Tag: childhood

Twosda’s Theme Music

Summer is pushing more blue sky and sunshine on us. Chastised clouds have slipped the area and the sun reigns supreme. 70 F at 11 AM, we’re anticipating…78 F as our high. Sweet to me.

Papi the butter butt floof loves this warm weather. He came in this morning. We shared a purrful visit, then he stuffed himself on kibble, wet food, treats, and water. Now he’s floofsconced in the vinca. Only his sweet ginger and white face is visible among the green leaves.

Today’s music arrived with a boost from my wife. I was listening to a video which played a few seconds of every Billboard weekly number one hit song in the United States from the beginning of 1960 to the end of 1969. This came to my attention via 1440’s deep dive into the history of rock and roll.

My wife came in as the video advanced through “These Boots Are Made for Walking”, “The Ballad of the Green Berets”, “(You’re My) Soul and Inspiration”, “Good Lovin'”, and “Monday, Monday”.

“What year are you listening to?” she asked.

“Guess,” I replied.

She tried 1970, 1968, and then 1965. “1966,” I said. A little later, Bobbie Gentry sang, “Harper Valley PTA”.

My wife sang along and then said, “I love that song. But the very first record I ever wanted was “Society’s Child” by Janis Ian. I think I was thirteen. I asked for it for Christmas but I didn’t get it.”

I looked it up. “That came out in 1967.”

“How old was I then?”

“Ten.”

Anyway, The Neurons slipped “Society’s Child” into the morning mental music stream when I wasn’t paying attention. My wife thought the song had hit number one; I never told her that it didn’t break the top 10. Of course, bigotry and racism and it’s controversial topic of interracial dating kept it from getting airtime.

I’m at the coffee shop, my fix at hand. There was a line and a hold up. As I waited, the manager came around with my drink, along with the side of ice water which I always request. “Where do you want these, Michael?” she asked.

Laughing, I answered, “I can take them,” but she insisted on delivering them to my table for me.

Sweet service, if you can get it. Cheers

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PINs & Passwords

PINs and passwords are integral to first world life. Friends and I discussed how we manage our passwords and PINs. All that caused me to think and smile.

There’s an article out there about ‘things our children wouldn’t know about’ because whatever it was is now obsolete. Telephone party lines, rolodexes, TV ‘rabbit ears’ and outdoor antennas, carbon copy or carbon paper, and those sort of things. I was thinking of the reverse mode, and how astonished our children might be that we had no PINs and passwords when I was growing up in the 1950s to mid-1970s. We never had to figure out and remember a magical combination of letters, numbers and ‘special characters’ to get in and out of our online accounts. Number one, we didn’t have online accounts. We lacked the Internet and home computers. Now, there’s a PIN to learn to use a bathroom. Another PIN to access my voice mail. A different PIN to use my credit card, depending on the card reader, and to withdraw money.

I wonder, though, how many years it’ll be until the next generation is amused with our tales of PINs & Passwords and our explanations for how they were used.

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Sunda’s Theme Music

Chilly. Rainy. Foggy. Those were yesterday’s descriptors. It didn’t get to anywhere near the theoretical high of 51 F around my zone of life.

Today is sunny. Windy. Warmer. 52 F. Clouds and blue sky mingle like it’s a company holiday party. The high will be 62 F.

Today is Sunda, April 27, 2025.

My wife and I are setting up for a trip to the coast. Our usual house sitter is available. Reservations have been made. We have worries. This will be Papi’s first time being alone. He knows the house sitter. Doesn’t run from her. Let’s her pet him. But with spring pointing toward summer, the wildlife has grown busier. Raccoons come by. Coyotes, bears, cougars are out there, along with opossums and skunks. Rats and mice. We’ll set things up as best as we can and cross our fingers.

Today’s music is “Bloody Well Right”. 1974 song. Supertramp. I was singing it to myself after different topics traversed the sticky gray zone this morning that I call thinking. Not much of it was of import. Just the usual forays into novel writing, fiction I’m reading, cat, family and personal matters, health, politics, news, government, dreams, and memories. I’ve been experiencing a wealth of dreams, for instance. What does it all mean? And I’ve set up a dental appointment for some overdue work. Then there’s house repairs. Call to Dad. Text to Mom. Mother’s Day card and gift. Flowers, candy, food, or…what? It’s all underlined by what is perceived as a time of drastic change in the country.

Coffee is singing its songs to my cells. Sunshine is shining. Plans are underfoot. So is the cat. Hope you have an awesomely solid day, devoid of crises and problems, and maybe with some good food. Here we go.

Cheers

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Frida’s Theme Music

Clouds have moved into Ashlandia. As neighbors go, they tend to being quiet but flighty. They’re also large but I don’t want to body shame anyone.

With the clouds, we get warmer nights but colder days. Last night only slipped down to 51 F. Today’s high will be 61 F. Will it rain? Let me consult with my digitized Magic 8 Ball. Magic 8 says “It is decidely so.”

Today, BTW, is marked as Friday, April 25, 2025. One third of 2025 is about to end. Despite all of PINO Trump’s promises, preening, and bullying, the Russia-Ukraine goes on. The government is in miserable shape and not saving any money. People are losing 401K money because the stock market and bond market are waaayyy worse than under the previous POTUS. Tourism is down. Talk and worries about empty shelves, increasing unemployment, recession and even economic depression is increasing. Pundits already call it the Trumpcession.

PINO Trump responds to it all with glee. “Look how much money my billionaire friends made.” He alternates that with, “What, me — worry?”

I have The Outsiders performing in the morning mental music stream. The song is “Time Won’t Let Me”. Released in 1965, it grew into a hit and radio staple. That led to its purchase as a 45 RPM offering. The record became part of the basement playlist in our neighborhood. We usually did that over at Tracy and Carolyn’s house, as they had a finished basement.

The Smithereens did a cover for the 1994 movie Timecop, starring Jean-Claude Van Damme. I admit, I prefer the original song.

Coffee has come to my aid again, fortifying my psyche for reading the news. Hope you’re all well out there in streaming land, cuz here we go. Cheers

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Thirsta’s Theme Music

The n’umbers are adding up. Several fours reside in today’s date: 04/24/2025. It’s Thirstda. The week’s fourth day. Depends on how it’s counted.

More eerie is the temperature. It’s 47. The high today will be 74. The low will be 47. All in Fahrenhei.

Alexa’s recital captivates me with all those fours and sevens. I graduated high school in 1974. Childhood was over. Joined the military. Went on my first flight. Slept with 49 other guys in two open bays for the first time. Had my head shaved to peach fuzz for the first time. Shaved off my mustache for the first time.1974 was a year of many first times.

I listened to a melange of radio rock and pop in 1974. I was driving a 1964 Mercury Comet sedan. Stout as a Sherman tank. Forest green. Automatic. 289 V8. And a cheap AM/FM stereo with after market speakers mounted on the parcel shelf behind the back seat. Awesome sound for untutored ears. Delivered diversions by Al Green, Deep Purple, David Bowie, the Eagles and the Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, Joe Walsh, Elton John, Queen, Harry Chapin, the Doobie Brothers… The list of performers and music goes on. Good time to be young and listening to pop music.

The Neurons disappear into 1974’s dark storage in my brain. Remember those bellbottoms? And that paisley top? Oh yeah, and the worn brown leather spur boots and the white high-top tennies painted dayglo orange on a whim? Heck, yeah. My girlfriend and I often ate at Dairy Queen. It was the only place that was close, and even it was miles away. We married the next year, after she graduated. Still together.

The Neurons come out with Elton John and “Benny and the Jets”. We loved singing that refrain with EJ, “B-b-b-b-b-Benny and the jetssssss…” So here we go, reliving the past all over again.

Sunshine and clouds are waltzing ogether. Alexa said we’ll get rain showers. The clouds look like they’re willing to back up that prediction. Coffee is settling into my 2025 body. The kid from ’74 never saw it comin’. Here we go, rocking on into another year. Cheers

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Wenzda’s Theme Music

The Ashlandia spring churn has us in her grip. Chilly to cold nights. Depends on your body’s personal heating and cooling system. Was 39 F in the night. Now it’s up to 54 F. Heading to 68 F. Wind loaded with mountain iciness regularly clocks in. It’s sharper in the shadows.

I’ve been cutting stuff, pruning plants, weeding, trimming back grasses. Papi has taken to nesting in one of those spaces. Early sunshine washes it for a few early morning hours. Used to be Tucker’s spot. Before that, it was Quinn’s, and before them, it was the Scheckter spot. I think I still sometimes spot their ghosts curled up, sunning there in the early hours. I’ve always called it the cat’s sun nest.

Man, it was a clear and gorgeous night here last night. I traipsed out midnightish each to taste the chill and discovered a star filled black sky. Serenely quiet and fresh, a briskly solitary moment. After I was there about three minutes, Papi called out to me and trotted along to rub against my legs. “What do you think of the stars?” I asked. He purred.

Music today comes from the Beatles. The Neurons have “Helter Skelter” playing in the morning mental stream. Kicked off by a dream. I had the same dream before, but the dream went into an extended edition. Awakening, realizing it was a repeat — dream repeats already, so early in the year — The Neurons cranked up the song’s lines that go, “When I get to the bottom, I go back to the top of the slide, where I stop, and I turn, and I go for a ride, till I get to the bottom and I see you again.”

The song always called up ideas about going through the same thing again, again, once more, one more time, etc. A repeating dream was a natural dive board for The Neurons to use to jump into the song.

The song got stronger as a I read news accounts for Trump lies and declarations. “I never said that. I’d never do that.” Etc. Here we go again.

This video is Paul McCartney playing it in concert sans the other Beatles. I saw him perform it in Germany once. It’s lively energetic song.

That’s my opinion. Loads of friends and family were not “Helter Skelter” fans. When I played it on the stereo and cranked it to close to stadium levels, my little sisters’ expression looked like they’d just eaten candy covered with dog fur. “What is this?” the older asked. I laughed.

Coffee is lifting me higher again. Hope something is lifting you. Here we go, rocking and rolling on into the future. Then we’ll do it again. Cheers

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Twosda’s Theme Music

At 4:07 AM, the cat announced, “Let’s go!” Yes, he batted and chatted me awake enough to sleep walk to the door and release him back into the wild. He didn’t stay in the wild long. Cold, wind, and hunger drove him back in. “Not that wild, are you?” I asked him. He meowed back.

Thus began Twosda, April 22, 2025, much as many other days begin. Twosda and Thirstdas are the worse for me in this regard. My wife gets up early on Mun-Wen-Fri to attend exercise class. She deals with the cat between 6:30 and 8 AM on those days. But today has Papi testing the limits, in and out. I suspect he has two twins and they’re taking turns at this.

It was 39 F at 4:30 AM. If you trust Alexa. I asked it the temperature after Papi came back in. I was curious because it felt cold to my half-naked body. Like Sun & Mun, today features a clear blue-sky sauce and a glaze of sunshine with a tincture of wind and mild temperatures that lose their punch in the mid to upper sixties.

Trump continues to pile instability on instability, crazy on crazy, losses on losses. Like all great leaders, he sets ridiculous goals using ideologically-driven data, fails to take many details and factors into account, and then pretends it’s going great as everyone else prepares to get out the toilet plunger because this shit is overwhelming the crapper. He is consistently terrible and proud of it. Living in a Teflon-coated bubble, he’ll probably never recognize his insanity and the disastrous, negative impact he delivered to millions of people.

Unless, of course, his secret goal is to completely undermine and destroy the United States. That’s also possible. He could well be in collusion with Russian and oil oligarchs and are busy setting the table up to establish a powerful global cabal. Makes as much sense as any other shit he spreads.

They say that the Roberts Court is finally getting a backbone. “They’ll reign Trump in.” Ha. I think Trump is already smirking at the Roberts Court as he says, “Hold my Big Mac.” Harvard and other universities are suing the Trusk Regime. He doesn’t care. He’s already destabilized and disrupted our education systems and research programs. A third of the national NOAA weather offices have lost their leases. We’ll see what that does to the ability to warn about weather disasters. Then, Trump and Noem have been dismantling FEMA, so when these disaster squat on communities and drop a load, the state and community will struggle to recover and rebuild. Meanwhile, DOGE is raiding personal data and will probably weaponize that on behalf of Russia. He’s truncated international alliances and friendships that effectively worked for over half a century, isolating our nation. Besides all that, he’s been running due process over with a golf court.

And Trump and his supporters think this is just great. Anyway…onward.

When I first heard this Led Zeppelin song when I was thirteen, I thought, holy fucking shit. That was a startling development because I’d never sworn before that. That’s when I took up coffee, too. It all seemed to go together.

The song — “How Many More Times” — is in my morning mental music stream for reasons which The Neurons have sealed. They have better security than Kristi Noem and keep secrets more effectively than Pet (Pete) Hegseth. Not saying much, given how terrible and sloppy the Trump Regime has demonstrated itself to be, outside of the Musk-driven DOGE dogs.

Here is the music. When I listened to it today, my inner thirteen-year-old sat up and said, “Holy fucking shit.” This is a recording of a live show. Anyone familiar with Zep knows it’s gonna be a jam and will vary a bit from what was on the album.

Coffee has again insinuated itself into my body’s systems. I’m prepared to rock another day, at least until nap time later today. Hope your day is as purpose-filled as you need it. Carpe diem. Cheers

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Frida’s Theme Music

The morning was spent texting with Mom. She prefers texting these days over phone calls. She had a day of doctor appointments yesterday and provided summaries. They’re going to work on her balance with physical therapy. That’s good news to me.

Her fiance’s son and my sister both approached Mom and her fiance about moving into assisted living. They did these separately. I don’t know if they coordinated their attempt.

It would be less dangerous to poke a hornet’s nest with a stick a few times. Mom and her beau are adamant against moving to a home of any kind other than the one where they live. He’s 95 and has difficulties seeing and hearing. She’s 89 and has mobility, heart, and balance issues. She copes with those problems via a massive regimen of medications, vitamins, minerals, lotions, and equipment. The house was built during WW II and has steep, narrow steps. But Mom loves her house, and her companion is happy living there.

Observing the health issues and the home debate always prompts conversations with my wife. “What will we do?” she asks. “I don’t know,” I say. I’m not looking forward to dealing with it.

It’s Frida, April 18, 2025. Good Friday, I suppose. 63 F, sunny but windy. A high of 74 F is in the works. I don’t think we’ll see that. 68 F was projected yesterday but the thermometer quit advancing at 64 F.

The cat has expressed his irritation with the wind. He applied to my wife and I to change it. My wife patiently explains, “I’m sorry, we can’t do that. Here, have a treat instead.”

He was spoiled via several treats. Then he came to me for his standard four-course breakfast. Two of the courses are treats that hide his meds in them. The thorough feeding does take his mind off the wind. The next time I see him, he’s going through his post-eating pre-napping grooming on the bed.

I have read several news articles. Some dealing with politics and rulings against Trump please me. On the whole, though, it’s another heavy serving of disappointing developments. After hearing my GRRRRRRRRR rising in my throat, I order myself to go do other things.

Today’s theme music is a beer group relic. I met with my beer group last Wednesday. The friends beside me began a conversation about popular music and what they listened to when they were young. One commented that some lines were going through his head, but he couldn’t recall the rest. I recalled the rest for him. The song is “I Think We’re Alone Now” by Tommy James and the Shondells. Conversation then swirled in other hits by the group, such as “Crystal Blue Persuasion”. Now The Neurons have those two tunes sharing the morning mental music stream. Thus, I’m forced to share them to break the pattern and release them from my stream.

That latter song is a woke DEI offering about peace and good, brotherhood, love, etc. Sure the Trumpites dislike it, or say that they like it and are all for love, peace, and brotherhood, but only for select people.

Coffee is working its positive way through me. Hope you have a positive day and a solid weekend. Cheers

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Wenzda’s Wandering Thoughts

It’s Wenza. Middle and high school are in session. You know what that means.

2:03 PM, the murmuration of children begins. Noises double in decibels and echo like we’re in a gym. Screeches, shouts, laughter, blow out my ear drums in three second sound bites.

Cliques form. Tables and chairs are hunted. Backpacks are dumped. A line snakes out from the counter. Drinks are ordered, picked up, shared, consumed.

Happens every Wenzda when school is in session in Ashlandia.

Oddly, today, besides the sounds and visuals, the school children bring in smells of a lunchtime cafeteria. It could be roast turkey with mashed potatoes and gravy. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s just memory of another time making itself known.

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