Sis is angry with Mom. Mom is angry with her. They are, as they have done for decades, growling at one another. Accusations sometimes come out about what’s going on. Sis thinks Mom is being obstinate. Mom thinks sis is being mean.
Growing experiences from the new living arrangements are certainly expected. Both are intelligent and know this. As with so many things, there are components of making these adjustments. It’s one thing to intellectually know something, yet something else to intellectually understand and accept it, and still requires some emotional and physical facets to adjust to make it all work. It’ll take time. Patience and anger will rise and fall like waves beating on the shore. The adjustments will be found.
I dreamed I was at Mom’s house. We were all younger, and this was all pre-Frank. Mom’s beau never showed in the dream. Lots of others did. All four sisters. Wife didn’t show. Many, many friends throughout the years came and went.
The first stage was a big party. Mom and my sisters were present for that. Then they left, having had to go away somewhere for a day or two. With them gone, the party got bigger and crazier. Heaps of food were being consumed, along with beer and wine. Music and laughter boomed. Then the party wound down. I began cleanup. One other, a generic skinny old gray white guy, was there helping. Then he disappeared. As I walked around, cleaning, where the heck did he go? Then I found him, asleep in a chair that was flipped over. Well, let him slept, I thought.
Meanwhile, so many leaves were present.The levels astonished me. Drifts and piles of leaves were everywhere in the house. A gray and white kitten went through them, playing, then pranced outside through the open back door. I followed, peeking out to ensure it was a safe place for a kitten. It was a fenced yard with pea rock at the bottom. Tiered with cinder blocks, plants were in neat, ordered arrangements. I identified green peppers, tomatoes, lettuce, and realized, this is my sister’s garden. I then left the door open for the kitten to go in and out and resumed cleaning, taking a vacuum cleaner hose around to suck up leaves.
My friend woke up and apologized for falling asleep, explaining, “It was just a long day.” He began helping. At that point, Mom and my sisters arrived back home. There were still leaves to clean but they were hungry. I looked for leftovers to give them. My older sister asked for coffee, and I began making a bot. Mom asked if I’d checked the mail, which I admit, was the furthest thing from my mind, and then continued asking people, did anyone get the mail?
That’s where the dream ended.
In the waking aftermath, the dream amused me more than anything. I thought it about life and change, and considered it very heavy-handed of my Dream Neurons to present so many leaves, thinking they represented the days gone by and the leaves of change.
Windy, sunny, foggy, chilly, cloudy. That’s Wenzda in a string of weather words. Also noisy with someone’s machine droning out a long song. Birds are scarce. Papi did a floofstep this AM, bouncing to the door when opened to gallop out, he slammed on the paws, and backed himself back into the house. He no like wind. The numbers for today, November 12, 2025, are 54, 56, and 52. Seriously. That’s what I was told is our current temp, and the high and low, all in Fahrenheit.
Mom is doing so much better now. While sis related that to me, she’s returned to texting with me, and they’re much more intelligent and thoughtful. She texts, “You’ll never know how much I miss Frank.” I will not, but my mind can give it some insights. They were together as a 24/7 couple for most of two decades, sharing meals and jokes, opinions and rants, tending each other when sick or recovering. I do get it but I won’t ever know all the ways he was there for her. I’m happy they were together, because I saw how happy they made one another.
As for me yesterday, I gut tested more food offerings and felt pretty confident that all was going well. At least, no overt reversals took place telling me otherwise. I call that a win. I’ve also noticed I have much higher energy levels now, sleep better, and think better. I still dream a huge amount but that’s something else. Bottom lining it, the surgery definitely was for the best.
Today’s music is “Love Runs Out”. That started in my head, “until the floof runs out.” I found Papi’s wind reaction very funny, which he, an austere cat with a measured gaze, did not find amusing. But when I chuckled about his reversal and sang a bit of half-remembered tune with my inserted words, The Neurons said, “Oh, that’s One Republic, here we go,” and delivered the melody to the morning mental music stream.
Haven’t checked the news. Enjoying the morning so much, I thought I’d give myself a reprieve before I submitted to seeing what fresh political bullshit the Trump Regime lays on the world. Far as I know, the Trump Epstein Shutdown of 2025 is still going on, and the GOP is giving a pass to Trump’s unsavory character and hiding his crimes, making them his accomplices. But hey, they got that Jesus thing going for them, right? “Who would Jesus be cruel to,” they ask themselves daily, and gleefully respond, “Everyone who is not us!” The GOP is a depraved bunch. Sure, there may be a few who are not, but given their silence and/or active participation of the GOP mass, they’re rarer than a daisy in Antarctica.
Epstein and Trump, forever together.
Coffee is serenading Les Neurons. Hope peace and grace find their way out of the wilderness and back into our lives. Meanwhile, here we go. Time to rock on. Cheers
Ferrari red, it’s a wide, low vehicle. My wife is my passenger. We’re backing out of a garage. The passenger mirror hits the garage door frame. My wife gasps. I grimace. We finish leaving the garage and see that there is a Ferrari Testarossa mirror-shaped scallop removed from the garage door’s frame. I get out and check the mirror while my wife grumbles. The mirror is there but is upside down. A twist and I fix it, good as new. Nothing wrong with it, which amuses me; the mirror is stronger than the materials bracing the garage door. How funny is that?
We drive for a while at a fast but sedate pace. Then…in a jumbled shift, I’ve driven the Ferrari onto some kind of large transport. It’s like a train without a track, with a living room, kitchen, etc., and the mad chaos of eighteen people, including children. Many of the others there are known to me as actors and musicians, Oscar winners and Hall of Fame rockers. I’m amazed to be with them but also think, “About time.” A young blond Helen Hunt is present, herding three children running around. She’s managing but tells her children with a wicked smile and a gleam at me, “Hang on, children, Mommy has to drive this as fast as she can. It’s going to be hairy. Do you want Mommy to drive fast?”
“Yes,” the children all agree in repeated shouts while I’m agape, accepting, this is what I signed up for but I didn’t know what I was signing up for.
“Okay,” Helen Hunt says, “here we go.” She has a wooden stirring spoon her hand and is standing in the center of a room, children around her, toys strewn across the carpeted room. “Zoom,” she shouts, and thrusts her wooden spoon up.
The vehicle rockets forward. She waves her spoon and it rocks left, right, left. The children are laughing. I’m paralyzed in amazement. But we’re moving.
A conference among others is called and I attend. “Where are we going?” David Niven asks. “We’ll know when we’ll get there,” replies Bruce Willis, and a third who I couldn’t name tags on, “But we have to move fast.”
I offer to drive my Ferrari. It’s faster than this vehicle, so I can pull it along and we’ll get there faster. This is given serious conversation. I’m eager to do this but all decide, hold off for a while, let’s see what progress we make.
I go into another room and sit in a chair. A noise warns me, something is going out. “That’ll bring the ants out,” I think, looking down at the floor. Sure enough, as expected, a phalanx of black and red ants rush across the tiled floor. They’re going to be a bother if they go in the direction they’ve begun so I use a foot to divert their path. More obediently than cats, they turn in the new direction, and some wave thanks to me, because they understand why I diverted them.
David Niven finds me. “There you are. Come on, into the Ferrari. We need more speed. See what you can do.”
In a dream shift, I’m in the Ferrari but I’m alone. Others are hooking up the vessel and then shout, “Go.” The Ferrari is now black, I notice, and wonder when the color changed. Yet, I know it’s my Ferrari. I smashed the gas pedal and take the car up through revs, up through gears, snaking the car around traffic along an undulating and busy Interstate. Looking back, I confirm the vehicle is still being towed. I’m impressed that there’s no wind and little impression of speed. I feel in command, in control. This is a breeze, I think, speeding toward some brightly lit collection of skyscrapers looming larger on the horizon.
Twozdaz, November 11, 2025. Happy Veteran’s Day to my fellow vets. Hope peace and grace find you today and every day. The digit set for today is 49, 58, and 51, with dense fog. Yesterday turned gorgeous for me. Out walking, I encountered the friendliest and most beautiful autumn trees. Such colors and personalities. I’m fortunate to live in a place of such beauty and have the means to enjoy it.
Recovery is going great. Rolled out of bed without any thoughts to the incision sites or how I should move. Just wasn’t any pain or discomfort to remind me to watch out. Having had pain meds in several days. Did begin a protocol of med level Ibuprofen yesterday.
I’m off on a day of errands today. Highlighting the events are picking up my wife’s new glasses. Her last visit with the optometrist revealed her left eye’s vision had severely changed for the worse. She’s eager for new glasses to rectify that. Bought that at Costco one week ago. They called last night to tell us they were ready. After that, Trader Joe for some essentials, and a restaurant to pick up some Vet Day freebies.
With so much information filling our lives on a daily, is it any wonder that The Neurons introduced “Jammin’ Me” into the morning mental music stream? This song is all about too much. Written by Bob Dylan and Tom Petty, who were looking at newspapers and magazines and selecting words and phrases, Petty remembered that Mike Campbell had given him some music, and that’s the genesis of the song. Trippy.
Waiting to see if the Trump Epstein Shutdown of 2025 will end its record run. Disappointing that Dems caved. They won’t earn any credit for caving, and the situation will remain unbearable for millions, and worsen. The cruelty is the point, remember? The destruction of our culture and the rewriting of our history is the point. To put one party permanently in charge is the point. To keep billionaires rolling in money and to enrich Trump is the point. To empower the presidency over the other branches of government is the point. To undermine and enslave the majority is the point. To put children back into factories and women pregnant and back in the kitchen is the point. To have an uneducated, subservient, mute, and compliant population is the point. To have white males rule again is the point. When they say, “Make America Great Again”, this is where they want to take us, back to a time when it was more like this, and regulations didn’t exist to keep people safe and healthy. That’s the point.
Epstein and Trump, party pals!
Time to coffee up. Hope grace and peace find the way to the rest of us, besides the vets. Dense fog just rolled up, blanketing the sun and triggering the house heater. Here we go. Cheers
Say, are we are the moors? Gloomy fog is dulling the morning’s edge. Tattered golden leaves brown, slumping and slipping, waiting for their day’s end. Today’s present, high, and low come in a compact range of 47, 53, and 40 degrees F. Without sunshine bursting through the windows, the house feels cold and listless. Here’s a photo of an early August morning in Yachats as counterbalance.
Mom’s continued improvement keeps reaching new heights. Frank’s death really shook her into a stumbling, falling, thoughtless wreck. I’m so happy sis noticed and moved her. Mom was ready to move by then, having experienced days of relative solitude and helplessness. One amusing sidebar to this whole tale. While I was over collecting papers and tidying, I came across a wooden box full of coins. Knowing Mom, I knew she’d be worried about it and took it to her. When I showed it to my sister, she said, “Yes, Mom was asking about her box of coins.” Sis cashed in it for almost $200. Cracked me up to see her still saving her coins like that. So Mom.
Mom & Frank, circa 20 years ago, Florida. She would have been ’bout 70, and he was ’bout 75.
The Neurons surprised me today with a beat from my early rock ‘n roll years. Looking out into the fog brought “Into the Sun” by Grand Funk Railroad into the morning mental music stream. With its simple progressions, you can see why it was one of the first songs I learned to decently play. Video of this early rock and its style fires up The Neurons. It’s an upbeat song, too, about better days ahead.
Ate oatmeal today, and apple sauce and tapioca pudding last night. Progress!
I have been reading about politics and news. Many disturbing trends continue under the Trump Regime. The economy and voters are both reacting in negative ways. Trump will probably double down and get crueler. He thinks he’s inflicting severe damage on blue voters and believes that red voters will endure despite their sacrifices and hang with him. I think that base is smaller and weaker than he realizes. Affordability, not inflation and not prices, are the new watchwords, and affordability is falling fast. Meanwhile, the Epstein Shutdown slogs on, now doing far more harm than good. Coupled with the pressures that AI is putting on the infrastructure, especially the power grid, and the job market — see the record layoffs reported by Challenger — disaster is looming. We are circling the Trump drain. I know I’ve been saying that since the beginning. It’s not been as fast as I thought it would be; part of that was that some countries and stores were offsetting tariff increases by sucking them up. That was never sustainable. Nothing I see emerging from this current mess changes my mind. One key that Trump and his Project 2025 minions don’t appreciate is the economic workhorse that the Federal government is. As it slows, it casts a shadow across the nation. With air travel now also impacted, airlines will see less revenue, pay less taxes, and might be forced to reduce staffs.
Smirking BFFs, J. Epstein and D.J. Trump, so happy together.
The bogus Walmart comparison about Thanksgiving for 2024 compared to 2025 does nothing. Critical thinkers already noted that there were far fewer items in the cart. Yes, classic Trump Republicanism: do more, spend more, and get less value for your dollar. Classic enshittification. I note that the red publications reported Trump’s claim almost verbatim. No critical thinker there, or the falsehoods will be on full display.
I saw that Fox News’s selection of Melania Trump as the ‘Patriot of the Year’. Sure demonstrates their cynicism. By the words and deeds, they so devalue patriotism that it’s now a full joke. Sadly, MAGA will probably not see how the joke is on them.
This was what the first criminal said when accepting the award.
“Let’s embrace the spirit of ambition. Let’s celebrate everyone who dares to think differently. For it is these courageous Americans who are the heartbeat of our civilization.”
It’d be ironic if she and Trump and MAGAland had any self-awareness that she’s ‘celebrating everyone who dares to think differently’ while the Trump Regime works so hard to whitewash all history and success and cancel anyone who was or is different, such as blacks, Muslims, women, gays, trans…well, you get it.
Have the best day you can. Many peace and grace will do a pop in on you. Off to my first cuppa coffee in a few. Cheers
November 2, 2025, has taken hold. It firmly established that today’s season is autumn. Golden leaves are becoming golden brown leaf drifts. Naked branches shiver with the wind. 45 F now, worry not because today’s high will zoom to 57 F. Must say, yesterday’s 68 felt like a faux offering.
We lit a candle for Steve at 5 PM yesterday, per his widow’s request. That flame called to mind Frank, but also Chuck. Chuck is Bonnie’s hubby. I met him but twice, I think. Now he’s into hospice. Mom, meanwhile, has bounced back in a strong way. Physical therapy is being scheduled. This is Mom’s way, to bounce back, gain confidence and strength, only to be zapped by some new fall, injury, or organ issue. Been going on for a decade. Each time she bottoms out, it’s a little deeper, and the crawl out is slower and more energy consuming. We talked together about an actor dying when they were 100, June Lockhart. Mom said, “I don’t think I’ll get anywhere near that,” with glum introspection.
Today’s music is another gift of The Neurons. “I Wouldn’t Want to Be Like You” is a 1977 Alan Parsons Project creation. The song popped up in the morning mental music stream as I read about Trumpy’s Halloween gala, the one thrown while so many sink deeper into food insecurity.
If I had a mind to I wouldn’t want to think like you And if I had time to I wouldn’t want to talk to you
I don’t care What you do I wouldn’t want to be like you
If I was high class I wouldn’t need a buck to pass And if I was a fall guy I wouldn’t need no alibi
I don’t care What you do I wouldn’t want to be like you
Back on the bottom line Diggin’ for a lousy dime If I hit a mother lode I’d cover anything that showed
I don’t care What you do I wouldn’t want to be like you
I did a glance of the news. Did Trump recall the time he landed on the moon? He was the first one there, took the first steps for man, “Beautiful steps,” he said, “everyone told me they were the most perfect steps. They couldn’t believe how perfect they are.”
I imagine that somewhere in Trump’s altered reality, he’s a great friend to people of color and a champion to the poor. Bet he remembers marching across the bridge and standing for integration at Selma. Bet he recalls a time when he landed at Normandy and fought the Germans, who, he thought, “Were pretty good guys, really, just working hard, doing their jobs.” Trump believes with a glint of teary eyes, he is as persecuted as Jesus, nailed to a cross. Then he wipes the tears away, visits his new cold, black and white, dull, creativity-empty bathroom, beaming at its wonderful hard angles and linear symmetry, and then goes out and golfs, because he deserves a break. MAGAts everywhere breathlessly applaud, then hurry to buy meat before the prices go up, happy they have an extra freezer to store it because it’s gonna get pricy, they’ve heard the fake news, scowling at the homeless, stepping around the poor, reminding themselves to clean the house, because cleanliness is next to godliness.
Meanwhile, is that Epstein in the clouds, smirking at Trump, remembering how they used to run together, shaking his head with a laugh and whispering, “Oh, that Donnie. He never changes. He just gets more Donnie.” Perhaps someday they’ll meet and Trump will regale Epstein with details about how he starved the poor during the Great Epstein Government Shutdown of 2025. “You should’ve seen them, Jeffie,” Trump says, then launches into a mocking imitation of a person begging for food. “Please, we’re starving.” The two bodies shake with merriment.
Hope grace and peace find us today and every day. Even for just a nano. Coffee has found me and is shaking hands with some Neurons, making plans. I’m sure they’ll let me know what’s going on in a little bit. Cheers
I was visiting my sister at her house. She, her husband, my wife, niece, her boyfriend, Mom, and I were chatting. All present are Democrats at the least and progressive for the most part. Liberals. Most of our previous conversation included invectives aimed right at Trump and the Trump Regime minions destroying our nation. Then, lo, sis said, “I’m okay with him destroying those boats and killing those drug dealers.”
I was so horrified.
She went on to say, “They know who those people are.”
“Really? The people we were just talking about ‘know’ who those people are in those boats? Those people we just talked about? The ones who lie about anything and everything? You trust them to correctly and intelligently inform us that the people they’re killing in those boats are drug dealers just on their word?”
That was just the opening salvo. Yeah, I ranted. I pointed out that the U.S. military isn’t supposed to be used as wholesale executioners, killing non-combatants or civilians who are not actively attacking United States troops. Pointed out that this takes a huge step around due process and justice. Depends on the single word of a single individual to declare who is a criminal and who is guilty, all without presenting any evidence. And that person who we’re trusted that process to is a well-known liar, an untrustworthy individual named Donald J. Trump. That on its own is terrible but what it does as precedence for the rule of law is monstrously worse.
Further, I added, cuz I was not done, further, haven’t we learned from history? This is the start down the same path of pseudo warfare and lawlessness we pursued before as national policy, policy which ultimately culminated with the attacks of 9/11 that killed thousands of United States citizens, attacks which were then used with manipulated evidence to attack the nations of Iraq and Afghanistan. Where did that lead us? What did we gain from attacking those nations and killing those people and sacrificing so many of our own citizens in fruitless war?
“I don’t care,” sis said. “I want those drug dealers dead.”
My thoughts are wandering as I sit in the Pittsburgh Airport, looking out at the rain, eavesdropping on others’ conversations. Most of my focus keeps shifting to Mom’s paperwork. Her paperwork is just like our paperwork.
Pulling out every bill from 1998 on, I laugh. Notes are on sheets of paper and bills. Who was spoken to, time and date, result. Most simply end like that. No further updates. There are insurance and banking papers, visits to hospitals, doctors, and specialists, and the ever-present pile of warranties.
We are the same back home. For the last how many decades, paperwork was needed for ‘just in case’ reference. Bills and payment records could go wrong, and it was incumbent on us to prove what we did. Even then, that sometimes isn’t enough and required we the customer to scale the corporate ladder past the drones and managerial kings and queens until a person was reached who could overrule the bureaucracy.
The paperwork at Mom’s has some interesting personal choices. Lot of paper clippings for things done by her children back in 1970 through 2010. Yellowed, brittle clippings of newspaper death notices for family members and friends. Crisp sheets of white papers in file folders with emails from family printed out. Things from me from my last days in the military in 1995. Travel information for visits in 1998, 2005, etc.
Mom is now battling Verizon. We’ve all been involved in this fight. It’s classic enshittification. Gotta sign in to do anything with them. Calling them? Hahahahaha. What a joker you are. Should be a stand up with your own HBO or Netflix comedy special. Calling them provided us with a window when it would be okay to call them. Mom had it down to fifteen minutes and counted it down to one, phone in hand, doing little else. The appointed minute arrived. Mom moved her hand. “Oops.” Gone! Her new wait time to reach them was eight hours later.
Meanwhile, we parsed Mom’s crazy notes for userIDs and passwords. Several were found for Verizon. None worked. One sister then went through the ‘Forgot Password’ route and tried to change the password. Hahahahahaha. Easier to turn an apple into a ruby.
This is modern life, yeah? At least in first world America, and maybe only among my family. I, of course, cheat. I maintain a spreadsheet of passwords. 112 lines. They’re for my accounts and my wife’s accounts. If that thing ever falls into the wrong hands, it’d be disaster for us. It’s encrypted and password protected. Every time I go in for surgery, I remind my wife of the password.
All of this has cause us to resolve, do a pare down. Purge paperwork and warranties. Get ruthless about it, and damn the consequences.
I pulled the curtains open on our final Monroeville morning. The Neurons sang, “It’s raining, it’s pouring, the old man is snoring.”
Yes, rain annoints Thirstda, October 30, 2025. The temp is warmer, though, 46 F. Temp is expected to leap to 48 F. Back in Ashlandia, on the nation’s left coast, 62 F is expected as a high.
Mom is doing well, although stress fractures are starting to appear among her caretakers. Sis and her family are shouldering most of that with help from the other two sisters. But Mom’s care is an almost constant thing as she calls for help, drops things, needs to use the bathroom, needs help dressing, needs her bedding changed and washed, etc. Home health assistance is again being addressed. I think it’s needed but Mom is adamant against strangers helping her. It’ll take time for her to accept that it must be done.
Oh, that Trump. The man who wants the Nobel Peace Prize also thinks the world needs more nukes. He wants to resume nuclear testing. We continue to trudge deeper into Trump’s upside-down reality, just as written in 1984. Meanwhile, experts familiar with how nuclear testing is conducted points out that it’s not done by Defense, but the Department of Energy. Many of those officials needed in nuclear testing were…drum roll…furloughed or fired by Trump and DOGE as part of their efficiency drive. What maroons. The experts also note that it takes several years to fire up nuclear testing programs, and that Trump seems to be fact-flawed reasoning for the need for testing. Like, yeah, when does Trump use facts? Of course he’s employing flawed thinking. That’s who and what he demonstrably is: a flawed thinker, unless it’s way to get attention and make more money for himself.
Pretty funny, too. Trump gave his visit with South Korea a 12 out of ten (there’s that math genius!) while South Korea was like, yeah, it was very pleasant. Reminds me of a blind date where one thinks marriage is in the future and the other is ready to move on.
The Neurons have plugged “That’s All” by Genesis into the morning mental music stream. The Neurons attribute the song to Trump and his continual lying and bullshit, the pass which the press mostly grants him on his garbage talk, the unflinching adulation from MAGA, and the cover the GOP provides him. Part of the lyrics of “That’s All” go, “It’s always the same, it’s just a shame, that’s all. I could say day and you’d say night. Tell me it’s black when I know it’s white. Always the same, it’s just a shame, and that’s all.”
Hope light finds peace and grace and guides them back to us. Well, that’s all. Cheers
