Tag: Dad

The Water Dream

So there I was…

I’d turned on the water, apparently to water the lawn, a problematic decision because snow and ice loaded the land. I realized all that when I went back and discovered that everything was flooded by a couple inches because I’d left the water on. People were looking out their windows like genuine looky lous. I could hear them commenting, telling each other, “Oh, poor Michael. Look at him. What’s wrong with him?”

The house where I turned on the water belong to Mom. So I figured I needed to turn off that water and reimburse her for what was sure to be an expensive water bill. I had a small paper bag with some money in it, but first things first: I was naked. I needed to dress. I had clothes. Most of it was very fancy. So I dressed out there in the flooded yard in front of the watching neighbors, first with undies, then with a pressed pink dress shirt, finally black dress pants.

Before I could get to my shoes, I saw Mom and accosted her. Her children, my sisters, were with her, as young children. I explained about turning the water on and leaving it on, and that I owed her, so I wanted to give her some money. Reaching into the bag, I pulled out a bundle of money, estimating it as $40,000, and gave it to Mom. She protested, “That’s too much,” but I insisted she take it.

She left and put on my shoes. As I finished that, ‘Dad’ approached. This father was a squat, chunky guy, no at all like my real father. Dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and short black tie, he wore a black bowler hat. I knew he was a drunk and was dismissive and scornful of him. He knew this but still approached, asking, “Can you spare ten dollars for me?” I knew he’d use it for booze but I said, “Yes, of course,” and ended up giving him $40. He profusely thanked me. I replied, “I can spare it.”

As Dad thanked me again and again and walked away, I opened my bag to get a sandwich and eat. As I pulled the sandwich out, I realized the bag was larger than first thought, and full of newly bundled money. As I gawked at the bundles of cash, I thought, there must be four million dollars in there.

Dream end.

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Fridaz Wandering Thoughts

Dad and I spoke for almost an hour today. The conversation energized me, boosting my mood into a happier place. On the surface, a high percentage can be attributed to relief: Dad was home. No greater problems were found during his latest hospital visit, and it was a short one. He and his wife were both friendly, engaging, and happy on their end. Undoubtably this fed me and my spirits.

I also insist, though, that some of this came from just speaking with Dad. He and I are familiars. We mock and respect one another. He’s one of the few people I sense I can really spill myself to regarding what’s going on, whether it’s politics, writing, relationships with my wife, Mom, and sisters, or my DIY projects.

We’ve not always been like these. It’s been a long evolution. I’m glad we made it here, though. It’s taken time. We followed a torturous path. But here we are.

Finally.

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Fridaz Theme Music

Greetings from Ashlandia. We’ve gotten to another Frida. It’s been predestined to be called August 8, 2025. Last night was a sharp, clear night in Ashlandia. The fullish moon unloaded buckets of light. Stars crowded in like Swifties at a concert. Cool air sweet with freshness took the house’s heat out of it. Now dawn has broken. Sunshine has bulled out over the green land. Heat is coming up. Today will scale to 90 F. Tomorrow, red flag alerts are out as we push past 90, and Sunday, we’re expecting 102 F.

I called Dad and spoke with him and his wife for over an hour. He’s back home and doing well. Both were in good spirits. Trump’s actions and behavior deeply disturbs Dad. He’s worrying and wondering what the country will be like in four years. Other than that, we chatted about other family members and heating and air conditioning. That last was triggered by a task I’m doing: going up into the attic to switch the blower fan for the A/C and put it on high. I really should get a switch installed for that. It’s no fun at all climbing into the attic above the garage to deal with the horizontally-mounted blower for the central system. And I need to do it in the morning in the summer, before it get’s blazing hot in the attic. Complain and moan, that’s me.

Worrying about tariffs, I did order a new computer. It’ll arrive in a few days. Nothing fancy, just something for TSPG: typing, surfing, posting, gaming.

I surveyed a blizzard of news a little bit ago. Court cases the Trump Regime won and lost. More speculation about the Epstein files. Canyon fire growing in California. Troopers shot in PA. New record temperature in Arizona. These are all Trump era trends.

Reviewing some of Trump’s recent lies, The Neurons came up with a Queen song, “Liar”, from 1974, in the morning mental music stream.

And, fueled with coffee again, I’m off. Hope peace and grace finds you today and everyday. Cheers

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Thirstdaz Theme Music

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.

Trump calls wind energy a ‘con job’: Here’s what the data actually says about his tirade on turbines

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

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Traditions?

Daily writing prompt
What traditions have you not kept that your parents had?
View all responses

When I saw the prompt, I laughed and wondered, what traditions? Then I thought about it more seriously.

Dad doesn’t have traditions. He and Mom divorced in the early sixties. I moved in with him when I was fifteen. Well, he did have two traditions in those years: partying and working. Still on active duty in the U.S. Air Force when I moved in, he also had a parttime job, running a base all-ranks club. I have never seen Dad cook. Nor have I seen him clean house. Both of those duties fell to me when I moved in. I confess: I went back home to Mom’s house for Thanksgiving and Christmas for the next few years. Then I graduated high school, joined the military, and was off in my own life.

Back at Mom’s house, traditions gravitated around Christmas, Easter, and Thanksgiving. I guess there was also traditions for Memorial Day and the 4th of July: we always grilled out. Mom’s Christmas traditions were digging out decorations, putting up a tree, and that sort of thing. Easter meant baskets for the children and baked home for dinner. Thanksgiving was a lavish meal, turkey with stuffing, a bunch of fixings, and apple and pumpkin pie with whipped cream for dessert.

Well, it’s just my wife and me. Married for fifty years, we never had children. We did make Easter baskets for each other for a while, but neither of us claim a religion or a belief in God. I was also a shift worker for the first dozen years of my military career and often worked on Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, etc. And my wife became a vegan over thirty-five years ago.

The bottom line is, my Dad had no traditions, and Mom’s were limited. Now we have a tradition of going to a friend’s house to celebrate spring. We all bring a dish, hunt for easter eggs, and play cornhole. Once a year during the summer, we go to a local lake and dance to a local band with friends. There were fifteen of us this year. For the 4th of July, we always go to Pam’s house for a potluck branch and to watch the parade. A friend opens their farmhouse for all of us on Thanksgiving, another potluck affair, but they always provide a turkey.

I guess we have a new tradition of finding friends and celebating with them.

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Wenzda’s Theme Music

It’s Wenzda, aka humpday, but also July 2, 2025. Cooled down to a comfortable level last night some and the morning ingredients are calling birds, blue sky, sunshine, and 72F. High will be 83 F, a drop from what I saw yesterday at my casa, 95 F.

I realized this morning that I’m in a metaphorical holding-my-breath state. So many balls in the air. I scan horizons for ‘the next’ in six different directions. Out there is the One Big Beautiful Bill, known in some places as the Big Ripoff, the Great Screwed Up Give to the Rich bill in others. Trump was again idiotically blithering on TV like someone who shouldn’t be allowed out on their own again. Russia and Ukraine’s war continues. Iran and Israel are still out there glaring at one another. Israel bombed some more people in Gaza. Don’t worry: they’re ‘investigating’ how it came to be that they bombed a cafe and killed reporters and workers and such. Yep. Tariffs hang all over everything like toilet paper from trees after Devil’s Night. Supreme Court rulings have been issued and the storms building behind those will come out. It’s Hurricane Season. Europe is suffering record heat and it’s not that cool in ‘Merica, either. Wildfires burn and FEMA is ready to shrug because Trump says states should be doing it for themselves. DOGE has had access to personal data; can that be good? The U.S. measles outbreak has ‘plateaued’ according to the gov’t but has it really? And what will happen with all that new guidance from the science and medicine skewed HHS led by worm brain Kennedy? Killer Noem’s ICE Troops seem more reckless, sanctuary and blue states are being threatened by Trump, he has a new eua-du-shit out, and Musk and Trump have taken their insults to new levels. Then there’s the personal and family stuff.

Hold my breath. Wait to see. What. Is. Next.

Quickening to my mood and thoughts, The Neurons unleashed “I Will Wait” by Mumford and Sons into the morning mental music stream. The song came out in 2012. Led by Marcus Mumford, the band has a different sound but it works for me and enough others that they’ve established a solid career. Hope you find it okay for your Wenzda’s beats.

My follow up dental appointment went well yesterday. All is healing, no problems, no complaints. Biopsy showed nothing of concern from the cyst removed from my gum. Have another appointment, different dentist, for a cleaning.

Coffee-fueled energy is ascending. I’m off to early morning yardwork. Have the best day you can. Cheers

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Frida’s Wandering Thoughts

I was ravenous. I carry sufficient emergency energy stores (fat) on my body that starvation didn’t come up as a serious concern except for my stomach’s urgency to refill. It bellowed complaints like an irritated wooky. Much of this is diet limitations. I’m on low salt for hyper tension, and still remained constrained by my oral surgery. It’s healing well but missing molars and recovering surgical sites disrupt the biting, and chewing, and swallowing routine. It’ll be over in four to six months, so that’s just a temp thing.

I’ll be pleased to see June 2025 finish. Frustrating, disappointing, wearying, and just plain sad, that month holed my energy during its 30-day reign, and my soul is despondent. Personally, June of 2025 will remain a strong memory because it was memorably messed up. I’m putting high hopes on July and the rest of 2025. July’s first week features two dental appointments, my annual physical, and natal day #69, so the beginning is loaded with potential.

For the record, I think Natal Day #69 could be good song title, with the right music behind it.

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Another Dream Car

One of my dreams last night left me puzzled but optimistic and in a better mood when I awoke. As I went over its details with myself, one part that captivated me was it featured my first car.

In the dream, I was a young man again, and I was driving my first car. This was a 1965 Mercury Comet. Forest green, it was a four door automatic sedan with a 289 V8.

Dad gave me the car. He’d recently remarried, and this was his new wife’s transpo. Dad bought himself a used service van at an auction to drive to and from work, and turned over his 1974 Chevy Monte Carlo to her to drive. I was completely blown away by their decision. They’d not talked to me about it ahead of time. Until then, I’d been hitching or walking to get around.

With a car, I suddenly had a dating life and began dating the girl who is my wife. Our dates were never much because, car or not, I didn’t have much money. Dad did give me gas money and a few bucks besides. But I was in high school and on sports teams, and local jobs in our rural region were scarce.

After graduating, I joined the military and went in for training. After I returned home from basic training and tech school, I drove that car three hundred miles through a snow storm to my new duty assignment at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, Fairborn, Ohio. It was a taxing drive. Ice and snow were thick on the car by my journey’s end.

One day, the car wouldn’t start. It was probably a starter or selenoid switch. As it was a 1965 car and this was 1975, and it was a four-door sedan, I did what many guys would do, and bought my first used car, a sleek little 1968 Chevy Camaro with a 327 V8. Ah, fun car! Young car!

I left the Comet sitting in its parking spot. A man saw it sitting there without movement, hunted me down, and bought it. I’m not sure how much he gave me but I didn’t haggle. The thing is, though, when he went to change registration, he learned it was still Dad’s car.

Oh, yeah.

Dad was pretty pissed but the sale went through. I still laugh about it, and he still shakes his head.  

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Saturda’s Theme Music

Good morning from Ashlandia, where the temperature has jumped 49 F. Thickened clouds lurk with dark intentions, prepared to unleash rain faster than can say “It’s Biden’s fault!” The clouds are forcing the sunshine to circumnavigate the clouds, so the sunshine is low energy and uncertain as Trump’s logic. Today’s high will be 59 F, or a little higher than Trump’s IQ. Or so I read on the net. So you know it must be true.

There’s not much change on Mom and Dad. Dad is going home with his wife. Mom is at home with her boyfriend. Mom’s pain is increasing. The source is sciatica. They gave her a steroid shot at the hospital the other day; that ended the pain. Now it’s wearing off and, as these things work, her pain is returning. I’ve not heard about what’s happening with the hospitalized uncle, Dad’s brother. Then there is also the case of the missing cousin. 72 years old, I’ve never met him but he reached out to me via Facebook. See, he met my sisters years ago, after I’d left home when I was fifteen. They kept in touch. A few years ago, he noticed me commenting on their posts and asked for clarification about who I was. See, Facebook does serve some good. Now, though, he’s dropped off of Facebook. Another cousin noticed first and asked if I knew what happened to him. Nope; I contacted his half-sister (same father, different mother). She had no idea what happened to him. So I’ve reached out to his children (who I’ve never met). I’m awaiting a response. He was hospitalized for heart issues last year, and we’re worried.

Today’s music came out of dreamland. I had an interesting, unresolved and frustrating dream. As I contemplated it while doing morning business, The Neurons introduced “Sunny Came Home”, a 1997 Shawn Colvin song that had a lot of radio play. I was puzzled about why The Neurons picked that song (but then again, The Neurons usually puzzle me by what they’re doing). Yet, as I reflected on the dream, some sort of parallels between the song and my dreeam were revealed. To me, the song is about a woman struggling to make sense of things who then becomes an arsonist to ‘solve her problems’. My dream was a reflection of my struggle to make sense of things, politically and personally. The Neurons agree that this makes sense. Who knows if it’s right?

I’m drinking hot coffee again, to which I raise my hands to the heavens and give thanks for small favors. Ready to rock another Saturday. I hope good things happen for you today. Cheers

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Frida’s Theme Music

It’s supposed to be the first day of summer in Ashlandia: Frida, June 20, 2025. But it’s fifty and has a certain autumn flavor to the air. Sun and blue sky have surrendered to charcoal clouds. Rain veils aren’t there but an atmosphere of impending rain lurks. Today’s high will only be 61.

The cat is not happy. Prancing out for sunshine, he stops and looks around. “Right,” I say. “Where’s the sun?” The cat doesn’t say anything. He’s not much for conversing. “Want to come back in?” I ask. The cat’s gaze at me is rich with skepticism and disappointment. “I can’t control the sun,” I say. “I’m going back in.” I go in and close the door. A few minutes later, I check on the cat. He’s sulking. I open the door. He hurries in. “I agree,” I say. He meows for food and is given a third breakfast to make up for the sunless suffering he endured.

My mouth is healing. This is Post Op Day 2. Teeth are missing from the upper right and left sides. I’m not allowed hot stuff yet. I make oat oatmeal and let it cool, doing the same with my black coffee. I inhale the coffee’s aroma, comforting myself that I can soon gulp down a tepid splash. I make my warm water with salt and swish, rinse, and spit, as required, marking it off my mental checklist, along with two Ibuprofen and my Amoxicillin. I have pain killers but I don’t use them. Just give me some coffee, damn it.

My wife is leaving for the gym. “Do you want me to pick you up anything?” she asks.

“Sunshine,” I sniff.

“I mean food.”

“No.”

I sit and eat my chilled oatmeal and smell my coffee.

I check my phone for texts. Nothing from Dad’s side in Texas nor Mom’s side in Pittsburgh, PA. Guess both of their issues are temporarily abated.

Today’s music is “How Does It Feel” by London Grammar. The Neurons turned it loose in the morning mental music stream after my wife asked how my mouth felt. “Fine,” I answer, feeling grumbly.

The coffee is cool enough to drink. The sky has gotten darker. It’s almost time for my chlorhexidine gluconate oral rinse. I raise my cup and look out the window. “To summer.”

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