Tag: fiction

Sunday’s Theme Music — Goner

Ashland, southern Oregon. Sunday, September 13, 2026.

Autumn is moving in like it owns the place. Summer looks like a goner. It’s 60 F right now, and feels chillier than that. Rain fell this morning. Sunshine has arrived but today’s high is projected to be an anemic 70 F.

Mom’s story goes on. She and I spoke briefly Friday and Saturday. I called again today but she didn’t answer. She seems like she’s in a good mood. Her voice is soft and weak. Long periods of silence dominate as she catches her breath or pauses to remember what she was saying. She often becomes bitter and angry, complaining about her daughters, her room, and problems that she has.

I’ve been a little harsh and angry with my sisters. Ali commented on a previous post saying that she thought my sisters were being strict.

Ali is right. This is exactly what I told my sisters to act months ago. They are acting in everyone’s best interest, limiting contact with Mom, using just one of us as a front.

I have the best relationship with Mom, so it falls to me to the messenger. I’m a little emotionally fatigued by the role. It’s stacking on top of other things happening in life.

That’s how it goes. Life doesn’t take time outs.

Reading the digital news today, it’s easy at this point to write Trump off as a goner. His popularity is falling but most prices and the overall cost of living is not. Some prescription drug prices fell but not nearly as many as he claims.

Oil prices are not falling as Trump’s Iran War continues.

Some records are falling, such as the Atlantic hurricanes record. This is the longest period on record, 103 days since the season began, without a hurricane in the Atlantic Ocean. El Nino is being blamed.

I’ve always liked the word goner. I heard it mournfully declared of people in many western movies when I was a child. Things like, “Looks like Clem is a goner,” was part of the dialogue.

So I’m practicing saying it about Trump. “Looks like Trump is a goner.” I could be speaking of him politically, metaphorically, or about his popularity. “Looks like Trump is a goner” works in all three areas.

Thinking about Trump being a goner brought the song into my morning mental music stream. “Goner” is a melancholy twenty one pilots song which was released in 2015. The song has simple lyrics and a straightforward structure.

Sample Lyrics

I’m a goner, somebody catch my breath
I’m a goner, somebody catch my breath
I wanna be known by you
I wanna be known by you
I’m a goner, somebody catch my breath
I’m a goner, somebody catch my breath
I wanna be known by you
I wanna be known by you

h/t to Genius.com

May good times and good health fill your hours today and tonight, and on in an unbroken string of days, weeks, and months.

Cheers

2

An Aston Martin Dream

Young again, middle-aged, I was with my wife and others in this place with blue carpets. I don’t know why the others were present, but I was there to see a doctor. The doctor, young, White female, with, with short, dark hair, briefly saw me.

“You need surgery,” she said, indicating my neck. “We’ll do it today.”

That pleased me although I was surprised that my neck was to be operated on. I waited for the my scheduled time to arrive. I noticed the others began dressing up. My wife emerged wearing a dark suit with a white shirt. From overheard snippets, I realized that everyone else was waiting for surgery as well.

I was taken back; I’d not seen the doctor examine any of them. As people came out dressed up, the doctor began telling people when she would see them. Hastily I dressed like the rest, in a black suit with a white shirt and tie, but laughed at it as I did, thinking, this is silly.

Then – poof – the surgery was completed. I didn’t notice a thing but I knew it was done. It’d been so quick and simple, it was completed in an eyeblink.

I encountered my sister-in-law. She and I went off to await everyone else finishing off. I began helping some children drawing with crayons. I ended up with crayon on my white cuffs. While wondering how I was going to clean those off, my SIL showed up with a similar problem. I then took a paper towel and blotted the colors off. I shared what I was doing with her and she started doing the same.

We talked while we did that. I asked when she was going home and how long it would take her. Then I remembered that she lived in Florida. No, she answered with surprise. “I live just an hour and a half away. I’m taking my boyfriend’s train him.”

I hadn’t met her boyfriend but I knew of him. My wife arrived. She and I talked with my SIL and my wife and I announced that we would go get my SIL and her boyfriend some food for their trip home. We went out and bought very large sandwiches with French fries. We ate while we were there.

Then we rushed back to give them their food. They were already gone. We looked down the track to see a three-car train pulling away, which amused me and my wife.

We then needed to go deliver a package. I jumped into my car, a gorgeous and expensive Aston Martin roadster, green, with a white interior. I raced down the highway at very high speeds, overtaking many cars. Then, seeing a line of cars breaking, I slowed down and moved left.

Good thing I did, I told myself, as we overtook a long line of cars and trucks pulling travel trailers. They were stopped. I worried that we wouldn’t be able to mail my package.

Then I pulled up to a booth. Jumping out of the car with my package, I told him what I was doing. He was short, solemn, round Black guy. He listened and worked as I apologized for the state of my package and for not having it correctly prepared.

He shrugged that off, saying something like, “No problem.” I thought the packaging needed to be replaced. He consulted with a co-worker. They agree, it just needed a new clear plastic bag. He put that on, then grinned and told me, all down.

I laughed, surprised at how easy it went. Returning to my car, I prepared to drive away.

Dream end.

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Thursday’s Theme Music — Stroking

Ashland, southern Oregon. Thursday, September 10, 2026.

Heat is in the air again today. Sunshine sluices down between scattered clouds. 83 degrees F as of now, we’re looking for a high that’s ten degrees more.

I’m trying to negotiate a peace between Mom and one of my sisters. I’ve written before about my younger sister, Gina. She put in a lot of work helping Mom over the years. Gina’s husband, Pat, was right beside her.

When Mom’s partner, Frank, died at 95 last October, Mom was put into a bad situation. Given her needs and medical challenges, she couldn’t live alone in her home. Gina and Pat took it upon themselves to make space for Mom in their home, and tried including Mom in their activities.

It turned out to be a six-month experiment which became progressively worse. By the time Mom was taken to a hospital in February, Mom was accusing Pat of spying on her, stealing her things, and hurting her. We knew from security cameras that none of it was true.

Mom ended up being in an assisted living facility after that. Pat’s feelings were hurt. He was upset, which upset Gina. Since that time, Gina has slowly cut off communications with Mom.

Labor used to be special for our family as we all prepared food and came together to celebrate. I wrote Mom on Labor Day. She was pretty sad and miserable, reporting that she’d not heard anything from any of her daughters. She knew a celebration was going on but nobody included her.

I passed that on to Gina. Gina replied, “If Mom apologizes to Pat for all those mean things she accused him of, I’ll welcome her back to our gatherings.”

I sent that on to Mom two days ago.

I’ve not heard anything back.

Trumpapalooza kicked off last night. As anticipated, it’s about how wonderful Trump thinks he is, the almost open acknowledgement that things aren’t going well in our nation, and Trump’s desperate attempt to win the election by bribing voters. In other words, it’s more Operation Epic LOOK — SQUIRREL!, an attempt to distract voters from what’s really happening.

Beyond all that, the event is about stroking Trump’s ego. He thinks he’s great, and all others need to bow down to him. If everyone was as great as him, we’d have a great nation is his basic message.

Yes, Trumpapalooza was short on logic, facts, and truth, depending on your point of view. If you want the national and international order disrupted, Trump is doing a great job. If you want a nation based on democratic principles and freedom and equality for all, he’s driving hard away from those principles. Either way, he’s having fun, golfing on the taxpayers’ dime, sending out ridiculous little AI-generated images and videos trying to convey himself as great, blustering at other nations and people with threats if they don’t do what he wants.

Your Trumpapalooza Quote of the Day:

After all that, I ended up with “The Stroke” by Billy Squier in my morning mental music stream.

“The Stroke” came out in 1981. The song is about the music business and the need for bands to stroke music exec egos while the execs must stroke the artists’ egos. Everyone is stroke someone to keep it all going.

Sample Lyrics

Better listen now
They said it ain’t no joke
Don’t let your conscience fail ya
Just do the stroke

Don’t ya take no chances
Keep your eye on top
Do your fancy dances
You can’t stop, you just

Stroke me, stroke me
(Stroke, stroke)
Stroke me, stroke me
(Stroke, stroke)

And that’s pretty much Trump. He does his silly dance and his fancy ‘word weave’. The rest of us know the weave as lie upon lie upon lie, but for Trump, it’s the dance.

May this day reward you with patience, happiness, and good health.

Cheers

6

The Writing Moment

I finished writing the sequel to “A Tribe Called Death”. The second book is “Alive and Dead”. It’s a smaller novel, just 189 pages, about 40,000 words. Was written fast for me, begun in July, finished a few days ago.

In parallel to writing it, I edited and revised “A Tribe Called Death”, trying to make it worthy of an agent’s interest.

Yesterday, I began writing the third book in the series, “A Shadow of Life”.

Of course, all this novel writing has cut into other writing, like blog posts. That’s also because I work around medical appointments, social commitments, housework, DIY projects, and the minutiae of living like eating, sleeping, bathing, exercising. It’s better to stay busy and focused rather than drifting, though.

On I go, writing like crazy at least one more time.

6

Thursday’s Theme Music — Insanity

Ashland, southern Oregon. Thursday, September 3, 2026.

Cool rainy weather continues here. Today’s high will be 63 degrees F, ten degrees above the present temp. Blue sky is a memory as gray clouds take over from horizon to horizon, no matter where I look. Rain fell yesterday, and it was very enjoyable, almost springlike to me. No more rain is expected today; just clouds and cool temperatures.

My sister, Gina, is irritated with Mom again. This is about Mom’s Amazon purchases but also this new account Gina set up. Apparently, Mom can only have six transactions a month. Mom used three on Amazon already, then Gina paid three bills but forgot to include those for her calculations for Mom’s account, so Mom now can’t spend any more money in September, according to Gina. As she’s not communicating with Mom, she is asking one of us to tell Mom for her. I think Gina needs to own it.

I admit, I’m a little irked with Gina’s thinking here. On the one hand, she’s complaining about Mom’s deteriorating mental state and memory. On the other hand, she sets Mom up with an account with expectations that Mom will think of everything she’ll need for the month and place one order. Hard to fault Gina, though, because she — almost alone — is the one child living locally trying to help Mom.

My wife told me about a mother of five being convicted. Her crime was letting her five-year-old walk a few blocks by himself in their gated community in Virginia.

My wife and I were astonished. Our parents would’ve been thrown under the jail, as much as we freely roamed. I walked, ran, and biked everywhere, starting when I was about five. By the time I was twelve, I was hitching rides with strangers. On the other hand, maybe I was just lucky that nobody wanted to get me during that era. No one tried that until I was sixteen, when a crew-cut man in a pickup truck in his early fifties begged me to show him my pecker and offered money.

Today’s news has alarming moves revealed by the US Postal Service. As expected, Trump is trying to weaponize the USPS to stop voting by mail. As he and the GOP take a wrecking ball to nation’s norms, buildings, arts, laws, economy, healthcare system, and military, Trump is trying to keep as many people as possible from voting. He claims voting fraud but has never proven it. Likewise, other than small and isolated amounts, it’s never been found or proven elsewhere in the nation in this century.

Trump, though, is at once desperate to claim he’s popular by making the mid-term elections about him. He’s also afraid of that truth that he’s not popular. Whenever a candidate backed by Trump losing, Trump blames the candidate. Of course, the candidates he’s backed aren’t generally quality people, either, so there’s a load of blame to spread around.

In Texas, Trump is both trashing the GOP candidate, Ken Paxton, and urging for people to vote for Paxton. Like talking about how bad a restaurant is and then urging you to eat there, isn’t it?

Paxton is a GOPer modeled after Trump. Paxton paid $300K to get securities fraud charges against him dropped, and his wife is divorcing Paxton after reports of numerous affairs.

Big question: is Paxton also in the Epstein files, like Trump?

This was a hilarious headline:

Donald Trump ‘will quit after midterms and hand presidency to Vance’, expert predicts

That’s so ridiculous it’s not worth addressing beyond noting its existence.

Well, I also will say, if you think Trump is going to quit, I have a Trump Bible to sell you, barely used.

Speaking of selling, the Trump coin is officially available to buy. Except it’s sold out. And it’s a collectible, not legal tender. Talking about it with my wife, she asked, “Is that all they do, sit around talking about ways for Trump to put his name on things and make money?”

I read that another judge ruled against another Trump effort to ignore the Constitution and Amendments. That prompted “I’ll Stick Around” by Foo Fighters in the morning mental music stream.

Why that song? The song was released in 1995 and was It seemed to come from thinking about refusing to accept all the crap Trump is doing to our world. Then, thinking about why MAGAts go along with it. Then, reflecting on history — McCarthyism, the Ku Klux Klan, the way blacks, the people who lived on this continent before us, women — anyone who wasn’t white CIS male — was treated.

We overcame those things before; we need to overcome them again. And this song speaks to that: “I don’t owe you anything.” I’m speaking to the MAGAts who believe they’ve had it so bad.

Sample Lyrics

I still refused all the methods you abused
It’s alright if you’re confused, let me be
I’ve been around all the pawns you’ve gagged and bound
They’ll come back and knock you down and I’ll be free

I’ve taken all and I’ve endured
One day it all will fade, I’m sure

I don’t owe you anything
I don’t owe you anything
I don’t owe you anything
I don’t owe you anything

I had no hand in your ever desperate plan
It returns and when it lands, words are due
I should’ve known we were better off alone
I looked in and I was shown, you were too

I’ll close with wishes for you to achieve and persevere today and everything, in good health, with good friends. Peace and grace to you.

Cheers

1

On A Day Like This

Walking through a sun-filled day, enjoying the shade given by the large old trees, I came up a small hill to the town cemetery. Large crows making a racket descended toward one grave.

They are such intelligent birds, I wondered what had their attention and stopped to watch.

Falling silent, the crows went into the ground.

Gawking, I stopped and waited for the crows to reappear. A wind gently stirred the trees. There must be a hole in the ground which I couldn’t see, I decided.

Looking for traffic, I started across the street but couldn’t lift my feet. My shoes felt anchored to the pavement. Run, my mind shouted. Go the other way.

Then the crows emerged from the earth.

My breath caught.

I swallowed hard. They carried something.

A large body.

The crows carried a limp, black-clothed body with their claws.

Loudly cawing, the birds flew up past the trees, lifting their burden into the blue sky. A black cloud rapidly grew above them. Cawing all the way, the crows took the body into the black cloud.

Then the cloud and birds disappeared, leaving me wreathed in a quiet, late summer day.

I stayed almost frozen, attention shifting between where the black cloud was before and the grave. After some seconds I blinked, refusing to grasp what I saw.

The grave was gone. Unmarked green grass grew where the crows had entered.

Suspecting I probably wouldn’t remember any of this, I strode on, picking up speed. Glancing back over my shoulder, I struggled to recall, what did I see back there?

Laughing at my failing memory, I went down the street, soaking up the late summer day, saying hello to a person on a bike going the other way.

Lifting my face, I deeply inhaled. The weather felt wonderful. Anything is possible on a day like this, I thought.

I looked forward to what it would be.

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