My stomach often makes noises after eating. Dinner – my late meal – is the one that has my guts singing the most. Today, weirdly, though, my stomach began booing.
My stomach has never booed before. It kind of hurt. I wondered, is my stomach booing me? Of all the body parts which might have reason to boo, I never thought that my stomach would be the first.
I realized my stomach could be booing other things. I’d just eaten pasta for dinner. This pasta is made from chickpeas. I had garlic/lemon olive oil on it. Maybe my stomach disagreed with my taste buds and brain and wanted something other than that meal.
I’d also turned on the television. Coverage of Trump making hateful comments about former President Biden was on. Like, what’s new, right? I don’t usually watch anything in which I must be forced to hear or see Trump. My stomach could have been booing him or his elements of image and voice. I can understand that. I’m with my stomach on the booing if that’s what it was all about.
But, I’d also been thinking about having watermelon for dessert and decided against that because I thought it would make me feel too full My stomach may have been booing that decision, or the subsequent decision that I was moving from the news to watch Hacks.
I don’t know. Like My Neurons, my stomach has a will of its own. It’s also not afraid to speak up. I just hope that this booing isn’t something that it plans to do more often. I wonder if I can give it something which will make it cheer?
Rain took its drops and went elsewhere. Though clouds stayed, sunshine rushed in. A swirly, restless day was had. Hot in direct sun, chilly in shadow when the wind played. We did see 66 F at our house. Now it’s dropping, expecting to stoop to the 40s overnight. Tomorrow, we’ll do it again.
For the record, this is Sunda, Mai 18, 2025.
I’ve been busy all day. This was the culmination of a cleaning project. Ashlandia and Recology were taking in trash and electronics free of charge this weekend at the transfer station. This inspired my wife and I to declare we’ll do some cleanup and rid ourselves of unused and broken old items. Beginning Twosda, I pulled, cleaned, inspected, and decided on what to do with stuff which we’d accumulated and didn’t seem to be using. I consulted with my wife as necessary. Like, we have three big boxes of china. It’s a formal dinnerware setting for twelve, acquired in Germany over a period fro 1988 to 1991. We’ve probably used them a half dozen times, and not any time in the last decade. Much of it was awarded to me as prizes in monthly, quarterly, and annual competitions at a base or specific units. Mikasa was one of the sponsors and would often give gift certificates. My wife used ones I won to buy china. No, we didn’t pitch the china. We put it aside to give to a friend who will take it to a charity boutique. A few times a year they have a big sale and include things like china. Proceeds help offset people’s cost for hospice.
My wife’s health kept her sidelined during Operation Cleanup. But I enjoyed the solitary work. While I put in a couple hours every day after writing, today was the load up and drop off. The SUV was backed up and configured. Loading began at 10:15. By 11:30, I was ready for the dump trip. I hit the line at 11:45 and inched the vehicle to the gate at 12:30. They directed me to trash and electronics, which covered my contributions. By 1 PM, I was back home.
Then I cleaned clean the car and reconfigured its seating and all that, and cleaned the garage and rearranged things to be more organized and take advantage of the cleared space. I just finished that at 6 PM. I sweated a few buckets today, and my feet are singing about their unhappiness like a bunch of hounds with the blues. I’m taking advantage of this time to post before I make my dinner.
Today’s song turned out to be “On A Carousel” by the Hollies. They released it in the 1960s. It’s a song about love and the up and down ride you’re on when you’re in love. I was using it to think about Trump. We’re going around and around with him as he whines about the judicial system and courts, ignores the Constitution, threatens anyone who disagrees with him, and then acts like an idiot who mated a jackass. Guess that would be a idioass or a jackiot. Did you hear about him and his video where he’s supposed to be playing “Don’t Stop Believin'” by Journey in concert? His connections with reality frays more every hour. His supporters don’s seem much better. Guess they’re holding on to their dreams.
Sunda, Mai 11, 2025, has arrived, per schedule. Happy Mother’s Day to all you mothers who celebrate it on this day. Happy Mother’s Day to all mothers even if you don’t celebrate it on this day.
I ordered Mom’s Mother’s Day present in April. It was delivered before the requested delivery date. I wasn’t overly concerned by that, except that Mom’s house was victimized by a wind storm that took out her power and caused her an electricity-free week plus of suffering and coping. I reported to my sister that Mom’s package was delivered, and if she has a chance, see if it’s there. I also told Mom, and repeated that message today. I didn’t call Mom but texted her. I didn’t call because she tends to drop into free verse laced with bitterness, anger, and suspicions, and doesn’t like talking on the telephone any longer because she can’t hear. Frustrating situation, as anyone who’s experienced things like this can attest.
I reminded Mom about how it used to be in my texts. Back in the day when travel was easier and less expensive, before the enshittification of so many travel aspects. I would have loved to go back there for Mother’s Day. We used to take her for brunch. She had her favorite places. In her later years, about the time she turned 70, she started eating dessert before main course, surprising me, cracking me up.
I haven’t heard back from her.
Ashlandia’s weather pulled a Trump on me.Flip flopping about the weather, one thing was promised and another thing was delivered. In the weather’s case, spring promised sunshine and warmth. Instead, we find the wind has fashioned wintry inflections. Instead of hyping “Summer is coming,” it’s singing, “Winter is coming,” ala Game of Thrones. Although it is 57 F outside right now, clouds are gathering and darkening, encouraging the wind. Today’s high will be a meager and un-Ashlandia May temperature of 64 F, if that.
Papi started today’s music. His nemesis came around last night. Gray and white, with a sneering attitude and chunky body, the interloper wasn’t moved by Papi’s loud demands for the other to surrender or leave. I went out and encouraged Papi to return inside. Papi loathed doing so. When Gray & white trotted away, Papi wanted pursuit. Finally, he surrendered to me and returned to the house’s safety.
Happening at pitch black AM, recalling the confrontation this morning invited The Neurons to add music. The music was “Surrender” by Cheap Trick. The song came onto the pop rock scene in 1978, when I was but twenty-two. It’s kind of an odd rock song as it addresses who his mother was before the narrator came on the scene versus who she is now. Then, reveal, Mom and Dad still have a wild streak that’s bared toward the son’gs finish.
But why that refrain? “Surrender, but don’t give yourself away”? Doesn’t it seem contradictory? Yes and no, to me. I think the surrender part is about giving up on some puzzling matters but leave your core values intact. But hey, it’s music. It’s rock. It doesn’t always necessarily make sense as long as it sounds good.
Coffee has been served and drunk. Shopping is on the horizon for my wife and I. Hope you have plans. Remember, doing nothing is still doing something. Cheers
“We’re seeing as a result that ports here in the U.S., the traffic has really slowed and now thousands of dockworkers and truck drivers are worried about their jobs,” a reporter said in the press briefing.
“That means we lose less money,” Trump said. “When you say it slowed down, that’s a good thing, not a bad thing.”
I agree with PINO Trump.
I have found that having my bank account, refrigerator, freezer, and pantry all almost empty is a good thing. Without money, I can’t buy replacement stuff for my pantry, refrigerator, and freezer. Things like food, and “eggs”, as PINO Trump likes to write it.
Having less food is so much healthier. Thanks to less food, I’m losing weight. With less food, I have less energy, so I’m sleeping more. That keeps me more sated with doing nothing, so I’m not out there, spending money, contributing to the local economy, accumulating stuff which I’d just need to get rid of. Thanks to having less money, I’m using my car less, buying less gas. With others like me also buying less gas and things, we keep prices down. Since we’re buying less, businesses are able to fire employees. That means those former employees are also buying less, staying home more often, and sleeping more. Win, win, win!
We’re also helping to save the environment. We don’t have the cash or means to go places. That keeps the air, land, and water, free from our cars’ pollutants. Since we don’t have money or energy, we also go on vacation less, further keeping the air clean of pollutants from aircraft. It all makes sense, in an Alice-in-Wonderland way that I’ve never realized before.
What a stable genius PINO Trump is. I so admire his brilliant logic.
This snark was brought to you by coffee. Coffee: it’s what’s for breakfast, and writing.
Sunshine beams down on us from a blue vault in Ashlandia. Already 72 F, we’ll kiss 81 F, it’s said. Lovely weather for Twosda, May 6, 2025.
I feel like I’m juggling a bobillion things today. I can’t define a bobillion except to say that it’s a number that keeps my mind whirling in different directions. Many are random minute modern matters. Then again, isn’t that the norm these days? Sure seems like it. We’ve gone from working the land to working in the office to working the phone and computer at home. Nothing to do but pursue and complete it all. Prioritize as necessary. Keep in mind is most of it is small stuff that fuels bureaucracies. But bureaucracies are the current engines that move things forward. I would now usually go on and point out that the Trusk Regime is busy tearing down bureaucracies, pointing to how much he and his Trumpnies (Trump cronies) want us to go backwards. But that point has been beaten into thin batter. If you don’t get it by now, you probably won’t until you’re personally affect and distraught at the results.
Today’s morning mental music stream is occupied by Journey. Journey had a strong presence on the rock scene in the mid-1970s to early 1980s. Today’s song is “Don’t Stop Believin'”. Released in 1981, the song became a top 10 hit in many nations. Arriving to Okinawa for military duty, I heard it often on AFN Radio and playing on jukeboxes.
Hope your day is strong and hopeful, and feeds and supports your need to keep believing. Coffee has been served. Here we go again, one more day in the United States. Cheers
An email arrived. Tricare4U received and processed a recent claim.
Uh oh.
I expect to have a bout of acute passworditis soon.
Many Americans suffer from passworditis. The condition is brought on by websites not accepting passwords despite meeting all their stated requirements. Symptoms may include deep depression, a desire to drink heavily, incoherent screaming and swearing, high blood pressure, and a feeling of deep exhaustion accompanied by a temptation to go to bed and pull the covers over your head.
I also sometimes expire these symptoms of passworditis while using WordPress, but that’s about ‘features’ which act in capricious ways.
Tricare4U is part of the Defense Department’s healthcare labyrinth. I’ve been using Tricare variations since 1995, when I retired from the Air Force. Dealing with any Tricare issue is rarely fun and never easy. Logging on is usually the worse part. This is done through DS Log On.
As my friend Jill would say, GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.
The passwords expire every 60 days. Installing a new one is a pain from hell. They have nine requirements. All are reasonable requirements. My new password meets all nine requirements. I know that because all nine requirements begin in red. As you fulfill one, it turns green. .
I must fill it into the new password box. Everything is green.
Then I add it again to confirm the password. These again show colors when it all works.
Despite everything showing as green, i.e., good to go, the submit button to complete the password change won’t come up. I stall out at that point every friggin’ time.
I used three different browsers.
Closed all windows and rebooted my computer.
Cleared my cache.
I have made twelve attempts in sixty-five minutes. I remain mired in password hell.
GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.
I’m shutting it down for now. More coffee is required before I try again. All this to see what they say about my claim. Will I owe? What obtuse reasoning will they use?
Sigh. Not a fun beginning to my Twosda. It’s not good for my health. Ironic?
A cold night surrendered to blue skies and warming sunshine. It’s 62 F now. The sun is promoting a high of 76 F. It’s said that we’ll see 81 F tomorrow. This is Munda, May 5, 2025 in Ashlandia. This is spring in Ashlandia.
Our trip last week gifted us a few things. One, my sciatica kicked in on Saturday. Too much time in a car seat. I’ve been dealing with it off and on since I was 20. I can usually feel it developing and head it off with stretching exercises. My early warning system failed me this time. I didn’t medicate but my wife suggested a Salon Pas. I slapped that thing on. I couldn’t believe the ensuing burning. I was in a recliner watching telly. The heat grew so intense, I pulled the patch off. On a whim, I popped it on my belly.
Well, call me Steve if I wasn’t surprised by the results. I suffer belly bloat. That Salon Pas patch remarkably reduced it. So I did it again yesterday. Same result. I was truly astonished and impressed and put another one on today. Only drawback from the patch at this point is hair. Yes, I’m a hairy boi. Getting that patch off required scissors and delicacy. The end result was a belly Brazil.
That’s my side. My wife could hardly get out of a chair on Friday night. She’d been complaining about pain and using different methods to address inflamation and pain. Epsom paths. Salon Pas. Valtaren. Red light therapy. Bed rest. Diet. But her weakness scared me. She’s better today but related that when we were on vacation, she worried about getting out of the bathtub. Fortunately, handles were available. Here an home, she reported a similar problem.
Her problems dig into my psyche as my sister peppers me with updates on Mom. “Mom is really debilitated. She’s confused about dates and other things.” Mom went and stayed with sis. “Mom said that she had to pee. Then she stood and began peeing. I went to help her, asking her what she needs. Mom said, I’m going to fall. I dropped everything and rushed over and caught her, keeping her from falling.” There are good answers about what to do but none are simple. Guilt spreads through me because I seem to recover. My sciatica did a quick and silent goodbye while Mom and my wife both endure. I can do little for either.
Politics again inspired The Neurons for today’s music. A conversation with my wife was the catalyst. She was reading about Conservatives complaining that the root of all of today’s problems in the USA is letting white women go to college and having the right to vote. Apparently, all those women going to college are getting liberal arts degrees and daring to think, and college screws up their thinking.
Like, WTF, seriously? Do those men really believe that? Pretty damn galling to that these people, these obviously sexist and biased shallow thinkers, think they have the right to deprive others of rights.
Included in the responses was a woman being interviewed. She said she could never vote for a woman to be POTUS. Because of hormones. What? Yes, because of hormones. If they’re going through menopause, their mood will change and they’ll go off and start a war.
The male interviewer responded, “But haven’t all the wars been started by men so far?”
The woman went wide eye and still. The video ended.
Talking about this thread of crazo thinking, we remarked, so many people underestimate others’ contributions. Maybe they learn and forget.
And that encouraged The Neurons to begin The Who and “Eminence Front” in the morning mental music stream.
Drinks flow People forget That big wheel spins, the hair thins People forget Forget they’re hiding The news slows People forget Their shares crash, hopes are dashed People forget Forget they’re hiding
Off to drink more coffee and employ my neurons in some writing. Hope your energy is up and pulls you safely through another day. Here’s the music. Cheers
Dreamland hasn’t been a happy place recently. Dreams featured me being lost and struggling. Maggots coming out of my skin. Being a broken robot. Etc. Different nights. Each brought a new horror of who I was. I disliked those dreams.
The Neurons flipped the script last night. In this one, a young and vigorous me was starting a new job. In medical device manufacturing, as I did for a few years. I was a mid-level manager. Working alone, as, again, I often did. But I had a great cast of supportive, friendly co-workers. They checked in on me. Helped me set up an office. Joked with me and came to me for my opinion, advice, and insights.
There were some messy moments. Like, my clothes became filthy from an office accident that didn’t otherwise involve me. I felt that I had to get out of those clothes but what was I going to wear? Co-workers came through with clothes they had available. Stuff planned to work after work for the gym, golfing, and dating. They willingly gave me those clothes.
I received a phone call. There was a family emergency. I needed to get somewhere that night. But my car was in the garage. A real-life friend from now, Ron, showed up. Turned out he was a co-worker. He asked me about my problem. “I’m going that way,” he said. “I can give you a ride.” We cemented arrangements.
I was so pleased. Then, chaos broke out at work. Problem after problem. While I worked to solve them, co-workers consistently came through with tools, insights, and helping hands.
The message I took away was, yes, life is messy and chaotic. But don’t worry. Others are there to help.
It was a message I really felt like I needed to hear.
May 4, 2025, broke as a Sunda. Rain falling off in the night, blue sky and clouds mix it up in a friendly competition. Sunshine comes and goes with the clouds’ permission. The weather ‘they’ is hyping a high of 65 F, part of a warming trend for the week.
Dreams delivered today’s song. The dreams didn’t include the song. Disturbing as a loud animal roar in a coal-black night, the dreams had me scribbling details for well over an hour. Part of that was the phrase, “I’ve been thinking.” More usually followed. Now, though, The Neurons picked up the phrase, found where it belonged in a song, and rolled it for me. The result in the morning mental music stream was 1990’s song by Londonbeat, “I’ve Been Thinking About You”.
I’ve also been thinking about Mom. Her house is a mess without electricity. Day 5. She was convinced yesterday to go to my sister’s house and stay the night. Mom’s live-in boyfriend stayed at his daughter’s house. Taking care of her has been increasingly difficult for him. Her drugs and illnesses dull her mind and make her moody. She snaps at him. That’s worn thin. With her mobility lessening, he’s forced to carry her. She’s lost weight and doesn’t weigh more than a few birds these days. Still, weight is weight. Repetitive bending, lifting, and twisting is wearing out his 95-year-old body. Both have refused to leave her house and move into assisted living. But with her energy diminishing, his strength dropping, her senses dulling, and his eyesight and hearing worsening, will this be the straw that changes their mind?
We don’t know. More than anything, they’re independent and stubborn. I see so much of her in myself in these matters. Intellectually, I understand. Emotionally, it’s a far more complicated path.
My coffee is half gone. The cat has completed a few laps around the inside of the house. Now he’s gone to find sunshine. I want to do the same but I’ve planned a full agenda for myself. Who knows if I’ll stay with it.
I hope the best for you and your day, and us and our days. Deep breath; here we go. Cheers
It’s days of sunshine for us here on the coast. That’s our river view from our room in Old Town Florence. Only 58 F, a sea breeze keeps the heat load down. But the view was almost forever. S’posed to be better tomorrow, as clear and sunny as today but with a high of 66 F.
Reminder: this is Wenzda, April 30, 2025. A new month lands on us tomorrow.
Today’s morning mental music stream is technically an afternoon offering. I was out somewhere today. ‘Up’ in Yachats because it’s north of here. At a park, looking out at the sunny Pacific. I heard a woman tell her child, “Stay in the middle.” That triggered a collision among The Neurons. From the pileup came a song by Ambrosia, “How Much I Feel”, from 1978. That’s all because there’s a line from the song: “So you try, try to stay in the middle.” The Neurons just stacked from there. Not really my style of song. I was surprised when my rocker buddy, Randy, used to go into that thinking and singing to self zone whenever this song came on. He enjoyed Boston and Van Halen. This song, however, had been part of his life with his wife before their divorced. It always forced another time on his present when it played.
Randy passed away two decades ago. Before Trump’s arrival on the political thing. Randy never liked Democrats. Despised Bill Clinton. Watched a lot of Fox News. I’m afraid he would have been a MAGA. So, in reflection, it’s probably best he passed away before this political era got its hooks into him.
Coffee has been consumed. And pastries. Lunch, etc. Hope your day is a great new page in another chapter of your existence. Here we go. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 