Category: miscellaneous

Saturda’s Wandering Thoughts

Just a pause to say that I’m grateful.

I’m grateful that the medical profession has developed the knowledge, insights, and treatment for what ailed me.

I’m grateful for a medical team who guided me safely through weeks of pain through surgery and recovery.

I’m grateful that I have a house where I can take a shower, and I’m grateful for the society, civilization, and people that built the systems which enabled me to take a hot, long shower this morning.

I’m grateful that I can walk normally again, free of pain.

There’s a lot to be grateful for in my life. I’ve always been pretty fortunate. I’ve taken a lot of it for granted. So, I thought this needed to be noted. I am grateful. I may not always sound like I am, but that’s just my nature.

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Knock On Wood

Daily writing prompt
Are you superstitious?
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Knock on wood, I am not superstitious. I’ve owned three wonderful black cats in Crystal, Sam, and Boo. Each gave me nothing but purrs and good company.

Of course, I do respect that others are superstitious. That affects things. So, for them, I throw salt over my shoulder when I spill it. With many affected by Friday the 13th, I know that many people are a little more distracted and nervous, so I’m a little more careful and alert.

Sure, I do have my lucky underwear, but that’s not superstition. I’ve observed the cause and effect of having them on. I only wear them when extra luck is needed these days because the elastic waistband is worn out and its cotton material has grown as sheer as a silk negligee. The light blue boxers also have a couple holes torn in them from getting a toe ripping through the material when I was putting them on. My wife wants me to throw them away but come on, that would surely be temping the gods to do that.

I do wear a pen on my shirt, but that’s not superstition. I’m a writer and the pen is a talisman to enhance my creativity and prevent writer’s block. What fiction writer would turn that down?

Also, I don’t walk under ladders just as a matter of safety and common sense. Someone could be doing something up there, drop it, and bonk me on the head.

And that would be bad luck.

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Munda’s Wandering Thoughts

One of the great things about the modern net is the ability to make friends. I have friendships with people I’ve never met. As I enjoy their social media posts and their blogs, I wonder what they’re really like. I’d like to be able to sit at a table with them and get to know them.

Conversely, I worry about them. Some are in Australia dealing with a cyclone. Are they okay? Some are in Ukraine, and I worry for their safety, sanity, and nation. Some of these friends are at risk for mental health or physical health. I worry about them if they’re absent from the net for a few days.

So, nice having friends around the world. I hope they’re all okay.

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Sexist of Me

Daily writing prompt
Where would you go on a shopping spree?
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If a shopping spree is planned, you can leave me out. If that’s an option. I’m only interested in shopping sprees when I go to a book store, although I don’t mind shopping sprees in wine and cheese stores (nudge, nudge, wink, wink).

My wife is the shopper, and I support her shopping sprees. I’m the driver and help carry the booty when we’re perambulating through shopping venues. She’s a meticulous and thoughtful shopper. Not one for quantity, she seeks quality and deals. She can go anywhere, though. Loves to visit Goodwill stores, flea markets, ‘thrift’ stores, and ‘vintage goods’ places, trying to sniff out interesting deals. She’s fond of shoes and doesn’t mind a shoe shopping spree. It just wears me out. Then again, with both of us, a shopping spree is a once in a while thing when the moon is the right color thing, and doesn’t often happen.

When it does, I’m in the driver seat, but she’s the navigator, telling me where to go.

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Sattida’s Wandering Thoughts

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.

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WTF, America

In another bit of WTF, America, some new DOGE bullshit springs into the spotlight.

Military to Remove ‘Enola Gay’ Photos for Violating DEI Rules

Images of “Enola Gay,” the aircraft that dropped an atomic bomb on Hiroshima in Japan are among those targeted by the U.S. military in an initiative to eliminate content related to diversity, equity and inclusion (DEI).

They are among a number of photos unrelated to DEI that have been mistakenly flagged, including those from an Army Corps of Engineers dredging project in California, seemingly because an engineer in the image had the last name “Gay.”

I mean, how, how, how amazingly ignorant is the Trusk Regime? How stupid is DOGE?

Beyond the fundamental stupidity of making a decision based on a single word, they are demonstrating amazing ignorance about our heritage. Our history.

Does that history matter to them? No, apparently not.

And that really brings the Trusk Regime’s crock of shit about ‘gay’, DEI, woke into an electron microscope level of insights. Our history is being denied based on some shallow, closed minds? They’ll deny the role of an aircraft in our history because of a single word, literally one of the most critical moments in modern human history, the one and only damn time when one nation used atomic or nuclear weapons on another nation? What are they going to do, rewrite the textbooks so that Colonel Paul Tibbets and his crew flew an unnamed aircraft on that historic mission? How much of a disservice is it to not just the crew that flew that machine but the enemy killed on the ground?

That’s just the damn bottom of the barrel, though. The Trusk Regime and the GOTP is trying to deny the role of anyone who does not fit their narrow, bigoted views. Gay, trans, lesbian military members who fought for the United States are being washed out of history by this pathetic group, most of whom never served in a military capacity.

Those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it. But those who deliberately wipe it out are bent on creating a new circle of ignorance.

But, I mean, come on. Seriously. What did we expect of ol’ Bone Spurs Trump? His grip on history and logic is pathetically weak.

He who cited the use of aircraft and airfields in the American Revolutionary War.

He who referred to Senator McCain, a navy aviator who was captured and held as a prisoner of war, as a loser.

He who warns of the threats of cancer from windmills, a claim without any merit.

He who used a marker to try to change the projected course of a hurricane.

He who had his staff saying that he suggested nuking a hurricane.

He who was documented to lie over 30,000 times in his first administration.

A man who still lies as much as he breathes.

That individual is a fucking idiot.

And you know what that makes his supporters and enablers.

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Frieda’s Wandering Thoughts

It seems to me that it’s strange to go to a coffee shop, plug in a game, and sit there, playing a few hours. I mean, I can see sitting there reading a book. That makes complete sense, as does doing homework and studying. I’m puzzled by those who come in, plug in, and watch movies or videos for hours. Of course, I also know what an energy suck that games, movies, and videos can be.

Then again, others probably find it strange for me to go to a coffee shop less than two miles from home, set up a computer and then spend hours there in pursuit of writing. I know from riding others’ blogs that some people find it pretentious.

I defend my writing with extenuating circumstances. Bet the rest can make the same defense. Bottom line, it’s all just as legitimate, normal, and natural in today’s tech world, so just get over it, boomer.

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Munda’s Wandering Thoughts

“Look,” my wife said. “An ant.”

She was pointing at the kitchen counter between the toaster and coffee maker. Yes, there was an ant. I widened my field of vision. “There’s another. And another.” I pointed them out.

We have ants. My wife and I, I mean. Not as pets; ants are invading.

We noticed them yesterday evening. Black, they’re about a quarter inch long. We don’t kill ants. Our philosophy about insects, spiders, and other critters is live and let live, but it must be our rules.

Ants in the house at this time of year is a surprise. In the past, they’ve invaded during the hot summers, when the ground was parched, and the ants sought water and relief from the blazing heat. Having them as guests in March is a real surprise. That makes us wonder, why now? What are they escaping outside? What do the ants know is happening that we don’t know.

Our process for dealing with things like this is to find their path and cut it off by cleaning without killing. That generally works. But having the visiting ants changes our behavior. I walk around, staring at surfaces, looking for more ants. So far, they seem to be limited to the southern wall, mostly around the fireplace and the dining room bay window. Not many; the most I’ve counted at one time is thirteen.

No trail is visible yet. We can’t figure out how they’re getting in, or where. But we’re on the case. Cuz, you know, we have ants.

And their presence causes a disturbance in the house.

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Sunda’s Wandering Political Thoughts

This is about me. As my posts often are.

I’ve been undergoing treatment for lymphedema. It’s been going well. As part of that process, after the swelling in my lower legs, ankles, and feet were reduced, tailored-made compression socks to help me maintain my lymph fluid flow were ordered. Because the left side was ordered first, it was received first. I’ve been wearing it, and I’ve been happy with it.

My right side has taken longer. Part of that is because I was recovering from surgery on that side for a ruptured tendon. The surgery area ballooned up and fought against going down. Hence the therapy prescried for me to deal with the lymphedemia.

The right side has responded to it all and is much better after a month of special bandages, strict dieting, and a bevy of special exercises. The surgery is healed. I’m awaiting my special compression sock for it. It was supposed to arrived last week. We thought it’d be here by last Friday at the latest. It still hasn’t arrived.

It occured to me last night that my sock might be trapped somwhere as part of the Great Undoing. See, Medicare A&B cover me, backed up by the insurance from my twenty-year military career, Tricare For Life (TFL). But the socks ordered by my therapist through my hospital go through Medicare and paid for by Medicare and TFL. That’s done through an organization in Portland, Oregon, which outsources the sock production from a Germany company. The German company ships it directly to moi.

It leaves me in limbo at this point. I wonder, why hasn’t the second sock arrived yet?

Has it been affected by the Great Undoing and the PINO Trusk cuts, chaos, freezes, and tariffs?

Is it just standard logistical issues caused by weather and life?

Was or is it just a bureaucratic snafu?

Time will reveal all in the long run. In the meantime, like many Americans, I’m trapped in a loop of ‘wait and see’.

It’s a frustrating place to be.

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The Running Dream

I was set up to run. I learned that there were four courses.

All were unfamiliar to me. A young man, this was a competition. Someone else signed me up for it. Their faith in me — and I don’t know who signed me up — flattered me. I vowed to do the I could.

The four courses were laid out over the course of several green hills. They were long distances but we were expected to sprint over them if we wanted to win. As I chugged over them, I discovered various degrees of muddiness despite a wealth of sunshine. Other competitors were encountered but all of us were focused on learning the courses and practicing our runs. Dressed in dark shorts and a white tank top, I did this for three or four days in a row. Then, while running on another day, I discovered crowds gathering to watch. As I ran by them, I heard some exclaiming to others, “He’s running the race.”

From other comments, I learned that everyone else had quit or had been eliminated. This fueled me to go faster and try harder. But I also learned that many people thought the competition were over. They were crossing the courses, forcing me to go through crowds. Seeing me still running, though, some of the people acted like officials and cleared a path for me. Some now began applauding and cheering. Others said, “He’s going to set a new world record.”

I awoke as I began the final course. I felt strong, exhilerated.

Cool dream.

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