Tag: friends

A Road Trip Dream

I was setting out on a trip with three friends. Only one — Ron, an older man — translates to a current real-life person. Ron was just as he is in real life. The others, also males, were known.

One interesting note that emerged and wove throughout were two others, both female. They sometimes joined the journey, and Ron and I discussed whether they would be with us. The two women, both brunettes, one in a red top with black pants and the other wearing a bright blue top, would only appear and not speak directly to me.

We were riding in Ron’s truck. This was beige and big, with a four-door cab and a luxurious tan leather interior. Though Ron was driving, he was in the backseat. I was alongside him. He’d put the car on autopilot, so it was essentially driving itself with him just monitoring what was going on.

I kicked back beside him on the back seat. Stretching my legs out, my foot ended up hitting the steering wheel. That put us off course. Because of the way I was reclined, it took several seconds of jostling to get my foot out of the way. During that time, we went off the road and onto the shoulder but didn’t slow. Ron finally steered us back on course and returned the truck to autopilot, but now he was worried and concerned the police would pull us over.

We arrived at our destination — a huge furniture store. I’d never been to it. The floor was hard dirt. All furniture was antique white. Despite the floor and the limited offering, the store was very busy. The women showed up briefly. The others spoke with them while I went out to another section of store.

The next store section was filled with tables and chrome appliances. The appliances turned out to be food and drink dispensers. Needing to use a restaurant, I did some bowel business but discovered the toilet didn’t have any way to flush. Removing my fecal material with a wad of paper towels, I looked for a way to dispose of it. I found one but they wanted me to pay money to flush it away. I refused, angry and disgusted that they’d monetized flushing away our body functions. I instead found a small white bag, put the materials in there, and set it on a table, telling myself, it would be someone else’s problem.

I then reconnected with my friends. I told Ron that when we went back, I wanted to sit in the front and stretch out and sleep. He looked at me with confusion but didn’t reply. The two women came by. One said she had to go off and find her children.

My friends and I went to another section. People there were seated, waiting to pay for their selections. I stopped before one man and did a giddy tap dance. The man, overweight and big with swarthy skin and a white cowboy hat, ordered, “Stop that.” Laughing, I kept dancing but moved to another section. Another man who I didn’t see said, “Stop that,” but I laughed and danced away.

My friends met up with me again. All were surprised that I was tap dancing and thought it strange. They wondered how I learned it. I replied, “I’ve always known how to tap dance. Nobody ever needed to teach me. I just knew. I just don’t do it much.”

Dream end.

1

Twozdaz Theme Music

Twozda in Ashlandia finds us cold. Blue sky is in firm command. Sunlight washes over the valley.

It feels like something is broken or disconnected in the weather systems. The temperature is unfolding from 30 F. Alexa and online sources say we’ll get to 61 F today. I don’t know that they can be trusted. My systems and three other local systems all noted 29 to 31 degrees F temperature. At the same time, Alexa and online sites claimed our temperature was 40 F.

This is the same thing we went through several weeks ago; what we observed and felt locally is not what the national systems reported. Back in those weeks, we were steeped in cold fog while the national systems were trying to tell us it was sunny with some clouds. You can see why I’m not sure if we’ll get a high of 61 degrees.

No news has come from the Mom or Dad fronts. I had a long conversation with Dad’s wife yesterday. She related that after the fact, they conjecture Dad may have had a stroke, a-fib, or both. He had no idea how he ended up on the floor. Dad is doing very little talking or eating since that day. Only soft foods are permitted, such as eggs, apple sauce, and oatmeal. Swallowing those challenges him.

His wife says that he responds to voices. Though his eyes are closed, he’ll turn his head toward the speaker. She’s not sure if he recognizes her voice.

She also related that a few days before his fall, she discovered Dad had plotted to move away. He told her that he’d been on the phone with his other son and resolved the transportation issues and had identified all of his needs.

His son confirmed, yes, he and Dad were speaking about this almost every day. My brother was just going along with it to humor Dad; he certainly wasn’t going to help Dad move away. His part was just to indulge Dad because Dad was energetic and into the planning.

The revelations made me smile. I recognized Dad in that. He likes being in charge, making decisions, leading the way. He does not like having others take care of him. Making those plans were his way to stop from being a burden and getting back to being in charge.

Today’s theme music comes from a mental melange. Dreams, thinking, and headlines are all poured into this. Part of that thinking comes from Dad’s predicament.

Overviewing what was going on in my head, The Neurons placed “Wake Up Everybody” by Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes in the morning mental music stream. It’s a song I probably haven’t heard in years. It’s also possible I subconsciously heard it going on in the background somewhere.

I first learned of this song from my Black friends and co-workers. It wasn’t featured on the radio stations that I normally had on. Released in 1975, when I was a young airman in the U.S.A.F., I thought Teddy Pendergrass’s vocals put beautiful and heartfelt power to the words.

The opening lyrics were what I heard today but there was a little verse which I think about as I considered the world’s news and politics. Here they are.

Lyrics (h/t to AZLyrics.com)

Wake up, everybody, no more sleeping in bed
No more backward thinking, time for thinking ahead
The world has changed so very much from what it used to be
There’s so much hatred, war, and poverty, whoa, oh

The world won’t get no better
If we just let it be
The world won’t get no better
We gotta change it, yeah, just you and me

It’s quite the song of hope. It seems like we had more songs like this back in the last century. Moreover, we seemed to be moving toward them. No, it wasn’t straightforward, level progress but it did seem measurable. This century feels and appears very different to me.

Coffee has been served. My hope continues that peace and grace come by to give us all a lift. I know I would appreciate it.

Cheers

3

The Writing Moment

I was in the coffee shop, writing the current novel in progress. In fact, I was writing the newest ending to it. This one was not an ending which I’d envisioned, although it was a path that veered from that planned ending.

As I typed, one of my coffee-shop writing friends came by. “I can see you’re deep into it,” she said. “You have the writer face going.”

She and I laughed and she went on. In truth, I was ready for a break because writing butt was settling in. One cheek felt numb and the other was sore.

But you probably know how it is. There was more to write. Hungry, thirsty, pressed for time, I kept going, writing like crazy till I finally took a breath, sat back, and said, “Done.”

We’ll see if I’m done, of course. If the novel is done. Finished.

We’ll see.

1

Thirstdaz Theme Music

Looked out the window and what did I see? Weak, uneven sunshine, blue sky patches, thick towels of scattered white clouds. I also saw the far-ish mountains with their thick evergreen coats. Sunshine and shadows spangled them in different verdant hues. Sunshine sneaks through the windows and darts away. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve been able to look across and see the tops of the trees on the top of this low mountain because of the weather, and I missed that scene. This is Thirstda, December 18, 2025.

Two friends lost family members this week. Both lost members were sisters and both passed after prolonged cancer struggles. So, a moment of thought for each of them. The holidays are stressful enough for people without the added weight of a family member passing. Although in one case at least, the family was relieved because they hated how their sister/mother/aunt/grandmother was suffering.

Thinking of sisters inspired The Neurons. I’ve been doing many text exchanges with my second-oldest ‘little sister’. She’s the one who volunteered her home and family to take care of Mom. Taking care of anyone is a challenge but Mom at 90 can be a test for your nerves and patience. The two are again at peace, and I hope that lasts. Of course, Mom is going through a chunk of stuff with her health, age, and the loss of her longtime live-in boyfriend, Frank. Frank was a giving and caring steward for her, and though his feet were small, those are big shoes to fill. Add to that, the natural stresses brought on by winter storms and the holiday season, and it gets to be a very heavy load.

So, the Neurons filled the morning mental music stream with Stevie Ray Vaughn and Double Trouble playing their cover of Hank Ballard’s song, “Look at Little Sister”. I have three younger sisters. I regularly text with them. All are mothers, two are grandmothers, two are tremendously fit, and two are very successful. All are a treasure to me. My fourth sister is the single sibling older than moi. She and I get along well but don’t exchange many texts. Still working, she’s engrossed with her children and grandchildren.

Coffee is treating my cells to some wake up energy. Hope peace and grace come out of their hole and don’t see their shadow.

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Thirstdaz Theme Music

It looks like we might have some fog today in Foglandia. It’s Thirstda, December 11, 2025. The fog landed on us yesterday morning and has not abated. My friend came out of meeting last night and said, “Wow, this is Jack the Ripper kind of fog.” Our forecast for today, given yesterday morning, promised sunshine and a possible record high in the low to mid-sixties. That was yesterday. Now we’re mumbling about maybe hitting 50 F. It’s 37 F now. The claims made yesterday for today have been shifted to tomorrow. Feels like a con game. Wonder how much of Trump DOGE cuts cause the diminishing weather forecast accuracy?

Another night of intriguing dreams featuring cars, women, and building had me wondering about stuff this morning. Traversing the assimilating and understanding functions of parsing the dreams inspired Les Neurons. “Clocks” by Coldplay floated into the morning mental music stream. The song’s lyrics go, “Confusion never stops. Closing walls and ticking clocks. Gonna come back and take you home. I could not stop that you now know, singing.” Which pretty well reflected part of one remembered dream sequence. Actually, minus the clocks. It was but the sentiment of confusion.

Speaking of the sentiment of confusion, have you heard Deceiving Donny’s recent speeches? Yes, he’s a rambling vocal trainwreck. Naturally, MAGA reactions are, “But Biden.” Always looking to the past, they are, always hunting for an escape route to avoid facing reality. Read a piece which tickled me from MPS, Case Study: In Your Guts, You Know He’s Nuts.

Yes, we know he’s nuts. So does AI as it reviews some sample shitalk outta the great mango babbler. Trump’s probably the greatest babbler the world has ever known. He can babble like no babbler has ever babbled before. People listening to him often remark, “What an amazing babbler. What a stunning babbler.” After listening to Dizzy Donny’s babbling, people often march up, shake his hand, and say, “Sir, that was the most beautiful babbling I’ve heard the pleasure of hearing.” One man said he told Trumpy Dumpty, “In my two hundred fifty years of life, I’ve never heard greater babble coming out of anybody like this before, let alone the President of the United States. What babble! Amazing babble! BEAUTIFUL BABBLE!!!”

I was with friends having a beer and talking last night. One related the death of his brothers. One older, one younger. Both being treated. One was denied Oregon’s “Death with dignity” to pursue assisted suicide because he was being treated and following a course of stuff supposed to fight the disease, etc. But the side effect of said treatment were blood clots which caused strokes, diminishing his capacity to speak, move, breathe, etc. Sickening and exasperating.

On that note, time to rev up the life engine and plunge into my daily routines. Which mostly circulates around going out and writing. Writing is going well but consumes so much life band. My wife is tremendously accommodating of my efforts. She deserves several prizes. Hope I can reward her faith and support with success someday. Meanwhile, onward. Cheers

2

The Coffee Shop

I broke out of my writerly cocoon this week. I typically get into the coffee shop, find a table and seat, assume the position and shut down to being friendly. I have met Kim, another writer, and chat with her regularly, but briefly. We each respect the writer’s privacy and methodology, so while we will emerge to joke and exchange words, we shut back down and get down to our respective writing processes.

Meanwhile, though, there are dogs. People bring their pups in with them, a practice I applaud. Living in Europe, it wasn’t unusual to encounter dogs in restaurants, cafes, and shops. I’m fine with them.

And the dogs are fine with me. But because they come and visit me, I end up chatting with their people. Then the people open up with their curiosity about what I do there each day. In explaining, others overhear. They volunteer later, privately, that they’re a writer, too. It’s a veritable writing hive.

I also ventured out of my cocoon on my own. A woman sat down beside me yesterday as I was wrapping up. She put a book down, along with a notebook. Always interested in people’s reading material, I glanced over. The book’s title was A Wild Life, a book about women in botany and their discoveries. I have several botanist friends, learned, intelligent, charming people who are passionate about botany. I said, “Pardon me, I saw your book. Are you a botanist?”

“I wish,” she responded.

We chatted about the book and why she chose it. A local person, Lucretia Saville Weems, is the author, and the woman saw it in Bloomsbury’s local authors section and was interested and bought it.

Packing up, I said my goodbyes to her but wasn’t done socializing. I’d noticed a young couple. She was wearing a One Piece sweatshirt. My wife and I are One Piece fans, so I had to pause to compliment her on her top, and then we talked about the television series and enjoyed some laughs.

Probably just something in the air for a few days. I’m back in my cocoon today, ready to get to it.

5

The Leaves Dream

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.

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The Hair Dream

I was the new guy in a small group of males. Basically smartasses and lower class with leanings toward crime and goofing off, I don’t know how I met them but was hanging around with them. They kept discounting me and making fun of me. I decided changes were needed and thought the way to do that was with my hair. So off I went to get dreadlocks.

A stylist eagerly did as I asked. I emerged with long black dreadlocks when I’d had brown hair before, with the crown being literally a crown of short dreads.

I went back and joined the group at a short track where a car race was scheduled to take place. All were surprised and taken back. One or two made fun of me for it. Then we split up. Most headed in to watch the race but one other and I stayed back, sort of watching the group’s belongings in a small corner by a counter. Catching my image in a mirror, I was horrified. “I look terrible,” I said. “Ridiculous. What was I thinking?”

The other guy, a short, white almost bald fellow said, “Well, I admire what you did. Took balls. I respect that.”

“Really? But it looks like crap.”

“Yes, but you did something.”

I met a woman who wanted to go into the track but wasn’t certain how to go about it. I asked where she wanted to go in there. “By turn two,” she answered. “Come on,” I said, “I’ll take you there.”

I took her in through the crowd. As I did, a young black woman paused to tell me with a wide smile, “I really like your hair.”

“Thanks,” I answered, pleased, amused. Showing the woman to turn two, I moved back through the crowd to the outside. Another young black woman accosted me, saying, “Nice hair.”

I encountered a white female friend as I left the race track. “What did you do to your hair?” she asked.

“I know,” I said. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m going to see if it can be fixed.” But I was thinking, it’ll probably need to be cut. Then it’ll take a long time to grow back. While this went through my head, a young black woman said, “I’m sorry but I overheard what you said. I hope you don’t change your hair. I think it looks really good on you.”

Dream end.

1

Mundaz Wandering Thoughts

Well, Steve died. 85 years old. Diagnosed with cancer in his liver, kidneys, and lungs, his decline was a full slide down a steep hill. Just a few months ago, we were laughing, talking, enjoying drinks and music at a lake in the late afternoon sun. The question before us is, did he use the cocktail? This is Oregon where we have right to death laws. Steve had requested a cocktail to end his life and planned to use it. Laws control when the cocktail can be used. His wife was just requesting the cocktail last week, so we suspect that Steve died on his own yesterday, September 21, 2025.

I support the right to death, BTW. I’ve witnessed too many people growing feeble and drained by their disease to wish that on others. Many people can no longer probably communicate as they hang on by their skins. Sickness, pain, disease, and medication twist and torture their personalities into new folds. By the time of their death, they’re barely the person they used to be. But I also understand and respect others’ needs and desires to hold on as long as they can. Dying and death are complicated matters.

The thing about Steve is that we only knew each other for about three years. Our rapport was immediate. Our wives were good friends and we all became good friends, socializing multiple times at plays, concerts, and dinners. It just seemed like he and I knew each other forever.

Meanwhile, sis reports Mom has moved into her new room. Except Mom’s clothes are still upstairs. That’s a major matter. Although Mom tends to wear a series of night clothes and casual active wear these days, her closet was rigidly organized by season, color, and fabric. Tough transition for her, to cull the threads to current needs only.

This growing old, though. Coping. It’s tough. I’m at the coffee shop thinking and typing. A casual friend of two decades comes by. She uses two canes now to get around but her smile remains as bright as sunshine off snow brilliant.

All just thoughts to help me sort matters, matters which I’ll probably continue sorting until I do my own self-checkout. I won’t even try to predict when that’ll come. From what I’ve seen, change can be sudden and complete. Then again, some demises are a long trip into night.

4

Fridaz Theme Music

Blue sky creamed with white haze announces the day is underway. Summer sunshine comes through to carry us to 81 F today as summer tries a final incursion into autumn. Currently 68 F, no rain is forecasted for today. Tis Frida, September 12, 2025.

I’m pingponging though moods and emotions today. Notso good news on Dad’s front as his mind slips the clutch. He refused to eat and cooperate for a while yesterday. Called his wife for her to come get him out of jail. Shades of Mom: we experienced similar to that a few years ago, a testing time. His stepdaughter came through to settle him and coax cooperation. Mom seems to be doing better, from a distance. My wife, however, is under the weather today. Over at Steve’s place, he’s bounced back. While still in hospice, he’s eating well. Andy at the rehab place is doing better, too, eating well but complaining about the food.

News off the political and world fronts do little to lift my spirits. This is sort of normal. I’ve learned that I go into black days. Typically just a one to three day stay. Meanwhile, I choke down news about the economy, shootings, weather, the wars, and Trump’s inanity. Just reading more details about the infamous Hyundai battery plant raid. Stories posted show that Trump’s ICE people knew that people were legally there but still had them deported. This will be so good *snark* for international relations. Sure, who wouldn’t want to come to a place where your legal status is flushed away and you’re subjected to being treated as a lawbreaker and prisoner? Yep, good work to that asinine TACO team.

Did have a little laugh, thanks to Andy Borowitz:

Kash Patel Replaced by Startled Deer

Today’s music choice came on Der Neurons’ orders. Soundgarden, led by the late Chris Cornell, is singing “Fell On Black Days” in the morning mental music stream.

Whomsoever I’ve cured, I’ve sickened now
Well, whomsoever I’ve cradled, I’ve put you down
Search light soul they say but I can’t see it in the night
I’m only faking when I get it right, when I get it right

‘Cause I fell on black days
I fell on black days

h/t to Songlyrics.com

Coffee has swooped in to give me a lift. May grace and peace find and lift us all. Onward. Cheers

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