Satyrdaz Theme Music

Dreary sunshine and bleached skies say hello when Papi and I step out to inspect the morning. It’s 49 F in Ashlandia today, Satyrda, October 4, 2025. A high of 60 is anticipated. The furnace was turned on to dispel some of the morning chill, as it was just 67 F in the house. Despite these clouds, rain is not a worry for us. Personal note, today is the 51st anniversary of when I swore my oath to defend the Constitution in the U.S. military.

All my appointments went very well Thursday. Texted Mom to tell her we’re coming to Pittsburgh for her 90th birthday. She says she’s looking forward to seeing us but is busy painting the kitchen cupboards right now. Dad remains in rehab in Texas. Spoke to him, and he was in terrific spirits and sounded strong, healthy, and alert.

Trump’s Venezuelan body count is 21 after U.S. missiles destroyed another boat. That’s number four. What’s the body count over/under for a Nobel Peace Prize?

The Weariness Meter is in the upper ranges today. I feel I’m flagging over the news. Think I’ll take a time out from keeping up to date. That general malaise striking me had me thinking about past and present. 1974, when I graduated from high school and joined the military, still appears as a decent year when I look back through time’s long lens. This year, 2025, feels like a terrible year on multiple levels. Reflections have me treading on a path of thought about how much we’ve regressed in my lifetime. Most of that came in the last 20 years. Hell, most of it came with Trump’s takeover of the White House in 2025. Much of it is due to Russ Vought and Project 2025 and their effective use of Trump as a dupe.

The Neurons decide to cheer me up with “Here’s Where the Story Ends” by Sundays in my morning mental music stream. Sample lyrics for you from Songfacts.com.

Crazy I know, places I go
Make me feel so tired
I can see how people look down
I’m on the outside

Oh, Here’s where the story ends
Ooh, Here’s where the story ends

It’s that little souvenir of a terrible year
Which makes my eyes feel sore
And who ever would’ve thought the books that you brought
Were all I loved you for
Oh the devil in me said go down to the shed
I know where I belong
But the only thing I ever really wanted to say
Was wrong, was wrong, was wrong

It’s that little souvenir of a colorful year
Which makes me smile inside
So I cynically, cynically say the world is that way
Surprise, surprise, surprise, surprise, surprise

Here’s where the post ends. Hope grace and peace pop up for us someday soon. Got my coffee. Time to motor. Cheers

Fridaz Theme Music

And the sky is a hazy shade of summer. Good morning from Yachats on the Oregon coast, where it’s 56 F with a marine layer blending blues and grays with the sky and the Pacific. Sunshine has roared over the eastern mountains. We don’t know where today’s battle between weather elements will take us. Yesterday was sharply clear all day long with a sunset unfettered by a marine layer. Forecasts yesterday were teasing us with suggestions that today’s high would find 70 F. Now they’re saying that it isn’t going past 65 F…again.

Ocean splash booms are a familiar these days, but a coverlet of fresh silence stays on us. I’ve not heard a train, siren, helicopter, or aircraft in many sleeps. All are usual sidekicks to every mundane venture outside the house door where we live in semi-rural, semi-urban southern Oregon. Serenity now.

News was shut out like a bad smell yesterday. Too much sunshine and good vibes distracting us, at least for one fortunate day. I did see that a judge ruled that Abina Habba is not lawfully serving as a judge. His ruling is not being enforced to allow the usual appeals. Wouldn’t be surprised to hear later that the judge’s observations about procedures being flouted and requirements ignored is waved away like a gnat annoying a MAGA ear.

Today’s song is “White Wedding” by Billy Idol. It’s our friends’ 34th anniversary. He and she recounted courtship tales and followed up with wedding day memories. She related that they kicked off their fancy wedding duds and played volleyball in the sand. That was an appropriate homage to how they hooked up, by noticing one another on the volleyball court. Anyway, The Neurons, being the jerks they are, heard all this and summoned “White Wedding”. This is a fascinating acoustic version.

May grace and peace hold and keep you. I’m depending on coffee once again. Onward and upward, here we go. Cheers

Sunday’s Theme Music

Today’s microexistence is Sunday, Aug 6, 2023. I’m in Ashlandia, where the deer eat everything and many people are annoyed. 70 F now, the bottom line for how high the temperature will go is 89. Sunset and sunrise are now contracting our daylight hours. We’re pushing through August. September lurks, waiting to hustle in autumn for us.

Another night of riotous dreaming was experienced. The most surprising one had me as a young gunman trapped in a suburban house with three others. We had automatic weapons and were in this situation because we’d shot and killed another young man, apparently in conjunction with a gang feud. Now, trapped, we decided we were going to break out blazing and make, a shoot and run to escape. Corporeal I was protesting my dream I’s thinking and behavior, cursing him for being a fool, urging him not to do it. But whatever I urged him not to do, he did it anyway, damn him. Real me couldn’t stop dream me. I twice forced a redo, but it went the same. It felt like the dream scene was my subterranean neurons cooking up a movie to show my battle between different sides of my self.

I awoke, thinking about that dream and others, and ended up ceiling staring in thought. Running with that cue, Der Neurons started streaming “Brian Wilson” by the Bare Naked Ladies (1992) in the morning mental music stream (trademark existential). At least I readily knew the connection this time. One line goes, “So I’m lying here, staring at the ceiling.” Okay, well done, Neurons. Take a mental bow.

Tomorrow is the anniversary of when my wife and I married. Totally other existence when we did, when we were young in 1975. Been a bumpy road. Almost went over a few cliffs. I enjoy her company and have great admiration for who she is. I think she likes me, too, although I exasperate her. Well, she does exasperate me as well. Love is a spectrum, as is hate — hell, marriage and all the emotions are spectrums. We constantly slide back and forth, finding and losing balance, opening and closing the distance between us.

Stay pos, be strong, find the course and follow it, correcting as is needed. Coffee has already slipped past the guards and is supplying The Neurons with needed energy reinforcements. Let’s hear some music.

Cheers

45

Just one of those coincidences that we’re on POTUS #45 and my spouse and I are celebrating our 45th wedding anniversary today. Simple people, we’re honoring our people by observing the traditional meal of pizza and a salad. The salad will be made in the kitchen but the pizza will be a Papa Murphy’s Garden Veggie Delite (thin crust). This is our first takeout pizza since March, when the rona sheltering began. Pie for dessert will follow.

She’s made me a much better person with her intelligence, empathy, and passion for social justice and reading. I hope she got something from me for her troubles. I love her, enjoy her, and I’m grateful for her, though I’m shit at showing those things.

Happy anniversary, honey buns.

Recurring Topics

I was thinking about my recurring topics as I walked today. My blog and posts are mostly about me, and so is this post.

I have several recurring subjects. Daily theme music and catfinitions are my most consistent offerings. The first came about because I stream music in my head quite often. That’s my way of saying I remember music and hum or sing to myself. Memories of where I was, and who I was with are frequently affixed to the music, so the music trigger speculation about life.

I also stream music in my head when I write. Not all of it is pop/rock, folk, rap, etc. Some classical music seeps into the streams. I don’t use it as theme music. I always wonder with this, am I alone in streaming music in my head? No, I’m certain I’m not. It’s probably part of a condition. To be sure, I encourage it because I think it stimulates my imagination.

Catfinitions were born from perceptions. I have four cats. They all came to me as cast-offs from others. We know the background to two of them. One, Quinn, came running to me one winter night and then refused to stay with his people after they took him home. He preferred us. The other, Papi, belonged to a neighbor. So skinny, we always saw him outside, learned that his people didn’t let him into their house for reasons that weren’t disclosed, and fed him and took him in to keep him safe, warm, and healthy. They moved away and left him. End of story.

The other two, Tucker and Boo, showed up, hungry and hopeful. They were fed, so they stuck around. I tried finding their owners. Nobody confessed, so the cats are mine, now.

Living with these cats always provides a reason to come up with a word to help describe our relationships and cats’ behavior. Like today’s catfinition, cateral. My wife left the bed this morning. I stretched out. Cats joined me. They, too, stretched out. I got up to pee, and then decided, twenty more minutes in bed. Except, I could not return to bed without shifting two cats. Instead of doing that, I found a different position. Cateral, I realized, as I lay parallel to their positions, chuckling. I easily amuse myself. Several readers like the catfinitions, so I keep doing them. They’re fun for me.

Writing quotes is a favorite category. I started sharing them after encountering quotes on others’ sites. I think people in every occupation are unique to that occupation. Some occupations have people who are more unique than others. Most people are fortunate that they work alongside another person from their occupation. They understand one another. This gives them comfort and strength, but also gives them a baseline for comparison.

Writing, though, is often a solitary pursuit. Non-writers don’t want you to talk about your writing, and I don’t like talking about it, because I think it saps the writing energy.

I end up having conversations in my head. Sometimes I’m speaking to myself. Other times, I discuss things with the muses or characters. The question is, are these three categories actually separate, or are they all just me?

Part of writing is that it is a different process and experience for each of us. It’s a very individual and personal effort. We may share some methodologies and styles, but so much of writing comes from our private baggage. So many of us struggle in our solitude, and we wonder, is it like this for everyone, including all those who are the greats, and those whose words and ideas awe and inspire us?

So I look for quotes to reaffirm and remember, yes, all those terrific writers out there, in every discipline and category, endured the same damn self-doubt, criticism, and frustration. The only way past it is to persevere. That doesn’t guarantee anything, but you can’t be called a failure if you haven’t stopped, and as it’s often reiterated, you won’t get anywhere if you don’t write. Even garbage can be edited.

I post about bumper stickers frequently but less often than the first three subjects. Those are bumper stickers that I see on the passing cars that strike me as humorous or interesting. Sometimes, I just don’t see any new ones, not surprising, because this is a tourist town and a college town. The students usually don’t have cars, and the tourists only come during certain seasons. That’s when I see new bumper stickers.

My personal favorite posts are about writing like crazy. These vanity posts are about my writing progress, writing success, lessons learned, and struggles. I like writing them most because they help me think through things that I’ve noticed about my efforts to write. It’s therapy, and I share, because sometimes others comment.

Last are the dreams. I dream so often. I like dreaming. I like remembering them.

My dreams don’t always make sense. Hell, they don’t usually make sense. As a writer and human, I want to know what they mean and why I dreamed what I dream.

So, I write about it. Some of those dream writings are published as posts. One, I’m comfortable thinking while typing. Two, writing and posting about my personal dreams helps me overcome my wealth of self-doubts and anxieties. Putting myself out there helps me think about words and their meanings, but it also helps me develop a thicker skin, which I desperately need.

Those are my usual subjects. There are also sometimes minor and major rants, but they’re a spur of the moment thing. I also write once in a while about current events, food, beer, coffee, politics, walking, reading, movies, travel, Ashland, and my Fitbit, but they aren’t my usual subjects.

All this comes up now because I started writing this blog in May, 2016, so it’s been two years, if my math is right. (If I was a cat, I might call this my cativersary. Sorry.)

So, thanks for stopping by.

Thanks for reading and liking.

Thanks for commenting.

Thanks for the posts that you share. Your talent, knowledge, experiences, humor, stories, and courage amaze and inspire me. Keep it up.

Cheers

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