Tag: death

Mundaz Theme Music

Monday, January 19, 2026 has rolled into Ashland. 32 F at the house, Alexa and the net insist it’s 43. Stagnant air warnings remain, but the blue sky and sunshine offer hope for something better. Highs are expected to kiss 60 F, maybe inch over that.

Why then, am I down?

Something unidentified broke my sleep last night. Papi swears it wasn’t him. Nor do dreams seem like the cause. The three remembered dreams offer the typical blend of wonder, hope, and anxiety. Writing is going well. Maybe my hormones are causing something. Hormones can be sneaky, underhanded energy challenges.

I felt like Dad’s spirit visited me yesterday afternoon. Busy exercising, my mind was free. A sad thought that I couldn’t pick up the phone and call Dad passed through me. Then it was like Dad was suddenly there, grinning and laughing like he was fifty years younger, a startling few moments, to which I smiled.

Dad and I were both in the military for 20 years and enjoyed cars. We also enjoyed robust political discussions.

During my last conversation with him, he told me he disapproved of Trump’s policies and behavior. He also commented that his wife and her family were staunch Trump supporters. Living in Texas, he was surrounded by MAGA, and related that there was ‘no talking to them’. Those folks consistently maintained that Trump could do no wrong.

Frank, Mom’s significant other and Army veteran, scowled when talking about Trump. The man rarely cursed but when he did, it was often in conjunction with Trump.

I’m pleased both of them passed away and won’t need to endure watching Trump’s policies unfold.

The Neurons turned to Albert King and Stevie Ray Vaughn to help me climb out of this funk. “Born Under A Bad Sign” plays in the morning mental music stream. I wasn’t born under a bad sign but I feel like I woke up under one today. I’ll indulge in some blues music, sipping coffee, partake of some news and blog posts, and sort myself.

Hope your day starts under a good sign that things will go well for you, perhaps one with hints of peace and grace.

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“Standing Beside Her: Confronting ICE in the Heartland”

Protests against ICE swept across the United States last weekend. Many citizens filled the streets and lined sidewalks to protest ICE’s policies and deployments.

Those ICE policies and deployments led to escalated violence. The most shocking violence occurred when ICE agent Ross killed Renee Nicole Good, unarmed and in her car, in Minneapolis a few days into 2026.

This week, another report emerges of ICE agents threatening U.S. citizens. This is the story of Pastor Kenny Callaghan of Minnesota.

White and gay, Pastor Callaghan was standing with protestors a few days ago when an ICE agent confronted him. Pastor Callaghan told his story to news reporters.

Rev. Kenny Callaghan is the senior pastor at All God’s Children Metropolitan Community Church in Minneapolis. He was driving to work on the morning of Jan. 7 when he saw a large crowd on Portland Avenue.

Callaghan said he parked his car and walked three blocks toward the crowd and saw several ICE agents. At the time, Callaghan didn’t know why agents were there, but saw agents approach a Hispanic woman, so he went to stand beside her.

He heard her tell agents she wasn’t afraid of them. Then, he said there was a wave of energy. It was the news of Renee Good’s death.

“I welled up in energy, even more energy than I had, and I said at that time toward those ICE agents approaching this young Hispanic woman, ‘take me, take me instead of her, I am not afraid of you either’,” he said.

Callaghan said an ICE agent approached him and asked him to repeat what he said.

“I said I am not afraid and then they pointed a gun in my face, and the crowd was chanting louder and louder, they were also chanting at this time, ‘we are not afraid, we are not afraid.’ ICE put handcuffs on my hands and put me in a black SUV,” Callaghan said.

He said while he was handcuffed in the car, ICE agents approached him a few times, asking if he was scared, and he repeatedly said no. Callaghan said ICE agents then asked him for his ID and cellphone. He asked if he was being arrested, and then he said ICE slammed the door and walked away.

“A few moments later, they came back and they said, ‘Are you afraid yet?’ and I said ‘no,’ and then they said it ‘Well, you’re White. You wouldn’t be fun anyway.’ And then I was shocked because if I hadn’t seen enough, it was then that I knew that this staging that these ICE raids are really about fear and intimidation,” he said.

Many observers agree that Pastor Callaghan is right. Trump’s ICE policies aren’t about making America great again, immigrants, whether they’re illegal or not. ICE’s tactics are about threatening Americans to do as they say, or else.

For many of us, Trump’s ICE policies aren’t a surprise. Reports from Defense Secretary Esper emerged that Trump asked about shooting protestors in Trump’s first term. During that same period, Trump also suggested invoking the Insurrection Act as justification to send tens of thousands of soldiers to deal with protestors.

Since taking office in 2025, Trump increased ICE’s budget and role. He sent ICE agents into cities on missions to round up illegal immigrants but also sent National Guard units into multiple U.S. cities. Established in 2003, ICE — Immigration and Customs Enforcement — is part of the Department of Homeland Security (DHS).

Under Trump, the agency is now violently confronting U.S. citizens far from our borders. The people they’re stopping are not immigrants and ICE agents often do not identify themselves.

Tell me, are you afraid yet?

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Satyrdaz Theme Music

We’ve come to a new 2026 Satryda. Falling on January 10, nothing in my introduction to it portends to anything significant — yet; the day is early.

46 F outside, with clouds and stagnant air planning to shuffle us into the low to mid 50s. Despite storm warnings about snow, none materialized in our town. The surrounding mountains received a chunk. As that’s where the snowbank resides, it’s reassuring that some moisture has been stocked up for the summer. More is still needed.

I’m thinking about patterns today — life, daily, political, weather. A dream inspired the initial thought flow. Then my usual consultation of temperatures, my weather cat — Papi — and the view outside intersected.

Weather shapes our lives, as does technology, relationships, and modern politics. Each day is a snapshot of the present, but we can see the past and future in it. Interpretations of those depends on which details we notice and how we apply knowledge to what we see.

More, some let themselves try to see less to force it into a preconceived framework. They work to strengthen their framework by challenging less.

Conversely, I think knowing less weakens our framework. I always fear that I’m limiting myself, that I’m chasing facts to support assumptions. I know I have biases which emerge to curtail my views.

I can see that happen in the entire spectrum of myself, whether the thoughts are about writing, fiction, sports, weather, politics, or personal relationships. All these things have their own spectrums. I move along them, and they move along me. The resulting dynamics are always complex.

I want to have a fidelity to truth, facts, honesty, and history. But it seems like we’re living in a period in which those elements are under consistent attack.

At the same time, I remind myself that I’ve never lived in another period. I can easily visualize hundreds or thousands of years ago when people struggled to understand and learn the truth and apply it to their lives, just as I’m doing now.

The more things change, the more they remain the same. That’s the essence of all of these thoughts about patterns.

Getting involved with my thoughts, The Neurons planted “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac in the mental morning music stream. The Neurons weren’t focused on the dream aspect, though; they came through with the song’s first lines.

“Well there you go again, you say you want your freedom. Well, who am I to keep you down? It’s only right that you should play the way you feel it.”

Because, you know, beyond all those facts and truths, we’re always dealing too with emotions.

Hope this Satyrda finds you safe and comfortable in your patterns, ready to move forward in positive ways. Cheers

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Wenzdaz Theme Music

Wenzda, January 7, 2026, has settled in for its time in the spotlight. A winter storm is supposed to be striking us. I spend time watching for signs of it.

Southern and eastern views earn sun-filled eyes. It’s a gorgeous day out there! Moving on to the west, my spirits are throttled down by a foggy, white cloud view. I’m not sure how to take these signs.

I check four weather sources, and all agree, it’s 44 degrees F out there. 45 is our projected high. The alignment between the temperature readings feels like a sign but I don’t know if it’s good or bad.

I likewise don’t know how to process the signs in the political world. Whether it’s the economy, Trump’s latest military adventures or his subtle hints he’s planning more, up is down and down is up. I tell myself, just wait. All will be clear.

Waiting is frustrating because I suspect the outcome is already too clear. For example, some thinkers believe Trump’s military overtures are being tacitly accepted by China and Russia because it provides cover for their military plans. For China, that includes attacking Taiwan. Some analysts tell us that all the signs are there but they’re mostly the same signs we’ve been noticing for a quarter century.

On top of that, I’m thinking about life in general and looking for signs that 2026 will be a better year. Questions stack up: what do I mean by ‘a better year’. Well, in general, I mean a healthier year. Less death among my friends and family and fewer GOP actions that make me fear and worry for my nation’s future. That’s the small tip of a very large iceberg in my sea of worries.

The signs and worry message permeate The Neurons’ bubble. They respond with “Signs”. The original came out in 1971 by the Five Man Electrical Band. Tesla later covered it, putting out their own release in 1990. I resisted choosing between them, giving you a Wenzda twofer.

I hope the signs for you are indicating a better life to come. How that is measured is a matter of your terms. Cheers

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Mundaz Theme Music

Munda, January 5, 2026. Fog imposes a grey, wet-looking wall beyond the houses and trees across the street. 37 F is shown on the thermometer and forecasts call for rain and snow, with a ceiling of 38 F forecast. Looks like winter is finally taking an interest in Ashlandia.

I will note that a friend in Alaska was raving about her weather, displaying a thermometer that said it was -2 degrees F. That was the high. She insisted that she prefers it when it stays cold and frozen. According to her, the cycle of warming, melting, and re-freezing is much worse than a steady, consistent freeze. I’ll take her word on that.

My wife and I have been concerned about weather. Videos of king waves slashing the coast and heavy rains and flooding up north and down south worry us. People have been enduring so much foul weather. We’ve been spared but watching the situation, it feels like the storms were slowly pinching in around us. My conspiratorial mind, where I go to harvest ideas, whispers, maybe somebody is controlling the weather.

As we slink into 2026’s first Munda, we’re coping with news that another friend suddenly passed from cancer. More details aren’t yet known. Like Steve, who passed last year, this was another individual we saw at the lake with friends last summer. He seemed fine at the time and didn’t mention any health issues. Just another shock to the system in a cascade of shocks.

As I perused news and texted Mom and Dad’s widow about matters, I told myself to try to be more upbeat and optimistic this week. Weather and the general news tone levels a heavy burden, though.

Considering the weather, I find myself reflecting about Dad more. Born in the 1930s, Dad lived and worked in multiple states and every region. Dad was born in Pennsylvania. Mom was from Iowa, and he met her in either Minnesota or Nebraska.

After my parents married, they lived in Virginia, Texas, and California. He and I lived in West Virginia and Ohio. He was also stationed in the south and in New York and Indiana. Then he moved to Texas and met his third wife, and stayed in Texas.

A poker and pool fan, Dad enjoyed renting an RV and driving from San Antonio in Texas to Laughlin, Reno, and Las Vegas, Nevada. He also rented an RV to visit his other son in Utah. Then the RV was turned east and Dad visited his brother in Kentucky. The next leg was a drive to Georgia so Dad could visit his daughter and grand- and great-grandchildren.

Dad’s wife didn’t go with him. She’d fly to each place and return home! Oh, it’s all so funny to me, and remembering lifts my spirits.

While trying to adjust my mood today, The Neuron suggested a song called “Old Time Rock and Roll”. Bob Seger recorded and released it in 1978. Nothing particularly called me specifically from the lyrics. I appreciate the song’s beat and energy. It’s a good rhythm in the morning music mental stream to kickstart my energy. I’ll also drink some coffee, which will also help.

Hope your day is brighter and warmer than mine. May peace and grace lift your spirits and give us all a shot of optimism. Cheers

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A Road Trip Dream

I was setting out on a trip with three friends. Only one — Ron, an older man — translates to a current real-life person. Ron was just as he is in real life. The others, also males, were known.

One interesting note that emerged and wove throughout were two others, both female. They sometimes joined the journey, and Ron and I discussed whether they would be with us. The two women, both brunettes, one in a red top with black pants and the other wearing a bright blue top, would only appear and not speak directly to me.

We were riding in Ron’s truck. This was beige and big, with a four-door cab and a luxurious tan leather interior. Though Ron was driving, he was in the backseat. I was alongside him. He’d put the car on autopilot, so it was essentially driving itself with him just monitoring what was going on.

I kicked back beside him on the back seat. Stretching my legs out, my foot ended up hitting the steering wheel. That put us off course. Because of the way I was reclined, it took several seconds of jostling to get my foot out of the way. During that time, we went off the road and onto the shoulder but didn’t slow. Ron finally steered us back on course and returned the truck to autopilot, but now he was worried and concerned the police would pull us over.

We arrived at our destination — a huge furniture store. I’d never been to it. The floor was hard dirt. All furniture was antique white. Despite the floor and the limited offering, the store was very busy. The women showed up briefly. The others spoke with them while I went out to another section of store.

The next store section was filled with tables and chrome appliances. The appliances turned out to be food and drink dispensers. Needing to use a restaurant, I did some bowel business but discovered the toilet didn’t have any way to flush. Removing my fecal material with a wad of paper towels, I looked for a way to dispose of it. I found one but they wanted me to pay money to flush it away. I refused, angry and disgusted that they’d monetized flushing away our body functions. I instead found a small white bag, put the materials in there, and set it on a table, telling myself, it would be someone else’s problem.

I then reconnected with my friends. I told Ron that when we went back, I wanted to sit in the front and stretch out and sleep. He looked at me with confusion but didn’t reply. The two women came by. One said she had to go off and find her children.

My friends and I went to another section. People there were seated, waiting to pay for their selections. I stopped before one man and did a giddy tap dance. The man, overweight and big with swarthy skin and a white cowboy hat, ordered, “Stop that.” Laughing, I kept dancing but moved to another section. Another man who I didn’t see said, “Stop that,” but I laughed and danced away.

My friends met up with me again. All were surprised that I was tap dancing and thought it strange. They wondered how I learned it. I replied, “I’ve always known how to tap dance. Nobody ever needed to teach me. I just knew. I just don’t do it much.”

Dream end.

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Fridaz Theme Music

Welcome, welcome, welcome. It’s First Frida, January 2, 2026, a day traditionally celebrated with food, drinks, and jokes. Here is my joke. Fittingly for this era, it’s AI provided.

I once tried to do nothing.
It took all day.

Currently 49 to 54 F in Ashland with an expected high of 54 to 57. Strong winds are singing their warnings. Grey clouds and sunshine square dance.

I sent my stepmother a condolence card today. I was just expressing my appreciation for what she and her family did for Dad, providing him the love and comfort of a family. Mom, Dad’s first wife, and his biological children from that union, could never work that out. Too many variables to reduce it to understanding. Dad was part of that. As he once told Mom, he didn’t mature until he was 35.

My mood is all over the place today. As I shift away from Dad’s death and the reflections they provoked, I’m moving into the new year and trying to re-engage politics. I don’t want to be a downer. I want to be honest. My mood is up, as is my spirit, but then I read about the latest news, and the sighs creep out of me.

While a new year has begun, Trump hasn’t changed for the better. He’s projecting again, calling Democrats ‘the worst’. I suspect criticism of him squeezed past his handlers. He knows he’s not being held in high regard, and actions he lauds as being great are being disparaged. So it goes in 2026 as it was in 2025, 2024, 2023… That leopard doesn’t change his spots.

After reading political news, my cheeky Neurons introduced “Radio Ga Ga” into the morning mental music stream. That made me laugh. The 1984 Queen song is a nostalgia look back at the radio era as television and music videos rose in popularity. The Neurons jumped on the a chorus after reading about Trump.

[Chorus]
All we hear is radio ga ga
Radio goo goo
Radio ga ga
All we hear is radio ga ga
Radio blah, blah

Radio goo goo, radio ga ga, radio blah blah. That’s too often Trump.

The song itself, though, uplifts me. This particular version, with Freddy Mercury out in front, feels powerful.

With 2026 underway, I hope to see meaningful and positive changes for you and me. May grace and peace come together with us. Cheers

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Thirstdaz Theme Music

I’m working through tendrils of a new day, a new month, and a new year. Not much of it taxes me yet, but we’re only nine hours into it in Ashland.

Winter continues its weather games. Today, Thirstda, January 1, 2026, brings rain and a leaden, swollen sky. Winds whisper, howl, and moan. Temperatures around town reportedly range of 46 degrees F to 53. My house says it’s 51. Today’s high will be…51.

I posted news of Dad’s passing on Facebook and heard from many, including military peers, corporation co-workers, fellow writers-in-struggling, and friends on other continents. Comfort and thankfulness rose in me for so many taking the time from their lives to comment.

I’ve accepted Dad’s death on at least the surface. Flashes of not being able to speak or visit with him slide like gentle waves through my thoughts. Some tears fell yesterday. Today, I’m remembering him with fondness, chuckling and laughing at memories of how he smiled, laughed, and spoke.

As for the new year and month, I’m uncertain of what to expect. Last year was a ride on a cantankerous bear. Too many Trump and GOP actions dismayed my core. That core holds beliefs that We the People are supposed to have a voice in our government; that laws will be followed and enforced; that everyone is equal and deserves freedom and respect. Actions such as Trump’s rants about hoaxes, fake news, Democratic scum, and ICE rounding up people without due process all undermine my hopes.

I’ll continue voting, protesting, and writing about how Trump is conducting business. And I’ll keep trying to nurture hope and optimism that we’ll see a shift toward my hopeful vision of progress and democracy.

Here’s today’s music: “God Gave Rock and Roll to You”. The 1973 song was written by Russ Ballard. Ballard was in Argent at the time, so Argent performed and released it.

I suspect The Neurons planted the song in the morning mental music stream because I was thinking about working hard on the novel-in-progress, and the need to keep editing it. The song reflects those sentiments on one stanza:

Lyrics (h/t to Genius.com)

If you wanna be a singer or play guitar
Man, you’ve gotta sweat, or you won’t get far
‘Cause it’s never too late to work nine to five
And if you’re young, then you’ll never be old
Music can make your dreams unfold
How good it feels to be alive

Coffee is served again. May peace and grace find you and guide you along a hopeful path in the new year. Cheers

0

Dad

Reviewing life with Dad after he’s passed away.

Married while they were young, divorced while I was young, Mom seemed to give Dad a bum rap, something I didn’t appreciate until I was older and knew Mom and Dad better as adults.

Dad married three times. He sired seven children, two girls and five sons. Only two of his sons lived to adulthood.

One son tragically died in a car accident when he was just five years old. Dad was at his saddest and most silent then, and I was beside him at his son’s funeral.

I only lived with Dad twice: when I was very young until I was about five years old, and then again between the ages of fifteen and eighteen. I’d run away from home. Dad, in the Air Force and just returned to the U.S. from assignment in Germany, gave me a place to live. I was at his wedding with his second wife.

I’ve seen and visited him sporadically throughout the years. We talked on the phone more during the last few years, something that he actively pursued, trying to mend and improve our relationship.

Dad at 92, August of 2025.

Dad taught me to pee behind a bush. We lived in Arlington, Virginia in a rented house on a cul-de-sac at the top of a hill. Dad was in the Air Force; Mom was a telephone operator. Mom was working, and Dad, with the children, was locked out of the house. I announced that I needed to pee. Dad led me behind some bushes by the side of the house and told me to go. I was horrified but did it with his encouragement.

Mom came home just after I finished my business. I rushed out to her to inform her of my milestone. She was shocked and angry. Dad just laughed and laughed. He would’ve been in his mid-twenties.

I also give Dad credit for teaching me how to wrestle, how to catch and throw a ball, and how to ride a bike. He gave me his baseball gloves and bats when he came home on a visit and realized that I didn’t have either.

He also gave me his love of automobiles and encouraged me to think about problems and find my own solutions. Looking back, he was surprisingly patient and positive.

I don’t remember any Thanksgivings with Dad. We did share a few Christmases, and some July 4th celebrations. Most of those, though, were with Mom. He did take me on a fishing trip and gave me my first and only fishing rods.

Like many of us, Dad was a balance, a study in life, striving and trying, learning, and sometimes failing. But he always got back up and went on. I haven’t seen him much since he turned 85 seven years ago. I’ll miss him.

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