Tag: food

Wenzda’s Wandering Thoughts

It’s Wenza. Middle and high school are in session. You know what that means.

2:03 PM, the murmuration of children begins. Noises double in decibels and echo like we’re in a gym. Screeches, shouts, laughter, blow out my ear drums in three second sound bites.

Cliques form. Tables and chairs are hunted. Backpacks are dumped. A line snakes out from the counter. Drinks are ordered, picked up, shared, consumed.

Happens every Wenzda when school is in session in Ashlandia.

Oddly, today, besides the sounds and visuals, the school children bring in smells of a lunchtime cafeteria. It could be roast turkey with mashed potatoes and gravy. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s just memory of another time making itself known.

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Wenzda’s Theme Music

“Meeyouow,” the cat says.

I shake my head. “I don’t understand what that means.” I guess, treats, water, outside, attention, scratching, Lassie’s in the well? Papi keeps talking. He’s a chatty cat this morning.

I’m less so but have been talking to my computer. My computer doesn’t say much but it’s a good listener. Never interrupts. Most of my words are sentences of disbelieving comments about some of the things I’m reading. There is some spirited cursing thrown in. Like, the thirty thousand eggs the White House is using in this time of high egg prices has me saying some things to my monitor. Poor optics, as if the man gives a shit ’bout optics. He wants the eggs.

“They were saying that for Easter ‘please don’t use eggs. Could you use plastic eggs?’ I say we don’t want to do that,” Trump said earlier this month during remarks announcing a new tariff policy.

Yes, so, there you go.

It is Wenzda, April 16, 2025, 64 F, and sunny. Yesterday clipped 79 F. That’s a good temperature to enjoy when it’s a hot sun and cool breeze. Nice combo. I’ll probably order that regularly once we’re living in virtual reality and ordering our weather. Snow still whitens some higher peaks and ridges, such as Mt. Ashland. The green trees and white mountains dazzle in the sunlit blue sky. I went out and pulled weeds. The front area is a weeded, cut and trimmed. The back yard is a tall grass, weedy, bee and pollinator paradise. We’re seeing few bees so far this year.

Today’s theme music is “It’s Good to Be King”. This is a 1995 Tom Petty song. My Neurons slotted it into the morning mental music stream after reading many of the things Trump said and do. Yes, he acts like the American King which our founders warned us about.

Coffee has landed in my gullet again. Time to rock on through another day, though it might be a slow-paced rock. Hope the best for you. Cheers

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Where To?

Daily writing prompt
What is your favorite restaurant?
View all responses

I think of this as, ‘Which of these restaurants would I like to go to right now?’

Like movies, books, and music for me, my favorite restaurant has a weight attached to it. Company is that weight. Time and place. Who was with me, and where did I live on the water slide of my existence.

A second question comes up. Which of these places remain in existence?

The top five, counting up to number one.

5. Yes, it’s a cafe. Coffee shop, actually. La-di-da. Half Moon Bay, California. Terrific Mexican mochas and good vibe. Ten minute Saturday or Sunday morning walk from my house. Another ten minute walk west to the Pacific ocean. A thirty minutes or so drive back into the insanity of Silicon Valley. It’s gone, baby, sold and sold again.

4. Seaside. Kadena Air Base, Okinawa, Japan. Wonderful place for a long afternoon lunch when the time for a break came. Overlooked the East China Sea. Still there, according to Kadena’s website.

3. Chanello’s Pizza. Hugh square cheese-laden, toppings-heavy crispy thing. We used to order it when we lived on Randolph AFB, Texas, in the late 1970s. Just outside of Universal City. A short drive from San Antonio. Cousins would come over and we would chow down.

2. Laughing Planet in Eugene, Oregon. Such awesome burritos. We’re fans of burritos but this place knocks us out. My wife and I sometimes play a game: which places would we like to have in our town? This place consistently arrives on our list.

1 – The Green Salmon Cafe in Yachats. We enjoy their vegan, gluten-free pastries and breakfast sandwiches. It’s another place we’d like to have here in our town.

Honorable mentions: Ruby’s, here in Ashland, Oregon. Awesome burritos, sandwiches, and burgers. Garden Fresh Chinese Restaurant in Mountain View, California. They used plant-based meat way back in the 1990s. Chevy’s Tex-Mex in Foster City, California. You know, I think we’re pretty partial to Mexican food. DeNunzio’s Italian Trattoria in Monroeville, PA. Great food, wonderful staff.

They’re all favorites. I wouldn’t mind hitting all of them just one more time.

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Sunda’s Wandering Thoughts

Planning for Easter Brunch is underway. I am fortunately a passive participant. My wife keeps me apprised of developments. She was searching for some Easter-themed drinks. I found some for her. She rejected them. I did find Chocolate Bunny Coffee. She laughed at that.

“Prude wants to have a Prosecco bar,” my wife says. Prude and her hubby, Carl, are hosting the Easter brunch for the third consecutive year.

“What does that mean?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I’ll chat with her. The brunch is getting big. Twenty-seven people are going to be there.”

“Twenty-seven.”

My wife nods in confirmation.

I do the math. “That’s almost twice as usual.”

“I know.”

My wife gives details of new invitees. Many are people I don’t know. I’ve heard about some of them via my wife’s recounting of ‘Tales from the Y.’ The main characters are all members of the Y, like my wife, and they bring a guest, like me. Most participate in Mary’s exercise class. Mary is celebrating her 50th anniversary of her class next year. The Y wants my wife to organize something for them. Mary’s exercise group has given birth to multiple friendships and activities, including a book club, New Year’s Eve gatherings, and nights out to go dancing.

“Deborah is in charge of the coffee,” my wife says. She’s talking about the brunch. “I mentioned the Chocolate Bunny Coffee. She laughed but said she is not buying that.”

I’m not surprised. Deborah takes her coffee as seriously as I do.

“Mary told me that she has champagne left from a party at her house last year that she’ll donate,” my wife says. “I told her it’s supposed to be Prosecco. Mary said that Prude told her that you and I are going to be there at 10:30 to help set up.”

“We are?” I helped with that last year. Everybody prepares and brings food. A buffet is set up in the kitchen and dining room. The drinks and coffee and dining tables are outside.

“I don’t know,” my wife says. “I’ll talk to Prude.”

I have to decide what to make. Last year I made a potato casserole. It seemed pretty popular. I don’t know what I’ll make this year. I was thinking about a French toast casserole.

Maybe I’ll just buy a fruit tray.

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The Gun Dream

This dream played out in three parts last night. Wasn’t much of me in it; I played a frustrated bystander.

I was with one of my younger sisters. We were milling, killing time waiting for something to go on. Details about that aspect were spare.

In walks a young man. Swarthy, with a cushion of dark, curly hair and a skinny, ripped body. Wears a tight maroon shirt and black pants. I barely know him but take it he’s a young man interested in one of my other sisters. He’s not very talkative. Chatter is going on around us but I’m a magnet on him. Studying his moves. Because something is off. I’m keen to know what.

I notice that as he shifts, he has an automatic handgun. He’s trying to hide it. I think he’s going to do something stupid with that weapon. Then he goes off.

Awakened for a cat matter, I reflect on the dream. It’s not out of my usual book of dreams. I lack clues about what it means.

The dream’s second act starts with me and the guy and my sister. I think the guy’s name is Paul. I try to talk to him. He’s truculent. We’re taking refuge in a garage that’s been converted into a bedsit sort of situation. The small space’s walls are cinder blocks painted white. Flourescent tubes give us stark lighting.

My sister is resting. I’ve covered her with a blanket but I’m watching Paul. Food is available, along with an old microwave. I offer to prepare something for everyone, talking to them about what’s available and what they might want. Paul is pretty furtive. I notice he has a black ski mask. Slipping it on, he leaves.

Figuring that Paul is off to rob someone, I’m angry. I rush out to chase him down and tell him not to do it. The door opens to an alleyway lined with a fence and thick with junk, like barrels, broken wooden pallets, and cast-off tires. It’s raining. The late afternoon light is anemic. Unable to see Paul, I return inside and put something into the microwave.

Another cat break is endured. During that time, I see that Paul resembles my sister’s father. She’s my half-sister, I should clarify, with a different father. I wonder about that as I tuck back into bed and fall back into sleep’s grasp.

Segment three has Paul returning. It’s much darker in the garage, and I don’t see him well but come to see that he’s still wearing a black ski mask. “What did you do?” I ask him several times, to no responses.

Someone pounds on the door. Adjusting his balaclava, Paul goes to the door. Aiming the gun at head level, he jerks it open. I wonder, police? Some other criminals? I hear speaing but can’t understand it.

That is where the dream ends.

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Munda’s Wandering Thoughts

It feels wintry cold in the coffee shop. They don’t heat the place much. I’m wearing a fleece piece. I usually wear something like that or a sweatshirt here. While they don’t heat the place in the winter, they ice it in the summer. I’m told all of this is for the workers behind the counter. I accept that. Today it feels like gloves are appropriate.

Winter’s influence is edging up. Snow covers the northern ridges down to about thirty-five hundred feet. Reports of snow falling in other places percolate around the net. It’s 42 here and light rain is falling.

I feel like I’m ready to stop writing. Go home, get warm, read a book and eat lunch. I typed and edited for several hours. Made substantial progress.

At least, that’s what I’m pitching to myself. Writer, beware.

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The Mercedes Dream

My wife and I were traveling. Astonishment took me when I realized we were driving a light green 1978 Mercedes Benz 280 SEL. Solid, dependable, comfortable, the car was like a tank. “That’s the same car we had in Germany,” I told my wife.

She didn’t notice. We were rushing and had stopped for shopping at Costco. With dream time, we leaped from talking while entering the store to being at the checkout register. A male manager rang us up. We were still actually shopping as that happened, with my wife hustling up with last minute additions.

Medicine and food were being rung up. The manager was urging us to hurry because it was time to close. We were going to be the last ones. My wife put a bag of food our box of purchases. Picking it up, I told the guy that we wanted another one, so ring it up again, and I told my wife to get one more. As she carried that up, the manager rang up the final bill: $610.

The total shocked us. I suggested putting things back and wondered how the total had become so high. Nothing expensive was in the box and there wasn’t a lot.

But we ended up saying, “Okay, let’s just pay and go because time is running out. We need to get on the road.”

End of dream.

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Munda’s Wandering Thoughts

Arias ring through the room’s air. These originate in my wife’s digestive system. She’s on day 3 of a fast. A lacto-ovo-pescatarian for over 30 years, all that she’s permitted herself during these days is green tea and water. Plenty of both have been consumed.

Fasting is her go-to response to matters. First time that she fasted was while I was in the Philippines on military assignment. Living with her parents, she decided to fast and did so for ten days. In this case, she’s dealing with two fronts: RA flares afflicting her shoulder, and being dispirited about the current political clime in the United States. She’d taken to long days of doom scrolling. Friends finally told her, “You need to stop.”

So stop she did. She stopped eating and doom scrolling. How long will she continue, is the question put to her. She’s not certain. She’ll reach some point where she’ll decide she’s clean enough and will resume eating.

While she isn’t eating, she’s still treating herself to warm epson salts baths and near infrared red-light therapy in our home pod. She’s also staying in the house, limiting social contact and physical activity. She’s reading a lot of fiction.

I hope it all works. I hope she recovers and is eating again soon.

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Don’t Call Me Late For Dinner

Daily writing prompt
Which animal would you compare yourself to and why?
View all responses

Well, I suppose I would compare myself to common, lowly housefloofs. Basically, a floof is an animal, bird, fish, or reptile. A housefloof is then one of those critters living with humans, even if their accomodations aren’t an actual ‘house’.

I say that I’m a housefloof based on my observations of housefloofs residing with me. Those were cats and dogs. My typical housefloofs were creatures of comfort who enjoyed lazing in sunshine, periodically apparently thinking themselves into a doze. This is something which I also do, although I’ll often have a book in my hand and will read myself into a doze. I have seen animals with books, newspapers, and magazines; they enjoy sleeping on them. I’ve yet to witness any housefloof holding a book. I suppose they could be waiting until I’m not around to pick up a book. They do the same with my computer, logging on when I’m not using it, trying to order themselves things from the net. How else can some of the things delivered to our door be explained?

The other thing about housefloofs which I’ve noticed which cements my comparison to one of ’em is their interest in food. They can be sound asleep — or so convincingly pretending to be that I can’t tell they’re awake — when a can, bag, or refrigerator is opened. Then, pop! Their eyes open. They sit up and look up, orienting their senses with precision: “I hear food; there it is.” Some are so adept at this, they react to the sound, leap up, and dash to the food before awakening. I swear, one cat became so good at this whole thing that she picked up our intentions to get something to eat and was there to greet us when we entered the kitchen.

I can honestly say that I’m quite like those housefloofs. I hear the ‘frig open or a bag. Click; hello, what’s that noise? I seek out my other to see, “What are you eating? What do you have?” And like my housefloofs, I’ll sometimes try to surreptitiously seize a share and scurry away.

Sometimes, though, like the housefloofs, I’m disappointed by the result, and sulk away to resume my previous activity.

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Frieda’s Wandering Political Thoughts

The Great Deflector blames ‘globalists’ for the market drops.

Later in the same press event, Trump again blamed globalists for the market downturn. “I think it’s globalists that see how rich our country’s going to be, and they don’t like it.“

What an absolute crock. Couldn’t be the old standard of people and institutions who invest in the stock market were protecting their profits and selling stocks, could it? Oh, no, he has to pull up some bullshit bogey man.

Then again, PINO Trusk isn’t a deep thinker. Not a sharp guy. Doesn’t understand the global network of finance, manufacturing, and supply chains at all. Nope. He prefers a stone-age ‘isolationist’ approach. Thinks that will ‘make America great again’.

Meanwhile, treating your friends like shit ends up with them getting pissed at you and treating you like shit.

Ontario cancels Starlink deal over US tariffs — Italy may follow due to US pullback from Europe

Ontario Premier Doug Ford said that he would cancel the $100 million deal the Canadian province signed with Starlink in response to Trump’s 25% tariff on Canadian goods. He’s also imposing a 25% tax on electricity exports, with New York, Michigan, and Minnesota being the most affected. CBC also reports that U.S.-based companies are banned from procurement contracts with the province.

X Threatens Our Democracy. Canada Should Ban It

Last year, as the U.S. government debated and then followed through on banning TikTok, Republican lawmakers advanced numerous arguments against allowing a hostile foreign power to control a significant medium of public discourse.

They said a social media application owned by someone who is close to an autocratic leader might be used as propaganda.

They said the amount of data harvested by the app from users’ phones could pose enormous security risks, providing information to the security services of a hostile power.

Of course, I might be in the minority in my concerns about PINO Trusk.

What Big-Business Leaders, Including Democrats, Say Privately About Trump

One Wall Street executive told me that Mr. Trump remains better than any of the alternatives. Another — citing Elon Musk’s government shake-up — said he likes what he sees so much, he now regrets voting for Ms. Harris.

It wasn’t just that this group resented Mr. Biden’s intrusive regulatory policies. They didn’t like diversity, equity and inclusion policies either — or anything they derisively described to me as “woke stuff.” Now executives and bankers alike (my circles tilt a bit toward Wall Street) are celebrating early signs of a reversal.

I’m not really astonished by claims that business leaders ‘favor’ PINO Trusk’s trash and burn approach. Stories are rising across the political spectrum about people who first cheer the Trusk Regime’s behavior. Then they’re personally affected, and the song they’re singing goes from praises to complaints. So, as PINO Trusk burns supply chains, declares tariffs (and reverses them), and alienates markets and customers outside of the US, we’ll see how they’re feeling in a few months. Sure, they’re wealthier; their wealth cradles their asses as we go through chaos and inflation.

Or, as Paul Krugman stated it, One thing that really struck me from Rattner’s piece — something I’ve heard from other sources — is that big businessmen think Elon Musk is doing a good job. I guess this is one of those cases where power and privilege make you blind to things that are obvious to everyone else.

After all this fucking around, I’m waiting to find out.

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