Tag: Changes

Wednesday’s Theme Music

Mood: weathebunctious (rambunctious because of the weather)

Greeting, fellow prisoners of Earth.

It’s Wednesday, the last day of January, 2024. Another sprinter day. Light sprinkles mist the window’s view. Temperature is holding at 54 F. Aiming for a high of 56 F, expecting a low of 42 F. It’s the wind which will have you talking.

Strong wind advisories are out. I mocked them a little when I heard the warnings, but these winds are striving to make me believe. A muted growl started above us just after midnight, descending as night fled before dawn’s pursuit. Now it sounds like we’re standing by a crowded Interstate where the continuous roar of semis and cars eat pavement at sixty plus MPH. Sometimes a wolfish howl leaps over the deeper octaves, or ghostly shrieks rise up to call for attention.

Papi wanted back out in this. He’s my ginger-furred feline adventurer. He must suffer from a short memory, because he doesn’t seem to recall bolting in with legs frantically churning to escape the wind noise just a few hours ago. Tucker, for comparison, stayed five feet back from the doors when I went out to check things.

Haven’t completed my taxes. Have only received SSA’s forms and my 1099R. All other 1099 type documents are just being released. Ridiculous. I used to have all that stuff by mid-month, have the taxes filled and done before January’s end. Bureaucratic crept is pushing it out further and further, a funny development when technology to import, export, add and subtract and exchange information is available, isn’t it?

Today’s theme music came as I walked through the garage last night to deposit the kitty litter findings into the trash can. “Need to clean and organize this place again,” I muttered to myself. “Again. Get rid of some of this. Make some changes.”

Click. The Neurons began “Changes” by Yes from 1984 in my head and it’s still in the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks) today. “Changes” was part of the 1984 Yes album, 90125. I was stationed on Okinawa at the time, and my friends and I loved this album from the start. “Owner of a Lonely Heart” was the album’s number one song, and we so admired that beginning section of fuzzy rock guitars, drums, and a heavy bass note.

Pause to reflect, 1984 was forty years ago. Lots of memories and changes built into that period.

Also, there are a lot of songs named changes or about changes, The Neurons began reminding me.

Papi just knocked at the door for re-entry. He’s wearing a fresh coat of soaked fur. Wind has dropped, rain stopped, sun is drenching us in sunshine, but sullen inky clouds are lurking.

Stay positive, remain strong, lean forward, and vote. There’s my coffee (well, more coffee, TBH), and here’s the music. Oh, look, it’s raining again. No, wait, sunshine is back. No, no, it’s raining. And the wind is back.

Cheers

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Friday’s Wandering Thoughts

Just think back of when telephones first came to the United States. Few probably foresaw a time when telephone lines spread pole to pole across the nation. Not many probably had visions of homes with several phones. They probably didn’t see the invention and rise of phone booths.

If you’re old enough, you can probably recall conversations about the cost and need when ‘calling long-distance’.

Folks of the telephone booth probably didn’t see a time when all those phone booths would be gone. Few probably guessed that phone lines would start disappearing underground. People with all those phones in their home likely never suspected those phones would be unnecessary with the rise of wireless and cell phones.

Pew Research from 2021 states that 97% of Americans own a cell phone. So, given the progression we’ve seen since the telephone first arrived, what will be next? How many of us will still be holding onto a cell phone when it becomes archaic, and what will replace it?

Just sipping coffee on a cold and rainy afternoon, watching people using their phones in the coffee shop, and wondering.

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The Writing Moment

I picked up my laptop bag and headed to the door. “Off to write,” I told my wife. “I’m pretty excited. Just fifteen pages left of this draft to revise.”

“How long will fifteen pages take?”

Pausing, I broke out in a broad grin. “Well, that depends on how it’s written.” As I laughed, she joined me. I went on, “I mean, it really depends on how it reads and if it still fits with the story after the revisions I’ve made.”

“I see,” she answered.

Shrugging, I turned back to the door. “And then I begin again.”

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A Dark & Stormy Dream

Awakening this morning, I was surprised. Sunshine was flowing into the bedroom.

Where was the dark rain?

I listened to the house’s silence. Wednesday, I thought, considering my plans.

No, Sunday, I corrected myself.

I’d expected night, rain, and Wednesday because that’s what I dreamed. Alternatively, maybe that was a different reality embracing me — which I thought was a dream — and now I’m back here again, where it was sunny, daylight, and Sunday. It’s something to contemplate.

The dream had leaned toward the odd side. My wife and I were with many others. We’d gone somewhere where I was to receive a prize and she was to be honored at a dinner. Pretty exciting stuff.

Meanwhile, I was eager to continue writing another novel which I was working on. But first, the dinner.

We’d all parked. I had my black RX-7. It was night, pitch black, and pouring rain. Despite those circumstances, it was a boisterous crowd streaming into the festivities. I knew many and was busy waving, calling out greetings to friends, and laughing.

We got into the hall’s foyer, a lovely warm, tall, and pink marble place with thick carpeting and golden chandeliers. As I chatted with friends, my wife moved away from me, but I could still see her. I called to her so we could go in and find our table.

She turned back around. Shock was on her face. I went to her and asked what was wrong.

“Doctor D is dead,” she answered.

Others approached us, inquiring if all was okay. I explained to them what she’d told me and who Doctor D was to her. Meanwhile, I wondered how she’d received the news; I’d been watching her. Nobody talked to her and she wasn’t on the phone.

Using our coats to protect our heads from the rain, we hustled through the dark rainy night back to my black car. Many other cars were already started and moving, shiny dark shapes, filling the air with exhaust smoke and startling me, because I thought they were staying for the dinner. While wondering why they weren’t I started entering my car.

Another person called to me. Sitting in her car, her window partially down, she explained that she was trying to use her computer writing program but it was asking for a code. She didn’t know how to get a code.

“Yes, you need a code,” I said. She replied that she’d never heard of that, and I said, “I think I can get one for you.”

Returning to my car, I started it and plugged my computer in, then typed some keys.

A series of red characters came up on a black screen. I memorized them and ran through the drenching rain to the other person. “Here, put these numbers in.” When she was ready, I repeated what I’d memorized.

We had to do this twice. I worried that I’d gotten the numbers wrong but it worked after the second time. “Good,” I said, and she replied, “Thank you.”

Head and shoulders hunched, I dashed back to the car. My wife was inside it, waiting. The rain cut visibility like a sheet had been tossed over the world.

“Are you okay?” I asked her.

She looked at me. “You’re not wet.”

The dream ended.

First, after dreaming this and thinking about it, I eventually fired up my ‘puter. When I checked Facebook for messages from friends and family, FB showed me a post under its “Memories” category; it was the photo I shared in this post. I thought it a stretch as a coincidence to dream of a car that I haven’t owned in over eight years and see a picture of it on the same morning.

I liked that car a great deal, owning it for almost twenty years. A 1993 Mazda R1, it’d been bought as a gift to myself in 1996 after I’d retired from the military in 1995 and landed a good-paying job with a civilian company, a medicial device startup in Silicon Valley. The car reminded me of that life era, and how much my life changed at that point.

All that rain and darkness intrigued me. Despite that, we’d been very happy. I was getting a prize, and my wife was being honored. The mood quickly changed with news of a doctor’s death, but I don’t know of that doctor in real life, so that left me puzzled.

Overall, I don’t have any strong grasp on any insights about the dream. As always, it could be Neurons just having fun, or some weird neural scrambling brought on by unknown causes.

That’s how it goes with my dreams. If anyone can tell me what it means, it’d be appreciated.

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The Organic Machine Dream

I had a plethora of dreams last night. This was one of the more interesting to me.

I was a younger man. I looked and acted like I was in my thirties, thirty years plus younger than my real life age. But I looked like myself from that time, tanned, thick brown hair, fit and sender.

Life was keeping me busy and active, reading, writing, playing softball and racquetball, hurrying around, doing errands and talking to people.

During all of that, I came to meet someone. I can’t describe them because I never saw them. Nor can I tell you how they sounded because I heard them, but they were speaking and not speaking.

They had interrupted what I was doing to tell me that I was part of a machine. Confusion was my reaction. Further explanations followed that they had created a machine which was wholly organic. I asked them if the were aliens but I don’t recall an answer to that question.

At that point, though, I was busy and just wanted to get on with everything and hustled off. Later, I stopped to get coffee. They accosted me to say again that I was part of the machine. I didn’t understand what they’d said, and asked for clarification. They launched a long and detailed explanation that they were using humans for many features in an organic machine which they’d created, and that I was one of two individuals who’d been selected as the brains.

While flattered, I thought they could have made a better choice for their brain than me, and told them so.

They countered that the functioning they needed from me was far above my conscious thinking level, or the subconscious. I first asked if drinking coffee with caffeine would affect the brain and the machine, and joked about their machine getting hyper from too much caffeine.

They answered that none of that affected it because the brain function they were employing was beyond an organic level.

That prompted me to retort, “Your organic machine is using parts of humans which aren’t organic?” I laughed at that.

They seriously responded, “Yes.”

I asked them if they were talking about the Id, ego, and super-ego, trying to comprehend it. They replied that it was beyond those levels as well, pushing me to ask what was beyond that level?

They asked me if I wanted to see the machine. Enthusiastially, I replied, “Sure.”

“You’re standing in it,” they replied.

Confusion and suspicions squirted up in me. I’d been outside, among trees and buildings, cars, utility wires, streets, and businesses. Now I was in a glistening pink edifice with tall, vaulted areas, reminding me of the inside of a pink church.

“How did I get here?” I asked.

“You were always here.”

That made me think of the movie, The Matrix. Before I could speak, they asked if I wanted to see my part.

“Yes.”

They told me to go further in. Not feeling anything but curiosity, I did, walking until I reached an intersection. Ahead were two pink tubes, which reminded me of short smokestacks. Five feet tall, they were about two feet in diameter.

“Where do I go now?” I asked.

“That’s it, you’re here. You’re the brain on the left.”

I looked at tubes. “Those are brains?”

“Yes, they just need the energy. We wanted to tell you and show you because as your brain changes, our brain will grow more powerful. As it grows more powerful, you will become more intelligent and powerful, and then, so will it. As each of you change and grow, you’ll feed the other. We thought you should be aware of that”

Dream end.

I have no idea what this dream was about. I woke up feeling surprised. Thinking about the dream, I concluded, “That was different.” I wanted to just dismiss it but instead felt compelled to keep thinking about it, as though I was preparing for more to come. Intrigued, part of me thinks, wow, some power is informing me that I’m going to go through great changes. A more cynical aspect thinks that’s highly dubious; it’s just random neurons firing parts of my brain as I sleep.

I’ll let you know if more of the dream ever does come.

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Saturday’s Wandering Thoughts

Just for the record, my preferred pronouns are he/him.

I respect others’ choices. The idea of gender is a wholly human creation, a long-ago first stab at categorizing creatures as we sought to understand their roles. Like many things in science, it was an okay first guess. I’d say that it’s a better guess than the idea that the Earth is flat, that fish went underwater for the winter, or that the universe revolves around the Earth. Those were all accepted scientific truths.

But we evolve, study, and learn. We test ideas and form new ones. New angles and insights develop. What we know about sex and gender, and gender identity, is much different today than what was known a hundred years ago.

It all becomes problematic because it’s hard to let go of things we previously learned, to understand that we made some conclusions which aren’t quite right. It’s also challenging because so many of our mores, roles, and language is tied up with gender and sex.

As societies, we’re struggling now, much as we’ve strugged to learn and change in previous centuries. Eventually, we’ll grasp the complications and grow to understand that it’s not just about male and female. By then, of course, the needle will have moved, and we’ll know yet more that will force us to face new challenges.

Such is the beauty of science and our existence. As much as we learn, we come to understand how little we know. Assumptions and conclusions which we consider solid and resolve are proven to be wrong. And that gives us the opportunity to keep striving to learn and keep up.

I, for one, am always falling behind. But I’m gonna keep trying.

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Friday’s Theme Music

Mood: lazy

Good day. It’s Friday, September 29, 2023. We’re on the precipice of October in Ashlandia, where the music is crisp and fresh.

It’s 54 now, with a solidly overcast sky, one that looks like off-white paint was spilled all over it. The high will be 64 F. It’s not supposed to rain, but it might. Rain is just like floofs, always doing things which it’s not supposed to do.

BoBtoberfest is in the air. The BoBs are my beer buddies. I’ve been meeting with them for over a dozen years. ‘BoB’ means ‘Brains on Beer’, as it was founded by retired engineers, doctors, and professors. We meet once per week, on Wednesday. Once seated, we catch up on our lives, politics, science, news, and the arts. Two hours later, we head back home. Part of our current structure is donations to local schools for STEAM projects. We’re always looking for new ones, and we prefer to help troubled programs and at-risk students.

Octoberfest is the famous celebration in Munich. We were talking about it a few years ago and decided that having our own Octoberfest would be fun. We had to personalize the name to avoid confusing others; they might think that our Ashlandia Octoberfest might be mis-identified as the real one, right? Sure. So we named our gathering BoBtoberfest. Aren’t we clever?

BoBtoberfest is going to be at Mouse X’s house this year. His house was burned down several years ago. His entire neighborhood was destroyed. So was most of his town, along with a large part of two other small towns. While recovering, he rented a house in our town. One of the othe BoBs got to know him and invited him to our meetings. He’s a biologist and botanist, retiring from BLM service just before his house was destroyed.

His house was finally rebuilt last year. He wants to show it off, so he’s hosting BoBtoberfest this year. Coming later in the month, he’s grilling salmon and we’re all bringing food and drink.

Next weekend is another BoBabration. One of our members, Julie, is celebrating her 70th. She’s a retired botanist who moved into town a few years ago. Her sons live in Sacramento and Portland. They wanted to throw her a birthday party; she agreed only if the BoBs were invited. We’re not required to donate anything for this fete. Red pandas mesmerize her, so we’ve bought a stuffed red panda as a gift.

Now, to music. I have “Changes” by Black Sabbath in my mental morning music stream (Trademark reluctant). The Neurons put it there after they overheard a convo between me and my wife. They’re like Alexa and Siri in that regard, always eavesdropping.

My wife and were talking about aging and its impacts, laughing about the changes. Next thing I know, I hear Ozzie singing “I’m going through changes” from the Black Sabbath album, Vol. IV, which was released in 1972.

Stay positive and be strong. Loaded with a cuppa java, I’m ready to stagger out into the world. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Another Porsche Dream

Here we go. I dreamed about a Porsche last night. It didn’t belong to me, and it was two pieces.

Let’s step back to what I start remembering of the dream.

I was attending some function being held outside. Pleasant late summer weather ruled. A picnic atmosphere prevailed. I have no idea what triggered the gathering, nor my role. Although I never ‘saw’ other people in the dream for a while, sounds informed me they were present.

The first startling thing was the Porsche.

I came across the rear first. Mounted on a piece of asphalt roadway, the car’s rear was planted in a position that lead me to think that the car was plowing into the ground.

Then, almost immediately, I saw the front end. Facing in the same direction, mounting on a piece of road, it seemed to be emerging from the earth about forty yards away. An older vintage spyder with the top down, it seemed to be a model 365, a car which I like, gray or silver in color.

Oh, what they do for art, I thought. I wondered if it was original, and if it had an engine, and the crazy artist’s identity.

Announcements began from a person holding a megaphone. They were gauzy with distance. I didn’t recognize anything about them.

I discovered that the car belonged to a ‘director’. Little details emerged except the director was a a tall, slender woman with a short blonde bob in a red dress, no one I knew.

The director wanted somebody to drive the car, giving others rides in it for a fee which would be donated to charity. Were there any volunteers?

Silence answered. I spoke up, clarifying what was being asked. I pondered, was there another Porsche involved? Then I discovered the intact car in front of me.

Naturally, I was surprised. I looked at the artwork installation. The road pieces remained but the car pieces were gone. Miraculously to me, they were a solid car. I tried to understand how that happened.

“I’ll drive it,” I volunteered. The chance to drive a vintage Porsche thrilled me. This was going to be fun.

Keys were given to me, and instructions about my agenda. First I was to drive the car to another location.

The director made another announcement; “My car is dirty. I need a volunteer to wash my car.”

Again, nobody spoke so I said that I would do it. That pleased me. Weird as it may sound, I enjoy washing, cleaning, and polishing cars.

In a dream jump, that was done. I was driving the little spyder, top down, on a two lane road. The car, which is a two-seater sports vehicle, now had a big seat, and I had four or five passengers. I could glimpse in the car’s rearview mirror, and heard them chattering, and laughing, enjoying the ride.

I pressed the brake pedal to slow us as we came up on traffic. The car slowed some but we ended up bumping into the car in front of us. It wasn’t a hard impact. I was embarrassed and surprised, and hoped I’d not caused any damage.

The other driver, a bland guy, and I met at the bumpers. He looked at it and shrugged, waving it off. I didn’t see any damage to the Porsche, so I climbed back in and set off.

Though I planned and adjusted for the car’s weak brakes, I almost rear-ended another. This really dismayed me.

“Just as I thought,” I told my wife. “This car has next to no brakes. That’s why it took so long to stop. I’ll need to be careful.”

On those words, the dream ended. I came away thinking that I can step up but exercise some caution. I took that from volunteering when others wouldn’t. However, the brakes weren’t working as expected, hence the idea that caution is needed.

Conversely, my neurons were just having fun with me.

The choices seem equally plausible.

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Two Dream Moments

I had two dreams last night which are remembered. Both were extremely brief.

In the first, I saw a large headline blaring on a screen, “FORMER PRESIDENT TRUMP IS DEAD!” Don’t know what media source it was supposed to be, but utter shock went through me when I saw it. Below the headline was a black and white photograph of DJT. Then I recognized that the screen was angled in green grass like a tilted tombstone. That was all.

Awakening, I thought about it for some time. When I mentioned it to a friend later, he said that someone had hacked Trump’s son’s X account and posted something about Trump being dead. I wondered if I’d heard or seen the story in passing without realizing, and it manifested as part of the dream. Of course, Trump being dead would launch conspiracy ideas and rip through the GOP’s structure like a Force 5 tornado. Guesses about the end results went all over the place when I spoke about it with friends, including prophecies of violence, and the impact on financial markets; would the US be viewed as safer and more stable with him deceased? It’s easy to speculate that it could go either way.

Of course, as it’s a dream, it could also just be wishful thinking in my head about how much the man bothers me with what he says. For example, I rose this morning and read the news that he’s urging his party to defund the parts of the legal systems which are taking him to trial, claiming that these are political persecutions. As others pointed out, such a spending proposal by the House would might difficulties finding their way into law past the Senate where Dems rule, or past President Biden’s desk. So his proposal is pretty empty but it stirs up the fires of his base, doesn’t it?

Second dream, similarly brief, had me walking outside through short, dark green grass. Shiny things in the grass hooked my attention. Drifting toward the first, I found a half buried silver dollar. I easily pulled it free from the earth. As I reckoned what it was, I saw several more. Collecting them, I realized it was hill full of half-buried silver dollars. As I collected them in delight, I wondered what I should do with them — keep them or turn them in somewhere — and how they got there. No one else was in sight, nor were buildings, cars, or paths. I concluded, they must have somehow fallen from the sky.

I was really excited, though, taking them for signs of impending good fortune. That lifted my energy and reinvigorated determination to do things. I guess I need to make it so, number one.

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Thursday’s Theme Music

Mood: brisk

It’s W-2: two days before the wedding. The women have been comparing dresses and shoes for the event and talking about their hair.

Men have been complaining about how their clothes fit.

Nervous excitement is burgeoning.

It’s September 14, 2023, in the burgh of Pitts, Pennsylvania. Lovely fallish weather with a low 70s F high. Sweeet. Family visits have been fun. Instructional. We catch up on matters of health and recent experiences, with a common refrain about how conversational matter has changed through the years; we used to talk about many other matters. We still do, but the proportions have shifted. Mom looks good, better than expected from the daily text message complaints and updates she provides. My sisters and their hubbies look well, healthy, happy, but that defies some of the topics and details they go into.

My wife and I are enjoying a swell time, although sharing a bathroom demonstrates privilege and how we’ve taken for granted having two bathrooms to spread out and do our morning things. With one BR, regimenting and rationing time and functions is required. We’re used to two places, where it can all be done in parallel, without interference from the other.

For a while, The Neurons entertain me with the song “Sisters” by Irving Berlin from 1954 in the morning mental music stream (Trademark laughable). Both parts were sung by Rosemary Clooney. I know the words well because both Mom and my wife would sing that song, although I’ve never heard the two of them sing it together. It’s a terrific ditty about love and relationships.

But those those Neuron scamps brought up D. Bowie with “Changes” from 1972, because, you know, I’m driving around the old life zones from my youth around Penn Hills and Monroeville, spotting changes and differences, right?

Stay pos, be strong and brave, and keep pressing forward. I’ll try doing the same. Coffee helps me on my journey. Hope you got something that helps you, too. Okay, pressing on. Here’s the beats. Cheers

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