Tag: Home

Mundaz Theme Music

Home is underfoot again. All is as expected and hoped for upon return. Nobody missing, nuttin’ burned down, etc.

Going from the Oregon’s coast 62 F offering to 100 F at home demanded adjustments. From the booming waves crashing like the soft thud of small, distant mortar shelling to here and now’s thundering mutter and sullen air invited mental wow and gosh darn reactions. I’m a little down on my return for a myriad of private reason, mostly induced by churn about life, changes, and aging. I acknowledge my life has been decent and some carry way heavier loads. That’s all logic, though. This is emotional afterbirth. They might come from the same slice of existence but they’re born and live differently.

For the record, today is Munda, August 25, 2025. A friend just announced her husband has been diagnosed with liver, brain, and lung cancer. Triple yikes. Two of the other four with me on vacay battle cancer. My wife battles her autoimmune disease. She aches and fights against being cold. We slept with the heat on at 70 F on the coast. Weirdly, despite my health issues, I seemed to be the healthiest and most energetic of the vacationing sextet.

My sista sent photos of Mom’s new addition. Completion comes soon. Other changes are being contemplated, like shifting the tub out of the first-floor bathroom and putting the washer and dryer in there. It make sense although it doesn’t seem like it overlooks any real long-term needs, problems, and plans. Her beau has lost another five, and now weighs 145 pounds, down by forty pounds. The prognosis for him is dimming.

I see the connections emergin’: like others, I’m losing friends and relatives at a turbulent rate.

Doesn’t help that we returned to news stories that basically paint Trump as convinced that he can do what he wants, because he’s prez. Double standards help stoke my GRRRRRRRR reflex. Like, he’s firing someone (Lisa Cook) because of mortgage fraud allegations? Aren’t there several books about Trump and his financial fairyland tales?

He lies about every effing matter and isn’t subtle. More GRRRRRRing arises from so many GOPers and MAGAteers bending over with glee as the nation they profess to love is destroyed from within.

Example of Trump lies: he claims states and cities led by Democrats are bastions of violent crime and lies that violent crimes don’t exist in ‘red states/cities’ — those led by Republicans — is low or non-existent. Facts, evidence, and history displays the truth.

Today, Der Neurons introduced “Hometown Glory” by Adele. This was a byproduct of both thinking about going home to Ashlandia but also reflecting on things happening ‘back home’ where Mom lives. Where Mom lives always seems like home.

Hope your day was filled with grace and peace. We’re unpacked. The laundry is done. Dinner is eaten. A long day, which was also a short one, is over. That’s the nature of vacation dayz. Cheers

2

It’s Not DIY Without Some WTF

I took on an easy DIY project yesterday. This was a new foyer light.

The new foyer light.

This was my wife’s idea. I thought the old one was fine. We’d installed it shortly after moving in back in 2005. It worked, putting out light and everything. Click on, click off.

My wife said, “We need to update our lights. It’ll make the house look newer.”

Sure, I thought with a mental shrug. I had no reason to buy a new light but had no real reason to oppose buying a new light. They don’t cost much, and the old one will be donated to Habitats for Humanity and re-used.

We went on a light search together, an outing I found tedious and boring. I found this light and offered it as a possibility. “Let me think about it,” she answered, walking away. A little while later found her back at the light. We discussed its pros and cons.

“It’s black,” I said. “With seeded glass.” She’d specified those things. That’s what attracted me to it. I’m a hunter; she established those parameters and that’s what I sought.

“It’s flush mounted,” she said. “Can you install it?”

“Yes.” I was surprised she asked. I’m a budgeteer DIY. There’s little that I don’t think I can do, given time, tools, and video instructions. But the reality is, I’ve installed over a dozen ceiling lights in my life. The first was in Germany, where I shocked myself in an episode which will only die in memory when I pass away. I’ve been a lot more respectful of electricity after that.

So, she was out yesterday — Girl’s Night at the Movies, done at 1 PM because none of them want to drive at night. The feature was Earth Girls Are Easy. With her out, I pursued the new install. Half an hour, I figured.

I’m such a stupid optimist.

After turning off the power to the light (see, lesson learned), I pulled out the ladder and removed the old light with relative ease. So far, so good. But I needed to remove the installation plate as well; the new light and old plate did not match up. No big thing, right? Just two screws.

Here’s where WTF entered the project.

I could not get one screw to turn. At friggin’ all. Different screwdrivers were tried. WTF, over? I mean, I screwed it in. I should be able to screw it back out.

By now, my body was running with enough sweat to fill a bathtub. Repositioning the ladder a few times, I positioned myself to apply max torque. I realized that part of my issue was that the mounting plate was not perfectly aligned with the screw, and that extra pressure was hampering my efforts. So, I wedged that thing around just a little. With the slowness of a MAGAt realizing that Trump lied to them, the screw finally began turning. Of course, it’s a two-inch long screw, a bolt, really. I finally got it out, though.

The rest was as easy as eating pizza. I was just finishing as my wife arrived home.

“How’d it go?” she asked.

“No sweat,” I answered.

We agreed, it looks better than the old one. The photo doesn’t do it justice. It’s a lousy camera phone’s lousy photo. But the change was startling. The other light hung down about half a foot more, so it had more of a ‘presence’. The change to this light opened up the space.

I told her all that. She agreed.

“Now we just have to do the breakfast bar and dining room chandelier,” she said.

I’d installed them. Sure, that was twenty years ago, but I nodded.

“No sweat.”

5

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

A Chaotic Mom Dream

Not surprising, given my conflicting attitudes about Mom, a chaotic dream had her front and center. My family was also there; not just my real life extended family. My dream added a few extras.

We were at some huge get together. This was at Mom’s place. It was a place I’ve never seen in real life. Ramshackled, part park and house, the boundaries between inside and out were nebulous and ever-changing. So were the rooms. I kept getting a little lost but then recovering and figuring out where I was.

Meanwhile, my relatives were a chaotic bunch. A person who dislikes chaos as much as cats dislike loud noises, I took charge and imposed order, telling each what they should do. I couched it in a way that it sounded like advice. Agreeing to my suggestions, they packed food, piled into cars, and left.

Ah, the silence was comfortable. Then Mom hurried in. Loose piles of money had been on one table. I remembered seeing it, I agreed. It was all gone, Mom said, frantic. She thought someone broke in and stole it.

I challenged that. She didn’t see anyone break in. No evidence of a break in was there. It was possible that the family took the money. Wasn’t that why the money was there? Mom bickered with me about it a bit, changing the history and the reason the money was there. I grew weary of it as I realized that nothing I said or did would appease her. Suggesting she call the other family members and talk to them, I wandered off.

Then came the dream’s climax. I sat down and picked at my little toe’s toe nail. This would be toe number five. The small toe. I picked at the nail; it felt like the nail was loose. Like something was under it. Unable to help myself, I conducted some prying with a finger nail.

My little toe’s top lifted off. Like the top quarter inch.

It was a bloodless event. Beneath it was another small toe nail. My toe was intact, just stubbier. To cap matters off, I did the same thing with the other toe.

Then I tossed the two toe tips aside, amusing myself with how Mom would react when she saw them, chuckling to myself about what my wife would say about my new truncated toes. I was dubious she would notice.

Dream end.

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Ambitious? Just Back Off

Daily writing prompt
Describe the most ambitious DIY project you’ve ever taken on.
View all responses

When it comes to DIY, ‘ambitious’ isn’t in my vocabulary. Honestly, I keep it simple.

I miss the old days, when part of my DIY routines were working on the car. Changing oil, cleaning or replacing the spark plugs, setting the ignition timing, rotating the tires, installing new brakes, bleeding that system, replacing the radiator coolant, etc. Those were fun and rewarding DIY projects. Then, though, cars became complicated. Engine bays became packed so tightly that reaching spark plugs was an ordeal. Getting to the oil filter was a nightmare. I’m reduced to installing a new battery in the car and topping off the windshield wiper fluid.

Around the house, I’ve done multiple small jobs. Replaced the furnace’s control board. Installed new thermostat. Replaced the filters, installed capacitators on the air conditioning, along with some other pieces on it. I’ve installed new light fixtures in various rooms, took the dishwasher apart and fixed it, and did troubleshooting on the microwave, replacing fuses and different parts. Likewise, I’ve done some plumbing work but I keep it simple. I’ve painted all the rooms except two, installed a blower in the gas fireplace, and do all my yard work. Yes, I’ve installed some shelving and assembled furniture.

On my computers, I’ve swapped out hard drives, processors, fans, video cards, and power supplies, and added or changed memory. In many ways, I think of them as the modern equivalent of working on cars back when cars had mechanical systems. I’ve installed and replaced routers and modems, replaced keyboards, added different streaming devices and printers, and did basic troubleshooting on software and security, uninstalling, reinstalling things as necessary, and took apart the keyboards and cleaned them.

Many of these things are driven by being cheap. I don’t want to pay others for what I think I might be able to fix. I’m also driven to understand these things more. I want to know how they work, how the parts interact, etc. These systems are mature and demonstrate ingenious engineering solutions. Finding how they work amazes me, and the Internet is a useful tool for that purpose. Then, to restore them when they’ve died is such a validating process.

That validation process is a big component. In a complex world, where so much seems beyond our control, it’s satisfying to take something broken apart, and make it work again. Just keep it simple.

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More DIY Braggin’

Yes, I have two more DIY successes to brag about. Hope you’ll indulge me in this. I celebrate the little victories because there just ain’t that many big ones. Don’t wanna dwell any more on that.

First one was actually a DIY for friends. They have a Roku television. Bought it about eight years ago for their bedroom. Asked me to set it up for them. Which I did.

Said TV started malfunctioning a few weeks ago, showing them a ‘No Signal!’ error message on startup. Naturally, they called Spectrum because Spectrum is their Internet/Phone/Cable provider. Spectrum sent out a tech. That tech replaced all the Spectrum pieces. That didn’t resolve the issue.

Another Spectrum tech was sent in and basically did the same. Didn’t fix the problem.

Third Spectrum tech was deployed. This one told them it was their television. “You bought a cheap one,” he claimed. “And it’s failing.” He couldn’t fix the problem but suggested that they could hire him on the side and he could probably fix it then. He also complained that techs had to keep coming out to fix their television when they had other issues to address.

What wonderful customer service!

So, I received word through my wife, would I mind coming out and taking a look?

Well, I was dubious. If the pros couldn’t fix it, what could I do? But I went. I studied the cables. The Spectrum setup didn’t make sense to me. So, being me, I just changed them to what I thought would work.

And it did.

I suspect that Spectrum actually had a failing piece, which they replaced, but then screwed up the connections. That’s my theory and I’m stickin’ to it.

Second DIY success came yesterday. I’m a little embarassed about it even as I’m bragging. See, we didn’t have a blower in our gas fireplace. I’d looked at it before but…well, it was a different area for me. I didn’t have experience with gas fireplaces and blowers. I let myself be intimidated.

Beginning of January, I basically declared, screw this, I’m not acceptin’ that no more. I researched and studied and measured and ordered. The Infinity blower kit arrived yesterday. Including opening the box, reading the instructions, familiarizing myself with the pieces, and disassembling some of the Heatilator gas fireplace for access, the installation job to put in the blower and put the furnace back together took less than fifteen minutes. Full credit for that goes to the involved manufacturers. Everything was set up for a blower to be installed, and the blower manufacturer made it super easy as well, providing absolutely everything needed. So while I’m crowing about my victory, I’m eating crow that it took me so long to do such a simple thing.

Hopefully, my ‘tale of success’ will encourage others.

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Saturday’s Theme Music

Mood: homenormalized

Today is Saturday, August 24, 2024. It’s a chilly 54 F this morning. I turn on the fireplace and open the blinds. Light rain peppers the greenery with some needed moisture. Sunshine emerges and steam begins rising. Today’s high will be an un-summery 70 F.

We’re back in Ashlandia, where the worries are palpable and the angst is regular. A second well-established restaurant is shutting down after years of business. This is a trend we don’t like.

Ashlandia is dependent on tourism. Drought, pandemic, fires, smoke, and economics have all tested our tourism. Each have contributed to a point where the ‘you are here’ dot is tiny and prickly. We’re home to the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. It’s our major industry, abetting revenue brought in by being an outdoor adventure location for fishing, rafting, and skiing (Mt. Ashland) and what Southern Oregon University contributes. Under the impact of those big five factors of pandemic, etc., we’ve been in a slow downward spiral.

We’d already lost the seasonal business called the Water Street Cafe. It’d been a longtime draw but the owner passed and the survivors couldn’t make it work. It’s now a crepe place, and we have high hopes for that.

Last week, the Black Sheep Restaurant announced they’re shutting down. Now Cucina Biazzi is closing. We’re already lost many book stores like the Book Wagon, and coffee shops like The Beanery and Cafe Boulevard. In their place, we’re gaining used clothing stores, marijuana dispenseries, and tattoo parlors. This are not major draws when every other town is offering more of the same.

Being back home, I miss stepping out of the Waldport vacation house and into the seaside environment. I enjoyed going out there each morning and tasting the breeze, studying the tides’ levels, and gathering in sunshine and clouds. I do the same thing here, but it’s not the same with the ocean missing.

I begin another theme for the coming week today. The theme now is songs with time in their titles. Lots come to mind. The time theme came out of being stuck in traffic yesterday as an accident was cleared away. The first song offering from The Neurons is “Time Won’t Let Me” by The Outsiders from 1965. The fast-paced rocking roller is filling my morning mental music stream (Trademark delayed) like I was back in a neighbor’s Wilkinsburg basement listening to it on a 45 record. Actually, I think my memories have better fidelity than that little record player in use. I would’ve been about ten at that time.

Stay positive, be strong, and Vote Blue. Coffee has made itself comfortable in me. Time for the music. Cheers

0

A White House Dream

I’ve always dreamed of houses, though I think those sort of dreams have tapered off in the last ten years. I had one again last night, though.

And it was confusing. A wealthy family was staying in this large and luxurious white house. My wife was with me, and we were young, and also staying there.

The house was for sale. It featured many layers set up in a cubist manner with steps connecting the square or rectangular rooms and halls. Exhibiting something of a mobious to the design (yes, kind of like M.C. Escher art), I found I could be in one end in a bedroom (there were many en suite bedrooms) and step one way and be on another level, in another room, on the building’s other end. Resolving to understand how it worked, I went about the house until I thought I’d gone through every room and knew my way around, and then started taking my wife around to show her.

Although the house was huge and way too large for us, I liked several of the rooms and rhetorically discussed with her which I liked. I speculated, too, on which room I would use as an office to write. Two really attracted me. I felt that both were too large. One had a bathroom and I thought that would be good to have. But because of the house’s design, people would sometimes need to walk through that room to reach other parts. Thinking that a disadvantage, I returned to the other room.

While this was happening, it was announced that the house had been sold. We wondered who bought it. The family staying there were’t the owners. We rarely encountered the parents, usually spying them walking through the house from a distance, but we frequently ran into the children. Early teenagers, they were rambunctious, mindless, wasteful, and destructive.

Going back to the other room that could be my office, my wife and I got in bed. The bed was just a mattress on legs, without head or foot boards, and there was no other furniture. I spooned her, pulled thick blankets up to our necks, and napped.

Some hubbub in another room woke us, pulling our attention. I went to see what was going on. Things had been damaged in another room. To be blunt, it was wrecked. I felt certain it was one of the male teenagers, because I’d seen him in that area with some of the damaged furniture, glassware, etc. So I told them what I’d seen before. He denied it but under questioning from his parents, with me pointing out some things, he confessed to what he did. As I walked away from this, I took more notice of that room. Its floor was white. I discovered one end had a raised circular dias, also white, and decided the room was set up as a party room, and that was a place where a small band could play. The room had a cutout running the length of a long wall and I speculated that the band could be playing on that platform or dias and be heard and seen from other rooms.

The dream ended with someone presenting me with a new car, a white Ferarri. Brand new, I admired the car but I dislike white cars. Thinking it would be rude to turn it down, I accepted the car. The last of the dream showed me getting into the car.

What intrigued me most about the dream when I awoke and thought about it was it similarity to a house I often dreamed of decades again. A recurring dream, I had a white house in a small town. When I explored that white dream house, I would discover doors to rooms and sections which I didn’t know I had. Sometimes other families would be living in those sections, leaving me confused about whether I owned it. But I also found myself in that house going to the house’s lowest realm, turning a corner, stepping through the door, and finding me back on the top, on the other end, just as in last night’s dream.

The other thing about both dreams is that these white houses were on the coast, looking out over blue ocean.

5

Monday’s Theme Music

Mood: lethargic

Today is Monday, September 18, 2023. We awoke to light fog and mist and an overcast sky. It’s transitioned to broad sunlight cut by dark swirling clouds. Temps were hanging in the low 60s but working its way up to 70 F. We’re here for two more nights, and we’re ready to head home and our normal life. Being away from floofs, routines, and habits is an energy drain.

We’re both tired, in our third hotel in six days. This one didn’t work out as well as the other two. The first was a new, modern Holiday Inn Express. They’ve become my hotel of choice in the last ten years. Second was a Hyatt House which had was heavily renovated and modernized, and we had a mini-suite. Third — current place — is a Comfort Suites which is in the throes of a long term renovation, and, sister, that renovation is needed. It’s quite a shock after the first two hotels. Breakfast in all three was fare made up of fake eggs, packaged pastries, instant oats, cereals, and breakfast meats and potatoes. Fortunately, we enjoyed the close proximit of several satisfying local eateries.

Where the hotel is located always affects our attitude toward it. In that regard, the Hyatt won. Located in Shadyside, we easily walked around to local places, encountering people who live in the area. Lot of kind, thoughtful, good-humored people were met while ordering or looking for directions. The Comfort comes in last; just out there on a busy road. So was the Holiday Inn Express, but more could be reached via car, quickly. None of the three establishments let us open the windows. We were sealed against the world. I totally dislike that. Love smelling the air and hearing the sounds.

Musically, The Neurons are pumping “The Power of Love” by Huey Lewis and the News into the morning mental music stream (Trademark haphazard). Why it? The Neurons weren’t sharing at all. No insights into where they were coming from or where they’re going. I’m just a helpless prisoner.

Stay pos, be strong, and keep moving it forward. Coffee has been consumed; time for the music. Cheers

0

The Break-In Dream

I began with my wife, in our home. This place was a townhome which reminded me of our RL HMB townhome where we lived 1999-2005, but with some odd differences.

I was in the living room because I was certain I’d heard a noise. I was investigating to see if someone had broken in. As I walked around, checking to see if anything was stolen, I realized the door to the garage was open. It wasn’t before.

I walked that way. My wife stormed out of the bedroom where she’d been sleeping. “Someone broke in,” she said. She went to the garage door and rushed down the steps.

I followed, overtaking her as we left the building. We were at its rear, all grasslands, with a few trees, bordering a river. My wife said that she didn’t see anyone and went into the house. I kept looking, picking up a large stick as a weapon, because I might need to protect myself.

I spotted two couples on the riverbank. Teenagers. I called to them. They ignored me. I headed their way. They moved off, careful to never look at me. This kept on for sometime before I gave up.

Darkness overtook the land. I was more than a mile from home. Rain was falling. I decided it would be easier to get to the street and follow it home.

I reached the street. A small brown dog was trying to cross it but was afraid of the traffic. It wasn’t much but I understood the dog’s fear. “Come on, I’ll help you,” I told it.

It came to my side. As we looked, it started across the lane. I saw a car’s yellow headlights coming toward us from the left. “No, not yet,” I said to the dog. “Come back.”

The dog did. We watched that car pass. There was a median strip. I told the dog, “Come on.”

The dog and I crossed to the strip. It stayed with me as we waited for traffic to pass and then went on.

I trotted along in the rain, the dog beside me. I saw no collar on him or tags, and talked to him, asking questions. As we crossed one street, he suddenly turned left and took off in a run. Going home, I guessed.

I turned right and crossed the street. I was home now. It was daylight. The rain had stopped, and I was dry.

I went into the house and armed myself with some hard plastic tubing. My wife was making dinner. I heard a noise from the garage and went to investigate.

A Filipino man was there. Seeing my plastic tubing, he became withdrawn and acted like he was leaving. I asked him, “Who are you? Why are you here?”

He said he had something to give me and held out a hand. I recognized a manuscript. “No, thank you,” I said. “You need to go.”

He took my hand and pressed the manuscript into it. I sighed. “You want this published?”

He nodded with eager smiles.

I repeated, “You need to leave. I’ll go with you and show you how to get this published.”

We went to his house. His family were waiting for his returned. They crowded back when I came in. Getting on his computer, I explained how to self-publish and the query process and how to submit to publishers and agents. He nodded, indicating that he understood.

I returned home. My wife asked where I’d been. Dinner was getting cold. Putting the tubing aside, I explained what had happened as I sat down to eat.

Dream end.

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