Category: food

A Cheetah Dream

I dreamed that my wife and I and several family members were traveling together. Just ending a journey together, we arrived at my house. This was a tiny but crowded place with bare cinder block walls. Included among my family was a sister and one of her daughters, and several of her grandchildren.

I was first into the house. Getting in there, I discovered a full-grown cheetah in our house. My arms were full of grocery bags, limiting what I could do. My dream brain said something like, “Holy shit, there’s a cheetah in the house.” The house was a friggin’ mess, so cluttered with junk that I struggled to walk across the floor. As I did try to walk across the floor, the cheetah gently took hold of my shirt tail in its mouth and tried pulling me in another direction.

My wife and others entered. I warned them, “There’s a cheetah in here.” They didn’t seem to pay attention but I continued, “I think he wants me to feed him. I don’t know if it’s male, to be honest, but I think he’s trying to pull me toward his food.”

That’s what the cheetah did seem to be doing. I talked to it like it was my housepet, explaining that I’d feed him in a second, but I needed to put things down and food his food first. Whenever I’d go toward where I thought the food was, the cheetah would get happy and chirp small, high-pitched mews at me. But if I turned away from its food, it’d would swat at me. Never with true menace, but still, it’s a cheetah.

Sometimes I would swear. Then a second sister, who’d joined without being noticed, would remind me of little ones being present, and I’d apologize. My niece’s husband also joined us, making my place very crowded. All through this, the cheetah paid no attention to anyone except me. Meanwhile, I kept asking the cheetah, “How did you get in here?” The dream ended as I reached for food to give the cheetah.

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Twozdaz Wandering Thoughts

This here is what they call one of those unsolicited testimonials.

My wife follows a vegan diet. I do not. But I try to accommodate her dietary choices, so I eat plant-based foods, etc. Well, two weeks ago, I spied some vegan cinnamon-toast-muffins made by Rubicon Bakers. I thought, they look good, so I bought them and took them home. Well, my instincts were right in this case, as my sweetie and I both found them moist and flavorful. Great with hot coffee.

https://www.rubiconbakers.com/muffins-gallery/vegan-cinnamon-toast-muffin

Following that success, I purchased another Rubicon Bakers product, the lemon-raspberry cupcakes. We just finished off a package — one cupcake for each of us yesterday, another one each today as dessert after dinner. We’re not total pigs, you know. And these were also wonderfully tasty.

https://www.rubiconbakers.com/store/vegan-lemon-raspberry-cupcakes

We wholeheartedly recommend them. If you see Rubicon Bakers vegan products, open your mind and give your taste buds a treat. You’ll thank me later.

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A Dream of Quinn

I dreamed last night that one of my cats came back to me. His name is Quinn. He was a tiny, long-haired, blackfoot sweetheart. In the dream, I was cleaning a house, dusting, sweeping, etc. The house seemed to be mine although it was no house recognized from real life.

Quinn, back in the day.

Quinn, a meticulously groomed cat, was matted in my dream. Seeing that, I made plans to thoroughly wash him and brush his fur and get it unmatted. Per his personality, Quinn dashed around. An intelligent and inquisitive beast, he always was there to see what was going on, but he despised change, and loud noises unsettled him and sent him scurrying off to a quiet safe place. So, in my dream, I ceased cleaning and making noise and just worked on coaxing Quinn to me and gaining his trust to de-mat him. I was just beginning to do so when the dream ended.

Papi, my current floof-in-residence, asks, why are you dreaming of other cats?

Oddly, awakening from that dream and reflecting on it stirred memories of living with Mom when I was young. Mom’s home would be noisy with cleaning. She’d get up and leap into action. After scrubbing the kitchen, she’d turn on the dishwasher. Next, a load of wash would be started. While dishes and clothes washed, she’d vacuum, creating a cacophony of modern cleaning. Then would be dusting and a thorough attack on the bathroom. We only had one. If home, I’d often be volunteered to vacuum and dust. Mind you, the house was already spotless before Mom started cleaning, but she always cleaned to the nth degree. In reflection, part of her house-cleaning approach was that her home reflected her abilities in her mind. I also think she reveled in the routines and sounds, as well as the results.

The other thing, on days like this, where clouds handicap the sunshine and cool air dishes it to the land, Mom would busy herself with making hot food like chili. Her chili depended on several cans of dark red kidney beans, a large diced white onion, a chopped up green pepper, a tin of tomato paste and another of stewed tomatoes, and a couple pounds of browned hamburger. I know this because I was also volunteered to help with this process.

I learned a lot at Mom’s elbow.

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Thirstdaz Wandering Thoughts

I was in the kitchen, looking for a dropped blueberry. “What are you doing?” my wife asked as she came around the corner.

“I lost a blueberry. Do you see a blueberry on the floor?”

“No.” She and I squinted at the hardwood floor together. “You sure you lost i?”

“Pretty sure.” I missed Quinn. Anything hit the floor and black paws was after it fast. Almost everything scared him but he was always willing to approach and sniff before giving things a bat. His ability to spot these things was useful. Papi, on the other hand, has no interest in anything falling on the ground. I once dropped some treats on the floor to see what he would do. He sat and stared at the treat before turning a puzzled expression onto me.

Without Quinn, I could not find the blueberry. Nor could my wife. While I had her, I asked, “Should I change?” We were going to dinner. I was rocking light grey slacks and a white shirt.

Her eyes went nuclear. “Absolutely. Go put on your nice blue shirt.”

She walked off.

I looked down. Something was on the floor. I picked it up. Piece of granola. I remembered dropping it two days ago. I couldn’t find it.

Probably find the blueberry in two more days. I certainly can’t depend on Papi.

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Sumpin A Lil’ Different

My wife does a lot of scrolling. Not just doom scrolling, but also watching animal, political, and humor videos. She also reads a lot and constantly prowls for more books for her TBR list.

Today she was listening to Kristen Key talking about Buffalo Wings and other matters in Buffalo, NY. I found it funny and interesting and thought, let’s share this with the world. Socialize Kristen Key’s humor. Let us all laugh a bit. Hope you enjoy it as much as me.

Cheers

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Sundaz Wandering Thoughts

I have routines. Mostly moored in sanity and routine, they help me navigate days and night and months, seasons, and years.

The regular recurring four dominate: dressing, eating, exercising writing. Dressing is actually showering, shaving, brushing my teeth, all that. We just call it dressing in our household. Why get bogged down in details? Same with eating. I’m talking about three meals, snacks, etc. All aimed in a healthy direction, based on medical limitations and bodily needs. Cooking or procuring food is part of ‘eating’.

Writing, ditto, is just something burned into every day’s DNA. I passed on it while vacationing recently, a grueling time for me. I kept writing in my head. That’s an activity that takes me out of the moment. So I made fast notes, lopped off the process, and pressed myself back into local, ‘real-world’ events, like going for a walk at sunset and admiring the waves.

But I also have a habit of deciding what three things I will do besides those things. It’s a mental list I assign myself as I talk to my wife and walk around the house each morning. Weather and other plans are taken into account. Like yesterday’s three things was hanging this new hook we purchased to drape a towel on in the bathroom, then dusting and polishing all the wood cabinets and furniture in the kitchen, dining room, foyer, and living room, and tidying paperwork. Today is a lazier day. Wash and shine the car, gas up my wife’s car, yardwork. A bonus offering is clean off some pint containers and drop them off at a friend’s place.

I’ll also read. Surf the net for news and read some fiction. That, too, is just part of my current DNA. Do both of those every day. Pet the cat, of course. Clean up after him. Also DNA-driven. He enforces it, though. Oh, and take a walk. Do that daily as well. Just who I am.

What are your plans and routines for today?

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Satyrdaz Wandering Political Thoughts

I’m struck by Trump’s vision for the United States. He’s sending the military into cities and states, even if it’s just national guard units at this point. That makes it feel like he knows he’s unpopular, that his popularity will worsen, and he’s ready to attack We the People with weapons.

He wants manufacturing and factories to return to the United States. These will supply jobs. Yes, but imagine the jobs which factory work will provide. Having never worked in one, I’m dependent on others’ experiences to provide me with any sense of how it is. I understand they’re often noisy, that the work is frequently tedious, and that the repetitive style of work causes mental, emotional, and physical issues. So it sounds like Trump’s dream for our citizens is of a weary, broken people locked up in buildings, slaving for others.

Along with that skewed vision, his regime is removing protections to keep the air, water, and earth clean and safe. We can assume, since actions speak loudest, that he’s okay with people and animals getting sick from a polluted environment. Children and the elderly would be most vulnerable, so he obviously doesn’t give a toss about their health. That’s one reason why he’s letting RFK, Jr, wreck our health systems, too. An unhealthy population will struggle to fight back. They’re too busy just trying to live. Thanks to their actions, diseases will rise again.

Trump doesn’t like protests. He dislikes dissent, such as free speech. He wants everyone to agree with him and idolize and adore him. He enforces this through his regime’s demands on the press, states, cities, universities, and businesses to align themselves with his policies, or else they’ll pay some price. We can basically discern from that that his United States would have little to do with the Bill of Rights and the freedoms embedded in them, other than amendment number 2. Trump’s staunchest MAGAts love their guns.

To make it all work, to make United States citizens willing to accept being sick and working in factories for little pay, Trump is cutting education for the public and the poor. Trump doesn’t want a thinking, intelligent electorate. He wants an ignorant and malleable population.

So that’s his vision for We the People: uneducated, poor, hungry, and sick work slaves struggling through filthy air, drinking poisoned water, all so we can sell more goods in other nations and enrich the already wealthy and well-to-do.

I think it’s one of the cruelest and ugliest visions a human being can devise. It doesn’t matter what Trump says. This is what he’s doing.

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Satyrdaz Theme Music

Welcome again to Satyrda, home this month to August 30, 2025. The sky is blue but small white clouds are sneaking in, then slowing to loiter, waiting for other clouds. I think they’re up to something. 61 F now, we’re peeking at a coolish day, with a high of just 91 F. Smoke free, our Air Quality hovers around 28, a solid green and healthy showing.

My sis-in-law and her boyfriend of six months are visiting this week. They met through a senior dating app. My wife is already annoyed with the new BF. He’s rejected all advice and insights offered but then asks for more advice. They’re arriving in SFO and driving up to Eureka for a night. Then they’re driving on to our place via Highway 101 and 199. They’re staying in a spa resort that’s actually outside of the town. Little is around it except a car dealership. We suggested places in town to stay where they can step out the front door and enjoy our small city. No; BF didn’t want that. They also specified no hiking and no walking, no river floats, no boat rides. They want to drive to Crater Lake, drive around it, and then back. Okay. Then, after three nights here, they’re driving to Carmel, south of San Francisco. O-kay. Sounds like a plan. Not a fun one, to me. They’ll be in a car quite often. We shall do what we can to provide them with good memories and a pleasant visit.

Today’s music is “Desire” by U2. Papi the ginger blade prompted it with a request for his special treats. Checking out Trump’s plans and disgusted by his love of money, The Neurons agreed that “Desire” is a good choice and thrust it into the morning mental music stream. After all, the band sings, “For the love of money, money, money, money, money.” For the love of money, power, and adulation, Trump and the GOP will do anything except anything good. Their love of money and power perverts their sense of justice and stacks their sense of entitlement and privilege to higher levels. Nothing is beneath them in their pursuit of money and power. Just when I think they can’t be an crappier as human beings, they lower the bar.

Hope that grace and peace find and hold you today and always. Coffee has found me once again. Here we go, onward. Cheers

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But, But, But

Daily writing prompt
How are you feeling right now?
View all responses

I feel like I’m on the edge. See, I’ve been writing a novel manuscript. Almost at the end, confrontations are underway. It’s tense and violent. I don’t want to stop writing, but —

Yes, life is littered with buts, those interruptions to intents and purposes. Several buts are engaging me. First, honestly, is my derriere, aka, my butt. I’ve been sitting and typing for about 80 minutes straight, and my butt is crying, “Up, damn you, up. Give me a break.” It’s classic writer’s butt.

My stomach is also complaining that it’s been too long since food was introduced to my mouth. And my coffee is cold. Just two swallows remain.

A war, then, is raging between the Writing Neurons and the Practical Neurons. The Writers want to stay and keep writing. “Damn it, man, you’re on a roll. Don’t stop now.” But the Practicals are urging, “Go get food. Run errands. Get other things done.”

The final piece of it all is time, though. Time is the empress. Much as I want to keep writing, I have real-world commitments to fulfill. So how do I feel?

Well, resigned to the inevitable brought on by the buts.

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Regulars

I am a known coffee-shop regular. The manager gives me a wave and a grin as she deals with the guard picking up the previous week’s take. I put in a fake order, an oat-milk iced siracha dusted with chocolate. The barista laughs. My usual order already awaits me at the pickup station despite five people in line ahead of me.

My favorite corner table is available. I’m soon in the writing realm, pretending to be a famous novelist. Habib approaches, bag in hand. “Michael? Cinnamon.” I don’t catch the other words as a wave of sound takes them out to sea.

I know it’s not mine. But I know another Michael is here. He’s one of five other regular Michaels I see coming through.

“No, it’s Michael’s,” I tell Habib, pointing out the other Michael. The other Michael waves and then gives me a thumbs up. Habib pivots his way.

This is how it goes in the life of a regular.

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