I paced the room, waiting for word about my wife’s 2003 Ford Focus. The car was recently stopping on its own, unsafe and inconvenient.
I resisted thinking it was a battery at first. The car cranked up and fired without any issues but then died.
My wife didn’t think it was a battery. “It starts up. Nothing dims, and it doesn’t have that weak, sluggish sound when it starts.”
I agreed in principle. I checked the battery, confirming, no loose wires or cables, intact and clean. A date on the battery’s side, 05 20, surprised me.
Telling my spouse about it, I added, “I didn’t think the battery was that old.”
We reminisced about buying it. Delivering Food & Friends alone because the COVID pandemic was underway, her car died enroute. She called me to rescue her, which I gleefully did to escape the house.
I reminded her, recent ‘high-discharge’ batteries don’t show the same dying battery symptoms we grew up seeing. Then I recalled, it was cold when the car died on her a couple times this week. Cold affects how much energy batteries can deliver.
I decided, checking the battery was where to begin. An appointment at Les Schwab, a mile away, was made for 10 AM this morning.
I started the Focus without any issue; it died five seconds later. I started it again. Death came five seconds later.
Three times was a charm, but I worried about the car dying as I drove to the appointment.
The Les Schwab tech confirmed, bad battery. “One cell is completely dead,” he said.
That fit, to me. A couple hundred dollars later, we believe we have the problem solved.
Whether the problem is truly solved won’t be clear until the car has been driven normally a few times. I have high confidence it’s fixed, though.
Ashland continues a weather pattern of cold nights, warming days, blue skies, and air stagnation. Blue skies came, went, and returned yesterday. Like yesterday, today’s highs will register over 50.
I’m happy to report that Alexa, online, and my system closely agree that it’s cold this morning. Alexa calls it 31, my system tells me it’s 27 F, and Ashland’s temperature online says, 32. Rejoice!
It looks warmer out there, an illusion of golden sunshine on majestic but naked oak branches lit against sky blue. Stepping out, as Papi will tell you, is a different matter. He did his business and hurried back in to work through breakfast.
Mom and sis each report adjustments have been made, and acceptance of their new relationship is growing. Each still complains about the other but in gentler terms, with more compliments for one another sprinkled in. Hope remains alive that Mom living at sis’s house will eventually thrive.
Sis says they’re preparing for a big winter storm in Pittsburgh, up to twelves inches of snow. She stocked up on baked goods to prepare.
It’s always interesting how things change and stay the same. Weather is one, Mom and sis are another. Trump is a third.
Trump wants Greenland ‘for the United States’, threatening eight allies with tariffs. Global markets responded with fast drops based on worries about a trade war. Whether that impacted Trump’s thinking, he withdrew the tariff threats on those eight nations.
Nobody has received that check. Trump didn’t remember making that promise when people asked about it.
And, let’s not overlook the Trump phone. Promised in 2025, there were rumors of about 600,000 pre-orders. None have been reported as received or delivered.
I’ve heard whispers from some that maybe a tipping point was reached with Trump. I’m not sure that’s so and won’t let myself get optimistic about it.
Thinking about what they’d seen, The Neurons brought up Green Day and their song, “Waiting”.
Now, time to chug coffee and head out to the repair shop to deliver my wife’s vehicle and await their verdict. The car sometimes completely dies without warning. It’s over 20 years old but in good shape, so we have our fingers crossed that something quick and easy will be found. Taking a book with me, in case it’s a long wait.
I hope positive energy fills your day and good things come your way, today and every day. Cheers
Jerry Seinfeld and George Costanza are two characters from “Seinfeld”, a television series which was originally broadcast last century. Jerry Seinfeld played himself as a comedian living in New York, alongside Jason Alexander as his best friend, George Costanza.
I ran into Jerry in a dream. Jerry and I were talking when George came up. Jerry said to me, “Hey, we’re going to a comedy festival. Should be fun. Want to come?”
I agreed. After brief discussion, we decided I would ride with Jerry in his car, and George would drive himself, due to commitments after the festival.
Jerry and I set off on a straight road toward a sunset. Looking back, I confirmed George was following. Turning back, I watched the road in silence. Jerry, behind the wheel, was absorbed with his phone. We were coming toward a tree-line section and another vehicle was closing fast when I realized we were drifting across the centerline.
I said, “Jerry, the road,” but in a calm voice.
Without saying anything, Jerry set his phone aside and took the wheel, moving us to the right side.
We arrived at the open festival and met up with George. Jerry led us to our seats in an open-roof amphitheater. I settled in and watched acts, and then concocted my own and delivered a monologue up where I stood. To my surprise, it was broadcast a few minutes later to much laughter and applause.
The show ended. People began moving toward other activities. I realized that I’d lost track of Jerry and George and began walking around, both looking for them, and taking in sights.
Coming across a large pond set in rocks with fountains spraying into the air, I went into the water, in part for fun but also to escape the crowds. When I came back out, I realized that I’d been wearing sunglasses. I searched my pockets in case I’d absently taken them off but decided that I must have lost them in the water. Beginning to retrace my steps, I shrugged it off with the realization, the loss didn’t matter because this was only a dream.
Well, I dreamed my wife was driving the car. I was in the back seat of this dark green sedan beast. Weird, I was standing while my wife was sitting, sawing at the giant steering wheel. But my head was at her level. Oddly, the steering wheel was on the right, counter to the usual U.S. practice of having the wheel on the left side.
A gorgeous woman with a low top and cleavage displayed was on the seat behind me, wholly exciting me with her presence, trying to entice me to join her. I’m like, “That’s nuts!” My wife is driving us to either shopping or school. Note from the real-life side, my wife only drives me when my physical condition warrants it.
We stop. I climb out from the back seat. I ask my wife, “Where are we?” It seems familiar, like a beach we’ve visited but no beach is in sight. Instead, white pieces are all over the place.
I pick a few white pieces up with some WTF-self quizzing. They seem bigger than they were. At first, I thought them to be building blocks like the kind children use. Instead, these are as large as shoe boxes, but they’re light. Hardly weigh anything at all.
They’re all over the place, like wreckage. I can’t imagine what happened to cause it. Hurricane? Tornado? Both are feasible but what were the pieces part of and where were they before? I’m looking around, trying to place that.
A whim drives me to collect pieces. After doing that, I realize they can be put together and stacked as a wall. Amused, I do this for a bit. Finding and gathering more pieces, I put together corners, doorways, windows without much effort. I’ve been working a while in bright sunshine, a warm breeze coming along as a visitor. I was sweating and then realized I didn’t see my wife or the car. A little thinking about that progressed but I returned to my building effort. I wondered as I did if this thing I was building was strong enough to stand, and wondered, why am I even doing this? It seemed crazy.
Two other crazy aspects emerged as I worked. The building changed, becoming a real place. I was at once sure that I’d built it but also certain that I’d never done all the things I was seeing. Second, the day seemed to be progressing enormously slowly. I took some time to contemplate where the sun was, trying to think back to where it’d been when I began, but I couldn’t come up with any answer.
Sunset was turning the day into a purple cloud darkness. I was getting into a large, shiny black SUV. My wife was with me, and some others, but they’re unknown. As the mechanics of starting the vehicle and guiding it out of a parking lot to a road was finished, I realized that something was on the vehicle’s front end. That something progressed fast from ‘something’ to a full-grown cougar. With that registering, I stopped the car and told the rest what I saw, then stepped out of the vehicle to cautiously approach the animal. Alive, it clung to the front with its claws. I told it, “Shoo.” To my amazement, the cougar departed its space, trotting away from me, amusing, mysterious, bewildering.
Returning to the vehicle, I drove for some time. Arriving somewhere during daytime, my wife and I left the vehicle to shop in some little stores. Not particularly interested in shopping, I found a cushioned bench where I sat. Feeling drowsy, I laid down to nap. I awoke after some unknown time because a small stripped tabby cat was curled up against me and purring in my ear. Fully awake, I put and scratched the sweet, loving animal. It trotted off, tail high, after a short time.
My wife came and I told her what happened. She was marginally interested, annoying me. We went out and found ourselves on the top tier of a large sports arena. Some football game was underway. I gathered this was a college or university. Skirting the game, my wife and I went down to register for classes. When I walked into the administration building, a large cougar leaped into my arms and held onto me. I was so astonished and a little wary but the animal wasn’t threatening. After some seconds of holding the cougar as it held me, a female administrator came by and told the animal to leave me alone, which it did, trotting off down a hall, disappearing through an open door.
After talking about classes, my wife and I, accompanied by a female friend, went out to walk some trails that crossed the campus. These took us into some small, rocky mountains. The day grew hot under a bright sun. My wife decided to sit and rest. I went on a bit. Looking back, I saw that she’d fallen asleep so I laid down to nap. I took off my pants, leaving me in a shirt and underwear, but covered myself with a light blanket. The friend came up. She teased and flirted with me, suggesting she wanted to join me. While I rejected her, I also wanted her, and found the entire encounter intensely erotic.
This was a variation of a dream which I’ve had several times. It’s been several years, as best as I can recall. Basics include a water related disaster while I’m in a huge building. The building’s purpose is never fully clear, but it reminds me of modern office buildings.
Toward the dream’s end, I look out a window. The building is on a shoreline but raised above the beach. From my vantage, I can look down and across. I see deep blue water lapping at the upper level of rocky breakers. It’s clear that water broke over those breakers but has receded some. “Oh my god,” I said, “I didn’t realize the water got that high.”
The person I’m speaking with agrees, and tells me it was much higher. The building had been evacuated. Almost everyone was gone. I decide the time is right for me to get out. But I know where my car was parked. I know that area was flooded.
Then I think, wait, I had another car parked on another level. Do I have the key? Yes, I do. Good. Just need to reach it.
I go to use some stairs to go down. They’ve been severely damaged. Pipes and wires are exposed, blocking part of the way, and some of the wall has been knocked over. I attempt to go down one side but the way is blocked. Seeing another way, I precariously cross from one side to the other as others watch and anxiously call, “Careful.” But I make it without issue.
Going down, which in real life seems wrong but made perfect sense in dreamland, I reach my old car. It gets muddled here; the old car is sometimes an old green Mercury Comet sedan I drove as a teenager but it’s a silver Nissan 200 I once owned at other times. While I’m confused while remembering it, it seemed straightforward in my dream.
I start toward the car when three women interrupt me. All are dressed in the Air Force ‘office’ uniform that we used to wear, a light blue shirt with insignia, ribbons and awards, and name plate, along with black shoes and dark blue pants. Their uniforms are immaculate. One is a stranger, one is my sister, and the third is an actress. But they’re just friendly strangers in the dream. The one who is my sister says, “Can you answer a question for us? We’re trying to figure out if running the radio slows down a Formula 1 car.”
The actress says, “I think it would slow down a NASCAR racer but they’re still pretty fast. They can go three hundred miles an hour.”
Several responses bounce around my head. Like, Formula 1 cars don’t have radios in the way she’s talking about, which becomes clear as she explains that she thinks drivers probably enjoy listening to music. I tell them that race cars don’t have radios that play music and that it would slow them down anyway. They thank me and start talking to one another. I go on.
As I approach the car, two cats appear. They are Jade and Roary, two cats who once lived with us but at different times. They’re well, healthy, with their tails up. Neither make a noise but are waiting for me to get into the car. I open the door. They stand aside as I get in and start it without problem. Looking across the parking lot, I see another car I used to own, a blue Mazda RX-7, and think, wait until I tell my wife about that. Then I tell the cats, “Come on, get in.” They hop into the car, and I put it into gear. Dream end.
Not my RX-7 but one just like it, one of three I owned at different times.
Thinking about it, though, I was dismayed. I thought several negative aspects were being presented to me. But a voice in my head said, “Let’s talk about this dream.” Summarizing, the voice tells me, you have at least two more lives left, represented in the two cats. Also, you’re not as close to death as you sometimes think. Your old car represents you. Your car was unexpectedly remembered, found, and then started without problem. You’re being helped by female energy from three different but related sources. The water was high but it’s receding, and things will get better.
I was traveling on a large boat. It almost seemed like an enormous barge. Rusted and worn with use, it was safe but old, tired, and without comfort. It was also packed with fellow travelers. Most were women. I knew some, and my wife was among them.
The barge sailed on a rippling brown river so wide that the banks couldn’t be seen. We’d been traveling for days and getting close to the end. While many rode along as gossiping, resting passengers, I had a role of keeping things as organized as possible. This had me racing around. I was often on metal walks above the rest, and would look down and see what was going on as I rushed from task to task.
At one point, I was forced to go down among them. I’d stripped off clothing because I was hot. Wearing only my boxer shorts, I couldn’t find my clothes.
I didn’t care. It was important that I go down and do what was needed. My arrival in my underwear drew attention and comments. I shrugged them off. I overhead my wife undertaking explanations about ‘who I was’, but that didn’t matter to me.
Abruptly, we arrived and disembarked in a chaotic surge. I found myself driving a powerful white sedan filled with people. Racing away from the docks on surface streets, I saw a speed limit sign, 80 MPH. Stepping on the accelerator, I merged with traffic onto a huge white cement Interstate. We were going down a short hill through a curve. Ahead was an enormous hill and multiple exits listed. I called out to my wife, who was in the back seat, for instructions about where to go, demanding, “Which exit do I need to take?”
She replied, “I don’t know, I haven’t been paying attention.”
That infuriated me. I wanted to verbally berate her but then thought, why wasn’t I paying attention?
Snap, crackle, and whoosh. September’s final Frida descends on us. September 26, 2025. 54 F outside. Sunshine, blue sky, changing trees, classic Americana fall look. We’ll climax at 80 F today.
Dreams again propel today’s music choice. I’ve been dreaming deeply, frequently, vividly. While thinking about last night’s featured dream this morning, all about a boat ride on a wide river on an overcrowded boat, followed by a fast drive on a wide highway in an overcrowded car, Les Neurons brought Mazzy Star into the morning mental music stream and “Fade into You” plays.
Reading last night, this morning. Realizing again how much U.S. conservatives feast on violence and hypocrisy. Decry violence, but always blame others for it, and never do anything about it except their Twister edition of the blame game. In that way, they’ll always have their violence, always have their game to play, which distracts and enrages their base, and keeps conservatives going. If not for violence and taking down freedoms, and giving tax breaks to corporations and the wealthy, the GOP has no platform. Sure, the claim they’re for law and order. Anyone without their head up Trump’s ass knows that’s a play they’re putting on. The GOP staunchly declare they’re for small gov’t, another farce as they launch government into being meddlesome and invasive while reducing the ways in which it’s helpful. GOP also lectures that it’s for state’s rights, but that’s only when doing so serves them. No, they’re for big, controlling, violent government.
The Trump Regime likes to brag ’bout how great it is. How wonderful they’re making the United States. Trump is especially bullish about his accomplishments but when you line up the facts, he comes across like a fourth grader bragging about getting the best grade in class when it turns out he failed. This thought comes after reading a Daily Kos piece about Trump’s FEMA withholding funding from hurricane victims. Trump’s alternate female version, Kristi Noem, bragged about how fast they were doing it. Turns out the states are saying, nope. We’re not getting much help from them.
Hope peace and grace shows up in your day. If it shows up in mine, I’ll offer it some coffee, something to eat, something to feed upon and grow. Got my coffee. Awaaay we go. Cheers
A hotter day is on hand for Ashlandia today but it’s not insurmountable. Thirstda, August 7, 2025, came in at 62 F and will climb the thermometer until the upper 80s are engaged. Skywise, it’s mostly blue with some curious cumulo type clouds peeking in to see what’s up.
Mom’s addition to her Penn Hills home in Pennsylvania is progressing fast. This will be her new bedroom. Located right off the short hall between the main floor bathroom and the kitchen, with easy access to the living room, this will ease matters for her. My brother-in-law, who specializes in plumbing but has been in construction all of his adult life, is doing the work and managing the site. Ever-reliable sis is managing the project. Completion by August’s finish is feasible. The latest hang up is about the ramp. ADA guidelines end up dictacting a 24 foot long ramp. That’s another five grand, and Mom’s BF, Frank, is against it.
Dad’s in the hospital again. Same matters as before. Feels like he’s doing a slow drain circle. I’ve been through this with other people, in and out of the hospital with declining health and worsening prognosis until it’s finally decided to move them to hospice. Don’t mean to sound blase about it but this is modern U.S. life, it feels like. I imagine that my end will be something similar.
Meanwhile, I’m mourning the passing of a cousin’s husband. I never met him. Haven’t seen her, the cousin, in over forty years. But I know her and love her as family, and always enjoyed her company. And that’s the way that works now, for me. Others might shrug and say, well, I don’t really know her any more and I’ve never seen her, but that’s just not my take.
Over in MAGALand, it’s Trump tariffs, cancelation of renewable energy projects, etc. As Krugman put it when addressing the last jobs report, the hard data will catch up with the soft data. The soft data amounts to anecdotes about rising prices, people being laid off, shortages, etc. A few months later, and the hard data comes, showing the tangible impact of all those decisions, such as tariffs. The same thing will happen with the cancellation of renewable energy projects. First it will show up as lost jobs. Then it will come in revealed as rising energy prices and rolling brownouts or blackouts because demand outpaces supply. But this is the GOP way in the 2020s, to blindly shortchange everything and anything. They ‘don’t believe’ in the climate change evidence, and they think wind and solar energy is inefficient, expensive, and ‘dangerous’. Trump, of course, has all manner of deranged ideas about wind energy causing cancer. But he’s their leader so they eagerly rush down his loony path.
That brings me to today’s music. Thinking about economic developments, trade wars, declining tourism, and the attack on the education system joined a nexus of thinking about my health, Mom’s health, Dad’s health and their declines. Out of that morass, The Neurons cleverly called up The Fixx with their 1983 song, “One Thing Leads to Another”. That’s the way of living, isn’t it? One thing happening eventually leads to another. On the scientific side of things, I used to enjoy a show hosted by James Burke called Connections. Burke was always tracing discoveries and inventions and how they impacted other discoveries and inventions in unanticipated ways. It was a delightful way to experience learning about history and science, and often, economics and religion.
Dropped my car off for routine maintenance this morning. I left it on a Christian radio station for the mechanics. The driver taking me back home is named Mika. From the Bible.
Coffee has plowed into me again. Here we go on another day. May peace and grace find and hold you. Cheers
My wife’s car is over twenty-one years old. Just 110,000 miles on it, it’s her car for buzzing around town. It’s a gray Ford Focus ZX5. I surprised her with it after her previous car was declared totaled when it was rear-ended.
The five in ZX5 means the car has five doors, which includes its hatchback. We bought it new. It’s never broken down on us. The engine is terrific, the brakes are always screeching and complaining, the suspension has sports car aspirations, and the seats were shit. I put seat covers on it ten years ago, which greatly improved the interior’s looks.
Worse for me, though, is her car’s transmission. An automatic, it does this clunky downshift which sounds and feels like the engine is falling out. I took it to Ford after the first few times that it happened; they said, “That’s normal.” I replied, “That’s shit.” I wanted to get rid of the car. Get something newer, maybe a hybrid, which would get better fuel economy and have more modern creature comforts.
Wife says, “Nope. I want to keep my car.” That’s that.
She came to me the other day. “My car is making a new noise.”
“Well, it’s old. It’s not a surprise.”
“It groans a lot. Sometimes it sounds like it’s saying, ‘my knees hurt.'”
My wife is a year younger than me, which puts her in her late sixties. I looked at her. “I think you might be projecting, hon.”
Michael Seidel, writer 