Category: memories

Wednesday’s Theme Music

Mood: jouncy

We’re mid week, but almost the end of the month. Prepare for October; it’s coming.

We’re also entering 2023’s final calendar quarter. 2024 sees us coming and is rushing out to greet us and lick our faces. From what I read on the net, many people are dreading 2024, because of the state of politics in the US and the elections which 2024 brings us. I tend toward the optimistic side of life, so I think the justice system will triumph. I think if I fervently repeat that enough, I’ll believe it can happen. Sorry for the early cynicism.

So many in the US are misinformed as voters and citizens. Slander campaigns are on the rise from the right. They love throwing out fake narratives. They know that people remember the first thing they learn about something, and displacing that information is hard for political campaigns. Increasing the difficulty of correcting false informatin is the right wing destruction machine. It blasts out falsehoods on high volume, looping it day and night, things like the 2020 election was stolen from Trump.

Repeating this information is enough to keep people fooled. For a historic perspective, look how Dubya’s team approached Gulf War II. Their marketing changed the number of people fearing Iraq, and convince many that dire military intervention was the only way to save the world. Twenty years later, we know how that turned out.

But before 2024 arrives, we must endure the 2023 budget show. The GOP reprises this tactic just about every other year. Twenty-eight times, they’ve shut the gov’mint down in protest or to force their way on us. Coercion and fear, hypocrisy and lies, innuendo and smears; that’s our modern GOP. Lincoln weeps for what has become of the party he created.

On to lighter topics, like the weather. It’s a chilly fall AM. Brisk is the mind-friendly term. Rain has been falling intermittently in the last several days. I love the smells and sounds and its positive impact. Like many things, though, too much rain can cause as many problems as too little. Always surfing the balance, aren’t we?

Cloudy skies rule us. We expect high sixties today. It’s currently 53 F in Ashlandia, where the trees are abandoning green in favor of bright reds, yellows, oranges, and so on. Yes, the colors are flaring up all around, a beautiful sight. Wisps of burning odors from wildfires still strike me from time to time, forcing me to the net to prarie dog it and see if another fire started.

Not all is perfect in our realm, though, even with the fires dying under the rain’s. Treatment for algae blooms in our water system has festooned the water with a sharp chlorine smell and an earthy flavoring. Well, it’s drinkable, and it’s running, and it’s not killing us, so it’s a good thing. Such an optimist, I am.

Dreams again inspired The Neurons with the morning mental music stream (Trademark ludicrous). Thanks to a dream involving driving cars, I’m hearing the pop ditty, “Going Mobile” by The Who in my head. It’s off one of my favorite albums, Who’s Next. Although Daltry isn’t on this song at all, it features classic Who touches, Townsend’s guitar work and heavy, busy drumming.

Stay pos, and be strong, and power forward. My coffee fuel has been administered. I’m ready to take on things like shaving. Have a good one. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Tuesday’s Wandering Thoughts

The net can be a dizzying roller coaster. Bad news headlines, followed by humor on a friend’s blog, then disastrous breaking news, chased by sweet floof photos, which give way to dire predictions, trailed by fascinating new scientific or historic findings, war and political updates, and book reviews.

I ride throughout the day, breaking off to soothe myself with my personal writing, and then releasing all the pent tension with a relaxing game or two (or four). You know, Wordle. Spelling Bee. Sudoku.

How different from my youth. We watched television together in the family room — ‘in color’ — so it was a consensus choice. Five channels were available: PBS, the big three, and one UHF channel that washed in and out on a sea of static. Sitcoms (“Green Acres”), dramas (“Gunsmoke) and thrillers (“The Man From U.N.C.L.E.”) entertained us, or the Movie of the Week, delivering Psycho, Seven Days in May, and The Sound of Music, among a plethora of others.

Then I consider how different my mother’s childhood was. She was a little girl in Turin, Iowa, during the Depression and World War II, eating popcorn and listening to a radio with her family, or going to the hardware store to watch “I Love Lucy” on the only television in their small town.

Reaching further back, I struggle with visualizing how it was in my grandfather’s youth. He helped establish Turin a few decades before Mom was born. Guess I’ll surf the net about it and see what I find.

Once on the roller coaster, getting off it isn’t easy.

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Sunday’s Wandering Thoughts

We were on vacation for about ten days, venturing east to Pittsburgh, PA, to witness my nephew’s wedding and visit family. One of the hardest adjustments after coming home were meals. On vacation, we ate what we wanted, when we wanted, where we wanted — Chinese, Italian, Mexican, Japanese, or American. Such delicious foods, especially a few local Italian places.

One that deserves calling out is DeNunzio’s in Monoeville. It didn’t look like much when we looked at it from the parking lot.

We started with bruschetta. An appetizer like that in most Pacific Northwest establishments is small fare. Not the Denunzio’s offering. This bruschetti was quite different. Cherry tomatoes were cut in half and put in a bowl with balsamic vinegar, olive oil, and herbs. Toasted garlic bread with loaded with buffalo mozz served on a platter which was fifteen inches long and twelve inches wide. Huge, dudes, huge.

Next, salads. Mine was just arula with red onions, kalamata olives, and Italian dressing made in the restaurant, along with a basket of freshly baked bread. Tasty and satisfying.

Then came my main course, linguini with chunky marinara sauce, meatballs, and garlic bread. We joked with our server about the size of the portions and all the bread. I was full almost immediately and took my leftovers over to Mom’s house for her and her partner to finish off. I sure couldn’t, despite my inspired effort. All this was washed down with a California pinot noir.

Midway through the main course, our server came by. “Need anything?” she asked.

“Yes, could you bring us more bread?” I replied.

I’d be shortchanging you if I didn’t also mention the Italian grocer located down the street from our hotel on Mosside Blvd. Labriola’s had some terrific hot deli offerings. Two pounds of lightly breaded rolled eggplant was purchased and taken to Mom’s for one night. Chocolate filled and cheese filled cannoli was purchased from Moio’s Italian Pastry Shop for dessert.

After getting home, we felt fortunate that we don’t have these places nearby, or we’d be gaining so much weight. At the same time, my tastebuds remember the experience, and I think, I could go for a little Italian today.

Maybe we need to go east again.

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Mood: mixed

It’s a mixed tape day for me and my moods on Sunday, September 24, 2023. Our air has gotten worse in Ashlandia, where the day is somber and the streets are quiet. Awakening heavily congested, with a mild smoky odor in the air, I feel like I’m not far from a roaring fireplace where WH documents are being burned ala Mark Meadows. I crank on the air filter.

Being congested brought the usual interrogation in my head. What is the cause behind the congestion? Potential causes are wildfire smoke, cold, flu, COVID, asthma, other. I washed my nasal passages with a saline solution made for that purpose, blew my nose several times, and endured several sneezing bouts. That’s all ended. None was overly bad; the wonder about the cause is more of a problem.

The smoke is worse today. Although it’s still only ‘unhealthy’ by air quality standards, psychologically, we’ve moved into the deep ‘this sucks’ stage. It does seem to be thinning now; the mountains are looking less opaque and blue. Rain is expected today. It rained last night, though, and didn’t reduce the smoke. Time to mask up again.

Autumn is asserting control of the our regions weather. Smoke and clouds weaken the sun’s glory, rendering the sky a bland white mildewing with gray. Temperature is 63 F under ‘haze’. High temperature of 71 F has been put out there for us. A few trees are beginning to transition. Yellows and reds are streaking along a few branches.

I’m generally in favor of fall, or autumn as most of the world calls it. Lower temperatures and less smoke are associated with Ashlandia’s fall. Fall is also home to Thanksgiving, one of my favorite holidays due to the work Mom put into it when I was young and living with her. She prepared all the dishes, doing so with pride and diligence, delivering wonderful roasted turkey with all the works dinners.

Today’s music selection foisted on my by the neurons came out about thirty years ago. “Acquiesce” by Oasis is rattling around the morning mental music stream (Trademark screwed up). I think a dream inspired Der Neurons to play the song for me. The dream was a long, convoluted piece about being forceful but getting lost. One line of song lyrics is, “I don’t know how to wake the things that sleep inside.” I was instead thinking, what’s going on in me? Something feels like it’s been awakened. I can see how Les Neurons put all that together and came up with “Acquiesce”

Stay pos, be strong, and work it like you own it. I’ve had a few drams of black brew, and now I’m feeling fiesty. Here comes the music. Time to rock on. Cheers

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Saturday’s Theme Music

Mood: moody

My mood is sometimes up today, eager to get on with things. But I look outside. Smoke from wildfires filled our air overnight. A check of the indexes verify that we’ve gone into the unhealthy range. I can guess that; the light gray and white smoke obliterates views of the trees and mountains. Visibility is truncated at a few hundred yards. The smell, mildly chemical in this round, reminiscent of burning plastic, irritates my nostrils and eyes. My sinuses clog and spirits droop. I was planning to engage the yard with some cutting implements. That probably won’t happen with this smoke. Yes, I can make like a bandit, don a mask and get it done, but it’s not a critical task.

So begins Saturday, September 23, 2023.

Beyond the smoke, it’s 56 F outside, with a chance it’ll reach 76 F outside today. I’m doubtful about that, given the smoke layer blanketing it. The smoke keeps the sun out and chills the air. Sunshine is reaching the house’s backside, which faces the east.

Whenever smoke spills into the valley, like most, I search for the source. We especially worry that a new, closer fire has started. None appears on the map. With the lack of a woody smell to it, I suspected it’s a wind shift. Besides, we’ve not be warned by any government entity to get ready to pack up and go.

The smoke is snaking to us from the southwest, indicative of the California fires. This screenshot is a product of the Western Fire Chiefs Association website. Ashland, where I am, is directly north of the Happy Camp Complex.

My sister, L, is making a good recovery from her cancer surgery, but it’s early days. She received the flowers and expressed delight with them and the message. Fingers remain in the crossed position.

The Neurons are feeding the morning mental music stream (Trademark bogus) with music by Talking Heads and David Byrne. Today I’m hearing “What A Day That Was”. This song’s spirited beat and sound, and the stories conveyed, bolster my energy and optimism. The Neurons undoubtably chose this tune because of my reflections back on my nephew’s wedding last Saturday. Such a happy mood prevailed, bathing us with positive energy. What a day that was.

Stay pos, be strong, and carpe diem. I’ve carped the coffee; half a cup of the black sustaining beverage has been reduced. Here’s the tune. Hey ho, let’s go.

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Friday’s Wandering Thoughts

I was in the Pittsburgh International Airport baggage area, awaiting our luggage’s arrival as though they’re rare precious animals. We’ve already taken the first needed steps after a long flight of relieving our bowels.

It’s weirdly quiet here; sounds echo in the tall, wide chamber. Other passengers sprinkle in , surrounding the system like an army laying siege to a fort. We’re all cold, with postures as though we’re huddling. Airport A/Cs are usually set low enough to preserve popsicles.

I recognize fellow travelers, such as the tall elderly man who wobbled slowly up the jetway, and the young Japanese woman in colorful fleece pants and jacket who appears as if she’s walking while asleep. Most people are silent as they wait, checking messges or reading emails on their phones; a few start talking on cell phones, giving all of us broad strokes about where they’re at, where they’re going, what’s next for them.

A harsh buzzer bellows. The red light on its single metal tube begins spinning. Mechanical grinding and groaning rises. The metallic system commences its hurried orbit around the central chute.

We watch and wait, watch and wait, arms crossed, sighing, coughing, as the belt goes around bereft of bags. Of course, it’s the end of a journey for the bags, too. Hundreds of yards away, they left the aircraft and are traveling the system. It’s supposed to go faster than the passengers, so the passengers don’t need to wait.

That has yet to happen at any airport I’ve ever used in the United States. At last comes the thump announcing the first bag. A red hard-sided piece slides down the chute with a hiss. We crane forward to see the lucky person who claims the first bag.

It isn’t me. My bag is black, I remind myself. My wife’s bag is brown leather. Sighing, I cross my arms and look forward to the next bag, watching as it bumps along, waiting for its person to show, feeling dismayed as more bags are claimed and the others trot away. Then, finally, a flush of triumph; our bags have cometh.

Bags claimed with grunts of exertion, we hustle on to the journey’s next stage: the rental car counter. There is some relief that all has gone well. I feel myself shedding travel anxiety. Every step has the potential to disrupt safe and succeful travel. Knock wood, it’s gone well for us.

We leave the baggage area tired but smiling, pressing back into the terminal against the flow of people coming down to find their bags. Good luck, I think to them.

Good luck.

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Mood: R&R – relieved and relaxed

Today is Sunday, September 17, 2023. It’s 58 F outside with a high of 68 F on the books as the forecast. Overcast skies command the area, and heavy rain is projected later. We’re looking forward to it.

My nephew’s wedding is over. Wasn’t without a hiccup for my spouse and I. We began by going to the wrong venue. We made it to the right one in time, which was the Phipp’s Conservatory, but not the othe Phipps place, which was the gardens. But once we were in sprawling grounds, we were like, now where do we go? We saw a wedding, went through. Nope; not our wedding. By now, we began finding others like us, wandering around in search of the wedding. Instructions were given. We followed those through the maze, finding more people looking for the wedding until we were a party of twelve. “Don’t follow us,” on said. “We don’t know where we’re going.” “Safety in numbers,” I replied, and several, “Yes, good.” Eventually, the way was found and we arrived. More arrived afterward, so we weren’t the last.

The ceremony was outside, in 70 F degree air under a marbled blue and white sky shortly before sunset. The flower girls were beautiful in green satin gowns, as were the ringbearers. These were young nieces. My sister was gorgeous in a merlot satin floor length gown. None, though, was as resplendent and stunning as the bride in traditional white with a train. Quite lovely. Then there was her hubby to be, nervously chuckling, tears ready to break out, in a black tux. They were a beautiful couple, and I was pleased to be there to witness the continuation of their relationship into the next stage.

Later, there were toasts by the bride’s father and my sister. Misidentified as Susan instead of Sharon, she addressed that gaffe with amusement, rolling it into her commentary about her new daughter-in-law. The couple had met via Bumble during COVID’s early days. They told of long, aimless walks together, the burgeoning realization that they were in love, always looking forward to seeing each other, counting the days and hours when away from the other. I’m so happy for them.

Next was the first dance, Ed Sherran with “Perfect”. We watched and smiled, teary-eye as the two privately danced in public, smiling, hugging, kissing, whispering.

Then was delicious food, and the cookie table. The wedding cookie table tradition in Pittsburgh began around the nation during The Depression of the 1930s. People couldn’t afford to make wedding cakes because of butter shortages and prices, so the cookie table, a community initiative, was taken on to overcome the problem. And so it continues.

Little boxes were provided to us. I’m pleased to say that I led the way, hitting the table to admire the goods and collect my share. The rest began descending like murders of crows. Good times.

Finally the dance floor. We stormed it in waves, getting down to songs from several decades, dancing with strangers, sisters, wife, brother-in-laws, nephews, nieces.

So, for a while, we put everything aside to focus simply on this couple and their joy. We’re fortunate and privileged to be able to do so, I know, and it is flatly at odds with so much happening in the world. Everyone deserves such a day and hour, and it’s a sad testimony to our state of existence that food insecurities, wars, and disasters keep many from even enjoying a happy minute.

Stay pos, be strong, and keep building on positive experiences. Coffee is being consumed; breakfast is on hold. One of the frustrating aspects of my relationship with my wife is that she doesn’t usually want to eat until after 11 AM, and I awake hungry hours before. We compromise by alternating between satisfying our needs.

Although The Neurons kicked “Roots” (Imagine Dragons) and “Whatever Gets You Thruthe Night” (John Lennon) in the morning mental music stream (Trademark traded), I’m overruling them for Ed Sheeran and “Perfect”. Here’s the tune. Cheers

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Friday’s Theme Music

Posting note: once again victimized by WordPress; post went into autosaving mode and never left it. Had to start over, once again. And then, one more time. Sigh. Tech can be capricious but conversely, where would we be without the dang stuff?

Mood: variable, sunny to moody to frustrated to pensive

W-1. Wedding is tomorrow night. Tonight is the meet n’ greet cocktail gig. Don’t know who will attend, so anticipation has a ragged edge. Several sisters and their spouses bowed out. Bummer but they have issues they’re dealing with, such as preparing for surgery or dealing with a teenage son dealing with his newfound health issues. The son loved playing basketball; now, due to fits of dizziness caused by medication used to combat seizures, he can’t play b-ball. His weight has ballooned by twenty pounds and he’s of course, depressed. Not a good place for a fourteen year old or his parents and family.

We’ve moved hotels. The first, a Holiday Inn Express, was chosen for easy access to family and familiarity with the area, Monroeville and Penn Hills. Now we’ve shifted to the Hyatt House in Shadyside, where the wedding will be.

Weather here continues to be big sun and cool air, a pleasant, refreshing, relaxing combo. Sounds like a drink advertisement: “Drink weather, a pleasant, refreshing, relaxing flavor that your body and mind will love.”

Still reeling from the Libya flooding disaster. We just seem to pivot from disaster to disaster: within the past few weeks we surfed from Hawaii’s fires to Morocco’s quakes (over twelve thousand dead) to Hurricane Lee to Libya’s flooding (over one thousand dead) to the tropical storm formerly known as Lee, with some domestic and political drama (auto worker strikes, Hunter Biden’s legal issues, China’s missing defense minister) sprinkled over it to add depths.

Los Neurons have activated Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers with “The Waiting” (1981) in the morning mental music stream (Trademark unheard of). It’s fitting. Although well-practiced in waiting (I’m 67, been married over 48 years, and was in the military for over twenty years, things which all reinforced the need to wait for things to happen), I’m not good at it. After months of slow pacing toward the day, acceleration exploded this week. Suddenly days are falling off the cliff and the moment is here. But that sort of time change happens with many things we’re anticipating, doesn’t it.

Stay pos and be strong, and try to stay sober. I’ll do the same. Hand me that coffee, wouldja? Here’s the beats. Cheers

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Thursday’s Theme Music

Mood: brisk

It’s W-2: two days before the wedding. The women have been comparing dresses and shoes for the event and talking about their hair.

Men have been complaining about how their clothes fit.

Nervous excitement is burgeoning.

It’s September 14, 2023, in the burgh of Pitts, Pennsylvania. Lovely fallish weather with a low 70s F high. Sweeet. Family visits have been fun. Instructional. We catch up on matters of health and recent experiences, with a common refrain about how conversational matter has changed through the years; we used to talk about many other matters. We still do, but the proportions have shifted. Mom looks good, better than expected from the daily text message complaints and updates she provides. My sisters and their hubbies look well, healthy, happy, but that defies some of the topics and details they go into.

My wife and I are enjoying a swell time, although sharing a bathroom demonstrates privilege and how we’ve taken for granted having two bathrooms to spread out and do our morning things. With one BR, regimenting and rationing time and functions is required. We’re used to two places, where it can all be done in parallel, without interference from the other.

For a while, The Neurons entertain me with the song “Sisters” by Irving Berlin from 1954 in the morning mental music stream (Trademark laughable). Both parts were sung by Rosemary Clooney. I know the words well because both Mom and my wife would sing that song, although I’ve never heard the two of them sing it together. It’s a terrific ditty about love and relationships.

But those those Neuron scamps brought up D. Bowie with “Changes” from 1972, because, you know, I’m driving around the old life zones from my youth around Penn Hills and Monroeville, spotting changes and differences, right?

Stay pos, be strong and brave, and keep pressing forward. I’ll try doing the same. Coffee helps me on my journey. Hope you got something that helps you, too. Okay, pressing on. Here’s the beats. Cheers

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Mood: watchful

Tuesday, September 12, 2023. At the airport. 5:05 AM, bracing myself against the chilly night air. Dawn is haranguing the eastern darkness. We were picked up at 4:20, deposited here at 4:45, waiting for our flight now. Seems to be on time. Travelers trapped in drowsy amber drag bags, watching, listening, killing time, anxiously fidgeting. My wife and I settle and chat. Worries and anxieties are voiced on her end. I do what I can to reassure her. I’ve traveled a lot, usually alone, and just roll as I need to. She tends to work herself up into indignation and irritation.

The Neurons are playing “Leaving on A Jet Plane”. John Denver. Mama Cass. Peter, Paul, and Marry.

Of course The Neurons are playing this. What else would they be playing? Well, they’re The Neurons, so that query is wholly hypothetical. They shift to “Silver Bird”. Mark Lindsay. “Jet Airliner” – Steve Miller – comes up, which is then replaced by Pink Floyd, “Learning to Fly”. “The Letter” by The Four Tops – “Give me a ticket for an aeroplane” – supersedes it, then it’s another “Learning to Fly”, this time by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. “Come Fly with Me”, Frank Sinatra follows.

I’m reminded of how it used to be to fly, when friends, relatives, lovers would escort people down to the gate. Can’t do that these days. That’s all left beyond the security’s other side.

Then a woman tells the child with her, “Come here, stand by me.” And that changes where The Neurons are hanging around. Let that, I hear “Stand By Me”, but it’s the version made by “Playing for Change”. Okay, I’ll take that, Neurons. If I can ever harness their energy, I might be able to get more done.

So here we are, and there we go, today’s theme music. I’m looking forward to getting on the aircraft and going back to sleep as we wing down to SFO from southern Oregon. Then, after I board that next flight, I’ll indulge in a cuppa joe. Just a few more minutes and boarding will begin.

Stay pos, test negative, be strong, and remain on course. Time to board. Here’s the tune. See ya. Cheers

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