Tag: grief

Wednesday’s Wandering Political Thoughts

A list of posts and columns have helped me crystalize thinking about the current Trump Administration, ICE, and Minnesota evennts.

As with many Americans, I’m grieving Alex Pretti’s death. ICE agents shot him to death, and video evidence contradicts Homeland Security’s claims that agents were defending themselves.

One, I’m for standing up for our rights, and fully support the freedom to assemble, protest, and demonstrate.

I’m less enthusiastic about the 2nd Amendment and gun violence in the United States. However, Alex Pretti’s death wasn’t due to him having a gun. Pretti had a gun, but obeyed the rules and laws 2nd Amendment advocates have established in the last fifty years.

Secondly, the Trump Administration are tangling themselves up trying to create space between the Kyle Rittenhouse and the Alex Pretti situations. Rittenhouse, a teenager, illegally carried a firearm across state lines to a protest and shot three people in 2020, killing two. This was deemed justified.

Alex Pretti had a legally procured handgun, which he didn’t draw. ICE agents beat him on the ground and then shot Pretti, a nurse. Some witnesses reported that Pretti was shot ten times.

Paul Krugman takes up the arguments in “Was This a Murder Too Far?“ He notes that in the first ICE killing in Minneapolis, the MAGA faithful closed ranks and blamed the victim.

When Good was killed on January 7th, the Trump administration circled the wagons, insisting that Jonathan Ross, the ICE agent who shot her, was defending himself as she tried to run him down. A close look at the videos showed that this was a lie: Ross leaned into the car to shoot her at close range through the windshield, not something you would do if you thought a car was about to run you over. He then shot her twice more through the side window as the car rolled by in front of him, one of those shots being fatal.

But the MAGA faithful closed ranks, echoing the party line that she was a militant terrorist, albeit one with a dog in the back of the car, who smiled and said soothing words to her killer. Per usual, business remained silent as Good’s character was slandered. And so it looked as if the Trumpists would just bull through with impunity as they had many times before.

Krugman contrasts Good’s death with what happened when ICE shot and killed Alex Pretti, a legally armed.

Media coverage has been much clearer than the coverage after Good’s death. As I was writing this, the Wall Street Journal headline read “Videos Contradict U.S. Account of Minneapolis Shooting”. After some initial equivocation, the New York Times is calling out administration lies and featuring a chilling moment-by-moment analysis of videos showing what really happened.

Big corporations based in Minnesota, after staying completely silent, have finally said something, even if it’s just an anodyne call for “de-escalation of tensions.”

Centrist Democrats, who have spent weeks trying to ignore Minneapolis so they could talk about the price of eggs, are finally taking a stand and appear ready to vote against another round of DHS funding. And several Republicans are now speaking out.

The NRA and other gun groups are now calling for a full investigation of Pretti’s murder, angry that the DHS justifies the execution of Pretti because he was, entirely legally, in possession of a gun. Even Fox News’ s Maria Bartiromo, a tireless Trump cheerleader, sounded patently skeptical when questioning Kash Patel about DHS’s outlandish claims.

ICE remains in Minnesota. Several changes have taken place. The two agents who killed Alex Pretti are on leave. Border Patrol commander Gregory Bovino, a visible presence in Minnesota, left for California.

I keep wondering, what will happen next? In Comment on This: Trump will Steal Election 2026, The Psy of Life posted a suggestion Trump might steal the 2026 midterms.

Trump has joked about not having elections in 2026. Jokes are Trump’s means of putting something out there to see who reacts. Trump also demonstrates no interest in states’ rights, the Constitution, laws, or checks and balances, except as props when he needs a word salad to rationalize events.

Mary Trump reminds us who Trump is in a Substack post, “The Tipping Point”. (Kudos to Nan for making me aware of it.)

When called to serve in Vietnam, he deferred five times. He and his father engaged in racist rental practices so egregious that they were sued by Richard Nixon’s DOJ in 1973. His businesses declared bankruptcy six times between 1991 and 2009. During the 2016 presidential campaign, he disparaged military officers who died while serving their country; mocked a disabled reporter; and insinuated that Sen. John McCain, a legitimate war hero, was a coward. In the Hollywood Access tape, he admitted to sexually harassing women. In 2023, a jury of his peers found him liable for defaming and sexually abusing E. Jean Carroll. A year later, another jury found that he had “acted in malice when he denied Carroll’s allegations” and awarded her $83.3 million. That same year, he was found guilty on 34 counts of falsifying business records (also by a jury of his peers) and his company was ordered to pay $450 million in damages.

Moving forward, we need to keep in mind what Trump did in business and life before.

Like, what’s information the Epstein Files reveals about Trump that he doesn’t want us to know?

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Mundaz Theme Music

Munda, January 5, 2026. Fog imposes a grey, wet-looking wall beyond the houses and trees across the street. 37 F is shown on the thermometer and forecasts call for rain and snow, with a ceiling of 38 F forecast. Looks like winter is finally taking an interest in Ashlandia.

I will note that a friend in Alaska was raving about her weather, displaying a thermometer that said it was -2 degrees F. That was the high. She insisted that she prefers it when it stays cold and frozen. According to her, the cycle of warming, melting, and re-freezing is much worse than a steady, consistent freeze. I’ll take her word on that.

My wife and I have been concerned about weather. Videos of king waves slashing the coast and heavy rains and flooding up north and down south worry us. People have been enduring so much foul weather. We’ve been spared but watching the situation, it feels like the storms were slowly pinching in around us. My conspiratorial mind, where I go to harvest ideas, whispers, maybe somebody is controlling the weather.

As we slink into 2026’s first Munda, we’re coping with news that another friend suddenly passed from cancer. More details aren’t yet known. Like Steve, who passed last year, this was another individual we saw at the lake with friends last summer. He seemed fine at the time and didn’t mention any health issues. Just another shock to the system in a cascade of shocks.

As I perused news and texted Mom and Dad’s widow about matters, I told myself to try to be more upbeat and optimistic this week. Weather and the general news tone levels a heavy burden, though.

Considering the weather, I find myself reflecting about Dad more. Born in the 1930s, Dad lived and worked in multiple states and every region. Dad was born in Pennsylvania. Mom was from Iowa, and he met her in either Minnesota or Nebraska.

After my parents married, they lived in Virginia, Texas, and California. He and I lived in West Virginia and Ohio. He was also stationed in the south and in New York and Indiana. Then he moved to Texas and met his third wife, and stayed in Texas.

A poker and pool fan, Dad enjoyed renting an RV and driving from San Antonio in Texas to Laughlin, Reno, and Las Vegas, Nevada. He also rented an RV to visit his other son in Utah. Then the RV was turned east and Dad visited his brother in Kentucky. The next leg was a drive to Georgia so Dad could visit his daughter and grand- and great-grandchildren.

Dad’s wife didn’t go with him. She’d fly to each place and return home! Oh, it’s all so funny to me, and remembering lifts my spirits.

While trying to adjust my mood today, The Neuron suggested a song called “Old Time Rock and Roll”. Bob Seger recorded and released it in 1978. Nothing particularly called me specifically from the lyrics. I appreciate the song’s beat and energy. It’s a good rhythm in the morning music mental stream to kickstart my energy. I’ll also drink some coffee, which will also help.

Hope your day is brighter and warmer than mine. May peace and grace lift your spirits and give us all a shot of optimism. Cheers

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Wenzdaz Theme Music

It’s cold and cloudy in Ashland this morning. Our temperature went to 34 F about 8 PM last night. It’s still there. Stagnant air rules us today, Wenzda, December 31, 2025. Tepid sunshine squirms in past the clouds. With this sun and air combination, we expect high temperatures in the low 40s today.

Dad passed this morning in San Antonio, Texas. He was comfortable, as far as we know, and passed in his sleep, 92 years old, a veteran of Korea and Vietnam.

I received a text from Dad’s wife about his state yesterday afternoon. She said that he was in the last stages. I thanked her and then wrote a few texts to tell others. Afterward, I left my home office. As I did, I basically told Dad, goodbye, good luck, thanks, and I love you.

When I entered the adjacent room, a huge swirl of Dad energy swept around me. I was alone. Suddenly the room felt brighter and warmer. I sincerely and honestly felt Dad was with me.

It lasted about fifteen seconds and then left. I wondered if Dad had died but there weren’t any messages telling me of his death. I just smiled and accepted. Maybe as mystical and out there as it seems, my father and I made another connection just to say hello and goodbye one more time.

The hard part of Dad’s passing is done — getting the news and telling others, then accepting it. I’ll think and grieve for years, embedding his memory and life into my pantheon of existence.

The Neurons are playing “Flowers” by Miley Cyrus in the morning mental music stream. They made an interesting choice. I don’t understand it any better than I understand some of the dreams I had last night. That’s life.

I hope peace and grace come by your place and give you a hug. May the days ahead be gentle with you. Cheers

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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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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.

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The Usual Places

The usual places are empty

Our air is still

No soft noises are heard

None are there for a treat or a pill.

Toys are collected and put away

Wondering if they’ll be needed on another day.

Food bowls are cleaned, beds are washed,

Unopened food is given away,

The others are tossed.

Quiet shadows every motion and move

You think of memories

Which help and soothe.

But the faces remain, always there

In the empty space, an empty chair.

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Mom Updates

First, my oral surgery this morning went super. I’m recovering without issues.

I don’t know what’s going on with Dad in Texas. They’ve gone silent. I’ve requested updates.

Now, to Mom. After being found constipated and in intense pain, Mom spent the night in a hospital. Now, she’s much better, back at home, and out of pain. But, his situation isn’t sustainable.

The family of Mom’s boyfriend agree. One of them has found an apartment for them. But will Frank agree? Will he move? Someone needs to have a deep heart-to-heart with him, making him see the light, and make it happen.

As with so many things in life, easier said than done. What’s even sadder is that we have multiple couples in this area who are on the verge of becoming Frank and Mom. They’ve set themselves up to move but they’re holding off, holding off, holding off. For what, a crises? Well, in a sense, yes. Change is challnging. They’re not ‘motivated’ to move…yet. But too many people aren’t willing to see for themselves how their situation is getting worse. They convince themselves that they’ll be okay and don’t have to move, so long as they get through the latest. But the latest gets worse. It’s not a one-time event; it’s part of a deepening trend, and they won’t see it. They refuse to see it, to their detriment.

And I do understand this. Making the logical, intelligent decision to change what’s going on is one thing. But following through with the emotional component and then the physical component are often something else altogether. And you know that these people, with their life experiences and age ehind them, often do understand this. They’ve seen others go through it; that’s why they did their planning.

It’s in the execution where they fail. And again, that’s where so many of us come up short, isn’t it?

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Mom Updates

I sent Mom a food package. It’s not stuff I make. Let’s not be rude. I’ve ordered from Omaha Steaks, as once before. She lost power for days in May’s end, thanks to a windsorm. Mom always kept their box freezer and two refrigerators stocked enough to supply exploring parties coming by who need replenishing. With the power gone, so are her provisions. So I sent a small package of prepared food.

She and her boyfriend are often oblivious about what’s going on directly outside of the house. One of the standard operating rules has become, if you send a package, let Mom know when it’s delivered so someone will go out and bring it in.

Her package arrived today. I notified her via a text. I received no response back and haven’t had responses to any of the last three texts. I reach out to my sisters. Mom lives in Penn Hills, just outside of Pittsburgh, PA. The sisters live within twenty minutes of her. I explain my side and ask for a Momrep. Like me, none have heard from her. Youngest sister reaches out.

Mom responds: “I haven’t been out of bed today. I don’t feel well and I have my legs hurt so bad when I try to move. Frank can’t tae care of me. He gets too dizzy. I need dry diapers right now so it’s terrible.”

I read this and grit my teeth. Mom is 89. Frank, her live-in boyfriend, is 95. We’ve been trying to get them into assisted living for years. They won’t go. Nor will they accept assistance like nurses and caregivers. Now it’s a mess and another crises. The two of them are now averaging three crises a year. This is just June and this is already the third one fo 2025.

One sister heads over there. She reports, “Mom is on the edge of her bed getting a pad made up in her brief. Her gown is wet. She’s changing it now.”

We’re on a group text. Questions are raised and answered. “Yes, she’s eaten today but didn’t take any pain pills until now. I’m cleaning her up and having her taken to the hospital.”

We’re all relieved to hear that. They can take care of her in the hospital. We’ll sleep a little easier but it’s just one more moment in a wearying, debilitating series.

Getting old isn’t fun. Taking care of someone getting old isn’t either. Especially when you’re far away and there’s not much you can do.

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Munda’s Wandering Thoughts

I’m just a Venn diagram. I’m at a point where massive disappointment in my nation fills me. I didn’t expect the GOP to fight Trump. It saddens me that I’m right. They just rolled over and became the Grand Ol’ Trump Party.

Pisses me off that the Trump Regime thumbs its nose at the law, treating elements like due process as something beneath them. Unfortunately, I predicted this when Trump was campaigning in 2024. So did many others. They laughed at us. But Trump said he would be a dictator on day one. We knew that wasn’t a joke.

Politically, I’m angry, disgusted, disappointed, and a whole dark rainbow of other negative energies about what’s going on from bullshit tariffs to the damaged economy to the ridiculous and unlawful gutting of the Federal government to — well, fill in the blank.

But it’s a sunny and warm spring day. Promise is in the air. I’m getting ready for beer with friends on Wednesday. They’re intelligent, good friends. I’m looking forward to seeing them. Preparing for a secular Easter brunch with friends on Sunday. That’ll have bittersweet toppings drizzled over it. Some of the regulars are gone. Others are in hospice.

Writing is fun and full of promise. That puts me in a very positive frame. A novel draft is finished, and so many other novels are lined up, eager to be written. But will that finished draft hold up in the next round of editing and revision? Then there’s the publishing game. That closes the damper on my enthusiasm.

Mom texts me and reminds me that she wants to be cremated. Do what we will with the ashes. Play Glenn Miller at her service. Hold it in the garden. She’s lived almost nine decades but she endures hourly pain and discomfort. Her quality of life can be categorized as miserable.

Down to one cat, my cativities are truncated from what they once were. An air of depression clouds that aspect of life.

Financially, my wife and I are okay. Viewing my health, I can be better or worse. Got all my limbs. They function well. I endure little regular pain on a daily basis. I’m not as strong nor limber as I used to be, and my hair is trekking away from my forehead. Memory still works for most of the time on most of the days.

My wife’s health is not as good. She searches for words more often and doesn’t find them. She’s developed a new habit of forgetting to turn things on or off. She’s bitter and angry with the world, especially with Trump, and the Roberts Court. She’s furious and anxious about women’s rights. Shoulder and back pain are building up their frequent flier miles with her.

So, I am here. In the middle of it all, happy and sad. Worried and hopeful. Bitter and angry. Joyful and loving. Loved and frustrated. I read of far worse situations for people. Like those in Gaza. Ukraine. Immigrants hunting a better existence for themselves and those they love. War and disaster refugees trying to find a home. People working hard and struggling harder. Sleeping in cars and hanging on for meals and help. Women and people of color hiding, living in fear, beaten and killed for who they are. People with a gender that doesn’t fall cleanly into male or female dismissed as less than equal, unaccepted by narrow-minded bigots. People starving to death as billionaires pile up more money and more property, self-pleasuring themselves with mindless greed.

We seem so far away from Star Trek‘s ideals and so much closer to Mad Max, Solyent Green, and The Handmaid’s Tale.

Life is one hell of a spectrum.

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