Category: weather

The Mom Saga

The Mom Saga has resumed.

In the last episode, Mom, 89, was released from the hospital and returned home. Her pain was sourced in her sciatica nerve, which kept her from walking. Everyone realized her pain relief came from steroid shots and now she’s on a recurring program for steroid shots.

Meanwhile, her 95-yo live-in BF, Frank, half-blind and half-deaf, was experiencing dizzy spells. Mom and Frank have separate rooms. He was unable to help Mom, and she was found helpless in bed in piss-soaked clothes and bedding after nobody heard anything from her for a couple days, which precipitated the hospital stay. We’ve been trying to years to convince Mom and Frank to move into assisted living. Mom wanted to but Frank refused because he didn’t want to pay rent. Last week they were close to deciding to move when Mom announced she wasn’t going to move with Frank to live with him until he apologized to her for lying. The cited lie: Frank had lunch with his daughter while Mom could not walk. It gets complicated from there.  

We pick up the story with Mom back in her 1940s era three-story home with its steep, narrow steps.

Sister: Mom’s power went out last night and she was stuck in her room. As you know, she might as well be in a brick pizza over.

Editing note: The temp where Mom lives in Penn Hills hit 95 F yesterday. Mom has air-conditioning window units in her living room and bedroom, and that’s it. Her bedroom faces west.

Sister: We’re going on vacation this week. We’ve been planning this for months. We’ll be gone a week.

Editing note: ‘We’ in this context are the two sisters, husbands and SOs, and their immediate families.

Sister: Frank’s daughter, Karen, called this morning. She said, “We’re bringing Dad over to my house this week so he can rest. His doctor is worried about Dad’s heart and wants him to take it easy for a week. He’ll be wearing a heart monitor. So Dad won’t be staying at your Mom’s and won’t be able to help her.”

Sister: I proposed to Mom that she come and stay at my house while I’m away. It’s one level and air-conditioned.

Editing note: My sister’s house is a nice suburban ranch about fifteen years old, 1800 square feet, built after a fire destroyed her previous home.

Sister: We hired Marc to come and feed Cheesecake twice a day. Marc usually stays a while, has a cup of coffee and sits on the back porch.

Editing note: Cheesecake is sis’s cat.

Sister: We asked him if he would mind cooking a meal for Mom in the evening, filing her water glass in the morning, and making her a cup of decaf.

Editing note: Mom’s practice is to fill a 40 ounce plastic cup with warm water every morning and drink from it through a straw throughout the day. She likes a cup of warm decaf with hazelnut and almond milk in equal measure for breakfast, which is half a bagel with cream cheese. Her suppers vary. She loves KFC.

Sister: I also asked Jessica if she can check on Mom and I asked Sharon if she would mind coming by.

Editing note: Jessica is sis’s oldest daughter. Sharon is another sister. Sharon, two years younger than me, still works. She has a complicated relationship with Mom.

Sister: Sharon says she will be away over the weekend and beginning of next week.

Sister: I just talked to Jessica. She just pretty much straight out said, “I have a relationship with grandma and I’m going to be very busy. You know we have very little time. I of course can find it in my heart to come over there if need be,” but she doesn’t feel obligated.

Editing note: Jessica also has a complicated relationship with Mom. She also has three sons. The oldest is fourteen and their ages descend in two year steps.

That’s where the Mom Saga stands for the day. Tune in tomorrow for more exciting updates in The Mom Saga.

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Wenzda’s Theme Music

Daylight come and it’s time to get up. That was not always the case. A shift worker for over a dozen years, I was often driving home as the sun bite into the sky.

Not so today, Wenzda, June 25, 2025. Let’s run the Ashlandia summer day checklist: cool night; check. Blue sky; check. Bright sun; check. Temperature in the low 80s; well, that’s not usual. We generally reside in the 90s at this point but I enjoy the 80s more, when we’re talking temperatures in Fahrenheit. Today, the sun will rouse us from the 60 F where we now chill to the low to mid 80s.

The neighborhood is lazy with low passing vehicle noises and a number continuing a porch project. No trains or aircraft are heard today, and the birds are circumspect in their discussions. I’ve not read much news yet this AM and continue to dwell in a ‘wait-and-see’ spirit. That spirit has songs ’bout trouble circulating in the morning mental music stream. Coming into six months of TACO’s second presidency, many balls are in the air. We’re witnessing the GOTP sabotaging justice and the legal system, the education and healthcare systems, environment and the economy, doing so under the guise of progress while ignoring fact-loaded decades. Meanwhile, PINO TACO saber rattles like he’s an old battle hand and not the coddled man-child born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

The Neurons cultivated a broad selection of trouble songs for the old stream. From it, Buddy Guy’s take on trouble, “I Smell Trouble”, has assumed dominance.

Into the day we go. What happens next, nobody knows. Hope yours goes well. Cheers

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Another Dream Car

One of my dreams last night left me puzzled but optimistic and in a better mood when I awoke. As I went over its details with myself, one part that captivated me was it featured my first car.

In the dream, I was a young man again, and I was driving my first car. This was a 1965 Mercury Comet. Forest green, it was a four door automatic sedan with a 289 V8.

Dad gave me the car. He’d recently remarried, and this was his new wife’s transpo. Dad bought himself a used service van at an auction to drive to and from work, and turned over his 1974 Chevy Monte Carlo to her to drive. I was completely blown away by their decision. They’d not talked to me about it ahead of time. Until then, I’d been hitching or walking to get around.

With a car, I suddenly had a dating life and began dating the girl who is my wife. Our dates were never much because, car or not, I didn’t have much money. Dad did give me gas money and a few bucks besides. But I was in high school and on sports teams, and local jobs in our rural region were scarce.

After graduating, I joined the military and went in for training. After I returned home from basic training and tech school, I drove that car three hundred miles through a snow storm to my new duty assignment at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, Fairborn, Ohio. It was a taxing drive. Ice and snow were thick on the car by my journey’s end.

One day, the car wouldn’t start. It was probably a starter or selenoid switch. As it was a 1965 car and this was 1975, and it was a four-door sedan, I did what many guys would do, and bought my first used car, a sleek little 1968 Chevy Camaro with a 327 V8. Ah, fun car! Young car!

I left the Comet sitting in its parking spot. A man saw it sitting there without movement, hunted me down, and bought it. I’m not sure how much he gave me but I didn’t haggle. The thing is, though, when he went to change registration, he learned it was still Dad’s car.

Oh, yeah.

Dad was pretty pissed but the sale went through. I still laugh about it, and he still shakes his head.  

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Twosda’s Theme Music

Greetings from Ashlandia, where it is Twosda, June 24, 2025. I don’t know what it is in your part of the world. For that matter, maybe this is just my reality.

It’s bumping up against 60 F outside under a fine blue sky and an earnest sun. Today’s upper crust will top off in the upper 80s. Maybe we’ll see 90. Good summer weather in my mind, in my reality.

I don’t know about other parts of the world and reality, but my breath is being held in my reality. Trump was crowing about an Iran-Israel cease fire after the B2 bombing run. Everyone else was mum. Then Iran said, yes, there is a cease fire, after some further attacks. Now a tenuous cease-fire is in place. Will this be a Russia cease-fire, where it holds until one of them believes they have some military advantage and break it to attack? Time will tell.

Outside of war, we await the impact of the tariffs and trade wars as the northern hemisphere slides into summer. Rural communities are holding their breath to see what happens with Federal funding cuts to their hospitals and school systems. People who are aware of the One Big Beautiful Bill are waiting for news about cuts to Medicaid. Immigrants in all situations and of all colors except white are keeping their ears open for masked ICE raids. Farmers are studying their situations, watching the weather, and holding their breath as they see grants dry up and workers disappear. Then, we face heat waves in the U.S. and hurricane season. All wait to see how the decimated Trump FEMA responds when a major disaster takes out an area. Maybe, given Trump’s luck, such a storm won’t strike. Meanwhile, we hold our breath.

We also hold our breath against the idea that Trump will decide that using the military was fun and profitable, and will order attacks against others. Will the newly identified enemies be U.S. citizens exercising their First Amendment rights?

TACO loves issuing threats. His storm troops have been more arrogant about arresting Democrats who oppose him. That’s a nasty trend and has us all holding our breath.

Issues before the Roberts Court have us holding our breath. There are injunctions and judicial orders being issued and challenged and counter-challenged. I’m holding my breath to see how these roll out and if Trump and the Greedy Old Trump Party complies or flips the rulings the bird.

Today’s music comes out of the news. Another rock scene guitarist passed away. Guitarist and songwriter Mick Ralphs was part of Mott the Hoople and Bad Company. Mott the Hoople as a band name always encourages a grin on me. Reading of the news of Ralphs carried The Neurons back into the 1970s section of the gray vault. They dug out “All the Young Dudes”. Written by David Bowie, the song vibes with Ziggy Stardust nuances. So that has to be the theme music, a nod to a passing time and some interesting rock.

Got my coffee. Time to rock on. Cheers

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Munda’s Theme Music

Munda, June 23, 2025, has burst open with sunshine in Ashlandia. Climbing already, the temperature has surged from 50 F to 68 F with a final destination of 84 F. Blue sky is all I see, except for Sol rising in the east.

There’s early evidence that PINO Trump’s risky decision to bomb Iran did little outside of increasing the chances for war. Monitoring groups say that no radiation was detected coming from the bombed sites. Radiation would be expected if radioactive materials were being stored there. Trump had been telegraphing his intentions and the stealth B2 Spirit bombers’ movements were being tracked and reported in the media. Iran said it had evacuated from from Fordo and the attack did little damage to its nuclear aspirations. Time will tell.

Meanwhile, Iran has fired missiles at U.S. bases. Trump has never been a student of history, but come on, man. Did he really think that after his failed negotiations that bombing them once and warning them, “That’s it, it’s done,” was really going to do it? He’s obviously never been in fights or seriously competitive situations. One rarely gets knocked back once and say, “Gosh, well that’s over. I’m done.” No. The first knock down usually pisses the other party off. Iran has a definite macho history of being just like Trump, declaring, “If you hit us, we’re going to hit you so much harder.”

Trump has bought into the whole idea of ‘war is peace’. Not surprising. He’s been demoing upside down backwards thinking for years. And he’s thrived because backward thinking is plentiful among voters and business people. In a sidebar, Trump now has us at war with science, education, common sense, economic and world history, and Iran.

Another sidebar: hey, MAGAts and Trumpettes, remember when Trump promised to keep the U.S. out of Middle East wars and conflicts? How’s that playing out for you? Trump used to warn that President Obama was going to bomb another country because negotiations had failed. Classic Trump projection. Maybe he should send in Jared Kushner to broker another peace plan, because that first one is so robust. Yes, that was snark.

Displaying a remarkable sense of whimsy, The Neurons have place “Upside Down” in the morning mental music stream. No, not “Upside Down”, the disco hit by Diana Ross. No, this is the chill Jack Johnson tune of 2006 made for the animated film, Curious George. Guess Les Neurons thought that calming down and relaxing in the face of rising enshittification of the world would be good for my blood pressure or something.

Coffee has been served. Hope you all have the best day you can amidst the chaos and enshittification. Cheers

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Sunda’s Theme Music

Greetings from Ashlandia on Sunda, June 22, 2025. Speaking weatherly, it’s a better day today than yesterday. Sure, dark clouds still clot the sky with potentially ominous intentions. But sunshine is striking, driving the air into warmer realms. We’ve already broken past 60 F, three degrees above yesterday’s high. 72 F is in sight as a possibility.

Papi the butter butt floof is much happier. He’s snuggled into the vinca where just his tiny triangular orange face is marginally visible. Yesterday, he came in and stayed, finding a place to sleep until the rain, wind, and cold had gone away.

Well, Trump attacked another country but we’re not at war, oh no.Yet.We just bombed another country. Just a strategic ‘surgical’ strike on someone Trump thought was being a bully. On a whim. A hunch. Like a bet was being made.

A bet has been made. A bet that Iran’s nuclear program was more advanced than intelligence claimed. ‘We’ – because it was our government, acting on behalf of the United States, so we’re all involved, like it or not. So ‘we’ made a bet that we knew where the facilities were, and could reach and destroy. We bet that Iran and its allies would not respond. We made a bet that the mission would be successful and cow the Iranian leadership into not striking back. Will June 21, 2025, go down as an infamous act that triggered WWIII? Time will tell. If you bet on past history, this will get messy, but it might be down the road a few years. 

We always knew Trump would attack. He’s been eager to use the military in whatever way he could to bolster his self-image. In the space of six months, he’s deployed troops against protestors and bombed another country, after, of course, threatening to invade Greenland and take it over and joking, “Maybe Canada should be our 51st state.” Ha, ha, what a brilliant funnyman. And then he claims he deserves the Nobel Peace Prize. Please, someone shut him up before I pee my pants from laughing.

Today’s musical offering comes from — ta da — Der Neurons. For some reason that isn’t plain to me, they were kicking the morning mental music stream with “Basket Case”, a 1994 song by Green Day.

Alright. Had a double helping of warm oatmeal for breakfast. Risked some blueberries in it. Mouth took it all well, knock wood. Out to the coffee shop to write out the stuff piling up in my head. I wish for good things for you today and all days. Cheers

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Saturda’s Theme Music

Good morning from Ashlandia, where the temperature has jumped 49 F. Thickened clouds lurk with dark intentions, prepared to unleash rain faster than can say “It’s Biden’s fault!” The clouds are forcing the sunshine to circumnavigate the clouds, so the sunshine is low energy and uncertain as Trump’s logic. Today’s high will be 59 F, or a little higher than Trump’s IQ. Or so I read on the net. So you know it must be true.

There’s not much change on Mom and Dad. Dad is going home with his wife. Mom is at home with her boyfriend. Mom’s pain is increasing. The source is sciatica. They gave her a steroid shot at the hospital the other day; that ended the pain. Now it’s wearing off and, as these things work, her pain is returning. I’ve not heard about what’s happening with the hospitalized uncle, Dad’s brother. Then there is also the case of the missing cousin. 72 years old, I’ve never met him but he reached out to me via Facebook. See, he met my sisters years ago, after I’d left home when I was fifteen. They kept in touch. A few years ago, he noticed me commenting on their posts and asked for clarification about who I was. See, Facebook does serve some good. Now, though, he’s dropped off of Facebook. Another cousin noticed first and asked if I knew what happened to him. Nope; I contacted his half-sister (same father, different mother). She had no idea what happened to him. So I’ve reached out to his children (who I’ve never met). I’m awaiting a response. He was hospitalized for heart issues last year, and we’re worried.

Today’s music came out of dreamland. I had an interesting, unresolved and frustrating dream. As I contemplated it while doing morning business, The Neurons introduced “Sunny Came Home”, a 1997 Shawn Colvin song that had a lot of radio play. I was puzzled about why The Neurons picked that song (but then again, The Neurons usually puzzle me by what they’re doing). Yet, as I reflected on the dream, some sort of parallels between the song and my dreeam were revealed. To me, the song is about a woman struggling to make sense of things who then becomes an arsonist to ‘solve her problems’. My dream was a reflection of my struggle to make sense of things, politically and personally. The Neurons agree that this makes sense. Who knows if it’s right?

I’m drinking hot coffee again, to which I raise my hands to the heavens and give thanks for small favors. Ready to rock another Saturday. I hope good things happen for you today. Cheers

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Frida’s Theme Music

It’s supposed to be the first day of summer in Ashlandia: Frida, June 20, 2025. But it’s fifty and has a certain autumn flavor to the air. Sun and blue sky have surrendered to charcoal clouds. Rain veils aren’t there but an atmosphere of impending rain lurks. Today’s high will only be 61.

The cat is not happy. Prancing out for sunshine, he stops and looks around. “Right,” I say. “Where’s the sun?” The cat doesn’t say anything. He’s not much for conversing. “Want to come back in?” I ask. The cat’s gaze at me is rich with skepticism and disappointment. “I can’t control the sun,” I say. “I’m going back in.” I go in and close the door. A few minutes later, I check on the cat. He’s sulking. I open the door. He hurries in. “I agree,” I say. He meows for food and is given a third breakfast to make up for the sunless suffering he endured.

My mouth is healing. This is Post Op Day 2. Teeth are missing from the upper right and left sides. I’m not allowed hot stuff yet. I make oat oatmeal and let it cool, doing the same with my black coffee. I inhale the coffee’s aroma, comforting myself that I can soon gulp down a tepid splash. I make my warm water with salt and swish, rinse, and spit, as required, marking it off my mental checklist, along with two Ibuprofen and my Amoxicillin. I have pain killers but I don’t use them. Just give me some coffee, damn it.

My wife is leaving for the gym. “Do you want me to pick you up anything?” she asks.

“Sunshine,” I sniff.

“I mean food.”

“No.”

I sit and eat my chilled oatmeal and smell my coffee.

I check my phone for texts. Nothing from Dad’s side in Texas nor Mom’s side in Pittsburgh, PA. Guess both of their issues are temporarily abated.

Today’s music is “How Does It Feel” by London Grammar. The Neurons turned it loose in the morning mental music stream after my wife asked how my mouth felt. “Fine,” I answer, feeling grumbly.

The coffee is cool enough to drink. The sky has gotten darker. It’s almost time for my chlorhexidine gluconate oral rinse. I raise my cup and look out the window. “To summer.”

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Thursda’s Theme Music

Clouds are climbing over the mountains and shouldering the blue sky and sunshine out of the valley. It’s Thursda, June 19, 2025. Today will tap out in the low to mid 70s after breaking down to the low fifties, all Fahrenheit, in the night. Rain might be coming tomorrow, along with lower temperatures.

We’re watching a fire to our west. In the Upper Applegate/Ruch area, it’s already eaten over 350 acres. Firefighters are working it; the cooler temperatures are helping. Some smoke is slipping our way, taxing our air quality.

News about Mom is not readily available. When we last left her story, she’d been taken to the hospital where, at a few minutes after midnight, they weren’t sure they were keeping her or discharging her. She was constipated and in intense pain. They don’t know what’s causing the pain.

Today’s music is by the O’Jays. “Love Train” is part of the Philly sound. Coming out in 1972, many call it early disco but I book it as R&B. Whatever genre you label it, the song was part of a more optimistic period, when we were saying, hey, peace and brotherhood are good things and they are possible. It’s possible for us all to live side by side and not just survive but thrive. Some, though, fell behind while others were thriving. Contemptuous neer’ do wells use the gap to wedge people further apart and pour hate in. Whatever someone hates or doesn’t like, they find someone on ‘the other side’ to hate for it. The Neurons hooked it when a snatch of song was heard which may have been “Love Train”. So here we are.

It’s a short entry. I’m off for oral surgery now. Coffee, food, and any fluids are currently off limits. See you on the rebound. Cheers

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Wenzda’s Wandering Thoughts

We slipped out of the house into the cool morning with a ladder and a few pint containers. Our objective is unchanged since 2007, our first spring and summer in this house: cherries!

Our neighbor has a cherry tree. At their insistence, the yield from any branch on our side of the fence belongs to us. Most years, the cherries are ready around July 1st. But blessed with the right weather, the neighbors picked their side earlier this week. We did our picking today. Cool and pleasant air, warming sunshine, a quiet neighborhood, and sweet, fresh, dark red cherries.

It was a morning to savor. Cherry scone, anyone?

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