Tag: family

Sunda’s Theme Music

Sunda June 15, 2025 has taken off. It remains chill in Ashlandia, mostly sunny but clouds are clotting. 74 F now, the high will see us ten degrees warmer.

First, a shout out to the anti-King contingency and their nation-wide and world-wide showings. Millions showed for the cause. Meanwhile, PINO TACO and his minions endured a dour, sluggish, pitiful parade. The Army and its members deserve better; little TACO does not. MAGA and its orange chief should understand now that TACO’s attitude and lackadaisical treatment of people and rights is not appreciated. They won’t, of course. TACO lives in a bubble, as do the MAGAts. Trumpettes reinforce the positive and shield him from the negative. His delusional thinking does the rest. TACO and his support nachos will blame the fake news media, AI, etc — anything except the truth — to pretend that it was a fabulous parade, probably the GREATEST AND BIGGEST MOST BEAUTIFUL PARADE EVER!

Anyway…

It’s Father’s Day, a holiday begun when fathers said, “I’m tired of working. I’m taking the day off.” People responded, “How ’bout a tie? You’ll look good with a tie and that’ll make you feel better.” And so a tradition was born.

Called Dad today. He remains hospitalized. Surgery is planned for tomorrow. Although 92, he’s never been through surgery and he’s scared and nervous. I’ve been through a few surgeries and helped reassure him. As we spoke, he began remembering all the injuries I’ve experienced and joked about them.

Later, reflecting on our relationship, I went through how much Dad and I are alike. He’s much different from his father. I had a great relationship with that man, because my grandfather and I both liked building models. Grandpa has been gone fifty years. I still miss him.

Dad conveyed bad news. His younger brother was hospitalized Saturday night, and the brother’s son-in-law died suddenly of a heart attack while on a walk. Meanwhile, Dad’s sister, my aunt, celebrates her 91 birthday today.

Papi surprised me today by showing great delight in playing with a bright pink shoestring. I’d make the string wiggle and Papi would attack, nail it with a paw and then spin and race off. Returning a few seconds later, he’d get down into position for another go. This went on for ten minutes before he dashed away and out of the house.

Thinking about the flopped DC parade, The Neurons pushed forward a past song called “The Soft Parade”. “The Soft Parade” is by the Doors. I enjoyed listening to it but my friends found it strange. Well, yeah, that could be the Doors. My wife also disliked the song, telling me that she didn’t understand why I liked it. It’s another case of the old maxim, different strokes for different folks.

On to coffee, on to other things. On to Sunda. Cheers

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Crossroad Moments

Daily writing prompt
Describe one of your favorite moments.
View all responses

I’m fortunate enough to have treasure chest of favorite moments to sift through. I fell in love with an intelligent and beautiful girl in 1974, married her in 1975, and we remain together. She’s given me a bundle of favorite moments. Fun times, vacations, Christmas and other holidays, have given me a chunk of favorite moments, as well. Playing ball with my father and wrestling with him gifted me more, and being in the military, traveling the world, and having a plethora of good friends further enriched my favorite moments. And, although I’ve won promotions, awards, and honors, starred in local productions of plays and had some great moments playing sports, two special memories effortlessly surface.

One came in 1989. I was stationed in Germany with a C130 unit. A training mission was planned for the weekend to give navigators an opportunity to do overwater nav training. I normally didn’t fly, so offered a seat for familiarization and orientation, I jumped at the chance.

Our first stop would be Aviano Air Base in northern Italy, but politics put a crimp in our plans. Col. Omar Gaddafi ruled Libya. Two Libyan MiGs went up against two US Navy F14 Tomcats. The MiGs lost.

The episode put the region on high alert. We took off for Italy but were denied permission to enter Italian airspace. The Italians didn’t want to inflame the situation with more U.S. warplanes entering their nation. We were placed in a racetrack pattern over the Swiss Alps while diplomats worked on the problem. Going around and around, it was surreally beautiful and peaceful to gaze down on those rugged, snow and ice-covered ancient mountains, watching as shadows arose and lengthened, lights went on in the villages and hamlets, and the sky changed colors as the sun dropped below the horizon. We were permitted to continue into Italy and land, but our training plans were curtailed. It’s a favored moment because the time and situation allowed me to sit quietly and contemplate the world and existence. I could look up the emerging stars, where humans were rarely found, and back down to Earth, where we struggle to thrive, and reflect further on the circumstances around that unique moment.

My other favorite moment is one with my wife. We were in California, where we lived, in late 1999. We’d just moved into the first home we bought, a townhouse located in Half Moon Bay. Settled in and unpacked, we went for a walk one evening. After walking for about a mile, we arrived at Kelly Beach. There, we stood on a bluff, arms around one another’s waist, and watched the sun darken into red as it set on the deep blue Pacific Ocean. I felt content, satisfied, and hopeful about life in a meaningful way.

I’m happy to share these moments. They weren’t much in the span of time and life, but they mean so much to me.

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Saturda’s Theme Music

Welcome to No Kings Saturda, June 14, 2025. It feels like the weather dieties summoned Autumn in Ashlandia. Sunny, it’s now up to 55 F. High today should be 79 F. See? Autumn numbers.

After heavy discussions last night, my wife and I are not attending the protests. This is about our health, unfortunately. Shit happens. For me, it’s a booming throbbing headache that began last night and seems ready to stake a homestead and stay longer.

Speaking of health, Dad is in the hospital in San Antonio with heart and kidney failure. I spoke to him and he said that he’s ‘not concerned’. Dad is never concerned, though. His wife told me she is very concerned. Dad said, “She’s always very concerned.” Nothing will be done for him this weekend and he’ll remain hospitalized. They are removing fluids and monitoring him. They’re meeting Monday afternoon at 2 PM to discuss next steps.

I haven’t heard much from Mom and my sisters this week. Is this one of those ‘no news is good news’ scenarios? They found a lump in her boyfriend’s lung under his left arm but aren’t doing anything about it as he’s 95.

Papi the butter butt is enjoying the faux fall. His energy level is the envy of the household. In and out, breaking into gallops, eating and asking for treats, coming by for some attention and affection, he’s a marvel of healthy energy.

All that aside, my mood is layered with concern for the nation and the world. Watching and reading to see what happens next. Flooding in San Antonio. Wildfires in Canada.

Read about the fake cop shooting and killing a Democratic lawmaker and their husband and injuring another Democrat lawmaker and spouse in Minnesota. Sickening. We don’t know the killer’s identity or motivation but my mind is slick with suspicions and suppositions. The man who shouted, “Fight, fight, fight,” last year, who activated the National Guard against peaceful protestors, who pardoned J6 insurrectionists who killed and injured police officers, who vowed, “If you spit, we hit,” unironically declared, “Such horrific violence will not be tolerated in the United States of America.” His words remain so empty.

National Guard are being called out ‘just in case’ as protests are planned around the country. Some are anti-ICE and anti-immigration policy protests but many more are long-planned No Kings demonstrations to protest Trump’s arrogant attitude. Our servant of the people contemptuously dismisses the people, the laws, the courts, and the Constitution. One of his proxies, Puppy Killer Noem, head of ‘Homeland Security’, displayed her contempt for the people (again) and a servant of the people as her personal security removed him from ‘her’ press conference.

Noem lied about what happened. Naturally the White House did as well. But video and witnesses showed the truth. I can’t reflect that this is how they lie and deny when it’s all out in the open; just think how much they lie about what’s going on in the shadows.

Beyond our borders, Ukraine and Russia’s war rages, despite Trump’s campaign insistence that he’d quickly have a cease fire in place. Russia has claimed 1,000,000 of their soldiers have been killed in Ukraine. I’m mourning that senseless waste of life but remained infuriated that Putin started that war for no reasons beyond greed, power, and ego.

Meanwhile, Israel launched a ‘pre-emptive’ strike against Iran. Iran retaliated and will probably try to do more. Fires have broken out at the South Pars gas field in Iran’s southern Bushehr province after Israel’s attack, which won’t do anyone any good. Trump quickly cheered the Israeli attacks after urging them to show restraint days before

How ’bout some Justin Timberlake today? The Neurons have ordered up “Can’t Stop the Feeling!” for the morning mental music stream. Good beat, poppy, happy lyrics. Just let it flow. Sing and dance. Relax. Just for a few minutes.

Coffee has been sucked down. Time to try to do something.

And happy Flag Day. Cheers

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A Dream Hodgepodge

This dream had quite a jumbled collection.

It starts with me returning. I was off to the military; now I was back. People had been staying in my place while I was away, but that was done with my permission. Things were a little out of hand because they’d treated it like a party crib. I had a stern conversation with them; yes, they were welcome to stay there. Sure, it was okay to have people over, but they’d start trashing things, and that wasn’t appreciated. They were very understanding in return.

Then I was tidying. I had shelves of old electronics, mostly stereos, cassette and 8-track tape players, CD players, and VHS players. The dust on some were thick. As I resettled back into life, I exclaimed to myself, “Man, I have a lot of gear here. How the hell did I get it all?”

A young boy came up. He didn’t pay any attention to me. He seemed to be looking for something so I asked, “What’s up?”

The boy answered, “I’m looking for a music player for my friend. He wants one for his bicycle.”

I said, “I think I can help him.” I pulled out a small black box and dusted it off. “This has a radio and tape player. It’s small and he can mount it on his handlebars.” I looked more closely at the black box. “It also has record player on it so I don’t know if he would want it.”

“That’s okay,” the boy said. Taking it, he went away.

In a weird dream shift, my place was both outside and inside. I worried about my cats. I had two, and they were a plush gray with golden eyes. Both were young. I looked around for them. They were busy investigating things just outside and playing. When I called their names, they hastened to me, which mitigated my worries.

Then, I worried about my schedule. I needed to call and find out where and when I needed to be for work. Going through my cluttered place, I picked up the phone and dialed 633 while going to my desk to find what the final four numbers were. A woman answered the phone, “Operator intersect.”

I laughed. “Sorry, I didn’t expect that,” I said. “What’s an operator intersect?”

The operator explained, “The call is diverted to the operator whenever the call is not completed but the line is open in case someone has an emergency but can’t finish dialing.”

I answered, “Sorry, I just don’t know where I’m calling. My bad.”

Next, I thought, oh, I should call Mom. So I did. Answering before a ring finished, she said, “About time.” No hello or anything else.

Irritation jumped through me. “Wait, are you pissed because I didn’t immediately call you when I got home? Is that what’s going on here?” She did not answer. I said, “You’re being childish. I’m going to count down from five. If you don’t start talking before I’m done with the countdown, I’m hanging up. Understand?”

No answer.

I began the countdown. When I said, “Three,” I went on, “Oh, forget this. This is stupid. You’re an adult, Mom, and you’re behaving like a child.”

Then I hung up on my mother.

Dream end.

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Sunda’s Theme Music

Well, it’s toasty out there. Step into the sunshine and toasty shifts to broil.

Yes, Sunda in Ashlandia is a hot space. 92 F now, a 98 F high will crisp us before the thermometer drops back to 65 tonight. Last night had us hanging at 80 F at 10:30 PM, which makes it a push to cool the house before the next heat cycle — I mean, day — begins. We will see some cooling on Wednesday, when the temperature sinks to 86 F.

The heat is expected. This is Jun 8, 2025. This is Ashlandia. Summer is coming.

Thinking about the heat pushed a faraway recollection of my father-in-law once saying to me, “It’s hettin’ up outside,” into my mind’s foreground. I laughed, and he responded, “What?” He passed away the year my wife and I returned from our tour of duty in 1991. And the memory of him saying “hettin’ up” was old by then.

Papi was a rambunctious floof this morning. He slept and chilled all day yesterday so his energy cup was brimming over. He was also apparently bored. Starting a little before 5 AM, he came in, jumped on the bed, and purred loudly at me, often tapping me awake or rubbing his little chin against my head or arm. I kept rising and feeding him. By by count, I fed him six times between 5:30 and 8 AM. And he chowed it all down.

Political heat is rising. Americans are reacting to Trump’s ICE raids. Resistance is rising. Americans don’t care for masked gunmen disappearing other Americans off the streets in snatch and grab ops. Getting particularly het up in Los Angeles. Resistant is rising and protests are planned. Numbers are stacking. So is irritation, as are TACO Regime counter measures. TACO has never been on for restraint and is always eager to rush to violence. It would’ve been more of a surprise if TACO called for restraint, but he rushed in 2,000 National Guard troops in a move that’s sure to escalate tensions and further divide the nation. That’s TACO, the Great Divider, bitchboi for billionaires everywhere.

Today’s song is a 2015 tune. Rachel Platten and David Bassett wrote the song and Rachel Platten performs it. “Fight Song” was written when Rachel Platten was at a low point, and sees the song as a vehicle for empowerment. Some sample lyrics for you:

This time this is my fight song
Take back my life song
Prove I’m alright song
My power’s turned on
Starting right now I’ll be strong
I’ll play my fight song
And I don’t really care
If nobody else believes
‘Cause I’ve still got
A lot of fight left in me

Losing friends and I’m chasing sleep
Everybody’s worried about me
In too deep they say I’m in too deep
And it’s been two years
I miss my home
But there’s a fire burning in my bones
I still believe, yeah I still believe

I wasn’t too surprised that The Neurons offered it to the morning mental music stream as I read news and analysis of the LA protests.

Feel free to raise a fist and sing along.

Coffee is at hand. It’s hot, cuz some, like me, like it hot. Coffee, I mean. Hope your day caps off a good weekend for you. Cheers

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Saturda’s Wandering Thoughts

An elderly woman asked for my help at the coffee shop yesterday. She’s another coffee shop regular. I’ve seen her here for several years. By observing and eavesdropping, I knew where she lived, what she drove, her previous occupation, her standard order, and her name.

She’s named Sandy. As I helped her, she said, “I was an elementary school teacher.”

I replied, “What a coincidence! I used to go to elementary school.”

She laughed.

I’m thinking of Sandy today because I’m reflecting on Mom. Mom is 89; Sandy is 82. I’ve witnessed Mom’s decline over the past decade. I’ve seen Sandy declining over the past two years. She used to have no problem walking. Always a diminutive person, she seems smaller, thinner, and weaker, and struggles to stand, sit, and walk. Terrible to see.

It affects me because I’m also seeing such a decline happening in my wife. It’s surreal because I’ve had many more medical emergencies and don’t attend to my health as my wife does. I generally bounce back from whatever I endured. Yes, my bounce is not as high these days, and it takes more bounces to get back to close to what I was. My wife, though, is slowing and weakening. She often loses her balance. Her diet and activities are becoming so limited.

All of this reminds me of how impermanent things are. This is true of products, societies, our bodies, our existence. Ground Penetrating Radar finds forgotten settlements. We come across photographs of relatives we never knew about. Genetics and genealogy can fill in blanks about who your ancestors were but it’s typically in broad terms. Names, places, occupations, mostly.

It all finally roosts in me as a reminder to not take things for granted, whether it’s success, health, family, or your government. Nothing really lasts forever. Worse, the ending can come without much warning. As in so many other matters, it’s something which I learned before, and then forgot.

5

Munda’s Theme Music

Suming continues in Ashlandia. It’s a spring base with heavy summer nuances today, Munda, June 2, 2025. Presently 60 F, we’ll pop through 80 before the sun declares fini.

I’m in a bit of a hurry this morning. Time again for us to do Food & Friends deliveries. After that, it’s back to the writing routine and then beginning of month chores. I also pruned trees and bushes around the yard, and now must cut it all down and put it in the green bin for pickup tomorrow.

Haven’t heard back from Mom in days. I’ve regularly texted her. I do know she’s okay. Little sister’s youngest just turned 17. I saw Mom in FB photos of he bash. The lad, named Michael because one can’t have enough Michaels, is the youngest of the nieces and nephews. The next generation of them are nipping on his heels, as they’re sixteen. All are impressive examples of human beings, so far; we know how people change as they age, don’t we? Well, not everyone. But many inevitably shift into someone else who may be better or worse.

My wife bought a book this weekend called A Short Stay in Hell. It’s very short but thought-provoking. We both read it and then discussed its ideas.

With my nephew’s birthday in the rear view, it should be no surprise that thoughts of generations and transitions are occupying The Neurons. They dug out The Who with “My Generation” from 1965. Love the video of the era. The basics of people walking, dancing, and working aren’t much different from what we’d see in a video produced today. Shoes, clothing, and hair styles would be the most notable aspect of the differences, along with cars and vehicles. Since there’s no sound, we’d miss the other facet of change: how talk has changed. But of course, any video of people on the streets today would be peppered with folks on cell phones., right?

Time to make it a Munda, just as so many generations before me. I’ll start with coffee. Cheers

0

Sunda’s Theme Music

Another sun filled blue sky day cups Ashlandia. It’s a quiet one out there. Like it’s a holiday and everyone else has gone away. They don’t know about the 70 degrees F and sun-kissed wind toying with our hair in Ashlandia. Clouds are gathering and we’ll top off our temperatures at 75 plus F today.

Papi is loving this weather, prancing in and out of the house with his tail up. Whenever we go out back, he emerges from his sun nap to visit with us.

This, for the record, is May 25, 2025, part of the Memorial Day holiday weekend in the United States. As always, my wife and I compare our childhood Memorial Days. For her, it was Decoration Day. Her family would make the pilgrimage by car to the family’s graveyards. They had two, one for Mom’s family, and the other for Dad’s line. Both were born and raised in southern West Virginia and had a family line that went back several hundred years. The graveyard was cleaned up, if needed, and fresh flowers were put on the graves.

My family, in contrast, were relatively new, in some ways. Mom’s side came over on the Mayflower and kept moving west. She was born in Turin, Iowa in the 1930s. Her grandfather helped establish the town, and her mother was born in Turin in 1910. Dad’s father’s family came over in 1899, went to Pittsburgh, PA, and stayed. His mother’s family arrived in Pittsburgh a little bit later and also stayed.

Memorial Day for me, then, wasn’t and isn’t about graves, but about sports, family, and food. As I aged, it did become more about military service and sacrifice. Now it’s just my wife and I out here in Oregon. Her mobility and diet are limited, and Memorial Day has been relegated to just another spot on the calendar.

My theme music today relates to a conversation with my wife this morning. A friend highlighted a post for me on Facebook. I don’t go much on Facebook. My wife doesn’t have a FB account but uses mine to lurk, so she saw the post and told me about it. The post is about misunderstood song lyrics — mondegreens. One song was “Panama” by Van Halen. A popular mondegreen, unfamiliar to me, is that they’re singing “padded bra!” instead of “Panama!” Reading this to me, my wife sang the “padded bra!” part, cracking herself up. The Neurons immediately shipped the song into the morning mental music stream, where it shares time with my thoughts.

My wife and I were in the office this morning, each pursuing our computer agendas. Suddenly she bursts, “There’s a FEMA carveout for Trump’s residences in the bill that was just passed.” She was livid. “Trump doesn’t send FEMA to help anyone any more but if one of his places are hit, he’s taken care of. This is ridiculous! This is disgusting! He’s supposed to be the servant of the people, not the other way around. When will those idiots wake up?”

A few minutes later and she launched into Trump’s latest crypto scam, piling on about how he’s using the presidency to enrich herself. I commiserate but don’t otherwise respond. I don’t want to go down the rabbit hole of how Trump and the Greedy Ol’ Trump Party is enshittifying the United States. I’m taking the day off from it.

Hope you have the best day you can. I’m gonna try to do the same. Coffee is at hand. And away we go.

0

The Parents Dream

I dreamed of my mother and father last night. Both are still alive. They ceased being a couple by 1961. Both have gone on to several other marriages and long-term relationships.

I’m not surprised that I dreamed about them. It’s Memorial Day weekend. Mom loves the holidays. If little else often worked out right, the holidays usually did. The food was sensational. Mom’s speciaities above everything else is fried chicken and potato salad. These foods figured prominently in the warm weather holidays of Memorial Day, Independence Day, and Labor Day. These were always large family affairs featuring picnics or cook-outs.

On the flip side, I only recall one Christmas with Dad. None of the rest. He and I get along pretty well. That’s not the issue. The issue was once he was away, I had to chose between Mom and Dad, and Mom had better food.

Back to the dream. In it, I was an adult. My two sisters who shared Mom and Dad as their biological parents were present, along with Mom and Dad. I was an adult, and Mom and Dad were the standard parents familiar to me from when I was eighteen to when I was sixty. Then they changed, bodies breaking down, in the old people they now are, restricted in their activities, dealing with medical issues, like, all the time.

But in the dream, we five were together as adults. Something had happened, some disaster, that forced us together. The dream didn’t give that info. So Mom and my sisters were moving into the place that I had shared with Dad in the dream, but not in real life. This was a small, wood-paneled dump. Tiny, cramped kitchen with dim lights. Old white refrigerator. Microwave on a fake wood stand. Tiny formica gray and silver table with four chairs. One of the ‘old-fashioned’ answering machines with microtapes.

And there were notes. This was part of some complex, which had a pool and a clubhouse. Dad had a stack of notes. This was familiar to me in the dream but not anything he’d ever done in real life. It was his handwriting, though. These were codes and bank account numbers, phone numbers for different people and organizations. I’d glanced through them on arrival.

In the dream, Mom, walking around in a fake fur coat, said, “Jim, we need the access code. Can you give it to us?”

I took some digs at Mom. I’d seen her snooping; Mom was always and forever a secret, furtive snoop, a trait which my oldest sister developed. After that dream, I saw that connection very clearly. Mom used to do things in secret and tell us children, “Don’t tell anyone.”

So, in the dream, I chuckled and asked Mom, “You didn’t find it when you were snooping around.”

Mom issued the standard warning with her eyes and mouth that said, ‘Quiet, don’t talk about that.’ Dad was his typical tight-lipped and silent individual, dismayed by what transpired around him.

I went on to Mom, “Oh, come on, Mom. We all know how you snoop and I say you doing it while Dad was in the other room.” Then I went on to Dad, “What’s the code, Dad? Is it 03? I saw that written down over there. I also saw 258. Is it one of them?”

Dad eventually revealed the code, which I don’t remember. That’s when the dream fades out on me. But it opened my eyes about my parents as I reviewed the dream later.

3

Twosda’s Theme Music

This is Twosda, May 20, 2025. Weather here is more of the same. 53 F now, with moderate to light clouds rolling through, going up to 70 F today. No rain expected, but it’s breezy. Sunshine has lifted us to 64 F. Papi is out there, asnooze is his favorite shelter, hidden from casual scrutiny but sufficiently exposed that he can enjoy the weather.

Mom’s tale from Pittsburgh is unsettling. Today she didn’t get out of bed. She told my sister she couldn’t walk due to her sciatica. Sis, being a physical therapist, provided Mom with exercises to alleviate the sciatica. Mom was doing them when sis left.

One, so glad that sister is there, that she’s strong and intelligent. She of the three sisters in the area has been doing the heavy lifting with Mom. She’s not the oldest or youngest child. And she bridles at many of the things she endured while she grew up. But she’s stood up again and again to take care of Mom. She’s also married to a man who is in construction. Thanks to him, things have been organized and accomplished fast. I’m so grateful to both.

Mom told sis today that Mom thinks she needs a wheelchair. My heart fell like a sinkhole when I read that text. Mom was pretty athletic and loved to dance, and loved her independence. It’s all eroding from her. Her house isn’t conducive to a wheelchair, either.

Fortunately, a little serendepity paid off. My BIL’s customer had just offered him an almost new wheelchair. As soon as Mom said that, sis texted her husband. Two hours later, Mom had a wheelchair. Mom declared it perfect.

All the fallen trees at Mom’s have been cut up, collected, piled up and offered to the world free of charge. People have been driving over and picking it up. Sis was behind that, too.

Here’s photos from Mom’s house in Pittsburgh, PA, May 19, 2025. Top set are after the wood has been cut and picked up. The windstorm was April 29, 2025.

Today’s song is Trump inspired. “Behind Blue Eyes” is a 1971 release by The Who. The Neurons brought it up as I read things that Trump said and did. I was thinking, “What is going on in that head of his?” I don’t think anyone knows. One example came via MSN and the Irish Star today.

Donald Trump dementia fears as ‘brain misfires’ in worrying Oval Office announcement

As Donald Trump and Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth announced that they were financing a $175 billion project to build a missile defense system, the U.S. President’s word choices sparked new dementia fears.

After announcing the plan to build a $175 billion ‘Golden Dome’ to press in the White House’s Oval Office on Thursday, Trump directed everyone to look at the portraits around his desk. He named the first two Presidents no problem, but then began to stutter when he got to Monroe.

After announcing the plan to build a $175 billion ‘Golden Dome’ to press in the White House’s Oval Office on Thursday, Trump directed everyone to look at the portraits around his desk. He named the first two Presidents no problem, but then began to stutter when he got to Monroe.

This is just one recent example from what happened in public. What’s going on in private?

I think it’s a mess privately. As the Trump Regime loves to project, and their early reaction to news of President Biden’s cancer was to quickly propose, “Was there a coverup,” I think there’s a big coverup going on in the Trump White House.

Here’s the opening verse and first chorus.

[Verse 1]
No one knows what it’s like
To be the bad man, to be the sad man
Behind blue eyes
No one knows what it’s like
To be hated, to be fated
To telling only lies

[Chorus]
But my dreams, they aren’t as empty
As my conscience seems to be
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance that’s never free

h/t to Genius.com

These lyrics seem to perfectly capture Trump: he seems fated to telling only lies.

Well, writing is done, coffee is done, lunch is over. Time to change clothes and get out there and do something in the yard. Don’t yet know what. Have a satisfying Twosda. Cheers

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