Category: Information

Sunda’s Theme Music

Greetings from Ashlandia on Sunda, June 22, 2025. Speaking weatherly, it’s a better day today than yesterday. Sure, dark clouds still clot the sky with potentially ominous intentions. But sunshine is striking, driving the air into warmer realms. We’ve already broken past 60 F, three degrees above yesterday’s high. 72 F is in sight as a possibility.

Papi the butter butt floof is much happier. He’s snuggled into the vinca where just his tiny triangular orange face is marginally visible. Yesterday, he came in and stayed, finding a place to sleep until the rain, wind, and cold had gone away.

Well, Trump attacked another country but we’re not at war, oh no.Yet.We just bombed another country. Just a strategic ‘surgical’ strike on someone Trump thought was being a bully. On a whim. A hunch. Like a bet was being made.

A bet has been made. A bet that Iran’s nuclear program was more advanced than intelligence claimed. ‘We’ – because it was our government, acting on behalf of the United States, so we’re all involved, like it or not. So ‘we’ made a bet that we knew where the facilities were, and could reach and destroy. We bet that Iran and its allies would not respond. We made a bet that the mission would be successful and cow the Iranian leadership into not striking back. Will June 21, 2025, go down as an infamous act that triggered WWIII? Time will tell. If you bet on past history, this will get messy, but it might be down the road a few years. 

We always knew Trump would attack. He’s been eager to use the military in whatever way he could to bolster his self-image. In the space of six months, he’s deployed troops against protestors and bombed another country, after, of course, threatening to invade Greenland and take it over and joking, “Maybe Canada should be our 51st state.” Ha, ha, what a brilliant funnyman. And then he claims he deserves the Nobel Peace Prize. Please, someone shut him up before I pee my pants from laughing.

Today’s musical offering comes from — ta da — Der Neurons. For some reason that isn’t plain to me, they were kicking the morning mental music stream with “Basket Case”, a 1994 song by Green Day.

Alright. Had a double helping of warm oatmeal for breakfast. Risked some blueberries in it. Mouth took it all well, knock wood. Out to the coffee shop to write out the stuff piling up in my head. I wish for good things for you today and all days. Cheers

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Saturda’s Wandering Political Thoughts

Here it comes and here we go again.

BREAKING: Donald Trump says America’s Intelligence Community is “Wrong” on Iran From The Parnas Perspective:

When a reporter referenced U.S. intelligence findings that indicate no current evidence of Iran building a nuclear weapon, Trump responded: “My intelligence community is wrong.” When informed that this assessment came from his DNI, Tulsi Gabbard, Trump reiterated: “She is wrong.”

Gosh, it all makes me flash back to the turn of the century. Dubya Bush, asleep at the wheel, missed intelligence warnings about major terrorist attacks on the United States. We know the results of that day as 9/11. That security failure was used as a platform to attack Iraq and Afghanistan.

Iraq was attacked because the Bush Administration alleged Iraq had or were developing Weapons of Mass Destruction. WMD. Everyone remember that? Remember also that our intelligence showed that wasn’t the case. Just months after telling the world that Saddam Hussein wasn’t a threat, Colin Powell did a 180 and went on a campaign to convince everyone that he now was. As then VEEP Dick Cheney cherry-picked info to give us the rational for attacking, the United States steamrolled toward war on lies, flawed intelligence, and poor reasoning.

Now, here we are, in the wake of Israel’s surprise pre-emptive attack on Iran, contemplating joining the fray. Trump, now playing a dumber version of George Dubya Bush, thinks he knows better, as TACO always does. He can’t spell, he has a poor understanding of history, he doesn’t like to read, is a terrible negotiator, has an inflated ego and lies like a Persian rug, but this fool is insisting that he knows better.

Having just closed one disastrous chapter on war in that region, he seems hellbent on dragging the United States into another. Well, time will tell, won’t it?

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Subfloofmate

Subfloofmate (floofinition) A change of animal behavior to deal with an unacceptable situation or decision. Origins: 1559, Middle Floofish from Floofieval Flooftin, subflooftamus.

In Use: “Ollie wanted treats, to which Ali said, “No, you’ve already had our treats and can’t have more because you’re getting fat,” which caused Ollie to subfloofmate his frustrations by going into the bedroom and knocking everything off the dresser.”

In Use: “Part of the success of suavexavier’s posts about his dobies is how they subfloofmate to deal with the situations he presents them, especially when it’s Bear.”

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Saturda’s Theme Music

Good morning from Ashlandia, where the temperature has jumped 49 F. Thickened clouds lurk with dark intentions, prepared to unleash rain faster than can say “It’s Biden’s fault!” The clouds are forcing the sunshine to circumnavigate the clouds, so the sunshine is low energy and uncertain as Trump’s logic. Today’s high will be 59 F, or a little higher than Trump’s IQ. Or so I read on the net. So you know it must be true.

There’s not much change on Mom and Dad. Dad is going home with his wife. Mom is at home with her boyfriend. Mom’s pain is increasing. The source is sciatica. They gave her a steroid shot at the hospital the other day; that ended the pain. Now it’s wearing off and, as these things work, her pain is returning. I’ve not heard about what’s happening with the hospitalized uncle, Dad’s brother. Then there is also the case of the missing cousin. 72 years old, I’ve never met him but he reached out to me via Facebook. See, he met my sisters years ago, after I’d left home when I was fifteen. They kept in touch. A few years ago, he noticed me commenting on their posts and asked for clarification about who I was. See, Facebook does serve some good. Now, though, he’s dropped off of Facebook. Another cousin noticed first and asked if I knew what happened to him. Nope; I contacted his half-sister (same father, different mother). She had no idea what happened to him. So I’ve reached out to his children (who I’ve never met). I’m awaiting a response. He was hospitalized for heart issues last year, and we’re worried.

Today’s music came out of dreamland. I had an interesting, unresolved and frustrating dream. As I contemplated it while doing morning business, The Neurons introduced “Sunny Came Home”, a 1997 Shawn Colvin song that had a lot of radio play. I was puzzled about why The Neurons picked that song (but then again, The Neurons usually puzzle me by what they’re doing). Yet, as I reflected on the dream, some sort of parallels between the song and my dreeam were revealed. To me, the song is about a woman struggling to make sense of things who then becomes an arsonist to ‘solve her problems’. My dream was a reflection of my struggle to make sense of things, politically and personally. The Neurons agree that this makes sense. Who knows if it’s right?

I’m drinking hot coffee again, to which I raise my hands to the heavens and give thanks for small favors. Ready to rock another Saturday. I hope good things happen for you today. Cheers

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Frida’s Wandering Political Thoughts

So many of the headlines I read today make me pause and ask, “Yes, and?”

These rural Californians voted for Trump. Now the land they love is in danger. This is solid Fuck Around and Find Out Material. Trump wanted to sell Federally owned lands during his infamous rule as 45. Saner heads prevailed back then. Now the saner heads have left his flock. Trump and the GOTP are pursuing the sale of Federally owned lands. “Oh, no!” Trump voters cry, wringing their hands. “We’ll stop him.” How? By not voting for him any longer? Dumbasses.

Study: In States with Lax Gun Laws, More Children Are Killed by Guns From Diane Ravitch’s blog. She begins, “Guns are the leading cause of death among children. A new study concludes that states that have eliminated gun restrictions have higher death rates among children than states that have retained restrictions. The National Rifle Association, which opposes any restrictions on access to guns, dissented.“

No shit! The NRA dissented! The New York Times reported on the study. Naturally, the red states will continue to ignore facts and studies like these, because, well, that’s who they firmly are. Then they’ll blame blue states for increased violence and death. SMFH.

First measles case confirmed in Utah amid national outbreaks  “The Utah diagnosis comes amid a national spike in measles cases reported in at least 36 states, according to the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. As of Thursday, there were 1,214 confirmed cases across the country and 23 outbreaks reported in 2025.”

36 out of 50 states report measles: 72%. And we’re still in the first year of PINO TACO’s Regime of Ignorance & Misinformation. Wait until the Musk DOGE cuts are fully felt.

Why are so many children getting long COVID? Newsweek reports, “It’s been more than five years since the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, although millions of Americans, including children, are still affected by it today.

“More than one million Americans died due to the virus, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), while many were floored by the infection for weeks or even months.”

Well, going out on a limb, I think it might have to do with anti-vaxxers and anti-maskers. I think they’re being encouraged by PINO TACO and his worm-eaten Secretary of Health and Human Services, Robert F. Kennedy, Jr.

Only fools are surprised by any of these trend. But then, as the news continually demonstrate, the United States has become number one in raising fools.

And too many of them are now running the government.

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Mom Update

Mom and her boyfriend appear to be ready to move out of Mom’s house.

This is a big step for Mom. Not only is it a familiar place, a comfortable place for her, but it’s rich with history. She lost her previous house in divorce proceedings when the two parties agreed that selling is what needed to be done, as neither could afford to pay the mortgage on their own. Mom then saved for years for a place that she could afford on her own. This place was finally the one. Like Mom, the house has a lot of charm. Now both are old.

Mom fixed up that home through the years. Seventeen grand and greatgrandchildren have visited it for parties, holidays, and celebrations. She hadn’t finished high school; while living in that house, she got her GED. She then went on to become a nurse, RN & LPN. She was rightfully very proud of those accomplishments.

Her house has always tidy and spotless. Cleaning and cooking, having family, are her passions. But the house, with its narrow, step stairs, are no longer a safe place for her. That’s painful to acknowledge. Her physical limitations keep her from cooking and cleaning. The grands and greats rarely visit because Mom is mostly tired, medicated, and bed-ridden. She depends on her boyfriend. Now 95, he’s finally up against limitations. He becomes dizzy and falls. It’s not a good situation for the two of them. Now, he has mass in his lung which might be cancer, but with his age, they don’t feel there’s any worthwhile treatments for him.

Like many things, there are more factors swirling underneath the surface emotions, conversations, and actions. Like, he doesn’t want to pay rent, which he would need to do in the new place, because he wants to leave money for his children, grandchildren, etc. This is mostly an ego thing because all of his offspring are well off. And if he has cancer and becomes sicker and worse…well, that doesn’t need to be spelled out. We can all visualize the added complexities.

Egos, complexities, and history are all part of the package. Nothing can just be dimissed. It must be lived through, endured, and shaped until it fits the current moment.

That’s life.

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Frida’s Theme Music

It’s supposed to be the first day of summer in Ashlandia: Frida, June 20, 2025. But it’s fifty and has a certain autumn flavor to the air. Sun and blue sky have surrendered to charcoal clouds. Rain veils aren’t there but an atmosphere of impending rain lurks. Today’s high will only be 61.

The cat is not happy. Prancing out for sunshine, he stops and looks around. “Right,” I say. “Where’s the sun?” The cat doesn’t say anything. He’s not much for conversing. “Want to come back in?” I ask. The cat’s gaze at me is rich with skepticism and disappointment. “I can’t control the sun,” I say. “I’m going back in.” I go in and close the door. A few minutes later, I check on the cat. He’s sulking. I open the door. He hurries in. “I agree,” I say. He meows for food and is given a third breakfast to make up for the sunless suffering he endured.

My mouth is healing. This is Post Op Day 2. Teeth are missing from the upper right and left sides. I’m not allowed hot stuff yet. I make oat oatmeal and let it cool, doing the same with my black coffee. I inhale the coffee’s aroma, comforting myself that I can soon gulp down a tepid splash. I make my warm water with salt and swish, rinse, and spit, as required, marking it off my mental checklist, along with two Ibuprofen and my Amoxicillin. I have pain killers but I don’t use them. Just give me some coffee, damn it.

My wife is leaving for the gym. “Do you want me to pick you up anything?” she asks.

“Sunshine,” I sniff.

“I mean food.”

“No.”

I sit and eat my chilled oatmeal and smell my coffee.

I check my phone for texts. Nothing from Dad’s side in Texas nor Mom’s side in Pittsburgh, PA. Guess both of their issues are temporarily abated.

Today’s music is “How Does It Feel” by London Grammar. The Neurons turned it loose in the morning mental music stream after my wife asked how my mouth felt. “Fine,” I answer, feeling grumbly.

The coffee is cool enough to drink. The sky has gotten darker. It’s almost time for my chlorhexidine gluconate oral rinse. I raise my cup and look out the window. “To summer.”

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Mom Updates

First, my oral surgery this morning went super. I’m recovering without issues.

I don’t know what’s going on with Dad in Texas. They’ve gone silent. I’ve requested updates.

Now, to Mom. After being found constipated and in intense pain, Mom spent the night in a hospital. Now, she’s much better, back at home, and out of pain. But, his situation isn’t sustainable.

The family of Mom’s boyfriend agree. One of them has found an apartment for them. But will Frank agree? Will he move? Someone needs to have a deep heart-to-heart with him, making him see the light, and make it happen.

As with so many things in life, easier said than done. What’s even sadder is that we have multiple couples in this area who are on the verge of becoming Frank and Mom. They’ve set themselves up to move but they’re holding off, holding off, holding off. For what, a crises? Well, in a sense, yes. Change is challnging. They’re not ‘motivated’ to move…yet. But too many people aren’t willing to see for themselves how their situation is getting worse. They convince themselves that they’ll be okay and don’t have to move, so long as they get through the latest. But the latest gets worse. It’s not a one-time event; it’s part of a deepening trend, and they won’t see it. They refuse to see it, to their detriment.

And I do understand this. Making the logical, intelligent decision to change what’s going on is one thing. But following through with the emotional component and then the physical component are often something else altogether. And you know that these people, with their life experiences and age ehind them, often do understand this. They’ve seen others go through it; that’s why they did their planning.

It’s in the execution where they fail. And again, that’s where so many of us come up short, isn’t it?

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Thursda’s Theme Music

Clouds are climbing over the mountains and shouldering the blue sky and sunshine out of the valley. It’s Thursda, June 19, 2025. Today will tap out in the low to mid 70s after breaking down to the low fifties, all Fahrenheit, in the night. Rain might be coming tomorrow, along with lower temperatures.

We’re watching a fire to our west. In the Upper Applegate/Ruch area, it’s already eaten over 350 acres. Firefighters are working it; the cooler temperatures are helping. Some smoke is slipping our way, taxing our air quality.

News about Mom is not readily available. When we last left her story, she’d been taken to the hospital where, at a few minutes after midnight, they weren’t sure they were keeping her or discharging her. She was constipated and in intense pain. They don’t know what’s causing the pain.

Today’s music is by the O’Jays. “Love Train” is part of the Philly sound. Coming out in 1972, many call it early disco but I book it as R&B. Whatever genre you label it, the song was part of a more optimistic period, when we were saying, hey, peace and brotherhood are good things and they are possible. It’s possible for us all to live side by side and not just survive but thrive. Some, though, fell behind while others were thriving. Contemptuous neer’ do wells use the gap to wedge people further apart and pour hate in. Whatever someone hates or doesn’t like, they find someone on ‘the other side’ to hate for it. The Neurons hooked it when a snatch of song was heard which may have been “Love Train”. So here we are.

It’s a short entry. I’m off for oral surgery now. Coffee, food, and any fluids are currently off limits. See you on the rebound. Cheers

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