Tag: friend

Satyrdaz Theme Music

Summer is crawling through on a final look see. We’ll strike the low 80s, lifting us from the sunny and mild 66 F where we now reside. Leaves are still green against the summer blue sky but some of those leaves have lost their luster. It’s Satyrda, children, September 13, 2025.

No home-front changes for me with a friend in hospice, Mom on mute, Dad in rehab, as is another friend, and my wife under the weather.

I listened to Trump’s speech from the NATO summit’s closing day. He claimed he ‘rebuilt the entire military’ during his first term. WTF does that even mean? If you take the literal words and their literal definitions, then the United States has a military which is just a few years old. Leaves me confused. Where did he get all those old B-52s, aircraft carriers, F14s, F15s, and F15s if he rebuilt it? How did he get new C5s and why are old ones still in use if he rebuilt the military? He’s such a bombastic blowhard. Some will give Trump leniency and say, “Oh, he’s being metaphorical.” I call BS. It’s like me claiming, you know I rebuilt the entire house last week. Bottom line: no, he didn’t, and making such claims makes him look like a boastful fool. This is in line with other claims, like he’s going to lower drug prices by thousands of percent. Or that in many places, gas prices are below $1.99 a gallon. He just lies and boasts to make himself look good. While some worship his words as the gospel, a bigly number of people know the truth about him, the truth he reinforces whenever he speaks.

Of course, Trump was eager to blame Kirk’s murder on someone from the left. But guess what? It was another right-winger killing another of their own. No apologies from Trump and others for making wild and biased accusations, of course. Trump lacks the moral fortitude and honesty for anything like that.

BTW, how is that whole thing about Epstein going for Trump?

Papi inspires todays music selection. I opened the backdoor for fresh air and sunshine and he whipped around and sprinted over to me with a quick chirp of greeting. Sitting, he put his face to the sun and closed his eyes. As I offered some love touches, I asked, “Where you been, buddy? What are you out here looking for?” As Papi and I entered the house together, The Neurons summoned U2 with “Where the Streets Have No Name”.

Coffee has begun its rounds in my corporeal vessel. Let’s hope grace and peace find and keep us today and always. Cheers

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Sundaz Theme Music

Sunda, September 7, 2025, arrives, cool, dry, smoky. I’m not sure where the smoke comes from. 65 F, today’s high will pluck 80 F. Rain ended up dominating our road trip to Crater Lake National Park yesterday. The weather added a dramatic element.

Our guests left this morning. They’re on the road to Carmel, CA. We had a good time with them. They seemed to enjoy our company and area. Hope they have safe travels.

Meanwhile, there’s been an ongoing saga. Don’t know what I revealed here. Last Wenzda was our recurring beer meeting. One member, Andy, is a retired doctor. Not sure of his age, but I think he’s a little older than me. Part of his issues required a shunt in his brain to reduce pressure. That helped and he seemed to be recovering. Suddenly, there’s a step backward. He later related that he’d fallen in the street in front of his house earlier that day. A passing driver saw, stopped, helped. But Andy was in pain, putting at 9 of 10. Said, “I think I may have fractured my hip.”

Well, one member volunteered to transport him to the hospital, where, yes, this weekend, Andy had surgery for his fractured hip and is in the hospital. Various friends have been visiting him, and I’ll do that today.

On the family front, the siblings went together to buy Mom a new smart TV for her new bedroom. It seems that her other television has been stuck on ‘the western channel’, according to sis. Mom and her BF, Frank, have bought twin beds for the new bedroom so they can both sleep in there. That way, there’s no calling around at night for him to get there to help her. Mom celebrates her 90 BD next month.

In the Texas side of the family, I returned from being out where none of us had cellphone service to find a message from Dad’s wife. Dad had fallen in the kitchen, fracturing his pelvis and hip socket. He was hospitalized with pneumonia. Now, the text says, “He’s out of hospice.” It seems like it’s a dire situation for them. I called, got VM, left a message. A new text says that a nurse got him out of bed and standing, with help from pain pills. His wife asked me to give him a call after the Steelers game is over, which I’ll do. Dad is due to celebrate his 93rd BD next month.

Politically, I read last night that Speaker Johnson should be writing novels. That’s what I took, as Johnson demonstrated some amazing creativity. Effectually reaching up his ass, Johnson pulled out more cover for Trump with a claim Trump was an FBI informant about Epstein’s activities. This is so wildly out of nowhere that it’s been immediately and relentlessly mocked. Apparently, too, that paragon of justice and concern — that would be the Offal Office mango leech — was so concerned about Epstein’s activities that he voluntarily became an informant. Who out there is going to believe this? Does Speaker Johnson even believe what he’s saying? If he does, what sort of meds is Johnson on?

Johnson’s additions just layer the Epstein files with a byzantine plot. Trump claims the Epstein file is a hoax. Before that, TACO — and we need to label him that, TACO, Trump Always Chickening Out — promised to release the Epstein files during his presidential election campaign, but has since chickened out from doing that. Trump frequently blows his top when others ask questions or make references to the files. Trump has been documented as an Epstein friend for a long time before the shit hit the fan. Now he was really an FBI informant. Man, the crazy gets too cra-cra.

All these matters have brought together an Eagles song. The Neurons heard me mutter to myself, sometimes with a sigh, sometimes with a GRRRR, time will tell. The Neurons immediately jumped up with “The Long Run” by the Eagles. Yeah, I’m singing “Who is going to make it, we’ll find out,” but I’m also singing, “What’s really going on, we’ll find out in the long run.”

There are things to do and write. Coffee is flowing through the body, making connections as needed. Hope peace and grace connects with you today. Here we go. Cheers

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Twosdaz Wandering Thoughts

It’s a bad sad, as in depressing.

A casual friend, Diana, an older woman, had a large yard sale. People found many products which were unused, as in still in its original packaging. Bruce said, “I have a drill press and wasn’t planning to buy a new one. But this one was completely unused, I mean, brand new and in its box. It’s better than mine, which needs some work, and she was only asking fifty dollars for it. I felt like it’d be a sin to walk away from that.”

People openly talked about the many thing and unused products for sale. Sitting nearby, Diana explained, “Well, I get lonely, so I order things so I could chat up the delivery people.”

That shocked my sensibilities. Diana is an extrovert, a real people person. She belongs to a book club, bridge club, and choir. She regularly travels, attends exercise classes at the local Y, and attends plays and concerts. She’s involved and engaged, and yet, she’s buying things so she can talk to people.

It’s something that I, a person who is quite comfortable not speaking with anyone but my wife, cat, and barista for days, struggles to comprehend.

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Wenzdaz Theme Music

Thunderstorms are on the way today, Wenzda, July 30, 2025. Worry has cranked up throughout the region. Thunderstorms equal lightning, wildfires, and smoke. Fingers crossed, knock on wood, etc., that we’re spared.

Meanwhile, it’s a blue sky lovely day. 74 now, heading toward 90 F. Texting with my sister in PA. She tells me it’s humid and close to 100 F there today. Everyone working outside are guarding against heatstroke. One of her husband’s co-workers was hospitalized for dizziness and high blood pressure.

Tsunami warning were given for Pacific coasts last night after a massive earthquake was detected off the coast of the Kamchatka Peninsula. My friends and I were familiar with that territory from playing Risk, but then there was a spy plane incident which cemented it in my memories. Fortunately, back to the tsunami warnings, little damage has been reported so far. Tsunamis called to mind the disastrous ones which hit Japan and destroyed a nuclear power plant in Marh of 2011, and the Christmas tsunami which nailed Thailand, Indonesia, and that region of Asia, killing hundreds of thousands of people. Nature’s power is stunning. Of course, in an aside, that’s why the United States and other nations worked together to create monitor and warning systems. That required international trust and cooperation, and the Trump Regime is actively undermining such work, unilaterally withdrawing the U.S. from alliances and agreements, and cutting funding, either directly, or through the termination of grants to universities and organizations.

Today’s music is a dream gift. “Who Invited You” is by The Donnas. I’m familiar with the group mostly because a friend listened to them. I lived in the Bay area in the 1990s and worked in Palo Alto, where The Donnas originated. My friend, a co-worker, burned CDs for me of several groups she liked, including the Squirrel Nut Zippers, Violent Femmes, and The Donnas. The dream part had me awakening from a dream just after I’d opened a door and someone asked me, “Who invited you in?” That dream moment, which I call a ‘dreament’, snapped back to me when I intercepted a spider coming in the front door after I opened to receive some cooling morning air. Asking it, “Who invited you in?”, the dream moment swiveled into focus and The Neurons hastened The Donnas into the morning mental music stream.

Hope all you jazz cats have a hip day. This coffee cat is downing his caffeine juice. Then into cutting grass and trimming bushes before the heat bellows in. Cheers

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Satyrda’s Theme Music

Welcome to Smoky Satyrda in Ashlandia. The smoke isn’t heavily visible but the smell of sodden wet wood hangs in the air and shifts my sinuses into overdrive to flush the crap back out. Yeah, poor me, right?

It’s 77 F now in Ashlandia with 99 F projected. The local troposphere looks up to it with blue skies gleaming down and a mighty sun raising up. Wouldn’t surprise to break 100 F; that’s the forecast for the valley overall.

A friend has fig trees on her land and gifted us with about five pounds of fresh, ripe figs. These things are huge and gorgeous. I’m married to a fignatic. We just spent $11 for a pint of figs the other day. They weren’t the best of figs but my house’s fignatic was happy to have them. You can imagine her joy from this gift. The figs are also a great addition to my morning diet. Yum. Pairs well with bananas. No so good with coffee.

I subscribe to multiple newsletters about books, writing, and publishing. One email subject said, “New Horror for your Summer”. I was like, no thanks, I have enough of that crap in the MAGALand daily news. For instance, when Trump’s gestapo rounds people up, their pets are often left alone in homes and apartments to die of thirst and starvation. This is Trump’s United States: cruel, mindless, thoughtless, heartless. Should I add greedy? That’s pretty fuckin’ self-evident when Trump brands and hawks new trinkets and consumer goods every month. Beyond that, there’s climate change and growing natural disasters around the world. As a couple nations war on each other and the wars threaten to engulf more geopolitical regions, TACO cuts back on the State Department and retreats.

Trump also announced he’s rolling out new tariffs. Will he or won’t he? TACO loves getting attention from making these announcements. Project 2025 goons installed in his regime loves him to do it, as they continue to operate under the distractions he generates with his blithering dithering — or is it dithering blithering? Trump makes announcements as the world burns and crashes around him, and the MAGAts clap in approval.

All that brings me to the morning mental music stream offering. After a surprisingly restless night and just one remembered dream (but a good dream), I found myself in the kitchen with a specific chorus echoing in the MMMS.

“Never free, never me, so I dub thee unforgiven. You labeled me, I’ll label you, so I dub thee unforgiven.”

Yes, that’s Metallica with their 1991 offering, “The Unforgiven”.

The Neurons were dubbing ICE agents as unforgiven. The entire damn Trump Regime is dubbed unforgiven, as are those senseless MAGAts who rolled this mess into existence. They’re unforgiven.

Have the best Satyrda you can. I plan to do the same. Cheers

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An Oven DIY Update.

Well. That’s over with. A new igniter is installed and working in my GE Profile range

It was not easy. Not the 30 minute job advertised. Noooo. Because, manufacturing. So.

Part arrives. Looks right. Saturday afternoon, I begin.

Turn off power to range. Remove top iron grills and burner covers. Empty bottom storage of the baking sheets and iron skillets. Remove oven door. Slide out from wall. Unplug. Turn off gas.

Now we’re cooking.

Remove racks. Remove two screws from the back on the fire shield. Shift back, lift up and remove fire shield.

It’s all going like a dream.

Locate igniter. Bingo, right there. Remove two screws. Remove two screws. Remove…two…screws…

One breaks off. Fuck Second one just turns and turns, apparently stripped.

Try a zillion fucking ways to get that screw out. No. Go.

Three hours have passed. I’m dripping sweat. I stop for the day. Realize sometime during the evening, I’m going to need to grind off that screw head. I need a tool for that, research options, and make shopping plans.

Ten o’clock. I get ready to go shopping. My wife pops off to a friend’s house. She calls as I’m walking out the door. The friend has a Dremel I can use to grind the head off. His son has it as his place, about two miles from my place. Off I go to pick it up and bring it back.

The friend’s son is a friend and a retired editor and literary agent, so we talk books and publishing for thirty minutes. He’s always a good visit. He’s also just lost his cat to cancer; another ten minutes is spent on sympathy and pain.

Back at home, gloves and goggles are donned, the grinder is plugged in, and the head is ground off. The igniter is freed from its bracket but remains wired in. To get to that, I should remove several more pieces but after that previous screw episode, that is not going to happen. I instead cut the wires to the igniter and remove the plug out the back. Next, I twist and shift my fingers, screwdrivers, and pliers until the new igniter’s connections are through the 1.25 inch through the back. I really could have used four more hands and much longer arms during this process. The igniter is put into place. New screws are installed.

Then, reverse disassembly. Just enough to let me test that puppy. Gas on. Power on. Plugged in. Fingers crossed, oven turned on.

Success.

The range’s empty space is cleaned, then the range is manuevered back into place. Everything is returned to its position and the tools are put away. It’s 2:30.

Time for lunch. Water. And rest.

5

The White Jaguar Dream

First, I was working for a friend I used to work for, Laura. She was a terrific boss, perhaps the best I ever had. Certainly in the top three.

I was injured in the dream and forced to wear a cast on my left arm. It struck me as an unusual cast but I can’t provide any details. Encumbering me, it was forcing me to do things in unusual ways.

Laura was at her desk, watching and talking. I suddenly had a brainstorm about how the cast I wore could be modified to make it easier to deal with the limitations it imposed. Laura began talking about it a split second after the idea came to me. We both started babbling about with growing excitement. Calling me to her desk, she said, “Take out the notebook from the inside pocket on the left side of my jacket.” I did, and handing her the small brown book. She opened it to a blank page and started writing.

With a dream shift, I was now in line. I needed a new vehicle. Five people were ahead of me. A female cashier was helping us. I saw a white Jaguar convertible with a red interior. It seated four. I decided, that’s what I’m buying.

The cashier told the first person in line, “We don’t have any small cars left.” Then she called out to the rest of us, “Is anyone in line interested in any car besides a small car.”

Raising my hand, I responded, “I am. I’m buying that white Jaguar.”

The purchase was done with dream speed. As part of my purchase, I was given a model of the car. They went off to get it ready for me to drive away. I went to a coffee shop and purchased a cup of coffee in a paper cup with a plastic lid.

A hard wind was blowing. I needed to set my coffee down but worried about the wind blowing it over, even though I was in an office. I opened a file drawer and set the coffee in there, thinking that the drawer will protect it from the wind. Then I set the little white Jaguar on top of it.

The wind immediately blew the little car off the coffee cup lid. I wasn’t surprised. I said, “That’s exactly how I expected that to go.”

Dream end.

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Tuesday’s Wandering Thoughts

Just learned today that a good friend, a few years older than me, is suffering dementia. I’ve been through this with other friends in the last twenty years, so I’m loaded with expectations. Most of them aren’t good. But medical technology keeps advancing and I hope that my buddy and his family don’t endure what many others have gone through.

Fingers crossed, you know?

6

The Resemblance

He thought he saw a friend entering the coffee shop, staring at him as the other passed.

Impossible, of course. His friend, Andy, died back in the early part of the century, murdered while on a business trip in Tennessee, a story misted with mystery. Andy and a woman he’d met at a bar talked to a man in the bar about buying a boat. After some drinking, the three went out to the man’s house at midnight to see the boat. A fight ensued.

Andy always carried a knife and pulled it now. The knife was taken from him. Stabbed twice in the abdomen, he staggered half a mile down the long dirt road leading to the house. A trooper found him dead on the roadside hours later.

All that came back as he watched the man with the remarkable resemblance to Andy. Other possibilities could explain why the man looked like Andy. It could be Andy. Andy could have returned from the dead. Andy’s death may have been faked, the death story constructed as part of some larger con. Maybe Andy had a twin he didn’t know about, or he’d crossed into a dimension where Andy still lived. Theories crowded his head as Andy’s doppelganger took his coffee and departed the establishment.

He couldn’t let it go. Catching up, he called, “Andy.”

The man turned back to him. A smile flickered over his expression. “No. Not me.”

Sipping his coffee, the Andy twin turned and hastened away.

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