My first name is Michael. My middle name is Wayne.
But that isn’t what was planned.
“Why did you name me Michael Wayne?” I asked Mom. I was looking for a story about why those names were selected, thinking something inspired my name.”
“I didn’t,” Mom said. “Your father did.”
“What?”
“I’d just given birth and I was out of it. He filled out the paperwork and named you. That’s not what I wanted.”
“What did you want?”
“You were supposed to be Dwayne Richard.”
“Dwayne Richard? Why?” And also, “Rick’s name is Richard Dwayne.” That seemed like a weird part of the puzzle. Richard Dwayne is my cousin, born a month before me.
Mom nodded. “I told your Aunt Jean that I wanted to name you Dwayne Richard. She stole it and named her son Richard Dwayne.”
Wild. I later asked Dad, “Why’d you name me Michael Wayne?”
“I didn’t.”
“Mom said you did.”
“I named you what she told me to.”
“That’s not what she said.”
“She probably doesn’t remember. She was pretty out of it. Listen, you know your mother. Do you really think I wouldn’t do exactly what she told me to do?”
I never got any satisfying reason for why my middle or first name was chosen. It’s just is what it is.
A man entered the coffee shop.Not paying much attention to him, I don’t know how old he might be.
A song was playing on the speakers: “Dancing Queen” by ABBA.
The man said to the baristas, “You know this song? I know it from Vietnam. I’d heard this song when we were surrounded by Viet Cong. Oh, man, what a nightmare.”
My mind did a little tumble as the guy hastened back out of the door. I pulled up Wikipedia to confirm what I was thinking: the Vietnam War ended in April of 1975.
“Dancing Queen” wasn’t released until August of 1976.
No way he heard that song when he was fighting in the Vietnam War.
Questions followed in my head. Was he deliberately lying, just creating something for part of a fake persona to gain attention, or had something screwed with his memory? Maybe he was just confusing songs…
Hard to say. These things happen to us. Part of being human.
Welcome, welcome, welcome. It’s Sattida, March 8, 2025. The spelling for today is inspired by memory of how one of my younger sisters used to pronounce the day. She was a sunny child. When I laughed and teased her about the way she said it, she glowered with thunder cloud intensity. That put an end to that.
Right now, we’re a 39 F but it’s climbing fast as the big swirling ball of energy breaches the blue sky. An upper limit of 64 F is expected, the weather ‘they’ tell us.
Happy International Women’s Day.International Women’s Day (IWD), marked annually on March 8, is a global day of recognition celebrating the social, economic, cultural and political achievements of women while also calling for increased gender equality.
This day has evolved from its early 20th-century socialist roots to a worldwide observance embraced by the United Nations and countless organizations globally.
The observance dates back to the first International Women’s Day in 1911 when over one million people across Europe protested for women’s suffrage and labor rights, according to UN Women.
Women are still protesting for women’s suffrage and labor rights, over 114 years later. As others note, as we witness it, the progress they’ve made is reversible. Many men will state things like, “I think it was a mistake to give women the right to vote.” So, apparently men are born with that right, but men gave it to women. What a crock of maladjusted, egotistical thinking.
The Neurons invited an Elton John song into the morning mental music stream. “Your Song” has lyrics written by Bernie Taupin. Released in 1970, I was fourteen. I found the song to be introspective, a person thinking about who they are, what they want, and where they’re going. That felt perfect for me in that age and era. Bernie wrote the song but Elton John found the inflections and tone to sharpen the focus and enrich the words’ sensibilities.
It’s in me this morning because of dreams. Not a specific dream but the way my dreams lifted me up. I admittedly view the world through a lens of disappointment. We we do not live up to our potential to be so much more. We seem to be regressing, perhaps even devolving. It could be true that we’re doing both of those things, and pondering the mechanics and influences which might make them true is a challenging bit of logic work on its own. Despite my outward anger and disappointment, I constantly experience uplifting and reassuring dreams these days. Like our state of the world, the why behind these dreams are worthy of their own thinking and writing time. We’re still explaining dreams as a species, trying to understand what creates them. Either way, my dreams’ uplifting nature feels like a gift. I’m just not sure who is sending it to me.
“Your Song” wasn’t featured in a dream, though, no. It came about from my thinking, “It’s funny how I feel inside despite my pessimism and disappointment.” It was a short flea jump from that bridge to Elton John’s opening vocals, “It’s a little bit funny, this feeling inside.”
Hope your Sattida lives up to your needs and hopes. Coffee has been welcomed into my gullet once again. Time to rock another day. Cheers
Howdy men and women, boys and girls, and all others regardless of your name, gender, or orientation. Welcome to another installment of Frieda.
Today is March 7, 2025. Blue sky and sunshine are stamping Ashlandia’s scene. Although it’s 38 F now, warming sun will carry us into the upper 50s. I can dig it.
So the Jobs Report came out, and I think I smell a con.
The US economy added 151,000 jobs in February in first full jobs report under Trump’s second term It’s like, what? How? Given all that I’d read about job losses throughout the month of Feburary, suddenly it’s good news? Call me old-fashioned but if I step in a pile of shit and it smells like shit, I call it shit. Additionally, given how the Trusk Regime has infiltrated every Federal computer system, and PINO Trusk’s propensity of lying, cheating, and being generally untrustworthy, I think there’s every reason to believe that we’re being gaslighted. That economists believed 160000 new jobs would be added blew my mind.
This is an interesting piece of the article:
In recent weeks, the Trump administration has made monumental policy shifts — including large-scale federal layoffs, funding cutbacks, a back-and-forth on tariffs and mass deportations — that have spilled into the broader economy, shaking business and consumer confidence, and resulting in several data points flashing warning signals.
However, the Department of Government Efficiency-driven employment cuts weren’t expected to make a big splash in February’s jobs report. That’s partly because of timing of the two surveys that feed in to the monthly employment snapshot and also due to the structure of employment separation agreements.
Still, Friday’s report gave a hint of what could come: The federal government posted a loss of 10,000 jobs for the month, with 3,500 of those losses coming from the US Postal Service.
So, they’re saying this is all timing? I remain incredulous.
The U2 song is about another government killing citizens. “One of U2’s most overtly political songs, its lyrics describe the horror felt by an observer of the Troubles in Northern Ireland, mainly focusing on the 1972 Bloody Sunday incident in Derry where British troops shot and killed unarmed civil rights protesters.” h/t to Wikipedia.org
Little changes, it sometimes feels. Governments kill their protesting citizens. Reminds me of PINO Trusk’s first term. Remember when he wanted to have the military shoot protestors?
Coffee has rescued me again. Hope you have a solid day. Cheers
I so dislike questions about my favorite. I don’t care about the object: book, pie, food, beer, wine, music, movie…you get it. I don’t declare absolute favorites. I can’t speak for others but IMO, my favorites often slide along a spectrum that’s driven by mood and, or, circumstances. Sometimes memories float up and a song comes on, such as Tom Petty, “Running Down A Dream”, and I think, yes, this is my favorite song. But in another place and time, another song, such as “Us and Them” by Pink Floyd, or “Zombie” by The Cranberries or “Get It On”, is played and it strikes the note for the moment, finding a bit of sympatico with my soul.
I swing the same way with food and beverages. While I have regulars I turn to, they’re not necessarily the favorite. Same with movies — “Unforgiven”, “Bladerunner”, “This Is Spinal Tap”, “Men In Black” — and books — “Catch 22”, “Catcher In the Rye”, “Lincoln in the Bardo”, or series like the Murder Bots or Chronicles of Amber. Novels…authors…genres…
I’m one of those people who believe and practice, you must be willing to take risks and face failure if you want to succeed. The classic example is learning to walk: we all must accept trying to take those first steps and risk falling in order to stay upright and put one foot in front of the other to cross a room and get where we want to go.
In my case, I’ve succeeded many times when I’ve tried. My failures have been as a sales person. I’m talking about goin’ door to door. Selling vacuum cleaners. Knife sets. Cookware. Hey, I was desperate to improve our situation and increase our income.
But I learned that I’m not a person who wants to pressure people into buying things like that. First, the products were overpriced. Second, they weren’t the greatest invention in the world, which was basically the line I was to spin. I didn’t believe it, and I didn’t accept it, and I couldn’t say it. I felt like a hypocrite and a fraud when I did.
I later learned, yes, I can sell things. I’m pretty successful at selling ideas. And I’ve sold tangible products, like coronary angioplasty products. But to succeed in that arena, I had to believe in what I was saying. And to believe, I couldn’t ignore my principles.
Understanding grew from those failures and setbacks. I learned: don’t ignore your principles. And I became known as a dependable person, trustworthy, responsible, reliable. I probably would have learned those lessons without my salesman failures but going through it helped me cement my understanding of who I am, who I’m willing to be, and what I will do to make a dollar.
In the end, I believe I’m a better person because of my failures.
Someone must’ve pressed the ‘misty’ button on today’s weather menu. 44 F, cloudy, drizzly, misty, a little sunny, the high will jump to 51, 52 F. Not a bad day, just not particularly inspiring or uplifting, here in Ashlandia.
Fortunately, I experienced uplifting, energizing dreams. Returning from them to here was a rough landing. There, I was supremely happy, eager for the day, embracing the future. Here…everything is knotted with uncertainty, fused with irritation and frustration. I keep telling myself that this too must pass. It presently feels like empty rhetoric.
Papi the ginger blade, aka Butter Butt, is doing fab, busying himself around us, scampering about with tail up, sometimes punctuating the moment with his high pitched meep. That sound gifted him his original name of Meep. My SO ordered a change. Didn’t think Meep conveyed enough gravitas. Now she calls him Butter Butt. Like, that has gravitas?
Today’s song is a product of the news. Joey Molland of Badfinger has joined the gig in the sky. Badfinger was an early rock power guitar group. The Beatles fostered them and the group lent their talents to my teenage years. With Molland’s transition, the original group’s lineage has ended. For their part, The Neurons inserted “Baby Blue” from 1972 into the morning mental music stream. The song was written about a woman who showed up and toured with them for a while, Armstrong. It wasn’t a relationship meant to last, though. I went with a recording that’s a little muddy but it shows the most successful lineup during the glory period when they were young, before things began going to crap for them.
Coffee has made another successful landing in my gullet. Let’s rock and roll. Cheers
I watched a woman enter the coffee shop. She’s familiar to me as a semi-regular. Like me, in her late sixties, I think, she walks with direct, no-nonsense style. Her hair is short but neat, and her clothing matches that no-nonsense, low maintenance image. I wonder if that’s how she is — no nonsense, direct, practical. Or is this a facade? Does she walk like that because that’s how she wants to be, and not how she is?
Fun to imagine such a character like that. Reminds me of friends I’ve had. Intelligent and capable in one arena, they were disasters in other areas of their life. Yet others were methodical, practical, and organized in all facets of life.
Memory of a co-worker’s comment to me once springs up: “Your level of organization must drive your wife nuts.” They said that while I was organizing software packages.
No, my wife has never commented on it. But when I put something away, I can tell you exactly where it is. Which, as I think about it, is exactly like both Mom and Dad.
Yesterday, sunshine was uncorked on us. Washing through blue skies, our air temp crested 70 F and lived there for a while. Gorgeous day, right?
Today, it’s 51 F and sunny. But we’re only expecting 63 F. And…rain. Still, pretty springish winter day. ‘Bout average for Ashlandia on Saturda, March 1, 2025.
Yep, a new month has begun. Sixteen percent of 2025 has been experienced. Those expecting a calm after the 2024 elections are probably disappointed. Those working for the Federal government in any capacity are likely stunned. Those hoping for lower inflation are probably too overwhelmed for emotions.
One thing unchanged are the lies that come out of Trump’s mouth. ‘Another lie’: MSNBC’s Nicolle Wallace smacks down Trump and Vance’s latest claims. No matter the subject, he will reliably lie, twist history, and bloviate, a fool who thinks himself a genius. He’s demonstrated these ‘qualities’ throughout his lifetime. Since he first announced his run for POTUS, it has been recorded and documented. And it sill goes on because his cult followers and the GOTP gleefully slurp it up by the spoonful.
Let me turn away from that. Take a coffee break for a while.
The Neurons dragged today’s song out of 2015. It came from a morning compound of wondering and cogitating as I slept-walked through the morning observances related to cleaning, feeding, eating, drinking. Prepping goes with all that. The routines induced a reflective miasma about being younger. Only, I was not the direct object of these thoughts; I was focused on Mom and Dad. Dad is with his third wife. In his nineties, he has issues but she’s younger than him by a decade and tends him well. His situation is solid.
Mom, though, is 89. She lives with her 95 year-old-fiance. It’s an old, three-story house. She falls a lot. Injuries and worries ripple out of each fall. She blames her back for her falls. I blame pride. I blame her refusal to accept her limitations and adjust her activities to their new scope. I understand; I don’t give up my routines. They’re routines because they comfort or reassure, or we enjoy them. These routines address something in our psychological makeup which isn’t easily altered.
The song is by Lukas Graham. As I went through the thought exercise of looking back, gazing forward, and reflecting on now, “7 Years Old” played in my morning mental music stream. The song is about reflections of being different ages and the attitudes and memories of that age prevail. So it was quite apt for my morning mental meandering.
Coffee and a doughnut are trespassing on my taste buds. Don’t know how they got past my defenses. Hope your day rocks in needed good ways. Here we go, in three…two…one…
I thought in depth on this. I retired from the military after twenty years. It was surprisingl easy to say good-bye to it. But I’d been ready to leave it for at least a year. The politics and hypocrisy inherent in the organization disgusted me. Also, leaving wasn’t hard because we rotated every two to four years. Little was permanent, thanks to ‘permanent change of station’ orders. I was deployed to theaters around the world, and the missions changed. While controlling nuclear weapons, war planning, and mitigating the effects of disasters were constant, as were the uniforms, the people were not. We were proficient at ending phases and saying good-bye.
That got me to thinking about how it was really about the people. Leaving IBM after fifteen years was like leaving the military: supremely easy. For the final nine years, I worked from home in southern Oregon. My co-workers were mostly voices on the phone. I’d rarely actually met any of them. My niche was small and I typically dealt with the same ten semi-strangers all week. It was boring, although it could be mentally stimulating, but mostly tedious and empty. Projects would arrive with great fanfare. Then the winnowing would begin. Many projects failed to launch. That was the business.
I left home and family when I was seventeen. Mom’s home was riotous with broken marriages and arguments. When I lived with Dad, he was an absent father. I became adept at being independent.
My wife and I have been together for over fifty years. That’s an ongoing phase. I’ve moved around the nation and around the world. Relatively little remained the same for me. Change was a constant phase.
But we usually had cats. They bonded with me more than my wife, with one exception. These cats became my buddies. At one point, I had six living with me. Another four that belonged to neighbors regularly visited. Now all are gone except one, and he’s getting old.
That’s what phase I guess it’s been hardest to let go of. Each fur friend’s death was so deeply felt that I’m weary of feeling it. My wife said the same and has declared, no more cats. I’m willing to accept that for the moment, but it’s the end of a phase, and a very long good-bye.
