Three Dreams Last Night

I can recall having three dreams last night.

One of them is barely recalled. It’s one of those episodic dreams I sometimes have, where there’s no one who I recognize as me. It’s just a story being told, like a television show.

I remember just part of a second one. Three other men and I were traveling together in an early 1960s something Cadillac convertible. We drove through sunshine with the top down. I was very impressed for some reason that there were four of us, two blacks and two whites. I believe we took turns driving.

We wore a uniform, and I knew we were on the same team but have no idea what team. From what I remember of the uniforms, they were white with dazzling embroidery, like something Elvis Presley would wear in concert.

Hungry, we stopped at a place where we decided we would pretend to be lawyers. We thought that ruse would gain us some food because we didn’t have any money. That didn’t seem to work so we drove cheerfully on through a winding orange canyon to another town.

We decided this time to claim that we were reporters. Women were running this place. One large, barrel-chested blonde woman was in charge. She mocked our claim that we were reporters, but they fed us anyway.

Dream end

Third dream involved family and food. I was with my sisters at some gathering at someone’s home. We were outside for most of the dream, where, weirdly, my sisters were baking. Besides them, there were many children. I barely knew most of them and didn’t recognize them from real life.

I needed an engine for some reason and ended up with a V8 engine with headers, a high rise manifold with a single four-barrel carb. The engine block was painted bright blue, and the air filter cover was chrome plated. After I got the engine, I realized, “I don’t need this.” But I wanted to save it. So I picked it up and put it in one of the rooms. I thought, I’ll leave that here for now but I’ll need to move it later.

My sisters and I talked a little politics. Then one announced, it’s time to eat. We got trays and loaded them up.

As I did, I went to cross the patio. Four tiny, perfect silver and black tabby kittens were playing. They’d found something and pounced on it, batting whatever it was with furious energy. I swear, these kittens were no more than three inches long.

My older sister asked me what I was doing and I showed her the kittens. She watched with me a bit, then I moved the kittens so they’d be safe.

The children and I decided to watch television. I wanted to watch football. I knew it was Sunday and games should be on, because of the time. No games were on, confusing me. I did the math: back home, the games start at 10 AM and it was almost 1 here, so there should have been a game on.

I went back to eat more cookies. My youngest sister was still baking. I walked along long tables mounded with food and wondered, laughing, why is she baking more? I ate a few cookies, which was delicious.

One brother-in-law, the Trump-loving one, was present, stretched out on a dark-brown sofa, talking. I wanted to hear what he said, but a plastic cocoon formed over him, sealing him in. I could hear him still talking but it was only a rumble of sound, and couldn’t see him at all.

Getting another cookie and eating it, my little sister demanded in her ominous ‘mom-voice’, “What are you doing?”

Laughing, I replied, “Eating a cookie? Why are you making more? Do you know you how many cookies there are?”

I saw her move the V8 engine which I’d move. I went over and picked it up to take it away, but then didn’t know where to take it.

Dream end.

Monday’s Theme Music

Monday, February 9, 2026 — Ashland, Oregon.

39 degrees F outside. Blue sky is breaking through patchy fog. Unlike yesterday, we’re seeing sunshine. Yesterday saw rain all day, which is good for the earth and our cisterns and water supply but we still need snow. Today’s high will be 52 F.

Yesterday was Super Bowl LX. I watched a little over half, enjoying Bad Bunny’s Super Bowl halftime show. I understood less than a handful of words, but the vibes of community, life, joy, and love were fully understood and received. Reading today’s news, I understand that Donald Trump hated it.

Besides his negative comments on Bad Bunny, Trump also called skier Lindsey Vonn. Vonn, an Olympic gold medal winner and four-time world champion, broke her leg in Olympic games yesterday while representing the United States.

Going back to the Super Bowl, the other hype often comes from the expensive but interesting commercials seen during the game. I liked the commercial featuring NFL tight ends and an ad where the NFL extolled youth football coaches. Most of the rest strike me as ‘meh’. I actively disliked the Cadillac Formula 1 team ad, which employed President Kennedy’s speech about going to the moon. with the launch of their racing car. You know, good for Cadillac, but come on, it’s a race car in a well-established sport.

Looking out earlier, watching Papi find the sunshine and checking out the trees, The Neurons fed “The Trees” by Rush into the morning mental music stream. The lyrics tell about conflict between maple and oak trees. The maple trees want more sunlight, but the oak trees are too tall. It’s resolved by hatchet, axe, and saw.

Look at that; outside the window, the fog is back and the sunlight is tucked out of sight.

I’m trying to stay safe and sane, optimistic and realistic. Hope you can do the same.

Cheers

Twozdaz Wandering Thoughts

Starbucks hurt my feelings.

They spent capital convincing us that Starbucks cared about the community. More, they cared about people. They opened their doors to homeless folks. Come in and rest. Be safe, comfortable, warm, dry, cool. Charge your phones here! Use our restrooms! We care! They put out announcements telling us that they want people to come and stay, make it a place to meet, a place to be. And we believed them. We did.

As did the homeless. I’d see them trickle in each day, a regular group I came to know by name. I learned their preferred seating locations, treated them to food and/or drink from time to time, said hello, chatted about the hot dry days, the freezing fog, the traffic, dogs, etc. Chatted about life.

Then Starbucks swiveled. That campaign wasn’t reaping the benefits they’d hoped to get. Within days, the restroom doors were locked and coded. Had to ask for the number at the counter. The homeless were politely shooed out, police called if they resisted.

Then, though, oh, look at the numbers. Starbucks decided they needed to close the place they’d encouraged us to make a home away from home, a community center for everyone and anyone. It just wasn’t making enough money.

It feels like it’s a betrayal. It’s not. Just business as usual. And that’s the thing about corporations. It’s all about making money. Profits and losses.

It’s not about humanity. That’s just strategy. Don’t let them fool you into thinking otherwise.

Twozdaz Wandering Thoughts

The coffee shop is pretty damn full.

I’m in RoCo. It’s my new favorite coffee place, an old house converted to a business on the corner of 8th Avenue and East Main Street.

Every table is in use. Many regulars are in attendance. Like me, at a table, computer open. My eyes and ears are open even as I read, think, and type. Wonderful community and social energies swirl through the room like a strong, happy breeze. I love the noise and action, enjoy looking up at the faces, glancing at the fashion.

Most clients are, ahem, ‘my age’. They look like, ahem, boomers, like me. I’ll be seventy next year. I think I’m in the middle of the age spectrum here. Sure, there are so younger outliers. Teenagers who look like they’re wearing colorful fleece pajamas come in as pairs, order, take their stuff and leave. A few twenty-somethings, thirtyish, and fortyish folks are partaking of drink and food, chatting with others, reading, so forth. Hoka shoes are spotted on many, the shoes of my people. Columbia sportwear and Patagonia dominates. They’re the clothes of my tribe, but this is Oregon, where some of that stuff is produced, and where Columbia is headquartered, up north, west of Portland. Two children, about ten, are also present with an older woman. The children are on ice cream on this chilly, foggy, autumn day. The weather doesn’t daunt them from enjoying a cold but sweet treat.

The baristas take orders, prepare, and serve, all laughing and chatting as they do. Regulars come in and get greeted by name, including Sugar the dog, who waves their tail in happiness and await their standard treat.

Sunshine has burst through outside. Cold air storms me as the doors open and close. This is the United States, Oregon, Ashlandia, in 2025.

Bookstores Doing Good

I’m sharing a recent Jill Dennison post about good people doing good things. In the midst of the gub’mint shutdown, as the GOP cruelly did the Trump Regime’s bidding and starved U.S. citizens, communities came together to help one another.

One of these stories was about a bookstore. I’m a bookstore fanboi. They’re inspiring places. Bookstores usually brim with optimism and creative energy. You can smell it and feel it coming off the books. And people who read books are just about the most brilliant people in the world. So, to hear of a bookstore collecting food and helping the hungry made my heart swell three times too big. But the second piece of this story, why I really was inspired to share it, is that bookstore’s success inspired other bookstores. I figured, sharing is caring, and perhaps by sharing, other bookstores will rise up as well.

Here’s A Lift

Always nice to read of humans being nice to nature. When so many things are going wrong in the world, it’s a spiritual lift to encounter people helping Pufflings find their way.

Some of the Good Stuff

One of many bloggers I follow, and one I’ve written of before, is Jill Dennison at Filosofa’s Word. Writing about news and politics, she also gives us daily music posts and doses of humor and snark. She also reminds us of stories about people being good, kind, nice, helping one another in the way that most of us hope a good society does. I’m sharing one of Jill’s post about “Good People Doing Good Things” today. As news inundates us with stories of death, hate, and bigotry, Jill’s recap of some feelgood stories are a satisfying antidote to the darkness and negativity which threatens to take over. Hope you find as much comfort, satisfaction, and hope in these as I did. Cheers

Monday’s Wandering Thoughts

A sense of community often ends at the parking lot. Signs warn who may share their parking lot. Even on weekends and holidays when businesses and institutions are closed, they warn, “Parking Reserved for Customers”, or the like, threatening scofflaws with towing and fines.

Otherwise, it’s thanks for visiting and enjoy your day.

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