Tag: friendship

Sunday’s Theme Song — Promises

Ashland, southern Oregon. Sunday, October 4, 2026.

Supposed to be bright, sunny, and hot today, but clouds swamped three fourths of the sky, and sunshine struggled to be seen and felt. Never reached close to the 90 which was forecast, but it’s now 83 F.

Dreamed last night that I was in basic training. When I awoke and saw the date, I realized it was the anniversary of my first enlistment. October 4, 1974, I took my first oath. Twenty years later, I declared done.

I remember that first day. Rainy and overcast. Went in oh dark thirty. Was given a meal voucher for breakfast at a nearby local diner. Then had lunch at the same place with another voucher. We didn’t take off until late that afternoon.

That was my first time in an airplane, too. Flew from West Virginia, where I then lived, to San Antonio, Texas, via some other city.

It was a Friday, too. When we arrived at Lackland AFB, Texas, to begin basic training, we were informed there weren’t enough to make a full flight. We wouldn’t begin training until the following Tuesday, and spent the extended weekend in silence in our civies, waiting to begin.

Yes, welcome to the military. That’s how it was during my entire career: hurry up, then wait, then GO!

I spoke with Mom today. She called so I ended up chatting with her for an hour, just talking about life in the assisted living facility, Heritage Grove, Penn Hills. While I was speaking with her, my wife took a call on the home line and we learned that our friend, Larry, passed away at 3 AM this morning.

Larry was 96, and a military veteran. Obtaining a degree from Purdue via the GI Bill, he ended up as an engineer and an executive in the aerospace industry. After college, he lived and worked most of his life in the Los Angeles, California, area, moving up here to Ashland after retiring. He was married and adopted and raised two children and had two grandchildren. Although staunchly conservative and Republican, he was intelligent, trustworthy, and fun. I’ll miss him.

I read the NYT’s coverage of a 2026 Trump rally. They’re heavy with promise and rituals: attack the Democrats, maybe throw in a commie scare. Lie about multiple things. Donald Trump will use profanity — his fans love it when he uses profanity, because he’s telling it like it is, isn’t he? Trump sometimes claims prices are way down, which probably surprises anyone who regularly shops.

At many stops this year, Trump is begging people to support AI and data center construction. It’s the primary commercial construction now underway. He might claim the US already won against Iran, or he might threaten Iran with more bombing.

What is so sad is that after the many lies Donald Trump has made, and after all the promises that Donald Trump has broken, his brand of chaos, hatred, and bigotry still serve a portion of the Republican party.

Today’s music is by Incubus. The 2011 song, “Promises, Promises” did not come from reading the news. It came instead while listening to my mother talk about the inherent promises made — work hard, save your money, buy a house, raise a familiar — all that American dream debris, will bring you happy closure when you pass away. Mom relates that she and her gang of assisted living friends refer to their new home as jail — three hots and a cot.

I hope you live up to the promises you make, and that others fulfill the promises they make to you.

I also hope that promise and swear to Vote Blue in November, 2026.

Cheers

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Wendell Berry Said

Wendell Berry was one of my good friend’s favorite writers. My friend preceded Berry in Death by over a decade but both loved farming and lamented many of the things humans do while declaring, “Progress.”

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Ambush

The lens that I roll and find
In the dumping ground
Of my mind
Moving from cat
To food
Life and Mom
Conversations
Time

I search for a point
Feet on bridge
As Neurons
Sing
Telling me often
Let it be

Jamming with tunes
Coming up and in
I circle
Slipping on words
And sounds
Picking apart

Pieces of lint

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The Writing Moment

Standing and stretching from my coffee-shop table, I said, “Hi, Kim.”

Hair red as a cardinal catching attention, Kim grinned. My coffee-house writing friend. Three novels out there and counting.

“Hey, Michael. You leaving?”

“Yes, the table is yours if you want. It served me well.”

We laughed. I was giving up the corner table, the best for writing, offering comfort, privacy, and stability. Certain tables rock when typing. Precious as we are, the rocking disrupts needed writing rhythm.

Kim went on, pointing over her shoulder, “I was over there but that table is just too low. It makes my back and neck hurt.”

A grin overtook my face. She was as particular as me. “I know! It really makes it hard when you’re hunkering down for a two to three hours.”

Packing up my gear, I vacated the space. She swept in. “Happy writing,” I offered, then went on with a smile.

It was a good writing day for me. Hope it’s a good one for her, too — though, with that table and her talents, it’s bound to be.

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Thirstdaz Theme Music

High winds imitated taxiing jets all night long. We awoke to quiet sunshine and a drying land. 42 F, we hit like 49 F before the weather flipped into falling temperatures and increasing precipitation. It rained hard for a while and dropped into the thirties. Now it’s in the thirties but clear under fading sunshine. This was Christmas, Thirstda, December 25, 2025.

We were out of the house before nine AM, hitting the road to buzz to the other side of town for a breakfast brunch. The time was dropped on me yesterday. “We’re going to be there at nine?” I was incredulous. Friends had invited us to their place but that seemed like a early holiday hour when gift exchanging and children weren’t involved. We made it, no problem.

They weren’t ready for us. The husband didn’t make an appearance for over thirty minutes. We know him well and understand the health issues which slowed him. Guest number five arrived about twenty minutes after hubby showed. Guest number six was a no-show. She later called to apologize but she was having memory issue and forgot.

No matter. I was stewing about hurrying to be there when others clearly were less prepared than me for the early hour. The food, however, was sensational. Ham steaks. Plant based sausages. Dutch baby. Mexican quiche. Bananas, oranges, raspberries and blueberries. Delicious food, and after all but one arrived, a fun time, despite the early hour.

The early hour did have me smiling in memory about my childhood. Back then, filled with Santa-inspired energy, we were up by five AM, eager to see what presents had arrived. It’s a sweet look back at memories of an innocent period. Well, innocent for me. Mom and Dad were busy adulting, managing children, money, and all the associated pressures and needed.

Our fifth guest was a stranger. A music student from the Czech Republic, Tereza is 23 years old, a keyboardist who is learning music history (which, yes, she finds boring and tedious) while also being taught about more instruments. Most fascinating is her growing mastery of the pipe organ. She travels to another town to play a pipe organ in a Presbyterian Church. She shared some video of her playing.

She also gamely responded to our inquisition about the small village where she grew up, her parents and life in the Czech Republic, and their Christmas holiday traditions. A catholic, she shared their story that baby Jesus brings gifts and puts them under the tree. Yes, I wanted to know, how does baby Jesus get around? She laughed and replied, “That was our question, too.”

Then, following Christmas traditions (not), we played a full game of Mexican Train. Mexican Train felt like some kind of inherent slur, so we sought other names for it as we sorted rules, cheered wins, and lamented losses. A different and fun way to spin away Christmas hours.

Meanwhile, my sisters and I and Mom and I shot texts and videos back and forth. It’s the latest new holiday tradition.

Today’s music is “Come As You Are” by Nirvana. The Neurons fired it up in the morning mental music stream when I rolled out of bed and began fumbling through showering, shaving, and dressing. I don’t mind get up ‘early’ but I dislike being forced to forego my leisurely morning routine. As I progressed through my routine at a faster pace, The Neurons teased, “Just go as you are.” Hence, the song’s presence in the MMMS.

Had a pleasant Christmas with my wife and friends. Barely any coffee consumed. I think peace and grace peeked in on us. Hope peace and grace dropped in on you, too, however briefly it might have been, whether this is a holiday you celebrate or just another day on the calendar. Cheers

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Thirstdaz Theme Music

Sunshine was beaming in, trying to move the needle on this Thirstdaz. Clouds dropped in, muting the sunshine, dousing us with an instant chill. 39 F around my house, the thermometer hopes to see the low fifties today. It’s December 4, 2025. After a mildly wet few months, we’ve suddenly gone cold and dry. Feels like winter out there on many morns.

A friend’s spouse passed away. Most of is learned of it last night. He’d been on hospice for eighteen months, and she carried so much of the caring and the worrying during that long goodbye. Now that he’s gone, she seems ready to step back into her own life again. I only met him a few times, briefly, but always liked his presence. The old photos of him — long dark hair, guitar in hand somewhere in Texas — suggest a version of him I wish I’d known. Wherever he’s headed now, I hope the road is kind. Moments like this tend to shift a group’s energy; the news seemed to quiet all of us, each in our own way. That’s the thing about a death: it sends you off in unexpected directions. Even had me thinking about a novel titled News of a Death.

In honor of Steve Cropper, I’m going with a song that features him. He was one of those musicians and songwriters who helped build my appreciation of popular music and where it can take us by his many contributions. Here’s the Blues Brothers on SNL playing “Soul Man”. And there is grinning Steve Cropper, having fun, playing the guitar, part of the scene.

Occurred to me after posting something about Trump and the records he’s setting, I overlooked his new record of giving pardons. No firm proof has been established but there are allegations and accusations that Delusive Donny is selling pardons. He certainly favors the wealthy, no matter the crime that won them conviction. Nothing like the chief enforcer of the nation’s law and order to undermine and break the system again and again and again and again and again…

My wife also shared a piece with me where some on the right are applauding Trump’s naps. They claim they think it’s smart of him. Yes, we laughed our rear ends off at their deep efforts to spin Trump’s shortcomings, the very same shortcomings for which they previously denigrated President Joe Biden.

Coffee has been poured into the system. Ready to make like a flea and jump. Hope peace and grace makes their way into your day. Cheers

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Twozdaz Wandering Thoughts

I thought EB was in love with me. She’s a very sweet small dog with wavy caramel and white fur. Her people say, “She’s a bit of every cattle dog you can think of.” I thought EB was in love with me because of the way she was staring up at me.

Her person said from beside me in the coffee shop, “I’m sorry, she has a staring problem.”

I laughed that off. What soon became apparent was that EB loves attention and people love to bestow it on her. Every other person going by stopped to pay an EB fee, loving on the small, sweet pup.

Then Sugar entered. Sugar is a ‘service dog’. Says so on her vest. She’s a coffee shop regular. The staff knows her and spoils her with treats.

Sugar and EB met nose to nose, tails going with enough propellor motion that take-off seemed imminent. After permitted to converse a bit, Sugar was led across the room with her people where she rested by a table.

Didn’t end there. Sugar and EB eyed one another across the floor with a quiet wistfulness, like teenagers longing to know one another. “Why are they keeping us apart?” their eyes asked.

Both eventually gave up, settling down to sleep under tables, part of the brisk and lively coffee shop scene.

Guess it was just another case of puppy love.

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Wenzda’s Theme Music

It’s days of sunshine for us here on the coast. That’s our river view from our room in Old Town Florence. Only 58 F, a sea breeze keeps the heat load down. But the view was almost forever. S’posed to be better tomorrow, as clear and sunny as today but with a high of 66 F.

Reminder: this is Wenzda, April 30, 2025. A new month lands on us tomorrow.

Today’s morning mental music stream is technically an afternoon offering. I was out somewhere today. ‘Up’ in Yachats because it’s north of here. At a park, looking out at the sunny Pacific. I heard a woman tell her child, “Stay in the middle.” That triggered a collision among The Neurons. From the pileup came a song by Ambrosia, “How Much I Feel”, from 1978. That’s all because there’s a line from the song: “So you try, try to stay in the middle.” The Neurons just stacked from there. Not really my style of song. I was surprised when my rocker buddy, Randy, used to go into that thinking and singing to self zone whenever this song came on. He enjoyed Boston and Van Halen. This song, however, had been part of his life with his wife before their divorced. It always forced another time on his present when it played.

Randy passed away two decades ago. Before Trump’s arrival on the political thing. Randy never liked Democrats. Despised Bill Clinton. Watched a lot of Fox News. I’m afraid he would have been a MAGA. So, in reflection, it’s probably best he passed away before this political era got its hooks into him.

Coffee has been consumed. And pastries. Lunch, etc. Hope your day is a great new page in another chapter of your existence. Here we go. Cheers

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