Tag: accident

Mundaz Theme Music

Summer sensations still regale Ashlandia. 65 F when my eyes met the day, sunshine and blue skies were saying hello. Wind is thrashing like a disjointed washing machine but the temperature is credited with a chance to hit 80 F today. 82 F was seen at my place yesterday, and Papi took full advantage of it to soak in warm sun. For the tape, this is Munda, October 6, 2025.

Went this morning to have blood drawn after overnight fasting. Routine check, ordered months ago. Long line for people at the lab but they were quick, efficient, and friendly. I was soon seen but the tech couldn’t get out of blood of me! She called for backup, as she put it, and blood was found.

News from my POV seems oddly slow and stilted for a Munda. I think it’s because Trump is pulling another TACO act and hiding out from criticism and rulings against him. Part of this might also be because he’s physically and mentally failing in multiple ways, and it’s becoming more greatly exposed each time a camera or microphone finds him. Amazing how the military isn’t being paid; he reassures them, don’t worry about it. Great empathy, once again! I hear he did have another meltdown about being unappreciated and misunderstood, going on a poor little rich TACO once again. Poor little man baby.

The Epstein Shutdown continues without change. GOP left D.C. with a shrug and refuse to negotiate with the Democrats. The GOP sputtering, mewing blame game is weakening. The majority of voters polled said, “This is on Trump and the GOP.” Firm Trumpheads still insist it’s on the Democrats but they’re stay as fact resistant as Trump and speak from an alternate reality that echos with NAZI and imperial white supremacy tones.

Cowardly Trump and the spineless GOP really don’t want to the Epstein files released. They’d rather break the nation and destroy the economy before they let us see what those files have on Donald J. Trump.

Today’s song was put into the morning mental stream out of reflections about plans to visit Mom and family. As part of that, I thought, see some family, good for the soul. Resonating with Der Neurons, they dialed up Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band. Into the MMMS flowed “Hollywood Nights”. Remember, Bob sings, “See some old friends, good for the soul.” And there’s Les Neurons’ connection.

Then, new from Mom’s was texted in. Mom reported hearing a loud crash and several thumps. She knew her BF, Frank, had gone upstairs and concluded that he’d fallen. Mom called for an ambulance and texted my sister. Sis arrived in time to see the ambulance taking Frank away. We’re guessing from evidence that Frank had used the toilet and was undressing from his pajamas when he lost balance and fell down the stairs. Mom has a gallery of family photos along the lower part of the wall. Half were knocked off. Newest text report just arrived from sis.

It’s not good news about Frank. He broke several ribs on both sides. He fractured his hip. The one that was replaced. They’re going to call his operative doctor to ask him what he wants to do about that. I can’t think of his name. they aren’t gonna do anything about the ribs, cause there is nothing to do but let them heal. Also, his heart was out of rhythm when he got there and told him he had chest pains last night and took some nitroglycerin, but never told mom.

Frank is 95.

He’s in my thoughts and worries now, along with Mom. Peace and grace to all of us. Now, off for coffee. Have a dental appointment in three hours. Hope you have a great day. Cheers

5

Wenzdaz Wandering Thoughts

Hurt myself today. Yep, totally self-inflicted, and I was totes sober and drug free. Goes like this.

I was walking fast into the bathroom to get into the business of shaving, teeth brushing, and showering. A million things were heading through my mind. I’d just come from the living room, where Papi, by sole floof, was sweetly sleeping on a chair. But as I walked into the primary bath, I heard a loud, sharp meow behind me.

I knew it wasn’t Papi. Not his meow.

Whirling around, I simultaneously turned my head to go the other way and plowed straight into the door jamb. I fortunately hit with my forehead. Being hard-headed can sometimes help, and this is one of those times. Had my head been up, I could have easily broken my nose or given myself a split lip or black eye.

Staggering back after bouncing off the frame, I held my head and said, “Jesus, Michael. What is wrong with you?” Remembering the meow, I looked up.

A small gray and white feline visitor was staring at me through my patio door. I’d never seen the critter before. As I said, “Hello, who are you,” it whipped around and dashed away.

I peered outside for any more sign of it. Seeing none, I checked my damages in the mirror. One thing really still bothered me.

What caused that cat to meow like that?

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Munda’s Wandering Thoughts

It’s funny, sometimes.

My wife picked up a skillet the other day. Washed and dried, she was putting it away. When she turned, the skillet nailed her glass of water on the counter. Put the glass airborne and shattered it into sixteen zillion pieces of glass. Water, Everywhere.

We have hardwood floors in that part of the house — kitchen, foyer, dining room, halls. The glass was cleaned up as best as we could. But. It’s glass.

A few days after the incident, a piece of glass found my heel. Bleeding and pain followed. As the situation unfolded, after almost fifty years of marriage and three more years of being together, my wife asked me, “Why aren’t you wearing shoes?”

I replied, “I don’t wear shoes in the house.”

Yep, it’s funny, sometimes.

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Monday’s Theme Music

Monday began with a crash. The cats rushed in. One tentatively walked forward, eyeing the wreck. The others sat down and looked at me. “You’re in trouble,” he said.

I knew he was right. I’d begun unloading the clean dishes from the dishwasher. A small ceramic bowl was on the counter. I picked the white thing up, thinking, where can I put this so it’s out of the way? As I turned, it yelled, “For love,” and threw itself from my hand. It crashed to the floor and splintered into forty pieces or more, like a huge white KFC offering. The bowl’s last words were, “Tis my heart,” then it was no more.

I cleaned up the mess with care. It had landed on a kitchen throw rug. I took that off and shook it out, and then vacuumed the crime scene. The cats monitored everything to ensure I did it right.

My wife came into the kitchen as I finished. “What happened?” I explained it all. I knew it would affect her. Yeah, it did. The white bowl sits in the middle of a bamboo serving tray. We’ve had it since I took my first lesson in being married. I’m still learning. We paid about $20 for it at a store like K-Mart, but you know how it is with these things that you buy when you’re poor and first starting out. They’re cheap and priceless.

Or maybe you don’t know because you were never poor or never started out, or you lack sentimental bones and think, it’s just a bowl, get over it. Oh, you heathen.

Anyway, I can still see the bowl leaving my left hand. I still wonder how it happened. I still see my wife’s look when I explained, and I still hear the noise it made when it kissed the floor.

Depressing way to begin a day but not as bad as some things which could’ve happened, I tell myself. That’s true. Just read the news.

The Neurons began my day with two songs in succession in the morning mental music stream (trademark pending). First was “Abacab”, a 1981 song by Genesis. I believe that’s in mind because of yesterday’s theme song, “Turn It On Again”. That lasted until I looked out the window and checked the billowing trees and crashing rain. Then The Neurons dropped “Manic Monday”, written by Prince, performed by the Bangles, released in 1986. But then, watching rain and wind and a single scrub jay out the window, Les Neurons pulled up another 1986 song, a reflective tune by The Steve Miller Band called “I Want to Make the World Turn Around”. It starts with a sax, which surprised me when I learned it was a Steve Miller offering. Wasn’t startled to learn later that was Kenny G. playing sax. Had that feel.

Today is December 26, 2022. Hope you and yours can seize the day. Sun rose here at 7:38 and will set at 4:45. The high will be 56 F and there’s a wind warning out. Right now, it’s 51 F. A Christmas cactus sits in sunshine in the living winter, offering some joy in its red blossoms. Other than, it’s just another Monday.

Time for coffee. Cheers

3

The Messenger Dream

I’d been selected to be a messenger. Don’t know who chose me, nor the message.

I was waiting to get the message in my place, a small apartment in a large high-rise building. Few windows let in light but natural sources outside were diminished by storms. Friends and acquaintances visited. Several noticed that I had four model cars in a case. These were Formula 1 cars from the 1970s and 1980s, 1/12 scale. People bent down to look into the black case to see them. As they began commenting, I turned on the case lights so they could see them. Up front on the right was the Ferrar 312 T which Lauda drove to championships. Behind it a little was a Mclaren MP4/4, a model driven by Senna and Prost, with the markings and settings for Prost’s vehicle. I explained these things to everyone, but then, the time for me to act as messenger arrived.

The message was given on a slip of paper. I went out and delivered it, no problem, despite a deluge. Coming back, I descended a long, steep hill on an asphalt path. Left of me was busy thoroughfare, twelve lanes of newly paved road, packed with cars. At the bottom of the hill was an intersection where a wide new road came down from the right. I needed to cross that wide road. My building was on the other side. I could see its parking lot.

Rain still poured as thunder rumbled. I stepped onto the road into the crosswalk, then looked back and left to ensure the cars turning right from the main road were letting me pass. They were stopped and waiting, so I waved thanks and proceeded. Mind shifting to the traffic coming on the road which I crossed, I saw a huge tanker truck approaching, going way too fast for conditions. I stopped to await the outcome.

The long truck, a blue tractor with a silver trailer, was rushing toward the intersection, sliding with his brakes locked. As he passed me, the truck entered a slow jack knife and then fell over onto its side and slid more, stopping just after entering the intersection. Everyone saw it coming and stopped. No one hit it and it sat on its own, alone in the intersection.

A young Black man on a blue bike had been riding down the hill toward the intersection. When the truck arrived and jack knifed, the bike guy braked hard, slid, lost control and was thrown from the bike.

I rushed to help, recognizing that he was also a messenger. He was conscious but dazed, sitting on the roadway, his twisted bike to one side, rain drenching him. Others came to help him, too. I told them to call for an ambulance. Someone suggested helping the truck driver, but I disdained that; he’d brought that on himself, I thought, and others were undoubtably going to help him. A glance that way confirmed that people were at the truck.

I asked the bike rider, “Are you a messenger?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Are you hurt?”

He shook his head. People went to help him up. “No,” I said. “He had a big tumble. There may be injuries which we don’t know. Wait for the EMT.”

Then I asked him, “Where does your message go? I’ll take it for you.”

Dream end.

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Making Sense

We received the official report about what happened to our friend, who was killed last month.

Mike was at the Senior Center, loading supplies into the back of his Subaru for his Food & Friends delivery route when the accident took place. First stories had us believing that a young man in a large pickup came blasting down the short, narrow road. Mike’s car was not touched at all, so that story baffled us. Next, we heard that a senior male was driving down the road, saw Mike, meant to step on the brake but instead pressed the gas. That was closer to the truth.

The whole story was that a senior man was backing up his truck to pick up his Food & Friends supplies. He’d gone up on the curb and pulled forward to try again. Intent on staying off the curb, he didn’t see Mike until the last minute. When he did, he panicked and pressed the gas instead of the brake, trapping Mike between the two vehicles’ rear bumpers.

Mike’s legs were crushed, his femoral arteries and veins severed. He bled out in less than a minute. Even though we now have all the facts, we still struggle to make sense of his death.

5

A Computer Dream

In my twenties, I was working in a computer center. Pretty low-level lights, and warm. The computers were red, about seven feet tall and four feet wide, with black and silver fronts thick with instrumentation. I had a clipboard and was going about, busy checking readouts.

An alarm went off. Reaching up, I hit a large, square black button at the top of the machine before me. Almost instantly, I realized I’d made a mistake: that was the off switch for the entire computer center. I pressed the button again, thinking that if I was fast enough, it wouldn’t go off.

Another alarm began sounding. A female voice said that the system was shutting down. Groaning and cursing emerged from all over. My supervisor, a female a few inches shorter than me, came over. I told her that I’d accidently pressed the off button. She was all smiles. “It happens.”

“I can turn it back on,” I offered.

“No,” she answered. “We’ll just call it a day.”

As everyone packed up and left, I went back to the broad, flat expanse of my desk. Binders of fanfold paper were stacked on my right. It was my plan to go through them. A male co-worker came by and mentioned that he needed to find someone to sweep up the computer center “because the cleaning crew was coming in”. I said I’d do it. Finding the broom, I went through, sweeping piles of paper coffee cups and sheets together. As I did, I mused, weird to clean for the cleaning crew.

The dream ended.

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Three Dream Vignettes

I experienced three highly detailed, vivid dreams last night, all in a row, flowing from one to the other. First up.

I’m in a car driving in a city in the late afternoon to early evening. I’ve come up to a large and busy intersection. The light is red. I have friends in other cars. We’re all going somewhere. My wife is with me in the car.

I think the light is green and go forward. In a flash, like it’s a film being shown, I see cutaways to friends in other cars saying, “Why is Michael going? The light is red. He shouldn’t be going.” They blow their horns.

I’m driving through the intersection. My wife shouts, “What are you doing? The light is red.”

I’m looking up through the windshield. The light is red, but I thought it was a green light. I’m certain that I saw one.

The traffic turning left against us is light. The drivers of those cars are aware that I’m not doing something right. They give me space and distance. No one is hurt except me and my pride. What is wrong with me?

I pull over to the curb. I’m alone in the car. I’m trying to understand why I thought there was a green light. I look up in time to see a young driver execute in the other direction. He’s driving a mid-sixties Pontiac GTO. Classic muscle car. It’s in impressive condition, with a well-maintained, shiny body. As I watch, this young white guy, maybe seventeen years old, does a U turn and hits the side of my car.

I can’t believe this. He’s pulled over. I get out of my car and look at the damage. My car is silver. The damage is light, toward the rear quarter panel. I approach him, and tell him, “You know the drill. License, registration, insurance.” He’s crying because he just got his license. He knows he’ll face trouble. I feel sympathy for him.

My wife comes up. I ask for the camera. She starts making demands about how this will be handled, wanting me to make promises. We get into an argument. She won’t give me the camera. Irritated, I find my computer to take pictures. I know I can, but, the computer is missing its two AA batteries needed for the camera aspect. But, I have batteries in another part of the computer, use those and take the photos needed.

Number two.

I’m talking to a friend and mentioned something about the Chevy El Camino. I ask him if he knows what they are and how they look. He’s not familiar with it, so I tell him I’ll draw a picture of one. For whatever reason, I’m referring to the fourth-generation design from the early to mid 1970s. I’m explaining the design details as I draw it, talking about the front grill, and how it went from a single headlight to a double-stacked headlight on either side. I realize that I’m drawing on top of another drawing someone has done. I’m astonished. How did I not see that?

I don’t want to draw on another’s drawing. It’s a landscape, sort of a primitive style executed in charcoal. I admire it, erase my drawing, and find another piece of paper. I think it’s blank but as I begin drawing again, I see that there is a drawing on it.

I’m amazed. Why can’t I see those drawings before I begin drawing?

Number three.

We’ve arrived at a huge factory. Besides the factory, it has a large administrative/office section. I’m with a party of friends, all male. I think there are twenty of us. None of them are people known from RL but I know all of them in the dream.

A young brunette woman with a ponytail is showing us around the building. When we walk into one part, we men all start laughing. A tall space, it’s divided into sections and cubicles and is stacked from floor to ceiling with mechanical equipment and electronic gear. I exclaim, “This is exactly the kind of place that I used to work in.” The other men are saying the same thing. We’re all laughing and agreeing, it’s just like where we used to work. We just walk around, talking about the environment. I follow the path, remembering where my cubicle would have been located. In RL, I never worked in a place like this, but in the dream, I turn a corner, and there is my old workstation. Pointing it out to the rest, I laugh. When they see my station, they go off and start finding their own old workstations. How is this possible, we wonder, because we all worked in different places?

2

Closure

First, a commercial interlude. I’ve been watching Hulu late at night, streaming Fargo. Interesting commercials come on, then. One of them is about Peyronie’s Disease. In the commercial, men are holding up carrots, bananas, and cucumbers. The fruit and vegetables look straight, but the men then turn them to reveal sharp curves. A voiceover says something like, “Does your erection have an unusual curve or bump that it didn’t use to have? Your erections shouldn’t hurt.”

It’s eye-opening.

I never thought about what my erection looked like. Naturally, this commercial made me wonder. Also, my erections never hurt. It’s scary, though. Nothing is safe.

The things I learn from commercials. Maybe I should watch less television. (Sure, that’s the answer.) I pulled out my computer (did you think I was going to put another noun there?) and googled PD to confirm it existed.

It does.

Okay, on to the main event.

I’m a Do-It-Yourselfer.

I’m not a very good one.

Whether it’s writing a computer program or a novel, fixing a car or a wall, painting a house or building a computer — which are things I’ve done — I usually achieve decent results, but it’s a messy process.

I have a few reasons that I think is behind all this.

  1. I’m self taught, but I’m not a very good teacher.
  2. I’m an impatient person.
  3. Whenever I asked for help as a child, Mom told me, “Figure it out.” Like most moms, she thought I was smarter and more capable than I really am. I started believing her.

I was painting our kitchen when I broke my arm in July. Painting the kitchen can be violent, can’t it? What transpired is that our kitchen window is five feet wide and four feet tall. The window looks over the front proch.

A blind was installed for privacy, light, and all that. The blind is one of those that can be pulled up by a cord on one end, or let down by a different cord on the other end. I think the official name is something screwy, like two-way blinds. I don’t know. Look it up.

The thing is, when I re-installed the blinds with my wife’s help after painting the kitchen, one end didn’t get correctly placed in the bracket. Whenever you pulled the cord to raise and lower the blind on that end, the blind bent down. That irritated me. Thus, “I will fix!” I decided.

Climbing onto the counter, I removed the blind and discovered that the brackets weren’t properly aligned. Easy fix, yah? Off I went for the appropriate screw driver to loosen and adjust the brackets. Except, I couldn’t turn the damn screws. They…WOULD…NOT…TURN. But I’d reinstalled the brackets. If I screwed them in, I should be strong enough to screw them out.

Damn it. With rising irritation, I turned to jump down off the counter to get a better tool. When I did, I caught my foot on the counter, setting into motion the awkward crash that broke the bones in my arm and twisted my hand up against my arm, sandwiching it between arm and body.

After that it was pain, hospital, splint, recovering, therapy…

Here we are, three months later. That damn blind was still down. It was driving me crazy.

My wife and I had talked about asking someone to put it up or hiring someone. Neither had happened. She was out yesterday, socially responsibly visiting friends (masks-distance-outside on a private deck). I walked into the kitchen and saw that big window and the brackets where the blind should be installed.

Time to fix it, I decided.

First, a pep talk.

One, I had to be careful. If I fell and hurt myself, I should just face up to it and end my life, because my wife would probably end it for me.

Two, I had to be careful, because I didn’t want to get hurt. I was nervous, which didn’t help, because…what if I fell? I’d never live it down. (I imagined going to the Emergency Room. “You again?” they would exclaim. “What did you do THIS time?” It’s weird that I imagined that. I’ve only been there once in the fifteen years that we’ve lived here.)

So, I told myself, BE CAREFUL. Take your time. Stay in the moment. FOCUS, fool.

I did. The brackets were adjusted and the blind reinstalled. It took about fifteen minutes.

I showed it to my wife when she returned home.

“How did you do that?” she asked.

“Just put on my splint, got the tools, climbed up there and did it.”

“Did you use a chair to get up and down?”

“Of course. I’m a professional.”

“Were you nervous?”

I smiled. “What do you think?”

It was very satisfying to fix the blind. I believe they call it closure.

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