Tag: change

Thursday’s Wandering Thoughts

I walked around Ashland’s Railroad District today, enjoying sunshine, and came across a new plaque. It described that the building behind it was a fire station. Built in 1908, it first had hand-pulled pumper wagons. A horse drawn wagon replaced it a year later. Then, in 1913, the town’s first motorized fire truck was purchased, and the Texaco gas pump at the curb was installed.

That all surprised me. I thought from its glass and metal front, gas pump, and single garage door, that it’d been an early gas station.

The plague went on to explain that besides those things, the station also had a jail.

What?

The jail’s original barred window remained on the building’s alley side.

I walked around and looked at it, confirming, yep, there are bars.

Walking on, I thought about the constance of change. Plaques like these were always fun to find and read, so more of our history is explained and understood. Now the historic building is an artsy consignment shop, as it’s been for over the last ten years.

Just fascinating.

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Mom’s House – A Dream

First, this isn’t anything like Mom’s real life house.

I was sleeping in the dream when something awoke me. I stayed in bed listening. Shades were pulled but daylight was growing visible through the slates. I knew I was in Mom’s and I thought I was alone but I was hearing noises downstairs. As I listened, I realized it was one of my younger sisters, so I dressed and went downstairs.

Down there, I found an open door that led to a patio. A man in half-removed black leather clothing was prostrate on the patio. My sister was further out on the patio, busy doing things. We said hello, and then I asked about the man. She said it was my cousin, Rick. (Due to the marriages and divorces, Rick isn’t her cousin.) Rick, half sleep or drunk, said with a grin and eyes barely open, “Yes, it’s me, Rick. I came to see you.” He then went to sleep.

I moved on out onto the patio. I’d need seen this house of Mom’s before, and was amazed. It was a white cement modern design on the ocean’s shore. Sunshine brightly lit the day. The tide was coming in, entertaining me with smells and thunderous cracking sounds. I was pleased and astonished and talked to my sister about this.

But — the house was right on the shore, although there was an elevation down to the sea. The incoming tide was coming closer and closer to the house, slashing the rocks and earth with heavy rolling waves. I worried about the house flooding, and watched until the waves were right at the house’s foundations.

Then something moved on my vision’s edge, flagging my attention: a black and white kitten was cavorting about on a cement piece. It disappeared.

I hustled over to look for it. It was down under white cement bridge trusses, along with another kitten. The second one was playing in the sea water. Horrified, afraid they needed rescued, I leaned further over.

A man and boy were down with the kittens. With me watching, the boy retreated, calling the kittens, who ran after him.

I headed back for Mom’s house. Now I could see more of its exterior broaded slabs of glass and white cement at arty angles, a very modern and interesting design, with several patios, porches, and balconies. I also saw then that the water had completed retreated already. I asked myself, “How did that happen so fast?”

Going over, I spoke with my sister, pointing out the tide threat to the house, because climate change was raising water levels. I showed her where I can see how high the water used to go, and compared it to this latest. My sister was dismissive, answering, “I know, but this is Mom’s house. It’s not my problem.”

I chastised her for that thinking but left. Mom and her partner arrived. We talked about the house but then she mentioned her other house and wanted her partner to go check on it because there’d be a storm early in the week. I volunteered to go with him and we headed for the door. Mom stopped me and said, “Do you need money? I can give you some if you need it.” I graciously turned her down, thanking her as I did.

Her partner and I arrived at another place. Isolated and not nearly as grand as the place which I’d just left, surrounded by mud and puddles, it was also white and modern, although it all looked shabby and dirty. I asked him, “Whose house is this?” When he replied that it belong to him and my mother, I followed up, “You two bought it together?”

“Yes,” he answered.

He and I made our way into the house. There was no furniture. In the kitchen, I discovered warped, damaged cupboards. I pointed these out to him, and he agreed, these needed to be replaced. I found an open window. Showing him, I asked, “Is this always left open?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Well, that’s what’s damaging the inside. That needs to be closed.”

Dream end.

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Two Long, Vivid Dreams

Two long and vivid dreams have stayed with me last night. The first intrigued me because of its approach; the second was almost another variation on the many dreams that hook up to my military career.

In the first, we were in a dystopian existence. I’d been hiking along some low mountains by the seashore when I found this huge steel-lined bunker in a mountain side. Calling it huge is an understatement; I walked in and looked up and gaped: it was as large as a football stadium but fully enclosed. After whistling, I said, “We can survive here.” I began making plans for a settlement.

What had happened and who would survive wasn’t fully clear. I seemed to be leading a small group of survivors, and had connected with other groups. Here’s where the approach changed. Instead of experiencing it as myself in the dream, my dream-me began treating it like I was binging on a novel-writing brainstorming session. I was saying, “Now, this happens, and then that.” Then I created or encountered an individual, male, with different ideas, who was going to betray the growing settlement and plotted to kill all dissenters. While it seems like echoes from some things said by Trump during this political season, nothing of those politics were heard or felt by me during the dream. Instead, the guy looked like a character, Murtry, from the fourth season of the TV show, The Expanse.

As part of the whole thing, I found five electric vehicles which flew through the air at my disposal to bring people and supplies in, but no one except me knew how to fly them, which meant I became a defacto flight instructor. That led to some harrowing flights among the mountains where several crashes were imminent. I declared at one point, “If a crash doesn’t kill me, I’m going to die of a heart attack.”

With the second dream, I was employed in some tech start up. One person from my first post-military civilian employment, Cathy, was there. Cathy had been director of ops. She seemed to have the same job but at a company meeting held in a break room, she announced that the company had been stymied in its previous efforts, so the company was going in a new direction. She went on to say that almost everyone would be retained. Looking around as she said that, I supplied the unsaid amendment, “Except marketing.” I was in marketing as a product manager. If there was no product at that point, no marketing or product manager was needed, I’d heard during my corporate life; the engineers would be their own product manager.

Sure enough, Cathy found me and said, “Except marketing,” and apologized to me, saying that they needed to let me go. However, they were giving me a six month severance package and letters of recommendation. I shrugged, accepting, because that’s how it goes.

Now the weird thing. I went back to my space to pack up. I’m not certain if it was a cubicle or an office. Co-workers came by to talk to me, say good-bye, etc. But these co-workers were all from one of my military assignments and were all in flight suits. I was good-natured and unworried about it all, figuring I’d land on my feet because I always did.

I was putting things into my brown leather briefcase. A gift from my wife, I’d used it for years before it fell apart. After putting things in it, my friend left and then I realized I couldn’t find my briefcase. I recalled seeing my friend pick it up but thought he was moving it. Now, looking across the room, I saw him carrying it out the door.

Calling out, I hurried after him. He didn’t stop. I saw him turn the corner and ran down to catch him. But other friends stopped me to say good-bye. I told them I couldn’t stop and explained why as they asked questions, agitated that I was wasting time. Racing after my buddy, I rounded the corner but didn’t see him. I began asking others if they’d just seen him, where he went, etc., and had to answer their queries about why I was looking for him, telling them that he’d taken my briefcase.

And that’s how it ended.

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Tuesday’s Wandering Thought

Got a question for y’all: what is this ‘X’ thing I keep seeing? Anyone know?

Also, whatever happened to ‘Twitter’?

Yes, some holiday snark because everyone in the media keeps adding, “X, formerly Twitter.” Like we haven’t gotten it by now. I guess they’re still trying to cope with the change and put it up to remind themselves.

And yes, I did post about X and Twitter before in a similar vein. And no, I’m not obsessed with it. Not officially. Not yet.

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Mood: blinky

It’s Tuesday, December 26, 2023. 39 F outside, it’s almost Christmas cold. Clouds and sunshine are rotating through influences. One moment, it’s a bright shiny day and you stand at the window and stare out at blue. Not pretty out there, a little sodden, with faded grasses and bare trees except for the conifers. Then clouds swing back in, dulling it all more in its appearance, and quickly dropping a chill on the space. High will be 54 F. Precipitation isn’t predicted.

Most of the holidays are past but now the herd wheels toward the largest, most universally regarded holiday: New Year. People plan a party, a celebration to last throughout the year. Or they seek a humble day of new beginnings. Resolutions are made, dreams and hopes addressed again, and vows are given, sometimes privately, about how the next year will be different. Thoughts turn to everything pending, and the things on the world agenda, and how they might unfold. Sighs are released like the wind whispering with the first notes of an incoming storm.

The cats stayed in and curled up, sweet as cats can be, and less distrustful and threatening to one another.

Our Christmas was low key. Just my wife and I at home. Very relaxing and enjoyable for me. I mostly read and stayed off net most of the day. Did watch parts of two football games. Also watched “Hogfather” because she said she’d never seen it. We had croissants and fruit for breakfast. I made our roasted root veggies soup in the afternoon and we ate about five. I also texted with little sister #2 several times, tracking activities and the state of things.

Heard from sis, though, that another sister and her hubby’s COVID is terrible and that it has been passed on to two other family members.

Musically, I was thinking about change, and The Neurons offered up David Bowie and “Modern Love” from 1983 into the morning mental music stream (Trademark traded). I thought, why that? Tracing back over my thought pattern, I recognized that I’d used but things don’t really change. Bowie incorporates that: “I catch the paper boy but things don’t really change. I’m standing in the wind.” I always thought the last line there was about standing in the winds of change, but that’s just me.

Stay pos, test neg, be strong, and move forward. The coffee fuel is being loaded; countdown has begun. In three…two…

Here’s the music. Cheers

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Mood: spirited

T’was the day before Christmas and all across the land

few people were thinking that everything was grand

those with money to spend had brought presents to no end

while those lacking food and shelter did what they could do

Yes, today is Sunday, December 24, 2023, the day before Christmas in the US. Light rain intermittently douses us in wintery 43 F temps under a dystopian dim sun stuck behind the clouds. It’s today’s high, already achieved, so we have that going for us in Ashlandia, where the Christmas decorations are average and the Kwanza and Hannukah celebrations are muted.

I found myself with the Red Hot Chili Pepper’s 2006 cover of Stevie Wonder’s “Higher Ground” in the morning mental music stream (Trademark gifted). Those first lyrics that include soldiers keep on warrin’ was in my mind during this holiday month, when so many people talk about peace on Earth and goodwill toward man while doing the opposite so often. Few walk the talk. They’re just depressin’ damn people, especially the faux christians who have emerged.

Let’s just call them faustians, which is really similiar to faustian, isn’t it? Interesting; those faustians (faux christians) focus on themselves, complaining about how overlooked and put upon they are, which, in their words, is terrible because they have the best religion and god. Meanwhile, faustian is an adjective to describe things often done for present gain without any thought about the future, which is exactly what the faustians (faux christians) do; they want to go back to some faux good ol’ days when women knew their place and it was in the house, and there were only two genders and one sexual orientation – male on female – and men were in charge, and all bad things like racism, bigotry, and discrimination were all swept into places where it couldn’t be seen. They didn’t want to hear about women being raped (because they probably deserved it anyway, in their minds, because of how they dressed or acted). Nor did they want to know about people born with a mix of gene sets that creates a spectrum of true and viable genders. God only created two genders, darn it, and science is bad because it teaches otherwise, so don’t trust it.

Factories were in America and all things were made in America, because it was and is and always will be the greatest nation in the world (because, god), and the houses were all the same clean cottages behind fine white picket fences, except for the wealthy but noble and pious people who lived in mansions on the hill, away from the riff raff. To achieve their goals, faustians will lie and pretend their leaders are wonderful people, overlooking or even rationalizing their crimes, and go to war to make peace, because they believe in god, and that makes everything that they do okay. Diversity is not good in the faustian world. Nor is critical thinking.

Anyway, that’s why I’m playing “Higher Ground”.

Stay pos, be strong, and keep leaning forward toward a higher ground. Coffee drinking is underway. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Friday’s Theme Music

Mood: transcendant

It’s December 8, 2023, Friday. 37 F outside in Ashlandia, where the women are lovely and the men don’t brood, up from 29 F. We were encased in a gothic novel cover a few hours ago; fog, mist, and diminished gray light set a brooding stage of mysterious shadows and stifled sounds. We brought on the fireplace to help the furnace with the day’s early cold moisture, and it was cozyrama.

Our valley’s high will be 46 F. Snow flurries are in today’s weather blend.

Sis is going home from her operation and all was a success. That encouraged The Neurons to light up the morning mental music stream (Trademark bamboozled) with Ten Years After at Woodstock with “Going Home”. It’s a powerful old-time rocker for an early Friday morning before I’d had coffee and my mind segued to their song, “I’d Love to Change the World”. When I used it back in 2019, I wrote,

Ten Years After released “I’d Love to Change the World” in 1971 as a response to the violence, protests, emerging counter-culture, resistant establishment, and war. Gosh, does any of that have any echos in today’s world? Naw, probably just me.

Like most of TYA’s offerings, the song features some powerful Alvin Lee guitar work, which is always good to hear. Beyond the rock essence of guitar and dream, these lyrics, and how they’re presented in the song, plaintive, accepting, and reflective, spoke to me as a fifteen-year-old when the song came out, but still talks to me as a sixty-three-year-old.

I’d love to change the world

But I don’t know what to do.

So I’ll leave it up to you.

I’ll leave that up there, adding that the other line resonating with me is, “Tax the rich, feed the poor, till there are no rich no more.” Guess I’m getting more revolutionary as I age.

Stay positive, fight injustice, remain strong, help others, and lean forward. Give me more coffee and then I’ll do the same. Here’s the video. Gotta go; cat wants in. Rock on.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

Mood: under baked

It’s foggy in Ashlandia again. Fog closed in on our fair town, where the mountains are low and the valley is narrow, yesterday afternoon. The for went away for the night and returned this morning, along with a doughnut sprinkle of rain that’s expected to keep up intermittently for the day. It’s all part of the season called aunter, which falls in the last third of fall, bringing dampness, dark days, and cold air, and winter, when the snow is summoned.

But look out. It’s 45 F now but we’re gonna get warmer, even broaching the sixties, maybe, they say, maybe getting as warm as 66F. Not bad for a aunter day.

This is Wednesday, December 26, 2023.

I was in a Dollar Store with my wife yesterday. She’s planning a holiday gift for her exercise class instructor. My spouse has been going to this class since 2005. The instructor is 78 and has been telling people what to do to music since the early 1980s. She’s quite popular. My wife became friends with her over exercising and books. My wife and two others, who were then known as the Woo-Woo girls, started talking about books they were reading as they warmed up before class. Soon the instructor joined, and then a few others, giving rise to the Ladies’ Most Excellent Book Club, which became the book club. They limit it by vote to ten people, and they’re serious readers. We’ll be going to the instructors’ house for a traditional Swedish smorgasborg later this month.

Anyway, as part of the holidays, my wife has started a new tradition of collecting money and signing a card for the instructor. The instructor rarely keeps the money, either donating it to families who need it, or to local causes with the food bank. My wife likes going to the Dollar Store for supplies. It might be a Dollar Tree store; I don’t pay attention. I know they’re no longer a store where things are a dollar or less. But yesterday surprised me.

The dollar store has restaurant and big box store gift cards, along with iTunes gift cards. Many were for $25 or $50. I didn’t bother asking the busy staff it the cards sold for a dollar. They’ve probably heard that joke, and nothing on that end cap display said, “Olive Garden $50 Gift Card: One Dollar”.

It’s just more evolution for the dollar store trio who combined into one business entity a few years ago. I remember first going to one of them thirty years ago after moving back to the United States. I was like, everything in the store is for sale for a dollar? Why, yes, that was exactly the premise: a dollar or less. Being in the military, not getting paid much, and liking a bargain, we went frequently to the Dollar Tree or Dollar Store to get household cleaning supplies, notebooks and paper supplies — including greeting cards — and whatever little bargains we found.

Sad that the stores have changed their philosophy, but that’s how progress works. I guess. At least we’ll someday be able to tell future generations that there used to businesses which sold things for a dollar. They’ll probably ask us, “What’s a dollar?”

An apartment building neighbors us not too far away. With the leaves out of the trees, I can see some of their upper windows from my backyard. Yesterday, I saw a cat in one of the windows. It’s not the first cat I’ve seen in the building, so it’s not that remarkable. This was a fine looking cat, young and slender-appearing, sitting erect as a statue in that graceful cat manner we so often see. White with calico spots, it was intently watching me. I wondered if the cat was lonely and I hoped that it was’t.

That tiny reflection invited The Neurons to offer a song to the mental music stream, where it continues in the morning mental music stream (Trademark nutty). “Only the Lonely” by The Motels, not to be confused with “Only the Lonely” by Roy Orbison, came out in 1982. So it’s for that cat and the other floofs alone and watching that this song is offered as Wednesday’s theme music.

Stay pos and strong, and lean in. Coffee has arrived at the brain center, exciting The Neurons. Here we go, off to start the day. And here’s the music. Cheers

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Mood: drowsy (it is too a mood)

Sunday has bubbled up into the latest reality. It’s the 3rd of December, 2023. Mists follow the green conifers of the southern mountains. Our sky did have a small amoeba of blue sky fluctuating above us. It was 50 F with the announced idea that 66 F is our potential high. Right now, rain is hovering in the area, and clouds that look like a turbulent gray sea have buried the blue sky. That’s life in Ashlandia, where the weather can change in a Pacific northwest minute and we can experience several seasons in one day.

My first December event was okay last night. Got my haircut so I look like I can fit in with any military unit that requires short hair. Fit in well with Guanajuato Nights 2023, last night’s annual event. It was the fourth we’ve attended, impelled by friends involved with the Amigo Club behind the event almost as much by the money raised for scholarships and interest in Ashland’s sister city, Guanajuato, Mexico. Excellent Mexican foods were on the menu, starting with hors d’oeuvres of empanadas, tiny tortilla spoons filled with guacamole with lime and cilantro, and ending with flan with a chocolate base flan. Unfortunately, dinner was slow in coming out and our food, like many, arrived late at the table.

Feeling a little weary and thoughtful this morning, I deliberately sought out some music from Playing for Change. Founded in 2002 to pursue a mission to connect the world through music, the music project features musicians from around the world.

Using the money raised, the Playing for Change Foundation builds art and music schools for children.

Anyway, my search for today’s theme music finally brought me to a original song called “Playing for Change” written by Sara Bareilles. Hope you find it worthy as today’s theme music.

Be strong, stay positive, and keep leaning forward. Coffee has been ingested; time for another cup, I think.

Hey, sunshine has broken through the gray, though there is no blue. Think I’ll schedule a walk for later. Here’s the music. Cheers

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