Tag: family

Munda’s Wandering Thoughts

Mom isn’t speaking to her live-in boyfriend again. Hormones? Mom is 89 and her boyfriend is 95.

The cause of the rift is ‘his girlfriend’. His best friend died last year. Mom thinks her beau has a thing for the man’s widow. The widow called him last Saturday. Mom said she and her boyfriend haven’t spoken since that phone call.

I blame it on drama. Mom lives for being the center of a dramado. If one doesn’t naturally occur, she’ll conjure it.

Take her falls. She falls a lot. ‘Bout every six weeks by my estimate. Ends up injuring herself. She generally falls while cleaning or dressing herself.

Now, the situation can be changed. Mom can move into assisted living. My sisters and I encourage her to do that. We told her we will pay for it. But nope. Mom won’t because her boyfriend — the one she isn’t speaking to, because, per her, he has another girlfriend — says he doesn’t want to move out of the house and they are a package deal.

Okay. How ’bout if we have someone come in and help her? I did hire someone to come in and clean. Originally twice a week. Then once a week. Then every other week. Then once a month, Mom slowly moved her back out. The cleaning person then experienced her own health issues and has never returned.

How ’bout having some medical assitance come in a few times a week then, etc? No, Mom doesn’t want to have anyone coming to the house. That would mean she would need to clean herself up first, clean the house, etc. No, no, no.

Bottom line, she has established her path and remains firmly on it.

Yes, I’m writing simplistically about the routines, emotions, psychology, etc., of these decisions. I do sympathize and empathize with her position. But this challenge has been going on for half a decade. My sisters have each bowed out of the discussions. It’s only Mom and I talking about it now, and she doesn’t really talk. She just says no.

She wrote last week and asked, when can I come back again? Sadly, my life is out here, in Oregon, with my wife and my own issues. So, sorry, Mom, can just vacate my life again, as I’ve done a couple times before.

So there we sit, awaiting the next drama.

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Call Me Dwayne

Daily writing prompt
What is your middle name? Does it carry any special meaning/significance?
View all responses

My first name is Michael. My middle name is Wayne.

But that isn’t what was planned.

“Why did you name me Michael Wayne?” I asked Mom. I was looking for a story about why those names were selected, thinking something inspired my name.”

“I didn’t,” Mom said. “Your father did.”

“What?”

“I’d just given birth and I was out of it. He filled out the paperwork and named you. That’s not what I wanted.”

“What did you want?”

“You were supposed to be Dwayne Richard.”

“Dwayne Richard? Why?” And also, “Rick’s name is Richard Dwayne.” That seemed like a weird part of the puzzle. Richard Dwayne is my cousin, born a month before me.

Mom nodded. “I told your Aunt Jean that I wanted to name you Dwayne Richard. She stole it and named her son Richard Dwayne.”

Wild. I later asked Dad, “Why’d you name me Michael Wayne?”

“I didn’t.”

“Mom said you did.”

“I named you what she told me to.”

“That’s not what she said.”

“She probably doesn’t remember. She was pretty out of it. Listen, you know your mother. Do you really think I wouldn’t do exactly what she told me to do?”

I never got any satisfying reason for why my middle or first name was chosen. It’s just is what it is.

14

Saturda’s Theme Music

Yesterday, sunshine was uncorked on us. Washing through blue skies, our air temp crested 70 F and lived there for a while. Gorgeous day, right?

Today, it’s 51 F and sunny. But we’re only expecting 63 F. And…rain. Still, pretty springish winter day. ‘Bout average for Ashlandia on Saturda, March 1, 2025.

Yep, a new month has begun. Sixteen percent of 2025 has been experienced. Those expecting a calm after the 2024 elections are probably disappointed. Those working for the Federal government in any capacity are likely stunned. Those hoping for lower inflation are probably too overwhelmed for emotions.

One thing unchanged are the lies that come out of Trump’s mouth. ‘Another lie’: MSNBC’s Nicolle Wallace smacks down Trump and Vance’s latest claims. No matter the subject, he will reliably lie, twist history, and bloviate, a fool who thinks himself a genius. He’s demonstrated these ‘qualities’ throughout his lifetime. Since he first announced his run for POTUS, it has been recorded and documented. And it sill goes on because his cult followers and the GOTP gleefully slurp it up by the spoonful.

Let me turn away from that. Take a coffee break for a while.

The Neurons dragged today’s song out of 2015. It came from a morning compound of wondering and cogitating as I slept-walked through the morning observances related to cleaning, feeding, eating, drinking. Prepping goes with all that. The routines induced a reflective miasma about being younger. Only, I was not the direct object of these thoughts; I was focused on Mom and Dad. Dad is with his third wife. In his nineties, he has issues but she’s younger than him by a decade and tends him well. His situation is solid.

Mom, though, is 89. She lives with her 95 year-old-fiance. It’s an old, three-story house. She falls a lot. Injuries and worries ripple out of each fall. She blames her back for her falls. I blame pride. I blame her refusal to accept her limitations and adjust her activities to their new scope. I understand; I don’t give up my routines. They’re routines because they comfort or reassure, or we enjoy them. These routines address something in our psychological makeup which isn’t easily altered.

The song is by Lukas Graham. As I went through the thought exercise of looking back, gazing forward, and reflecting on now, “7 Years Old” played in my morning mental music stream. The song is about reflections of being different ages and the attitudes and memories of that age prevail. So it was quite apt for my morning mental meandering.

Coffee and a doughnut are trespassing on my taste buds. Don’t know how they got past my defenses. Hope your day rocks in needed good ways. Here we go, in three…two…one…

Cheers

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Phasing Out

Daily writing prompt
Describe a phase in life that was difficult to say goodbye to.
View all responses

I thought in depth on this. I retired from the military after twenty years. It was surprisingl easy to say good-bye to it. But I’d been ready to leave it for at least a year. The politics and hypocrisy inherent in the organization disgusted me. Also, leaving wasn’t hard because we rotated every two to four years. Little was permanent, thanks to ‘permanent change of station’ orders. I was deployed to theaters around the world, and the missions changed. While controlling nuclear weapons, war planning, and mitigating the effects of disasters were constant, as were the uniforms, the people were not. We were proficient at ending phases and saying good-bye.

That got me to thinking about how it was really about the people. Leaving IBM after fifteen years was like leaving the military: supremely easy. For the final nine years, I worked from home in southern Oregon. My co-workers were mostly voices on the phone. I’d rarely actually met any of them. My niche was small and I typically dealt with the same ten semi-strangers all week. It was boring, although it could be mentally stimulating, but mostly tedious and empty. Projects would arrive with great fanfare. Then the winnowing would begin. Many projects failed to launch. That was the business.

I left home and family when I was seventeen. Mom’s home was riotous with broken marriages and arguments. When I lived with Dad, he was an absent father. I became adept at being independent.

My wife and I have been together for over fifty years. That’s an ongoing phase. I’ve moved around the nation and around the world. Relatively little remained the same for me. Change was a constant phase.

But we usually had cats. They bonded with me more than my wife, with one exception. These cats became my buddies. At one point, I had six living with me. Another four that belonged to neighbors regularly visited. Now all are gone except one, and he’s getting old.

That’s what phase I guess it’s been hardest to let go of. Each fur friend’s death was so deeply felt that I’m weary of feeling it. My wife said the same and has declared, no more cats. I’m willing to accept that for the moment, but it’s the end of a phase, and a very long good-bye.

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The Flooded Car Dream

To begin, I found myself in a car that became trapped in a flood and incapacitated. That meant I wasn’t going to make my destination on schedule.

I wasn’t bothered. Getting out of the car — no idea of its make, model, or color — I waded out of flood waters. Two things began working in parallel: I started making arangements for a rental replacement and I worked on understanding my location. With the former, I learned in phone calls that a car was available but wouldn’t be there for several hours. In the matter of location, I found that I was close to my father’s house. I could visit him and his family while waiting for my rental car.

Their home is in the southwestern U.S. in the dream. In real life, Dad lives in Texas but in the dream, I was unclear if it was New Mexico, Arizona, or Texas. With dream magic swiftness, I arrived at Dad’s and was knocking on their door. A family member I didn’t recognize answered the door. They recognized me, introduced themselves in a vague way and let me in. Then I remembered them.

Then, it was visitor time. Cousins on my father’s side were living with him. Two of these cousins have already passed away in real life. The other point is that I’m 5’8″ in real life and the cousins are half a foot plus taller. My dream had these roles reversed. That surprised m and it came to a point that I realized, I’m tall, they’re looking up at me.

Food and drinks were offered and accepted. After I ate, my father’s current wife entered the cosy western room where a fireplace hosted blazing logs. I explained the situation to her and asked her about my father and seeing him. A little distracted, she told me Dad was there and he wanted to see me but he had to do some things first and it would be a little bit later.

My Dad’s wife’s daughter called from open French doors in the rear that there was an animal playing in the water. I moved there to see a young wild cat chasing something through the water. Almost simultaneously, I realized that night was falling, it was pouring rain, that the house was built by an arroyo, and that flash flooding was underway. On the next moment, I saw that there was a much larger wildcat — about the size of an adult cougar — in the water and figured it was mom, and another little one. Those three animals easily moved their powerful bodies through the raging muddy waters. Mom cat noticed us and that’s when the next pair of realizations bolted in: that back door was just feet from the raging waters, and three wild predatory animals were also just feet away. But the animals went on and we backed into the house and eventually closed the door.

More family members briefly visited but all had other things to go do. I ended up alone. I noticed that they had this small, rough shaped wooden table, about the size of a petite coffee table. A piece of art was worked into the table’s top. I thought I’d fix it up as a gift to them so I took it to a small shop I located on the property and cleaned the top until some western piece of cowboys with lassos in iron and style was revealed.

After polishing it up, I returned to the house. Dad’s wife met me. I showed her and others the table. They were really pleased. None had noticed the top. The piece was a family heirloom and they were told it was priceless but they didn’t know anything about the art.

My rental car had been delivered and I needed to leave. It was night and Dad hadn’t shown. I left and went to the car. Once I reached, I laughed: I was still carrying the table in one hand. Going back to the house, I saw several of them through the window. The lights were on inside. They looked right at me. I realized that they couldn’t see me because of the lights and reflections, so I just went in, showed them the table, joked about almost leaving with it, and then left again.

Boom! I still had the table. I realized this in a few steps and hastily rushed back in, set the table down, and left the house. The dream ended as I reversed the rental car, turned it around, and drove into the night.

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Fridaz’s Theme Music

So we chug into Fridaz, Feb. 21, 2025. Blue sky has it over my views of Ashlandia. Plentiful sunshine pelts the scene with rays. It’s 32 F with mid 50s likely, ‘they’ say.

All that is my perspective. Per habit, I inquire of the weather for us from Alexa. It says it’s 40 degrees. Tells me about the fog. ? Says it’ll be mostly cloudy today.

What we have here is some kind of failure of something. Maybe it’s in a different reality; perhaps I am. Or Alexa landed in a different Ashland. There’s a bunch of ’em in America. Or…since she’s Amazon…and Jeff Bezos…and he’s getting along so well with Trusk…Alexa is trying to gaslight me. Ah, such possibilities to contemplate on a Fridaz morning.

Oatmeal with blueberries are being consumed. A Chicago song is going through my morning mental music stream. “You’re My Inspiration.” You know the words:

You’re the meaning in my life
You’re the inspiration
You bring feeling to my life
You’re the inspiration
Wanna have you near me

h/t to Genius.com

I figure The Neurons are calculating and channeling emotions about Tucker’s passing. Seems logical, right? But, The Neurons are not always logical. Then again, neither are emotions. Hell, neither is life.

The music certainly didn’t come from my dreams. They were trippy. I’ll almost certainly write a post about one of them later. It’s ‘almost certainly’ because it’s a busy day planned. So, it’s a time permitting thing. Then again, there’s not a general call for more of my dreams, nor is there a time limit. It’s not like someone sent me memo, “Post about a dream by Fridaz.” If they did, I didn’t receive the memo. I guess I should check my spam and junk mail, see if it didn’t get ditched there.

Coffee and I are doing the morning tango. Hope you have a solid day, and things begin looking and getting better for all of us. Here’s the 1984 music, fresh out of a recording made in 1992. Papi the ginger blade (aka Meep, Butter Butt) has arrived for his morning cuddle session. Gotta go. Cheers

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Not An Easy Answer

Daily writing prompt
Share one of the best gifts you’ve ever received.
View all responses

This is another of those questions with contingencies circling around a word. Today, it’s ‘gift’. I mean, the gifts of life and good health are often on people’s lists. I’ve experienced enough personal health scares to appreciate those words. A memory seared into my being is of being very sick one year. Bronchitis turned to pneumonia. I awoke to Mom’s high pitched appeals, “Please, Lord, let my son live.” Her efforts worked, as here I am. Pretty good gift, I think.

Then there is the best gift received as a present. That would be a 1/20 scale model of a 1961 Jaguar XK-E. I was around nine or ten years old. Car fever bowled me over. Porsches, Corvettes, Ferraris, name it. But that Jag impressed me as the most stylistic art on four wheels. The roadster was my choice but the model was a coupe. It was fun to build, and I displayed the result with pride.

However, there was a shirt given to me when I was fourteen. A female classmate had a crush on me. I was aware of this because other girls wrote me a note informing me of the fact. Later that week, she bought the shirt, and gave it to me as a gift. Although the shirt wasn’t my style, I was flattered. Astonished, really. In retrospect, I understand how much courage it took her to buy that and give it to me.

I suppose, though, the best gift is that kiss and hug my wife gave me the first time she ever told me she loved me. Unable to speak the words, she wrote them in the steam on a window. We were teenagers and that’s another memory captured in amber. Married a few years later, we’re still married fifty years later.

So, not an easy question to answer. The question does force me to realize how many great gifts I’ve received.

I hope I was able to give a few to others along the way.

6

Mom & Dad

Daily writing prompt
What were your parents doing at your age?
View all responses

I often think about Mom & Dad at my age of 68 and what they were doing.

Mom, with a couple divorces behind her, was a late bloomer in some ways. She’d given birth to seven children. Five lived. Forfeiting graduating high school to leave her small town of Turin, Iowa and find employment and begin her own life, she eventually acquired her GED. That was long after I’d left home and begun my life. After gaining her GED, she went to college and became an LPN and RN. A twenty-year in that followed; she retired at my current age, devoting herself to being a grandmother.

Dad and Mom had divorced decades before. Dad was in the military, the U.S. Air Force. After retiring at 20 years, when he was thirty-nine years old, he worked in the grocery business as a produce manager and then bought his own restaurant. When he was around 48, twenty years younger than I am now, he moved west to Texas. He worked in different retail businesses while becoming a real estate agent. He always like running stores, though. Eventually, he was running the largest truck stop west of the Mississippi. Along the way, he met another woman; she became his third wife. They’ll be married 33 years on Valentine’s Day of 2025. Meanwhile, he kept managing that truck stop. Every time he told them he was thinking about retiring, they’d offer him more pay, bonuses, and vacation. He did eventually give it up when he was 80. So at my current age, he was fully in the thick of running it.

They’re a surprising couple. From lower class working roots, they married many times. Each had productive careers. Between the two of them, each was parent to seven children but they also buried three children. Five of us siblings shared them as parents. I left Mom’s home when I was 14 to live with Dad and then left his house at 17, joining the military as Dad had done, so much of what I saw of their lives was through a long distance lens. Mom and Dad remain alive. Mom is 89 and Dad is 92. Both endure health issues but because of the era when they worked and the effort they put in, they have excellent health benefits.

Of course, the flip side of it all is, what will I be like at their ages?

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Wenzda’s Wandering Political Thoughts

From a post by the Florence County Democratic Party (South Carolina):

“A day in the Life of Sue Republican.

Sue gets up at 6 a.m. and fills her coffeepot with water to prepare her morning coffee. The water is clean and good because some tree-hugging liberal fought for minimum water-quality standards.

With her first swallow of coffee, she takes her daily medication. Her medications are safe to take because some stupid commie liberal fought to insure their safety and that they work as advertised.

All but $10 of her medications are paid for by her employer’s medical plan because some liberal union workers fought their employers for paid medical insurance – now Sue gets it too.

She prepares her morning breakfast, bacon and eggs. Sue’s bacon is safe to eat because some girly-man liberal fought for laws to regulate the meat packing industry.

In the shower, Sue reaches for her shampoo. Her bottle is properly labeled with each ingredient and its amount in the total contents because some crybaby liberal fought for her right to know what she was putting on her body and how much it contained.

Sue dresses, walks outside and takes a deep breath. The air she breathes is clean because some environmentalist wacko liberal fought for laws to stop industries from polluting our air.

She walks to the subway station for her government-subsidized ride to work. It saves her considerable money in parking and transportation fees because some fancy-pants liberal fought for affordable public transportation, which gives everyone the opportunity to be a contributor.

Sue begins her work day. She has a good job with excellent pay, medical benefits, retirement, paid holidays and vacation because some lazy liberal union members fought and died for these working standards. Sue’s employer pays these standards because Sue’s employer doesn’t want his employees to call the union.

If Sue is hurt on the job or becomes unemployed, she’ll get a worker compensation or unemployment check because some stupid liberal didn’t think she should lose her home because of her temporary misfortune.

It’s noon and Sue needs to make a bank deposit so she can pay some bills. Sue’s deposit is federally insured by the FSLIC because some godless liberal wanted to protect Sue’s money from unscrupulous bankers who ruined the banking system before the Great Depression.

Sue has to pay her Fannie Mae-underwritten mortgage and her below-market federal student loan because some elitist liberal decided that Sue and the government would be better off if she was educated and earned more money over her lifetime.

Sue is home from work. She plans to visit her father this evening at his farm home in the country. She gets in her car for the drive. Her car is among the safest in the world because some America-hating liberal fought for car safety standards.

She arrives at her childhood home. Her generation was the third to live in the house financed by Farmers’ Home Administration because bankers didn’t want to make rural loans. The house didn’t have electricity until some big-government liberal stuck his nose where it didn’t belong and demanded rural electrification.

She is happy to see her father, who is now retired. Her father lives on Social Security and a union pension because some wine-drinking, cheese-eating liberal made sure he could take care of himself so Sue wouldn’t have to.

Sue gets back in her car for the ride home, and turns on a radio talk show. The radio host keeps saying that liberals are bad and conservatives are good. He doesn’t mention that Republicans have fought against every protection and benefit Sue enjoys throughout her day. Sue agrees: “We don’t need those big-government liberals ruining our lives! After all, I’m self-made and believe everyone should take care of themselves, just like I have.”

The writer(s) captured the conundrum quite brilliantly to me. These Republicans in their bubbles or those low-informed voters not paying attention, gladly and eagerly seize whatever they’re fed by a right-wing outlet and bet on it as gospel. They’re dismantling so many things brought to them by Democratic initiatives and the Federal government. And as so many of us consistently predict, they won’t know what they have until it’s gone. Then, after the collapse of progress, the GOTP will blame the Democrats.

And Sue Republican and her peers and the under informed will all agree.

1

Thursdaz’s Theme Music

The sixth day of February has boarded our minds in the year of 2025 CE, a Thursdaz. Crazy frog — our home’s expression for freezing fog, based on a mondetext — has stolen the sunlight, gifting us twilight colors of, gray, white, and black. No snow falling but ‘they’ are warning us that more is on the way. It’s 32 F and greater warmth isn’t anticipated. Snow might be on the way. Or rain.

The primary roads have been plowed here but get off them and yer on yer own. Sidewalks on not cleared, so people must walk on the streets. Everyone gives pedestrians on the roads wide passage but given the environment, I imagine people walking worry with every step about someone losing control of their vehicle.

Weather caused cancellation of my first two lymphedema massage therapy sessions. Another one is scheduled for tomorrow. Also have an appointment for Papi the ginger blade, aka butter butt, Meep, and butter booger, to see what’s going on about his fur shedding.

The Ban Man is at it. Trump bans with a petulant thump. “Ban transsexuals in women’s sports.” Thump. “If I can’t have fun and play sports, neither can they.” “Ban DEI. I’m a rich white guy, born into a wealthy white household. I don’t understand how that was an advantage over others.” Thump. “Ban it all, everything that isn’t me.” Thump.

Of course, the craziness of the first term is still flowering. ‘The U.S. will take over Gaza. Move the Palestinians out.’ What? Friggin’ nuts. Then his ‘team’ scrambles to make it sound sane, plausible, and supported by everyone, and then Trump realizes how nuts he sounded and tries to change what he said. Brother.

It was a busy morning. Friend called to ask advice about his ailing cat. Another called for help with his recalcitrant computer. And, caught up with Mom drama via texts with Mom and a sis. Mom fell again. She refuses assistance and she’s been at war with her live-in boyfriend for months. She’s 89 and he’s 94. I have never witnessed him be anything but polite and nice to her but she declares him mean. My siblings and I have a lifetime of Mom so her claims draw leeriness as a first response. It’s unfortunate but she’s been married multiple times and has had several boyfriends, and drama is her drug. She makes everything contentious with everyone. It’s a sigh-inducing relationship with her.

With that gray-tinged white world staring back at us, it’s no surprise that The Neurons pulled a Cream song, “White Room”, into the morning mental music stream. It’s a Cream favorite o’ mine. A poet, Pete Brown, was responsible for the lyrics, which strike many as enigmatic. I think iyhat pushes me to look inside myself.

My favorite part is this stanza, followed by the chorus.

You said no strings could secure you at the station
Platform ticket, restless diesels,goodbye windows
I walked into such a sad time at the station
As I walked out, felt my own need, just beginning

[Chorus]
I’ll wait in the queue when the trains come back
Lie with you where the shadows run from themselves

h/t to genius.com

I like the way the stanza is belted out, angry, defiant, challenging, before the softly resigned introspection presented by the chorus.

Then, too, there are three phenomenal rock performers demonstrating their craft with bass guitar, lead guitar, and drums. Awesome.

Coffee and I introduced ourselves to one another again and I’m indulging in more caffeine-infused dark goodness. Hope your day offers some escape from the world’s woes and some satisfaction to your plans. Cheers

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