, wondered.

Back to bed. The wind dropped the moan and its freigh train imitation. Serenity settled over the darkness. Whap, whap, whap. Papi’s familiar rap carried from the front door. I hustled out there to bring him in.

His fur was dry.

To end the tale, I fed Papi and returned to be ’bout 6:25. Settling in, I elevated my foot. Tucker found my hand and rested his head on it. Sleep hit me over the head. When my awareness next resurfaced, the timepiece’s digit were showing 9:45.

Pretty out there today, Saturday, December 21, 2024. Everything is wet but drying. Nothing in my vision’s field is wind-disturbed. Sunshine and a cloud-marbled blue sky rocks the valley. Temp of 46 with a few degrees left until we touch the high. That might be deceptive; I just watched an elderly-appearing guy making his way up the hill past my house. Wearing a light jacket with bare hands, he yanked the zipper up as far it would go and pulled his hands up into his jacket sleeves.

Today’s morning mental music stream (Trademark snoozing) occupant is Willie Williams with “Armagedeon Time”. Came ’bout from mind mutterings while listening to the wind and hoping the homeless and animals were all safe. But with lyrics like, “Lot of people won’t get no justice tonight” and “lots of people won’t get no supper tonight”, the song is a fitting tune to herald the coming year and concerns about GOP willingness cut up the nation’s social safety net.

BTW, this is it, shortest day of the year in the northern hemy. Take a few days but the days will cease their early sunsets and begin curving toward more hours of sunshine. Feels really needed as we end the tumultuous 2024.

Got coffee, had brekkie, and ready to boogie. Here’s the music. Merry solstice, ya’ll. Cheers

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Friday’s Theme Music

Mood: Friazing

Friday morning, December 20, 2024, has arrived. It crowned us with fog, wind, and surprisingly warm temps. While weather services claim our temp is 46 F, my system say 56 F. I went out there to check and agree with my system. Meanwhile, in the space to think and type that, I turned around and the fog was gone. A white slate has been dropped onto the valley. Sunshine squeezes through where and when it can.

We went around town doing stuff yesterday. People were frequently overheard or encountered remarking about the short day. We’re all eager for the solstice to arrive so more sunshine will fill our days. Just a few more nights to endure.

So much news to digest and comment upon but my brain is warning, no, slow down. Back away from that toxic stuff. But watching the Musk call the shots for the inept GOP as they try to game the system to favor PINO Trump threatens to plant a permanent scowl on my mien.

Meanwhile, a fellow blogger reminded me of The Specials, and a terrific ditty they wrote back in 1982. “The Lunatics Have Taken Over the Asylum” is gleefully playing in the morning mental music stream (Trademark sedated). A Canadian in the U.S. military who was a dozen years older than me introduced me to group and this song. The of us, along with a third, and the four children — two boys and two girls — were camping out at Okuma on Okinawa. End of a good day, a fire going as the Pacific lapped at the beach a few hundred yards away, sipping cognac, he played this on the boombox. It’s the perfect song for now. While it’s a mellow, lazy bouncy flow, the words are ideal. To wit:

The Cowboy has told us to go nuclear,

who am I to disagree?

Remember, back when they wrote this, Ronnie Reagan was the Power. Now with PINO Trump, we have a perfect crowning line:

Cuz when the madman flips the switch,

the nuclear will go for me.

Between Ronnie back then and Putin and Trump now, that’s a real fear. Putin doesn’t give a shit and PINO Trump is too empty-headed to understand the consequences of going nuclear. But the song goes on to capture capitalism’s insanity in another verse:

I’ve seen the faces of starvation,

but I just cannot see the point.

Cuz there’s so much food here today

that no one wants to take away.

Yes, there is so much wasted food in the world, often because people are overeating in restaurants or it’s prohibitively priced, goes unsold, and gets tossed. Meanwhile, people starve and beg around the corner.

Gotta move on. I introduced coffee to my neurons today, and they’re getting along well. Here’s the music, and I hope you enjoy. Here we go. Cheers

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

Mood: eeeeeaaaaaauuuuuuuuuahhhhhhhh

Just tired today, you know? Like I’m an inflatable man with a slow leak. Bent over as I sit, air seeping out, growing smaller, more flaccid, more bent.

Haven’t had coffee and brekkie yet. That might change the self-impression.

It’s Wednesday. December 18, 2024. Almost 50 F out, a wind mutters and sings like it doesn’t know all of the words. Sometimes it remembers most of the chorus. It rained in the early morning. It’s to begin raining and keep raining for most of the afternoon. A sun is been pasted into the sky among the pillows of unwashed clouds. Peeks of blue sky skittishly open and close, an amateur fan dance. Gonna get to 53 F. Not bad for the verge of winter.

Some news begins like an ugly joke. Hear the one about the bear falling on the hunter? But it’s not a joke. It’s a stupid slash of life. Bear was treed. Had been shot by the hunter and another hunter. And it fell on the hunter, who died. I’m happy for the hunter, who after all, died doing what he loved: killing other creatures. Lester Clayton Harvey Jr.

The friend turned out to be a son, and there was a group, hunting and chasing that bear. And the son, yes, says, Dad died happy.

“Dad was doing what he loved most, bear hunting with me and some of his good friends when he was injured,” his son wrote in a post on his Facebook page Dec. 11. The post included photos of the group hunting, with a bear in some of the shots.

They don’t mention if the bear died in the story. That omission speaks volumes as they praise the hunter. Caption showing a picture of the bear accompanying the article says, “A black bear climbs up a tree. A 58-year-old Virginia man is dead after a bear fell out of tree and struck him during what appears to be a hunting accident in Lunenburg County Dec. 9, 2024.”

Which isn’t what happened. Look at they shade that tale. The man died when he shot a bear in a tree after he and a group chased the bear into the tree. Reacting to its wounds, the bear fell out of the tree, killing the man.

I notice my computer is slow today. As if it’s affected by the same low-key blahs afflicting moi. Maybe it’s a December thing. The Neurons have picked up some cosmic playing which eventually unfolds and refolds into Cream playing “Crossroads” in the morning mental music stream (Trademark pending). Ah, that’ll do.

Off to make coffee and brekkie. Find something for my spirit and body. Have a better one. I believe I’m sinking down. Cheers

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Tuesday’s Wandering Thoughts

Feeling a hungim, I went out and picked up breakfasts burritos — egg, cheese, and potatoes — from our local Market of Choice. A ‘hungim’ is a ‘hungry whim’ for the uninformed.

I’m just trying to keep the language moving forward, or movfor, if you will. Hey, come on, how do you think they emerged with words like ‘yesterday’ in the past?

Now I’m back to drinking my blafee. Yes, black coffee. Cheers

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Mood: Coffeeoregonized

Rain imitated young Shirley Temple and tap danced on the house throughout the night. Now a brooding sky muses, will I let go with more rain? It’s a warmish 46 F outside with a slender promise to touch 50 F in Ashlandia on this Tuesday, December 17, 2024.

Today’s theme music comes from an Australian TV series I’m watching called “Upper Middle Bogan”. Patrick Brammal, Robyn Malcom, and Glenn Robbins, people I enjoyed in other shows, are among the stars. The episode watched last night featured a song, “Am I Ever Gonna See Your Face Again” by the Angels. I enjoyed it so I hunted for more about the song. So, that’s my theme music today. Although a ballad version was played in the episode, the song was re-released as a solid rocker. That’s what I’m featuring. Hope you enjoy it.

Just a reminder as public analysis is done over the latest school shooting. The GOP always blames mental health issues and then votes against increasing funding to address mental health issues. They instead offer thoughts and prayers. Actions speak much louder than thoughts and prayers, though. It seems like, given their lack of action, that the GOP is actually okay with people killing one another with guns, even if it is a fifteen-year-old child doing the killing. What other conclusion can be drawn from their lack of action. After all, look how fast and intensely they act out against trans and gays?

I’ve orally ingested a few solid gulps of deep, rich, hot, dark coffee, and I’m brimming with energy. Here’s the music. And away we go. Cheers

3

Sa’day’s Theme Music

Mood: coffeelifted

We’ve punched into Sa’day, 12/14/24. The line for Ashlandia’s day is 41/46/36, meaning current-high-low. But my system’s reading informs me it’s 39 in our cut of existence. Rain is falling. It commenced yesterday and didn’t let up. Hungry gray clouds have descended, eating off the mountain and tree tops like a parent going after their kids’ holiday chocolate.

Wising up to the weather, Papi is demonstrating a willingness to be flexible about going in and out, doing less of that, opting into remaining in warm, dry shelter, i.e., le house. Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) shows little interest in answering the question, “What’s the weather like out there?” He’s more inclined toward floofosphical questions like, “What’s in that bowl? What are you eating? Can I have some? Why aren’t you giving me any?” He asks these questions with bright-eyed optimism and rapt adoration. You know how it usually ends.

Went to a gospel holiday concert last night. Ashlandia’s Rogue Valley Symphony collaborated with with the Oregon Shakespeare Festival to put on a concert at the Bowmar Theater. The Florida State University Gospel Choir and their three-piece travelin’ combo — bass, drums, keyboards — were invited in, along with a soloist named Marques Jerrell Ruff. By happenstance, I ended up seated by the night’s sponsor, the guy who gave them the upfront funds to make this happen. He’s done a lot of good philanthropy work in our small town. For instance, if you ever visit Ashlanda and visit the plaza, you can check out the mural of our sister city that he and his wife commissioned. It was pleasant chatting with him about his good deeds and some mutual friends we admire.

Portion of the Guanajuato mural in Ashland, Oregon.

The concert was uplifting and fun. I definitely recommend it. Mr. Ruff and the FSU Choir are amazing singers and awesome entertainers.

It’s been a busy week and it ain’t over. Tonight is the annual Swedish Smörgåsbord at a friend’s house. Tomorrow is the Santa Claus brunch at Callahan’s on Mount Ashland. My ankle is handling most of this well, although I do reach a point toward the end where I’m ready to rip off my shoe and sock and elevate that puppy. Haven’t done that yet, despite the temptation, principally because my wife would kill me if I did.

Jill Dennison inspired The Neurons for today’s music choice. Jill is a prolific, intelligent, and insightful blogger. I admire her thinking and principles, and we frequently exchange comments. She apologized for her mood in one recent post. The Neurons responded by placing Nirvana singing “All Apologies” from 1993 into the morning mental music stream (Trademark buried). So, here’s to you, Jill.

I met coffee on a blind date in the kitchen this morning. Now I’m singing its praises. Hope your day is as excellent as circumstances allow. Here’s the music. Cheers

1

Friday’s Theme Music

Mood: temperate

It’s another Friday. This one is December 13, 2024, which triggers some, especially if they’re Knights Templars. But I’m not one and I’m not bothered by the date. Except, there’s less than two weeks until Christmas, if that’s your celebrating avenue. More importantly, the end is near — the end of the year, that is.

Today’s white blob of a sky blends in over the mountain and tree tops, fuzzying our edges and spitting on the eastern windows. Temperature is 42 F and as with yesterday, we’re just four degrees of separation from our high. Unlike yesterday, which morphed into a pleasant autumn day with wintry overtones, a brisk wind is moaning the blues, prompting a high-wind advisory.

Papi the ginger blade despairs of this wind. He beat at the door as soon as it rose. Fattened by brekkie and at least floofmentarily aware of the wind, he’s stretched out in the living room, a pretty orange and white furry binkie.

Several politically-connected matters caught my eye. One, Andy Borowitz put his humorous spin on Hegseth as Drumpf’s nominee to head Defense: “Hegseth Offers to Connect Breathalyzer to Nuclear Arsenal”. Feels hysterically funny because there’s too much truth in it. The second item was one pointed out by on Scottie’s Playground: Study: Republicans Respond to Political Polarization by Spreading Misinformation, Democrats Don’t. Some of us reacted, yes, and water tends to be wet. To see it hardwired as actual study results is satisfying because it underscores our observations that the modern American right wing can’t handle the truth and make shit up.

Finally, also out of Scottie’s Playground, is a tale of Not Good News in Florida. “Earlier this fall, Florida officials ordered transgender women in the state’s prisons to submit to breast exams. As part of a new policy for people with gender dysphoria, prison medical staff ranked the women’s breast size using a scale designed for adolescents. Those whose breasts were deemed big enough were allowed to keep their bras. Everyone else had to surrender theirs, along with anything else considered “female,” such as women’s underwear and toiletry items.”

Yes, we know that besides making shit up when they feel threatened, American Republicans tend to become crueler and treat others who aren’t like them with greater contempt and inhumanity. They’re such a misguided, fact-aversion, hate-filled, group of lying fantasists. If we had greater involvement and better critical thinking from more voting-age Americans, we wouldn’t be in this mess. But a large swath of indifference and lethargy has given power to fools, and all of us will suffer.

I have a weird song in the morning mental music stream (Trademark dated). “I’m Gonna Sit Right Down and Write Myself a Letter” originally came out in 1935, twenty-one years before my birth. It’s literally been around all my life and then some. The Neurons inserted it into the mmms after a dream in which I wrote myself a letter and then mailed it. A busy dream night, all I remember of that dream is that I as a young teen wrote myself a letter and posted it on a sunny day. Then this song begun. It’s been covered by two and a half gazillion performers. I have females and males singing it in the mmms because this was one of those songs Mom often played on her stereo hi-fi, and she sang along to it. I just surfed the net for a version which I like. Hope you know the song and like it. So here’s the late Jeff Healey with his cover. Jeff Healey and his band were in the movie Road House staring Patrick Swayze, Sam Elliott, Kelly Lynch, and Ben Gazzara in 1989.

Rain is spitting on the western windows now, and the wind’s mutterings have turned louder, angrier, and more prolonged. Coffee and I have made our daily agreement. Here’s the music. Cheers

3

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