Tag: house

Thursday’s Theme Music — Little Things

Ashland, southern Oregon. Thursday, August 20, 2026.

Buckle up: supposed to be hot today, 100F. High small puffy clouds dot the blue sky. The sun feels like someone turned it up to eleven. Although it’s only 71, the ‘feels like’ is 85 F.

Spent time this morning on Watch Duty reviewing the state of wildfires in Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Nevada, and California. A depressing exercise.

Still waiting for Mom’s house to close. Gina, my sister who now oversee Mom’s finances, was complaining about how much Mom spent on Amazon on lipstick, diapers, clothes, shoe polish, and other things. Gina wanted me to tell Mom about how much money Gina thought Mom is wasting.

I said no. Not doing it. Bought Mom an Amazon gift card instead, to help her with these expenses. Mom doesn’t have much of a life these days, and now you’re pressing to nickel and dime her?

We’re into some deep WTF territory with Trump this week as he went on about flagpoles.

To be fair, his flagpole riff seemed a lot like his grass riff. He does love to declare himself an expert, knowing more than anyone, about many things.

Your Trump Quote of the Day:

Trump did pay $100K for these flagpoles last year. But then the servant of We the People could afford it, as he raked in $3B for his first year in office. 100K/3,000,000K = .003%

Trump is so generous, right? Especially since We the People paid about $100M for Trump’s golfing in 2025.

Trump’s gift of ‘most magnificent’ flagpoles and flags celebrated at the White House

I label the flagpoles another cheap installment of Operation Epic LOOK — SQUIRREL! Trump bloviates about flagpoles as gas prices climb again. Diesel prices have jumped 15 cents to $5.47 per gallon, which adds to the cost of transporting just about everything.

But do please tell us more about the shape of your flagpole, Donald Trump.

People should know Trump is saying these things and quit treating him like he’s stable or a genius. He’s a criminal, head of a criminal enterprise. They need to wake up to that but probably won’t until Trump steals them blind.

All these things — big and little — Trump does stack up into one large mess.

I ended up with “Little Things” by Bush in my morning mental music stream. Released in 1995, it was all about how little things add up to dwarf your sense of self and what is possible.

Sample Lyrics

The river is loaded, I’ve been there today
Took it some questions, she does me again
I’d die in your arms if you were dead too
Here comes a lie, we will always be true

Going up when coming down
Scratch away-way-way-way-way

It’s the little things that kill
Tearin’ at my brain again
Oh, the little things that kill
The little things that kill

Bigger you give, bigger you get
We’re boss at denial but best at forget
The cupboard is empty, we really need food
Summer is winter and you always knew

Going up when coming down
Scratch away-way-way-way-way

It’s the little things that kill
Tearin’ at my brains again
Oh, the little things that kill
Tearin’ at my brains again

Yeah, it’s the little things that kill. Trump — and more importantly, the masterminds behind him, Heritage Foundation and Project 2025 — knows this.

May you surmount the little things with peace and grace today and every day.

Cheers

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A Dream of Dad & Others

Last night’s dream featured three dead people: my friend, Randy; Dad; and my mother-in-law, Belle. It also featured a high school English teacher, and my father’s second wife. He was married three times, although he also loved with another woman for about ten years.

I was young. At the dream’s beginning, I’m up above, in a house, with others. Down below is a large green lawn with some green maples or oaks. Dad, stumbling drunk and very loud, was down there with his second wife by the trees. She was pregnant. Dad had two long rifles.

A man and woman were walking backwards across the grass, away from Dad. The man wore a straw hat. He also had two rifles.

Although I could hear them yelling, I couldn’t make out what they were saying. But they were having some kind of argument, and it was escalating. From what I saw, the man seemed to threatening to shoot Dad.

Turning, I found two weapons beside me. Picking up a sawed-off shotgun, I pointed it down at the man and called out.

He acknowledged something about, “Oh, now you have a shotgun in the fight.”

Another man and woman seemed to be approaching from the other side of the lawn to join that man and woman.

I realized the shotgun would be ineffective because of the range so I picked up the long rifle and aimed it at the man.

He moved back forward toward Dad and raised his rifle. Then he backed away again, turned and began walking away.

At that point, Dad threw his rifles into the air, hurling them away from the house.

The man left and Dad and his wife came in.

Dad could barely walk because he was so drunk. He went into a room where he said with a sloppy grin, “I’m going to lay down.” Then he passed out on his back on the floor.

Meanwhile, I had homework to do. I shifted to being in a classroom with my high school English teacher. She was explaining to us, a small class of students, what she wanted in our assignment.

The assignment excited me. I went home and worked on it on my computer. Then the file crashed, which upset me. I had two other assignments due but now didn’t have enough time to complete it all. Thinking about what to do, I concluded that I needed to tell the teacher that I couldn’t get it in on time and go from there.

I then went out to join the others. We were in a very large, well-lit house, brick, with many windows. All of us went to one small room. My mother-in-law (Belle) was in there. Something she said or that we saw satisfied us. We concluded, “That’s taken care of.”

Moving back into a hall, I said, “Now we need to figure out where we all sleep.”

Randy, my dead friend, began walking down the hall, talking with me. We were looking into the bedrooms. They were small, with a small bed, and no doors. I saw one and thought, I’ll sleep there, though I said nothing.

Randy led me into another small bedroom. “I can put someone in here,” he said. I noticed that there was hall attached. Saying, “What’s in there,” I went into the hall, which turned out to be a huge, well-lit bedroom. As I walked in, astounded, I saw an enormous room, with a huge king-sized bed, and two other, smaller beds.

I said, “People can sleep in here,” then I realized, oh, this is Belle’s room. If we put people in here, where will Belle sleep?

Dream end

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Crime & Plumbing Dream

The dream found me at home – not my real-life place – with my wife. I awoke to discover that she had hired people to fix the plumbing. Thick, dark dust filled the air from the work. Three men were going all through the house, looking at the pipes and changing things.

I was floored that my wife had apparently decided to do that without consulting me. “First that I’ve heard about it,” I huffed before going off.

Coming back later, the men were in another part of the house. The three were all older, with short hair, white skin, and wore coveralls. Weirdly, usually they stayed clustering, staring at the pipes and talking about what they were going to do.

I came across my wife in another room. Wrench in hand, she was working herself on plumbing in a bathtub. I was like, “What the hell?”

I noticed that she was working on the faucet and spigots but she was on the side of the tub and had the floor torn up; but the tub still had its faucet and spigots attached on the end. I wondered, is she putting in new ones on the side to make it easier for her? Or putting in a new tub? I didn’t.

Going outside, I saw that she had people working in the garden and was building something new out there. That worried me. I knew that she had evidence of crimes committed buried there. (I was thinking that it was a murder but I didn’t seem sure.) I went back and told her that I didn’t think that was a smart decision but she was busy with the pipes and didn’t respond.

Returning outside, I saw a large rock being moved; I knew that was crucial evidence. With a sigh, I also saw that a police detective I’d seen earlier was watching and saw the rock. A little later, the police began digging up the area.

I thought, my wife is going to be going away, because her DNA is all over that. That disappointed and saddened me but I also thought, I should be okay because my DNA won’t be there.

Dream end

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Mom’s House Update

Mom’s house went on the market last week in Penn Hills. Four offers were made in the three days it was on the market. Two of those offers were upped after their agents were told of the other offers.

An offer was accepted today. Now we wait as inspections are done, etc. It was above asking price. If all goes well, it’ll close in July.

Thanks for all the good wishes, prayers, and energy.

Cheers

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Mom’s House

Mom’s house is up for sale in Penn Hills, PA, a suburb of Pittsburgh. 4 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, 1238 square feet, .4 acres, $159k, if you’re interested.

Mom bought her house in 1990 and made many changes. I was five years away from retirement from the Air Force by then, so I was an adult. The rooms are small, but a lot of good memories were made in them. The kitchen was especially popular. We spent a lot of time in the kitchen, not just cooking and eating, but laughing, talking, and playing games.

I checked it out on Zillow, where I got the photos. The realtor’s virtual staging does a great job of showing the place’s potential. Here’s the staging of the downstairs where I nested when I visited. I always jokingly called it ‘the dungeon’, which made Mom laugh.

There’s been 610 views and 86 saves in the four hours it’s been up. The realtor reports that five showings have been requested, four for tomorrow.

We’re pretty chuffed by that initial response and hopeful for a quick sale somewhere near asking price – or better.

8

Friday’s Theme Music — Excursions

Ashland, southern Oregon — Friday, May 29, 2026.

Other months have gone by so fast for me this year. May feels like it’s dragging. Looking at the calendar, I’m surprised two more days remain in May.

I looked back at a post last year in May I wrote. I was complaining about the rain then, too. Today is gloomy, rainy, showery, 53 F with 64 high expected. Papi had to bring his outside show inside where he can sleep in dry warmth. Right now, he’s balled himself tight on the bed, eyes closed, snooze position assumed.

My sisters and their others have feverishly worked on cleaning and emptying Mom’s house, preparing it for the realtor’s photos and staging, and making a little money from Mom’s goods. Mom’s bedroom is empty, as is her tiny dining room.

Funny, though, Mom has actually used four different rooms as her bedroom. When she first bought the house, the upstairs was rented out as an apartment. So Mom’s bedroom was what was the dining room. Then she took the top floor back and moved into the ‘big’ bedroom. When Frank moved in, they shared that room for a while. When she started her medical issues, she moved into a smaller room because it was the only one with an air conditioner. Then, last year, with her mobility faltering, the back porch was re-purposed as her bedroom. A beautiful space, she was only in there for a few months.

I visited Mom, noting the changes. Each marked another season of Mom. I think she’s in her final season now.

My wife continues here cleaning/purging frenzy. A drawer, cupboard, or closet each day is done. She sets items out for me to judge: what do they go to? Do we need them? Do they work? What should we do with them?

She told me, “This is the easy stuff. I’m dreading when I get to the big stuff, the things that really matter. It’s going to be tough.”

Over on the Trump front, it’s amazing how quickly the performer lineup for Trump’s America 250 celebration is changing. The venue is called ‘The Great American State Farm’. Many of the artists said they had no idea that it was associated with Trump and turned it down after learning of his involvement. It’s almost like the Trump brand is tainted.

Food prices are up. The NYT reports: “Prepare for sticker shock as summer barbecue season heats up: The price of beef is sizzlingly high. Grilled sirloin will cost more than $14 a pound, on average, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, up 20 percent since last year.”

Sirloin is not alone as a higher price from a year ago:

• Tomatoes — 39.7 percent
• Instant coffee — 22.8 percent
• Coffee — 18.5 percent
• Uncooked beef roasts — 17.8 percent
• Roasted coffee — 17.3 percent

Trump has failed to lower the prices, though. Instead, his actions and policies keep driving food prices up. Energy prices are up, thanks to Trump. And the supply chain has been disrupted, thanks to Trump.

The Trump Iran War continues. So, food prices will continue rising. Trump couldn’t lower them before the war; there’s no reason to believe he’ll be able to after the war — whenever his ‘excursion’ ends.

Besides the war going on, the Epstein files have not been released, and the $1 billion Epstein ballroom is still under construction.

Operation Epic LOOK — SQUIRREL! is in a quiet period.

Today’s music is “Purple Rain” by Prince. Two factors played into this. I was talking to Papi about the rain. I was also deciding what to wear. I felt a long sleeve shirt would be appropriate for today. However, I often wear purple on Fridays. I don’t have a long-sleeved purple shirt.

The Neurons put this all together. Voila! “Purple Rain” began playing in the morning mental music stream. Prince said about the song, “When there’s blood in the sky… red and blue = purple. Purple rain pertains to the end of the world and being with the one you love and letting your faith/God guide you through the purple rain.”

Seems right for this time, when we’re divided as a nation into red and blue, and purple is considered a swing area.

May your day be bright with peace and promise.

Cheers

2

Black & White, Gardening & House: A Dream

I was working on a house. The house was a modern place, already completed, but I felt that changes were needed. I thought it was my house but sometimes as I worked on it, I thought it belonged to someone else. But I felt very sure that I had the right to change things

The house was white, a modern flat roof box. A breezeway separated the house from a spacious garage. The driveway was white, paved, and in excellent condition.

I decided to change the house’s material. I did so almost without thought – just done. As result, the house, which had been white, was now black or charcoal gray.

Family came by and asked why I did that. My father, who died last year, stopped by and asked why I’d changed it. Doing something else, I absently responded that it was a temporary move and that I would return it to white and could do so whenever I wanted.

Dad shrugged. “Well, whatever you want to do,” he said. “That’s your business. I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”

Those were words Dad often used. Sometimes he said, “I hope you know” rather than “I’m sure you know”.

Dad then took me to a garden section. Plants were growing there – tomatoes, onions, carrots, radishes, lettuce. He explained to me what to plant, where to plant it, how to fertilize and water it.

He left, expecting me to continue. I did so but was dissatisfied. He had a lot of starts which he wasn’t using. My sister came along. I was looking at the plants decided not to use. For example, a tomato plant already had several pieces of red fruit on it. I could see it visibly growing, so I decided I would add additional plants. I talked my sister into helping me. Although the plants weren’t as tidy as what Dad had done, I felt they had great potential.

He came by. I showed him what I’d done. Then, almost as an afterthought, I changed the house back to white.

Everyone could immediately see the difference in the house. They all then clamored for me to do that for their houses.

Dream end.

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The Stuff

Mom has moved out of her house and into an assisted living facility.

A household of things have been left behind that we need to move to sell her house. That includes clothing, paintings, vases, dishes, appliances, furniture, electronics. My sisters contacted liquidators and estate sales businesses to see if they would do it for a cut.

Short answer: no. Not enough of value to make it worthwhile.

I wasn’t overly surprised. Mom has tons of clothing and shoes but none is really vintage. She has furniture but the agents said that furniture is a hard sale these days.

My wife and I talked about this in relation to our own life. Adverse to an estate sale after she passes on, my wife has been doing a slow-roll death clean: a drawer a day. A closet. Organizing, tossing, donating. She used to refer to it as simplifying; now she just calls it the death clean.

It’s one of the places where we diverge on our philosophies. I consider my life busy and frantic enough to do without going through my belongings to see what I still want and want I need to throw away or donate. I do so sometimes, but I don’t make it part of my daily or weekly routines.

This exchange summarizes it for us. My wife said, “I don’t want people having to come through the house to get rid of things for me.”

I replied, “I don’t care. I won’t be there.”

As I walk around the house, I wonder, what would the estate sales agents say to me?

I suspect they’ll tell me the same thing they said about Mom’s stuff.

4

Another White House Dream

This is my sixth recorded white house dream as far as I can tell. Again I’m not talking about the president’s abode.

Middle-aged, I was at my ‘dream home’, a large luxury apartment in very large building. The walls, floors, furniture were all white. It was a very serene, relaxed place. Many windows and sliding doors, several levels, great views of a busy metropolis.

Friends were waiting for me to go out. I was rushing around to get ready. But I was also concerned about calling the plumber; I had to find my phone and call the plumber.

Hurrying around my place, I also seemed to be familiarizing myself with it, even though, in a contrary way, I already knew it. I had my own suite, separate from my wife’s suite, and they were on different levels. My suite featured a large bathroom and sliders to a balcony. Steps from it led to down the building’s common plaza with tables and benches.

While I was dashing, around, one of my friends, H.E., kept texting and calling me, telling me, “Come on.” I kept telling him to just hang on.

Going through one door, I discovered a small room that I hadn’t known about before. It had a sprawling white sofa and several chairs. A few relaxing space, I was astounded to find it. I thought, I never knew this was here, and then thought, I came here to rest.

I then found two other things: a door to a room that was a nursery, and steps going down, which had been blocked off.

I knew I was the ‘original’ owner and figured they’d made those changes and wondered about them.

Back in the main living area, still looking for the phone to call the plumber, I encountered H.E.

H.E. was a large, sort of goofy young guy. I knew him in my dream but he wasn’t anyone from my real life.

I asked him, “How’d you get in here?”

Sheepishly, he replied, “I picked the lock.” Then he urged me to, “Come on.”

I told him, “You shouldn’t have done that. Go on out and wait.”

But he was looking out the window. We had a huge, deep blue community blue. An infinity pool, it took up an entire view of one wall of windows.

The pool really impressed him. I explained what it was, and he kept saying, “That’s so huge and beautiful.”

I agreed. It was very striking against the building’s white surfaces.

H.E. then stepped out to see more of the pool, going to our private patio. Other families were going down to the community plaza space and sitting down to enjoy the sunshine.

I told H.E., “Okay, I’m ready to go.”

Dream end.

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