I believe I am a leader. But then, I’m biased. I could just be full of myself. Arrogant. Too ignorant to realize that I’m not a leader, that others are blowing smoke when they tell me, or when they told me, I was a leader.
From my perspective, I’ve always been a ‘big-picture’ person. I like organization and decisiveness. I like decisions to be made quickly. I despise people and organizations who dither while trying to create a perfect plan, a perfect solution. No plans or solutions are perfect. But then, most of it can be modified later. Sometimes the modification will be harder.
That’s the way it goes.
I have been in formal positions of leaderships for several teams, in the military, in startup businesses, and in the Fortune 500 world. In surveys and assessments, I was identified as ‘authoritarian’.
That startled me the first time. I try to be inclusive. Try to coach up by inviting my team members to participate in decision making. But then, a decision is needed. I’ll ask them to vote. It seemed like many people did not want to vote, worrying that they’d make a mistake or reveal themselves in some way that they found uncomfortable. I don’t know. I’m guessing.
I already knew that I would make mistakes. That happens. Mistakes are good, as long as people aren’t hurt, killed, or traumatized. That’s part of the equation when decisions are made. Safety first. Almost always. But not necessarily always. Prioritization is and was needed about what is going on. The other facet of that is, learn from your mistakes. Internalize them and avoid repeating them.
And I have been criticized for assuming leadership. People asked, “Who put you in charge?” Fair enough. I don’t care. Who is in charge? What are we doing? Is there a plan? What’s the objective? Why are we all standing (or sitting) around doing nothing?
There was once an adhoc project established in the command section of a military unit. I walked in and was ‘volunteered’ to be part of it. I was a senior NCO at that point. Inside were several junior NCOs and junior-grade officers. One NCO later told me that a captain said, “Master Sergeant Seidel is joining us.”
And another said, “Oh, good. He’ll organize us and make a plan.”
Because that’s just who the hell I am. A bossy guy.
It’s Thirstda, Mai 15, 2025. The weather flipped last night as a cold front jumped into the Ashlandia area. Gone is the rain. Blue sky and sunshine fill the vacated space. That translates to a cold but clear night and day, but one that gives the sun permission to warm us. 68 F is our suspected high for the day. For now, it’s 55 F.
Papi has mixed feelings about it. He’s, “No rain, yea!” But, “Cold air, boo, hiss.” Then he adds, “Sunshine, yea!” He searches for a warm and sunny spot in the backyard. Then he comes into the house and yells for treats and attention. He’s such a sweet-chirping cute floof, our wills melt like ice cubes in hot coffee, and we do as he requests.
Starbucks, where I usually write, was closed yesterday. I found out this morning that it was due to a strike. I support them. They can strike as much as needed to gain contracts and improve their conditions. Meantime, we have other coffee shops in Ashlandia. I went to Roco and staked out a place and did my writing thing, as needed.
Another coffee shop is across the street from Starbucks. I like their products but their space doesn’t work for my writing needs. They supported the SB strikers by giving them coffee. How cool is that?
Today’s music is an old favorite by the late Gary Moore. Seeing sunshine and blue skies, The Neurons fed the song, “Still Got the Blues (for You)” into my morning mental music scene. Yes, despite better weather, the blues still weigh me down. Part of this is due to Mom. She’s become such a bitter and angry person that nobody wants to spend any time with her. She can’t see her own part in her isolation, instead blaming everyone else. I believe she needs counseling to help her deal with longtime issues. She fixates on things and never lets anything go. Her history of what happened when is at huge odds with everyone else involved. Suggesting she needs therapy, though, just sends her into a greater rage and accusations that everybody hates her.
Other part of the blues is all about the political thing. It’s amazing that progress begun over two hundred years ago is getting shredded by one megalomaniac backed by right wingers. That they’re quite willing to do whatever is necessary to break down the foundations of individual freedoms and democracy to gain power for themselves, including wreck the world economy and the planet’s environment. Empathy is not in their wheelhouse. Lust for greed and power dominates their intentions. So, yeah, I’ve got the blues.
Despite the blues, I have plans. They begin with coffee. I can check that off my list of things to do for today. Have the best day you can. Cheers
Wenzda, Mai 14, 2025, is Grayda in Ashland. Gray hangs over us with gravity’s weight. Sunshine comes in and leaves quick. No rain is expected, but neither was Grayda. This is Ashlandia. We’re supposed to be basking in warmth. It has risen to 56 F. 61 F is on the menu. All these gray clouds do something to my mood. Their impact is much different if its over a crashing sea, but that scene is a coupla hundred miles away.
Today’s tune was brought to me by nature. Nature; when you want the very best.
I was out looking for pollinators. My wife and I are down. “I’ve seen one fat bumble bee,” she said, “and one dragonfly, and a looper, but that’s not really a butterfly. So I haven’t seen any butterflies.”
I recounted my count: two bees, no dragonflies, butterflies, wasps, hornets, or hummingbirds. Even the birds are frequenting our area less. We’re used to being a buzzbox of activity. This non-activity disconcerts and worries us.
Papi was with me during my pollinator watch. “Where are the butterflies?” I asked him. He rolled around on his back on the patio cement, his eyes scrunched closed and his paws working the air.
A dog barked. Papi flipped over and studied the area, his ears finetuning themselves to the dog’s position. Not in the backyard, which is fenced. And it wasn’t either of his mortal enemies, the dog to the east, or the wicked dog to the north, Cowdog.
And then, “Dog & Butterfly” by Heart started in the morning mental music stream. The Neurons’ thinking was clear in this instance. That’s often rare so I appreciated the linear clarity.
“I’m going back in, Papi,” I said. Papi yawned and stretched. A jay came to the yard and conversed. I closed the door on the scene.
Ann Wilson said about “Dog & Butterfly”, “This, like a log of songs, came from something iteral and changed to something more poetic. I was upstairs in my music room waiting for my muse. It doesn’t always happen on cue but, in hindsight, it did this time. I looked out of my window and saw the dog chasing a butterfly. He wouldn’t give up; he just kept chasing that butterfly. I thought it was impossible, yet he kept on going. The chase took on another meaning for me. Like so much in life, the spirit is undaunted, you keep going after it.
“Many people have said that it is that thought in this song that has helped them through rough times. When they’re up against the wall I life, thy could refer back to it and keep going.
“Nancy (Wilson) and I, as Heart, were new at the time in 1978 or so, and this became our personal theme song as well. Now if we don’t play it in our set, people are disappointed.” h/t to Wikipedia.org.
I think it’s a good day to help push through graydas. Sometimes these days in Trumpland feel gray and heavy despite the sunshine. I turn to music to help get through. Do what’s needed, without doing yourself harm.
Coffee has been consumed. Here we go again. Three…two…one…
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
Frida descended upon Ashlandia with lots of cloud and some precocious heat. 77 F now, May 9, 2025, is expected to crest in the low 80s as Fahrenheit measured it.
Another Papi experiment was conducted this morning. Papi is our housefloof, feline and orange in nature. He belonged to another family in the neighborhood. They left him behind when they moved. He’d already joined our household at that point.
So I learned this week that he responds well to “Psp, psp, psp.” It’s an electric change. I remember that his name when those others were supposed to be his people was Garfield. Like the comic strip and movies. So, after saying the “Psp, psp” thing, I called Papi, “Garfield.”
He was sitting in the dining room with his back toward me. I was entering the kitchen. On the “Psp, psp”, he cocked his ears and half turned his head. When I said, “Garfield,” he jerked completely around and issued a sharp, “Miaow.” To me, it seemed like acknowledgement that he knew that as his name from some once-upon-a-time period. I’ll continue calling him Papi. He knows that name as well.
I saw three stories yesterday that claimed that Trump is under pressure for various things. That, uh oh, the MAGA faithful were upset.
I laughed and scoffed under that. As long as he’s Trump, he’ll sooth them with some new lies. The right-wing media the faithful follow will read and return to their comfortable bubbles.
But hearing under pressure brought an enticement The Neurons were too weak to resist. That’s the song, “Under Pressure” by Queen and David Bowie. Back in the Freddie Mercury days. I’ve always enjoyed the song. I’ve used it as theme music before. Last time was in July, 2024. Remember what was happening in ‘Merica at that time? Yes, the election campaigning. I wrote about how old and tired Trump looked. He won. Now he looks older and more tired. For that to matter, the faithful would need to step into the sunshine of information and critical thinking. That ain’t happening.
Anyway, this version of “Under Pressure” is Queen without Mercury, with Annie Lennox and David Bowie. Watching it, I thought how Brian May and the other Queen members must feel for at least a slice of time, performing these old songs without their lead vocalist, Freddie Mercury. I know were I them, I’d have a little ache.
Reflecting on all that, I assume you know who David Bowie, et al, are. I assume you know that Freddie Mercury and David Bowie were the song’s original vocalists. I assume you know that they passed away. So many assumptions.
Also, personal opinion, but Bowie, Mercury, and Lennox are fascinating, charismatic vocalists. I felt pretty moved when they moved forward on the stage and sang the outre at 3:26.
Coffee has been indulged anew. Frida is proceeding with the usual rhythms of my life. Hope yours is an uplifting and satisfying day. Over to you. Cheers
Sunshine and warm air is spilling throug Ashlandia once again. 61 F now, Thirstda, May 8, 2025, will overtake the gorgeous day known as May 7, 2025. 80 F will be bestowed on us. Sure, it’ll be windy, that but’s okay.
The cat is happy, if I’m judging his tail right. Standing upright, like a sundial gnomon, we could use it to tell the time but he won’t stand still long enough. After eating, visiting, and grooming, he resumed his back fence residency.
Being out back depressed me. Wasn’t the sunshine. No. That’s fine and welcomed. It’s the lack of bees and butterflies. No humming birds, either. Also missing were the regular Jay visitors. All have desserted us. I hope they come back soon.
We discussed politics last night at the beery thingy. Like, re-opening Alcatraz. Such a gennyus move…not. Only a simpleton would think it is. Right now, simpletons are running the nation.
I’m late to posting this because of computer issues. I suspect it’s update stuff but basically, I’ll be busy doing stuff and thump, the computer gets
Four songs hover in the extended morning mental music stream. A common theme threads through them: small towns.
From 1975: “My Little Town”, Simon & Garfunkel. “Billboard described the song as “a good, nostalgic Americana style song that builds throughout.”[4]Cash Box said it has “catchy piano beneath historic harmony growing into a brass hook ending” and that “you’ll remember the melody by the third time you hear it.”
From 1985: “My Hometown” by Bruce Springsteen. This was a sad reflection on the demise of small towns in the United States, the end of mills, the end of jobs, stores closed up and boarded up. Reflected in the lyrics are the tensions experienced in the 1960s over segregation and integration and the violence which resulted.
1985 also brought us, “Small Town” by John Mellencamp. “”I wanted to write a song that said, ‘You don’t have to live in New York or Los Angeles to live a full life or enjoy your life.’ I was never one of those guys that grew up and thought, ‘I need to get out of here.’ It never dawned on me. I just valued having a family and staying close to friends.” h/t to Wikipedia.org
Then, from 2023, “Try That In A Small Town,” performed by Jason Aldean and written by a committee. In a review of Highway Desperado for Allmusic, Stephen Thomas Erlewine stated “All its success was based on how the single and video deliberately pushed cultural buttons; strip those away, and ‘Try That in a Small Town’ is just another in a long line of crawling, glowering, arena-country from Aldean.”
Chris Willman of Variety called it “the most contemptible country song of the decade [and] the video is worse”, saying that the song “is close to being the most cynical song ever written about the implicit moral superiority of having a limited number of neighbors” and is “a list of hellishly dystopian tropes about city evils that seems half-borrowed from Hank Williams Jr.‘s ‘A Country Boy Can Survive‘, half-borrowed from the Book of Revelation“. He said that the video “conflates the act of protesting with violent crime”.[7] Marcus K. Dowling of The Tennessean wrote that “online critics highlighted the following song lyrics as emblematic of songs heightening pro-gun violence and lynching sentiments upon many in his rural, small-town fanbase”.
Tennessee state representative Justin Jones tweeted “As Tennessee lawmakers, we have an obligation to condemn Jason Aldean’s heinous song calling for racist violence … What a shameful vision of gun extremism and vigilantism.”[24] He explicitly referred to the song as a “heinous vile racist song” which attempts to normalize “racist, violence, vigilantism and white nationalism” in a later interview on CNN.
Kevin M. Kruse, professor of history at Princeton University specializing in 20th-century America, called out the song for “calling for people who aren’t law enforcement to mete out violence against people who haven’t broken any laws,” a callout to “law and order” that is “actually lawlessnness.” h/t to wikipedia.org
For me, the subject of small towns arose as my adopted small town copes with growth and development, rising costs and diminishing prospects. We’re wrestling with the need to change but can’t agree on how to change. As with many small towns, few want to abandon ‘what worked before’. That leaves us stymied about what to do and how to do it. As exhibited in “Try That In A Small Town”, the professed preference is to gut the other side.
I’m aware I do that a lot about the MAGAs myself. We don’t see eye to eye. We lack agreement about what are facts and history, and cause and effect. The polarization depicted in the last of these four songs is becoming the norm. Part of the background noise is about gun violence. As part of the left, I’m tired of hearing about thoughts and prayers and the need to arm teachers and increase security at schools, fairs, airports, malls, and other places whenever another mass shooting takes place. Put forward is this video is the threat to escalate violence.
How do we bridge these gaps?
It’s interesting, to, that the right wing is pushing to return to the values of previous years. To what year do they want to return? To the 1960s, when civil unrest and protests swept the nation and the small towns’ death rattles began? To further back, like the 1950s, when the United States entered into trade and defense agreements and taxes were high on the wealthy? Or earlier, when lynchings of Blacks were not uncommon, women lacked rights, and deaths from back street abortions were high, and the young died from measles and other diseases.
Let’s pause, perhaps, and remember how those big box stores, like Amazon, Walmart, Lowe’s, Home Depot, grand supporters of Trump and the GOTP, drove a spike through many small town businesses. Yes, and Starbucks and Costco, too.
The day is ending. Hope it was a good one for you. It was pretty good for me. Let’s do it again tomorrow. Cheers
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
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
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
A misty veneer keeps the sunshine under wraps. Mists devour the greenery, truncating the world view to a small circle of existence. Rain keeps everything looking wet. A secure house with a little heat keeps it all cozy.
It’s Saturda, May 3, 2025, and 46 F. Not far off from the tops of 50 F.
Our ride home yesterday was uneventful. Traffic was light and moved well. Fascinating to leave the coast and arrive in a warm and sunny day in Roseburg. We stopped for gas at the Costco station there and then zipped on down I5. Total travel time was 4.5 hours, with a stop to eat egg and cheese croissant sandwiches we’d bought at a bakery that AM, and the stop at Costco for gas, using the restroom, and wandering around that Costco for a few to get a taste of it.
We did have one close moment. A semi began moving over on us. Think he saw a ramp ahead where traffic was coming on. Didn’t see my silver SUV in his mirrors alongside him. Fortunately, we had shoulder room. I snapped us left and punched the loud pedal while my wife let out a large gasp. Looking back, I saw everyone slow down behind the truck. Took a long time before people began passing that truck again.
Today’s music was inspired by AKing. They reminded me in comments of Rory Gallagher and “Bullfrog Blues”. I first heard Canned Heat do the old blues song in the 1960s. I had it as my theme music back in 2019. You know, during the first Trump administration.
Well, did you ever wake up With them bullfrogs on your mind? Well, did you ever wake up With them bullfrogs on your mind? You had to sit there laughin’ Laughin’ just to keep from crying
And many of Trump’s bellicose, Constitutional contrary, authoritarian wannabe whining texts have me shaking my head. So it’s an apt theme song for today’s political atmosphere where you have to sit there laughing just to keep from crying.
Here’s a copy of Canned Heat performing “Bullfrog Blues”.
Then here’s a tape of Rory Gallagher and his band doing a rousing performance of the same ol’ tune.
Both renditions have me remembering and grinning.
Coffee has been reintroduced into my biosystems. Neurons are beginning to fire in order. Hope your weekend rockets you to good state of mind. I’ll do my best on my head. Here we go. Cheers
