Category: Travels

Thanksgiving’s Theme Music

Mood: Thanksthinking

Football and parades are on television. Dawn cracked open a blue sky this morning. Sunshine spilled out across 28 degrees F. It’s 43 and feels like 53, with a high of 48 projected. It gets windy, driving Papi to floofishly beat on the front door window for immediate entrance. His tail highpoints in salute as I let him in. Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) gives the ginger blade an askance look of pity as Papi passes him.

Thanksgiving memories erupt. Going to my paternal grandparents on cold and gray Pittsburgh days. Greeting cousins, aunts, and uncles seen only four times a year. Sitting at one of several children tables. Warm house, laughter, cigarette smoke, beer, and whiskey sodas. The children are herded into the cellar to contain noise. The problem: there’s nothing to do in that cellar except mill around. One by one, we quietly sneak back upstairs.

Mom and Dad separate and divorce. Mom remarries and becomes host and cook, but man, she can cook. Thanksgiving meals are always delicious feasts around traditional offerings. We play card games after the meal and gorge on leftovers for days.

Basic training saw me in San Antonio. Luckily, I had Uncle Paul and his family there to host me for Thanksgiving. Danny White led the Dallas Cowboys to victory. Later, I’m stationed in the San Antonio area. Uncle Paul’s family still lives there and my wife and I visit them for Thanksgiving.

A Thanksgiving follows in the Philippines, where my crew invites me into their house for an American-Filipino Thanksgiving. We play a new electronic game called Pong on television.

Our tour in Okinawa is broken into two phases: pre- and post-base housing. In the pre-phase, food prep is shared between several houses. We barely fit into one of the small apartments to eat. Once we’re in base housing, we’re in a large, comfortable space where my wife plays cook and hostess in Germany. As we return to America, Thanksgiving gets more complicated. We’re alone sometimes, or I’m on shift working. Later as I become more senior in rank, we become host for young co-workers and friends. We do the same after being assigned to California.

Out of the military and tired of hosting, we go out for dinner on Thanksgiving for a year or two in Sunnyvale, Mountain View, and Palo Alto, California. My wife has become a vegetarian. An awful attempt with tofurkey is made. Stuffed acorn squash. We end up buying turkey breasts and having much smaller meals. Thanksgiving transitions to Friendsgiving. Friends host others like us and we collect at their homes. The meals feel like the ones I enjoyed as a child. I’ve gone full circle.

I’m going with “Alice’s Restaurant” by Arlo Guthrie for today’s theme music. It’s a staple of my existence, and The Neurons are okay with it. Alice Brock, the Alice in the song, passed away earlier this month. RIP. It plays in the background of my morning mental music stream (Trademark roasted) as I go about preparing to go to Friendsgiving at our friends’ farm. We prepared our food contributions yesterday. Corn souffle, prepared with my wife carefully watching me, is my contribution.

Coffee and I continue renewing our daily relationship. The house weather system says its 50 F out. Plentiful sunshine baths the street. Hope you have a memorable Thanksgiving if you’re participating, and a great day no matter where you are.

Cheers

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Mood: Smoothsailin

Tuesday, November 26, 2024. Few days until Thanksgiving in America, or as as my wife and I celebrate it, Friendsgiving. We head out to a friend’s farm house a few miles down the road and meet up with others. Everyone brings a dish or two. Good food, good drink, and good times are all enjoyed.

We’re chilling at 39 F under a tumultuous sky. The elements up there are in discord. Looks like it might rain, snow, or get blue sky and sunny on us. Gonna get up to a steamy hot 41 F.

Watched some national weather on TV this morning. I lived in Pennsylvania, Ohio, West Virginia, and South Carolina for a while at different times as an adult. My wife and I typically jumped in the car and drove ‘home’ to our parents’ places for the holidays, if I had the time off. We’re talking the 1970s through the late 1980s. Back then, it was basically pack the car up, tank up, and take off. Sometimes we’d hit blizzards, a few times we encountered torrential rains, and once in a while, we encountered construction. We always enjoyed the trips. In the early years, we had an AM car radio and that was it. Losing stations, we’d just turn it off and talk. We still do the same on our road trips through Oregon. Now, though, we’re rich with music and entertainment options. We still often talk. Old habits.

My wife baked brownies for our dessert last night. Filled the house with a wonderful chocolate smell. We both said several times, “The house smells so good.” LOL. Love the smell of baked goods. Bread, pies, cookies, pizzas…

The records show that we let Papi the ginger blade in and out nine times yesterday. That seems light. We suspect he overheard our plan and cut back on his requests to game the numbers. I’ve started calling him my little In ‘n Out burger.

Did something to my surgerically repaired hoof in my sleep. Awoke to the realization that I was loudly groaning. Foot hurt like hell. Could barely walk on it. No idea what took place but it may have been caused by a swimming dream. The sound I made deeply concerned Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah), my black and white big cat. (He’s not actually that large but looks big, a deception brought on by a big head, paws, and tail.) I found him intensely studying me with his ears back when I awoke. The pain has mostly abated. All part of the recovery process.

With thoughts about road trips and driving, it’s with little surprise that The Neurons brought travel music into the morning mental music stream (Trademark skipping). Red Hot Chili Peppers released Californication in 2000. The song, “Road Trippin'” was included. RHCP’s album on CD was part of my rotation during part of that period. We lived in California then and were exploring the state. It’s a big state, and we had many excellent road trips, visiting cities and landmarks, taking visitors around, etc.

Had a good bitter laugh over Trump’s tariff plans. China, Mexico, Canada. That’ll hit home construction, food prices (and restaurants!), automobile manufacturing, and computers, phones, and electronics. Talk about inflation. But Trump and his cronies and supporters believe that the other countries and the manufacturing/production sources will bear the burden. Trump et al say they’re doing this to stop drug trafficking. Yeah.

Here’s the music. Excuse me while I dash off for a brownie. A few remain. They pair well with coffee. And away we go.

Cheers

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Tuesday’s Wandering Thoughts

It was a weird juxtaposition.

I parked in the coffee shop’s lot. A silver SUV battle scar from its travels had the front passenger door open. I glanced that way. It seemed like the SUV was someone’s home. A woman was in the seat, her foot sticking out the open door, as she painted her toenails pink.

I thought of multiple things associated with painting nails. To feel and look attractive. Or maybe to fit in. To seem normal to others. You know, norms, values, mores, judgements. Or carrying forward from the past, trying to remain that person they were.

Then again, I could be all wrong. Might be that they’re not living in their car. They could just be a traveler, pausing to get coffee, taking advantage of a break in their schedule to do their nails.

It’s the kind of scene that inspires questions and thinking about our life and society.

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Thursday’s Wandering News

Ashlandia is getting talked up as a place to be in 2024.

First, we had the surprise announcement in August of this year that Ashland is a top-10 town for bicyclist.

“No. 5 ranking in Outdoor magazine could bring in more tourists, outdoor recreators.”

“With a People for Bikes rating of 70 out of 100, League of American Bicyclists gold status and 86 trails dedicated to bikes, Ashland was ranked no. 5 of the top 10 bike cities across the country. A ranking such as this has the potential to bring in more tourists.” h/t Ashland.news

It mildly astonished most of us who live here, but the next news was miiinnnd blowing. Architectural Digest announced its list of “The 13 Most Beautiful Underrated Cities in the World” in the middle of this month. Yes, following the limp foreshadowing, Ashland, Oregon, is included on the list.

Ashland, Oregon

Part of the 2018 edition of The New York Times’ “52 Places to Travel,” Ashland is located in the Rogue River area of Southern Oregon. Like much of the Pacific Northwest, the region is celebrated for its natural beauty, which includes Lithia Park and North Mountain Park defined by leafy vegetation and beautiful waterways. Home to Southern Oregon University, the college town is also know for the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, a local repertory theater that offers a myriad of performances not limited to just The Bard.

Those two pieces are enough to send other places into extreme city envy. But wait, there’s more!

America’s Coziest College Town Is In Oregon

Yes, TheTravel.com also announced this month, September, 2024, that Ashlandia is the United States’s coziest college town.

“This Oregon town features everything a college town should; cozy bookstores, coffee shops, and bars, quaint art galleries, museums, and scenic trails.”

It’s funny to see that written about our town. Hate badmouthing it…buuuutttt…

Our numbers of bookstores and coffee shops have fallen and fallen. We used to have over a dozen coffee shops, along with several excellent bakeries. Those have closed, replaced by vintage stores and retail businesses. Sure, we still have four bookstores but it’s a fall from the half dozen at our disposal in the last decade.

I suspect a PR firm was given some cash to go out and get us on these lists.

I guess we should be proud of our town but I can’t forget when it seemed like a better place.

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Friday’s Them Music

Mood: roadweary

We left our vacation house on the coast this morning at 10:30. It was 58 F. When the sky saw we were leaving, it started crying.

We headed north from Waldport to Lincoln City because we wanted to do something stuff up there. And while we were there, the sky’s crying launched into heavy bawling. And that wet stuff kept coming down. We head east to Oregon’s capitol, Salem. The rain came down. We headed south. The rain went with us.

Well, we told each other, this cool air and heavy rain will help with the fires. Let’s hope California is getting some of this precipitation.

We slammed to a halt just south of Coburg, then inched forward for thirty-five minutes. Finally, we arrived at an accident site. Clean up was in progress. We didn’t know anything about injuries but three cars and a truck were involved. I tried learning more via a search of the net. Ridiculous results ensured. One AI reported a recent accident on I5 southbound by Coburg happened, but that was three years ago. Google’s reporting showed me accidents for up to one day ago, along with accidents from Feb. and April Not fucking useful.

Any way, we the route, weather and traffic delays, we were on the road nine hours and I’m a little road weary. Funny, though: when we arrived here at home, it hadn’t rain. Light spit was falling. We asked Alexa about this, but she can’t answer questions like that. She’s too limited.

Going right into the music, I’m staying with the theme of songs with colors in the title. The Neurons pulled out “Raspberry Beret”, a 1985 song by Prince, and popped that into the morning mental music stream (Trademark wet).

As always, it’s good to be home. My cats greeted us with purrs and rubs before demanding makeup food. It was lovely being in cool coastal weather with a restless Pacific at hand. That reminded us of our Half Moon Bay life. I still miss that. We made the right decision to move away from there.

In fine symmetry, it was 58 F here in Ashlandia at our 7:30 PM arrival. Rain is expected tonight. It’ll be 69 F as tomorrow’s high, a weirdly low temperature for an Ashlandia August.

Well, coffee was consumed, and here I sit. Stay positive. Ride the wave of positive and joyous Harris – Walz energy. Vote blue. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Saturday’s Theme Music

Mood: Coffbulant

June has pounced. Hope you weren’t too surprised.

It’s Saturday, June 1, 2024. The year is plowing into its second half. Probably will be as fucked up as the first half, perhaps more. The board has been set for that.

I’m back home, where I’m happy to be, although I was living a good life back in Penn Hills, visiting with family and enjoying Mom’s company. I can tell you about the long day of travel to reach home but I made it unscathed. Although it’s much better than taken wagon across the nation or driving backroads in something like a Ford Model T, this mess of late arrivals and departures, full flights, and constant jockeying for a place in an aircraft feels like the new norm. Airports must be thrilled; bet business is up at all those airport restaurants, and that’s probably good for the restaurant. Airlines are probably indifferent: the bottom line is financial and not customer satisfaction.

It’s a pleasant 79 F here in Ashlandia, where the ground is dry and the greenery is browning.  Left the house Thursday at 5:30 AM back in Penn Hills, got home Friday at about 1. Been playing catch up since. That’s what you do when you return from traveling. But my wife, cats, and house all seem fine, as does the town.

I leaned about former POTUS Trump’s convictions while traveling. I was surprised. I honestly anticipated a hung jury and can tell you I’m really happy to have been wrong.

Listening to reactions since amuses me but brought little surprise. His stout supporters, which seems to be most of the GOP these days, still insist that the doddering, inept individual who is too old to be POTUS has pulled another one over Trump and the GOP. While I don’t agree with their characterization of President Biden, even the GOP must admit that their party and its candidate must be woefully unprepared and even more inept to allow President Biden to take down the GOP and Trump as he’s apparently done. I mean, to cast President Biden as so incapable and then have someone that’s so incapable beat Trump and the GOP down so completely must feel like a huge burn.

But no; they can’t hold such reasoning in their mind. Even though some of them claim Trump is sent by God. Guess their God abandoned them. It’s bizarre and sad thinking over there in MAGA Land.

Telling you, though, I think this trial chewed Trump up. Here he is, one unsullied by justice and the legal system suddenly being forced to sit in a courtroom and listen to the truth being told about him. Hearing 34 times that he’s guilty. Hearing twelve impartial jurors saying that he’s guilty.

Look at him. He looks tired. Worn out. OLD.

Listen to that speech after he left the courtroom. OLD. TIRED. LISTLESS.

Yes, his mojo took a big hit.

Today’s morning mental music stream (Trademark unsullied) comes from Taylor Momsen. Seems that a bat bit The Pretty Reckless vocalist when they were opening for AC/DC. I thought, that’s pretty fucked up.

Bang, The Neurons leaped on that. See, one of The Pretty Reckless’s songs is “Fucked Up World” from 2014. It’s a fairly raw rocker:

Back to these back door bitches begging me to behave
Jamming Jesus down my throat, no, I don’t wanna be saved
Ain’t a chain on my brain, I’m nobody’s slave
I got one foot in the cradle and one in the grave

h/t to Genius.com

Be strong and positive, and Vote Blue in 2024. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Thursday’s Theme Music

Mood: flightrupted

It’s Thursday, May 30, 2024. Beautiful light blue sky with a little haze is outside the window. Sunny and 52 F.

I’m seeing the world through the Pittsburgh airport windows waiting for my Alaska Air flight. I was supposed to be leaving at 7:50 AM. About six minutes from now. Instead, estimated take off is now 9:18 AM.

That prevents me from my next leg, which was to be my final leg, Seattle WA to Medford OR. Now I’m going from Seattle to Salt Lake City to Medford. Instead of arriving about noon in Medord, I’m arriving about midnight. That sucks for my wife, who is picking me up.

Yeah, it’s all first world blues, innit? Still have food and a decent life. Just a series of bumps on this travel day, so I’m whining about it. I mean, I’m not out in a storm or getting shot at. I’m wired with a computer and reading the news.

And there’s a comic aspect. As I cope with these fight changes, the airline is urging me to start planning my next flight with them.

With this skewed schedule echoing in my head, The Neurons have Molly Hatchett performing “Flirtin’ with Disaster” in the morning mental music stream (Trademark delayed). The 1979 song isn’t quite right for the situation but I’d need to feed them more java before The Neurons will come up with something better.

Thank you to my sweetheart of a little sister and her daughter for getting up and picking me up and driving me to the airport. They’re both awesome people. They’re always doing things for me and treating me like a friggin’ prince, so I’m always in debt to them.

I’m coffeeing up. Stay positive, be strong, and lean forward. Let’s Vote Blue this year, shall we?

Here’s the music. Cheers

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Reservations Reservations

I’m staying with Mom in Pennsylvania but I feel like the time for going home is at hand. So I’m looking into return flights for next week.

Checking on one flight segment, from Seattle, WA, to Medford, OR — my final leg — causes some reservation to make the final click.

Seems the flight is 66% on time. That’s the only number provided. For ‘% Late 30 + min” and for ‘% Cancelled’, their little chart says 0%.

So I’m confused. If it’s only on time 66% of the time, and it’s never late or cancelled, what’s happening to the flight? Is it just disappearing?

Then I need to consider, is your flight disappearing that bad?

I mean, I’ve never heard any complaints about it. Depends on where you go and what happens when your flight disappears I suppose. Is it a Stephen King situation or someone else?

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Thursday’s Theme Music

Mood: Momfrustrated

Thursday, May 16, 2024, has landed on us. It’s mid-May, and we’re slipping, sliding, gliding toward mid-2024. Then we’ll slip, slide, glide to the 2024 elections and race into holiday season in America. I expect Black Friday advertising to kick in any day.

Though we’re doing a spring and summer shuffle, we have pleasant weather serenading us. The sun did a stirring dawn solo. Sunlight lasered in like an attack from Emperor Ming. Clouds spy from the horizons. It’s 67 now with 77 F on the way. Thunderstorms are also expected. What I found watching the weather on TV last night is that these small cells are populating the Pittsburgh metro area. Rain gets limited to those little doughnuts. In our part of the Churchill Valley, we blinked and missed the rain. Evidence was left behind as small drops on the brown wooden porch rails.

The Mom Help Quest continues. She’s moved the goals on us. We — my sisters and I — believe she needs help getting out of bed and dressing. Mom vehemently disagrees. Sure, it takes hours, and exhausts her, but that doesn’t mean she needs help.

No, she just wants a person to come in once a week to clean, especially the bathrooms. That’s all. And her beau backed her, so my sisters and I backed off. I’ve told Mom I think she’s wrong. Didn’t help any but I thought it important to state my position and get it on record.

My sisters are more frustrated about this than me. They point out that Mom tends to hold off action until things reach a crisis. Then an emergency is declared, and everyone is expected to drop everything an run to help Mom. They’re weary of the circus.

I understand Mom’s stand. This steady decline and shrinking of her independence affects her self-image. She’d like to stay in denial about what’s happening. Of course, she’ll deny that, as well. There’s also probably a piece about feeling like a burden and not wanting to be a burden to others. She doesn’t see with our eyes, and can’t or won’t grasp that by refusing greater help, she makes herself a greater burden.

That’s life in ‘Merica, I guess.

One piece of good news is that her doctor’s office has scheduled an appointment to discuss Mom’s request for a hospital bed. I’ve become leery of getting it after Mom said last night that she didn’t think it was going to make much difference. Told me she takes a sleeping pill and sleeps six to eight hours every night. But she spends the day complaining about how tired she is and how she wants to nap.

Other worries and concerns outside of familia permeate my circle of being, like damaging storms elsewhere, the Canadian wildfires, the Trump Trial for falsifying document, the held breath for what the SCOTUS will say about Trump’s immunity, what actions states are taking to sabotage voter rights, the other Trump trials, inflation concerns, climate change activities, and the upcoming 2024 election.

There’s also a new sideshow, the Trump-Biden debate. I think Trump is a fool for accepting but I’m delighted that he did. I think Trump has a sense that he’s losing his mojo so he wants to be front and center. I believe Trump is in more denial about his condition and situation than Mom.

This debate is a beauty pageant. Trump thinks he’ll win it by looking better than Biden — younger, even though he’s just three years behind President Biden — and more articulate and knowledgeable. Those of us outside of Trump’s MAGA influence watching Biden give speeches know that his gaffes are much less than Trump’s crazy talk. I believe President Biden will come off as much more impressive than Trump. Fingers crossed that this will come to be.

Okay, today’s music in the morning mental music stream (Trademark warming) is “Just Like Paradise” by Diamond Dave — David Lee Roth. The 1987 song was selected by Los Neurons by a combo of me thinking about returning home to Ashlandia, where the weather is hotter and the cats are sweet, and a mockery of the situation in America.

The latter — the mockery of America — is delivered by the GOP’s continuing efforts to destroy America by governing as little as possible, remaining as an obstacle to progress, and even tearing down things, such as DeJoy’s destruction of an efficient postal system.

Working on the ridiculous idea that more is better, Postmaster Louis Dejoy has led an effort to consolidate and reduce postal operations, especially in rural areas. He’s slashed trucks and personnel and closed operations. Places like southern Oregon, where I reside, has suffered with continuing mail delays. Our local post offices are shuttering or severely limited in offered services. Customer complaints have soared. Elected officials in Washington, D.C., on both sides of the aisle are demanding answers from DeJoy, and he’s often just blowing them off.

Some of the increasing pressure is finally impacting DeJoy’s thinking, as he’s agreed to a pause. Many Democrats wonder why President Biden hasn’t fired and replaced DeJoy. Unfortunately, President Biden lacks that authority.

Well, here comes the darkening clouds. I’m already riding the coffee rain, so I’ll wish you a good Thursday and be off. Remember, stay positive, be strong, and Vote Blue in 2024. Here’s the music. Gotta admit, it’s tres Van Halen pop rock, even though it’s not Van Halen. Cheers

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Mood: Percoffeecatiated

Happy Mother’s Day in the U.S. Hope all you mothers enjoy of celebration and joy.

Today is Sunday May 12, 2024. Clouds without breaks occlude the sun in the Churchill Valley where the cities I’m visiting are located. It’s 50 F now. Weather elements will lift our temp to 65 F. That sullen winter taste in the air has melted away. We’ve returned to a cold, wet, spring essence.

My Mother’s Day mental perambulations are searches for how to help Mom. She’s tired, often in pain, fighting to moving and thinking, but everything tires her to deep levels. She wants and needs help. Finding it is now my mission.

There are agencies to help. They’re mired in bureaucracy. Nothing has an easy approach or quick timelines. Phone calls, emails, and chats will be the upcoming week’s norms.

Her own habits, experiences, and expectations are a significant obstacle. She expects to bounce back but the bounce is gone. She wants or needs, which I guess should be married as a word, waeds, to do the cleaning she has always done, to be hygienic and neat. These things take hours and hours. Her zip has diminished to a lumpy trundle.

Her decline has been going on a while, since ‘The Fall’. That seemed to trigger everything; she’s been fighting against its ripples for over a decade. Classic story, definitely in America, probably in many other countries as well. She confided to me last night that she fell hard five times in the first three days after returning home. That is no good.

The morning mental music stream (Trademark flailing) has a song called “Paralyzer” orbiting it. The Finger Eleven beats started my mental journey while I was still abed. My brain was gyrating around the things wanted and the things needed, and the destinations and journeys of all the players when the 2007 tune kicked in. It’s not an even matchup between the song and the morning, except I was dealing with a sense of paralysis and a resistance to moving. Then I told myself I’d treat me to a cuppa coffee if I left the bed, dressed, and started doing things. I’m a sucker for a promise of coffee.

Stay positive, be strong, lean forward against the winds of resistance, and Vote Blue in 2024. The promise of coffee has been fulfilled. Here’s the music video.

Here we go. Cheers

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