In my final three years of my US Air Force career, I was involved in the Quality Air Force initiative of the 1990s. This dram seemed to pull out of that.
I wasn’t in uniform during the dream at all but quality management was constantly referenced. To begin, I was in a modern classroom with many others. We were there by invitation to participate in a quality management session.
I didn’t know the man in charge. Large-bodied, white, tall, and bald, with a small mustache, I did know his work and was eager and excited to be included in his project. His name was never given.
As we invitees sat and waited in the glass room, he walked around the room before calling out four names. I was on called. Pleased, I went up to him. He told me and the other three that we had ‘outstanding and extensive’ quality management experience and so he was presenting us with the opportunity to be his class assistant. Flattered and eager, I accepted, and he gave me a little booklet to use.
That’s all the dream was but short as it was, it felt strongly re-affirming.
A sense of community often ends at the parking lot. Signs warn who may share their parking lot. Even on weekends and holidays when businesses and institutions are closed, they warn, “Parking Reserved for Customers”, or the like, threatening scofflaws with towing and fines.
Otherwise, it’s thanks for visiting and enjoy your day.
Sprummer continues its Ashlandia rule, with signs of summer leaking in. Already 72 F and intensely sunny, clouds have shifted in, and our high will crest at 87 F. Meanwhile, cooler temps are petering in, according to forecasts, with highs dropping into the upper seventies.
I injured my right ankle again last night. Just stepped up onto the door’s threshold and that thing went snap crack and I was down and in pain. A night of RICE helped and I can hobble today but I need to follow up with ortho and pursue the answer to the question, what the heck?
The cats’ responses to my injury and condition was amusing and interesting. When I sang my song of pain and flopped down, Papi reacted, “Run away!” Tucker came over and rubbed his head against mine and purred.
Later, when my wife had set me up with my RICE package, Papi wanted out. Now, he normally pays little attention to my wife. This time, he came in, walked past me, and appealed to her to let him out.
Meanwhile, Tucker was yelling for food in the night’s depths. This was despite his bowl full of kibble. I shouted back that I was in pain and couldn’t help him so please have some empathy and shut the fuck up. Well, he was immediately quiet, and then came to me on the bed, settled himself against me and purred.
I owe Marjorie Taylor Greene for today’s music in the morning mental music stream (Trademark drifing). In an interview with convicted liar Paul Bannon (cough, cough) about Greene’s stand on defunding NATO, MTG accused Rachel Maddow of being the fringe. She of the wildfire-causing space lasers said, “It’s not fringe at all. It’s also not fringe because most Americans also agree that the United States should not be funding a war in Ukraine.”
“So when we’re going to talk about the question, we’re going to ask the question, who is fringe?” she added. “It’s actually Rachel Maddow is the fringe person in this story. It’s not me. It’s Rachel Maddow.”
Guess that makes me fringe, as I support NATO. See, I remember why NATO was created in WWII’s aftermath. And I support Ukraine in the face of Russia’s wars and attempts to forcibly rebuild the USSR.
Anyway, as I laughed at MTG, The Neurons pulled up Bob Dylan’s song, “It Ain’t Me Babe”. There are several versons but I went with Dylan’s original. I just like its simplicity.
Stay positive, remain strong, and Vote Blue in 2024. Here’s the music. See you on the other side of midnight. Cheers
The numbers are in for today, Sunday, June 9 2024. 55, 65, 83, our low, current, and expected high for Ashlandia, all in F. The numbers show that our sprummer run remains intact.
My cats are doing well. Still lovin’ sprummer. Tucker has been reborn. But that encourages him to think he’s a young ‘un. Now he wants to spend all his time outdoors. “No,” I tell him. “You’re an elderly housefloof. You’re better off indoors.”
“YOOOWWWLLLL!” he shouts back. “YOOOWWWLLLL. MeeeOWWWLLLL.” He’ll do this until my wife or I leap up and open the door, telling Tucker, “Fine, go get eaten by a cougar but don’t complain to us when it happens. We tried to tell you but you won’t listen.”
Tucker usuallly replies with a haughty, “Murpf.” Everyone owned by a cat knows what murpf means.
It’s National Donald Duck Day FYI. I’m not celebrating it, myself. I’m sure it’s a big deal to someone on this world.
No, I’m celebrating Space Appreciation Day. This is not the same as National Space Day, celebrated in May. Space Appreciation Day is not about the region beyond Earth’s atmosphere or all that ‘out there’ in the dark, starry night.
Space Appreciation Day is about private space. Leg room and elbow room during air travel or in movie theaters. Or room in bed to turn over without leaving the mattress. That’s what Space Appreciation Day, often shortened to SAD, is all about.
Take, for example, writing at the coffee shop. SAD comes into its own there. I don’t want to hear others’ phone calls. First, I’m usually only hearing one side of it, forcing me to provide the other end. Like:
“It’s scheduled for tomorrow afternoon,” I hear in the coffee shop. Which I fill in to mean, the contract killer is making the hit.
Nor do I want to be a close party to others’ sneezes. Likewise, I don’t want to share my sneezes with others because I see the accusing, wary looks they use afterward. (“What does THAT guy have? He looks like he migh be dying. Maybe I should leave or mask up.”) Ideally, I’ll have a radius of twelve feet between me and anyone else in the coffee shop. And that’s what I pray for when I dance and make sacrifices to the Gods of Space on SAD.
The Neurons wanted to play along but when I thought about space and the distance between me and other objects, they came back with the realm outside of planets’ atmospheres. So I ended up with Muse singing “Starlight” from 2006 in the morning mental music stream (Trademark out there).
Be strong and positive, and enjoy your SAD, however you decide to celebrate it. Vote Blue 2024. I’ve begun the coffee ingestion process, and we have lift off. Here’s the music. Cheers
“You make me feel so young,” I told the day. “You make me feel like summer has come.”
Yes, it’s sprummer in Ashlandia, where the crows’ conversations dominate the morning’s sounds. Today is Jun 6, 2024. School is out. Light clouds sketch patterns over the blue sky but mild haze mars our western view. Dust, pollen, fire somewhere? Don’t know yet.
Our temperature currently resides at 70 F. That’s a temporary stop, up sixteen from when the cats forced me out of bed. 88 F is our forecasted high.
In surprise news, Mom is receiving her hospital bed back in Penn Hills. Last that I knew, back on Monday, more paperwork of an unexplained nature was needed. Now, bang, the bed is being delivered today.
The news set up falling dominos of actions and reactions. Mom immediately called daughters to come over with their hubbies to dissemble and move the old bed. Sisters et al responded, “We can’t now. We’re at work, we’re at appointments, we have commitments,” which dismayed Mom. She needed and expected everyone to immediately come to her aid, and adulting prevented that from happening. Stress, irritation, frustration, anger, and resentment all gyrated upward. Mom felt abandoned, and her daughters felt unreasonably burdened. It’s worse because it’s all part of a recurring cycle of ‘come help me now’ and ‘I can’t, I’m busy’.
Viewed from a distance, out of that, The Neurons initiated “King of Pain” by The Police in my morning mental music stream (Trademark changing). The 1983 song elaborates on the many small, overlooked matters that causes an observer to feel pain for the others and their situation, feeling this in his soul. That pain translates to rain, and then they express hope that another would end the rain, which would end their pain. I’m certain that it’s this circle and unfulfilled hope which attracted Les Neurons to this song today.
Be strong, stay positive, and Vote Blue in 2024. Also, enjoy, however you can, and try to make something of it. Coffee is doing its thing; time to go do mine. Here’s the music. Cheers
Mood: Persistfee (a sense of persistence fueled by coffee)
It’s a day of indifferent clouds and sunshine, this Monday, June 3, 2024. Rain spits and dries. Temperatures fall and bounce. 76 F, thermometers declare, but a chiller feel hangs in the air. Today’s high temperature is at hand.
Spoke with Mom this morning. She related bureaucratic issues keeping her hospital bed from coming on. I depend on her for the info so I can only accept her explanation. According to the PCP’s nurse, aka John, everything has been forwarded to the company who will deliver the bed. But they claim something is missing and hold that the bed can’t be delivered until this unknown element is delivered. It all has Mom and I swearing and wondering.
She sounds good, spirited and energetic. She’s been cleaning, she said. So what will the hired help clean when she comes this Thursday? Mom declares, “I’m not going to pay her to come if there’s nothing here to clean.”
My sisters and I predicted this as a real possibility. Mom prides herself in a clean house. It’s a large part of her persona. Once the cleaner began coming, Mom rose up and began cleaning in anticipation of the cleaner’s arrival. She’d already said the cleaner wasn’t allowed to clean the kitchen because that’s Mom’s territory. Nor could the cleaner help with the laundry; Mom is very particular about how her clothes are washed and dried.
I think Mom is taking a narrow view of having a cleaner come in every week or two. Mom has rallied now but is that sustainable? When will she overdo her poor stenosis-plagued back and cause herself a new injection of pain and immobility? What if she falls – again – and hurts herself? Those are what-ifs, and pieces of logic. Mom’s issues with cleaning are emotional and psychological. Just one son’s opinion. I hope that these worries never see light.
Today’s song is “Green Tambourine” by The Lemon Pipers. The 1967 psychedelic pop hit is playing in my morning mental music stream (Trademark freeze-dried), and I don’t know why. Following the usual course, I interrogated The Neurons, but they closed ranks and shut down. Couldn’t even get a word out of them after plying them with coffee. Stupid little boogerheads.
Off to the coffee shop to let the muses play with words. Be strong, stay pos, and Vote Blue in 2024. Here’s the music. Cheers
Boys and girls in clean baseball uniforms come into the coffee shop and wait for drinks. Last names and numbers adorn the jerseys. The young players all wear their caps with its team insignia. Crocs, or Croc wannabes adorn their feet so they’re not wearing their cleats into the shop.
The parent situation varies. Sometimes a solitary adult accompanies the young athletes; less frequently, it’s a couple. I wonder about the family situation and whether about the significance of the adult situation.
None seem particularly happy. Phones are often studied, arms crossed, as they wait. But one father and the children talk, joke, and laugh.
All so different from my years of young ball playing. This is part of the new Americana, Starbucks, phones, and Crocs. I wonder how many times these scenes play out across the land on this Monday American holiday.
We’ll discuss (almost) everything at Mom’s house (the off-limit topics are known by all even though they’ve never been discussed). So it was that we talked about toilet paper. Somehow I ended up telling Mom about the toilet paper caddy that hangs on the cistern’s side at my house so we always have another roll available.
“Doesn’t it get wet when you flush?” Mom asked.
“No.” I was puzzled.
She continued, “When you flush, water, particles, and germs go all over the place.”
“I know,” I answered. “Don’t you close the lid before you flush?”
“No,” she replied.
“Anyway,” I asked, “what’s that have to do with the toilet paper getting wet? With all that stuff flying around, I’d be more worried about what’s going into my mouth and nostrils or coating my skin.” I told her about an article I read about flushing toilets a few months ago and the plume effect. (I was researching, and one thing just led to another.) Those researchers concluded,
The particles primarily traveled upward and backward toward the wall behind the toilet, but some also moved chaotically in other directions. Once airborne, some particles traveled up to the ceiling, then spread out along the wall and into the room, the researchers noted.
I saw a segment on television about the Arlington National Cemetery and Memorial Day activies. Following a whim, I looked up my little brother’s marker and location. Four years younger than me, he lived for just over a few weeks. I remember the night Mom received the notification that he’d passed. Washing the dishes at the time, she stood there at the sink, a dish cloth in her hand, and cried and sobbed as I watched, asking her, “What’s wrong?”
Today is Friday, May 24, 24. The door to the four-day Memorial Day weekend has cracked open. While the valley’s high will be about 83 F today, it’s now 69 F under a blue sky marred by sketchy cotton being stretched apart.
Started early today, helping Mom log on to a video call to get her hospital bed approved. Now I’m on the coffee shop spaceship, accepting coffee gifts to pour into my mouth. I’ve found it’s best to drink the coffee. I’ve tried pouring it on me but the results of that aren’t nearly as refreshing.
Tomorrow night, several sisters and I and a BIL are going to Oakmont to watch Pitt Floyd. Then, Sunday is a cookout at another sister’s house. Wednesday is my nephew’s graduation ceremony. Thursday I’m on a manmade bird out of here and winging west.
Today’s music was because The Neurons like a particular set of versus. The Lemon Twigs came out with “Small Victories on Later” back in 2018. The Neurons like these lyrics and have them rotating through the morning mental music stream (Trademark later).
But all is well and all is merry Even when the times are scary Every generation is the same Resulting in this fear illusion Is a void that breeds confusion Leading to a population tame
Now I can tell you for certain that this song’s place in me head was triggered by my ruminations about politics. The Republicans have evolved this fear-filled message that’s all they’re really running on for over twenty years. No real policies, just fears about what Democrats will do — take your guns, cause inflation, let illegal immigrants in, change your children into something else — a nauseating fabric predicated on baseless conspiracies and consistent lying. “Climate change is fake,” they scream as weather becomes more violent and extreme. GOP leadership responds by changing lies to disallow saying climate change or taking action against climate change. Their supporters respond, “We’re saved. Thank God they outlawed those words and actions. Let’s go make money.”
Meanwhile, Dems are establishing policies, coming up with plans, working with the international community, etc., managing threats against the country, and managing the economy. As those don’t seem to hold most voters attention, they’re now pointing out how the Trump-led is a threat against our democratic republic. Democrats and liberals point out Trump’s many lies, and the growing number of lies the GOP put out there, like the big lie, that the 2020 election was stolen.
It’s bizarrely becoming a war of fear vs fear that reminds me of the old Mad Magazine’s feature, “Spy vs. Spy”.
Enjoy the weather, enjoy the day, enjoy whatever games you play. Enjoy the coffee, enjoy the drink, and try to understand what others think.
Michael Seidel, writer 