Tag: illness

Satyrdaz Theme Music

Summer is crawling through on a final look see. We’ll strike the low 80s, lifting us from the sunny and mild 66 F where we now reside. Leaves are still green against the summer blue sky but some of those leaves have lost their luster. It’s Satyrda, children, September 13, 2025.

No home-front changes for me with a friend in hospice, Mom on mute, Dad in rehab, as is another friend, and my wife under the weather.

I listened to Trump’s speech from the NATO summit’s closing day. He claimed he ‘rebuilt the entire military’ during his first term. WTF does that even mean? If you take the literal words and their literal definitions, then the United States has a military which is just a few years old. Leaves me confused. Where did he get all those old B-52s, aircraft carriers, F14s, F15s, and F15s if he rebuilt it? How did he get new C5s and why are old ones still in use if he rebuilt the military? He’s such a bombastic blowhard. Some will give Trump leniency and say, “Oh, he’s being metaphorical.” I call BS. It’s like me claiming, you know I rebuilt the entire house last week. Bottom line: no, he didn’t, and making such claims makes him look like a boastful fool. This is in line with other claims, like he’s going to lower drug prices by thousands of percent. Or that in many places, gas prices are below $1.99 a gallon. He just lies and boasts to make himself look good. While some worship his words as the gospel, a bigly number of people know the truth about him, the truth he reinforces whenever he speaks.

Of course, Trump was eager to blame Kirk’s murder on someone from the left. But guess what? It was another right-winger killing another of their own. No apologies from Trump and others for making wild and biased accusations, of course. Trump lacks the moral fortitude and honesty for anything like that.

BTW, how is that whole thing about Epstein going for Trump?

Papi inspires todays music selection. I opened the backdoor for fresh air and sunshine and he whipped around and sprinted over to me with a quick chirp of greeting. Sitting, he put his face to the sun and closed his eyes. As I offered some love touches, I asked, “Where you been, buddy? What are you out here looking for?” As Papi and I entered the house together, The Neurons summoned U2 with “Where the Streets Have No Name”.

Coffee has begun its rounds in my corporeal vessel. Let’s hope grace and peace find and keep us today and always. Cheers

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Sundaz Theme Music

It’s Sunda, so is a week ending or a week beginning? I’ve always considered Sunda as the week’s start. That’s what Mom taught me, and her mom taught her.

I’m sure it’s the end of August. It’s August 31, 2025. The year is half over. Summer in the northern hemes is leaning towards the finish line. Today is cooler again, with a night which Papi described as chilly but brisk at 58 F. Of course, he has fur. I think that makes a difference. On the high end, we’ll see 91 F today. Sunshine is holding forth in a blue sky where clouds have been dismissed for the moment.

An email has us trying to help another. A friend’s husband is beginning hospice at home. She’s looking for a shower chair and bedside commode. As it’s a holiday weekend, she has found many places are closed until Tuesday. Her need is more immediate. The bedside commode has been located; a friend’s mother died a few months ago, 104 years old, and he still has the commode. A shower chair is more elusive.

“Money Talks” by AC/DC is today’s music. Watching Trump’s open Offal Office grifting, coupled with a news article, about triggered this choice. The news article was out of the NYTimes. Its headline reads, In Budget Logs It Tried to Hide, White House Wrests More Control Over Spending. The article added, “Deep within obscure footnotes, the Trump administration is claiming more of Congress’s constitutional power of the purse by threatening to block funding.”

The article goes on:

“In more than 100 cases this year, Office of Management and Budget officials who sign off on funds for federal agencies have attached unusual conditions to the money, including requirements that funds meant to reflect Congress’s priorities be spent only if they align with the president’s views. The moves lay the groundwork for the Trump administration to choke off billions of dollars budgeted by Congress for education, health, housing and research programs.“

“In some cases, the administration has clearly blocked funding for specific programs. In others, the threat lurks in footnotes tucked in detailed budget logs that congressional appropriators are racing to decipher as their conflict with the budget office grows.”

We always knew it was all about the money for Trump and his regime. They use their anti-woke, anti-diversity, anti-equality, anti-integration agenda as a club to beat agencies and organizations into capitulation. These agencies and organizations were legally granted funding from Congress in accordance with established precedence and procedure. Legality matters less to Trump and his minions than diversity, equality, and integration. Legality matters less than truth, facts, justice, and logic to them. It’s Trump’s way, or no way. And they get their way by withholding money. Doesn’t matter what was planned with that money, how it affects anything else. It’s just Trump’s way or no way, the total antithesis of the idea of We the People being in charge.

Anyway, that’s how “Money Talks” by AC/DC ended up in my morning mental music stream today.

I hope peace and grace finds and keeps you and yours safe and healthy. Let’s throw in some happiness, too. Coffee is wending through my body, perking me up once again. Onward and upward. Or something. Cheers

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Satyrdaz Wandering Political Thoughts

I’m struck by Trump’s vision for the United States. He’s sending the military into cities and states, even if it’s just national guard units at this point. That makes it feel like he knows he’s unpopular, that his popularity will worsen, and he’s ready to attack We the People with weapons.

He wants manufacturing and factories to return to the United States. These will supply jobs. Yes, but imagine the jobs which factory work will provide. Having never worked in one, I’m dependent on others’ experiences to provide me with any sense of how it is. I understand they’re often noisy, that the work is frequently tedious, and that the repetitive style of work causes mental, emotional, and physical issues. So it sounds like Trump’s dream for our citizens is of a weary, broken people locked up in buildings, slaving for others.

Along with that skewed vision, his regime is removing protections to keep the air, water, and earth clean and safe. We can assume, since actions speak loudest, that he’s okay with people and animals getting sick from a polluted environment. Children and the elderly would be most vulnerable, so he obviously doesn’t give a toss about their health. That’s one reason why he’s letting RFK, Jr, wreck our health systems, too. An unhealthy population will struggle to fight back. They’re too busy just trying to live. Thanks to their actions, diseases will rise again.

Trump doesn’t like protests. He dislikes dissent, such as free speech. He wants everyone to agree with him and idolize and adore him. He enforces this through his regime’s demands on the press, states, cities, universities, and businesses to align themselves with his policies, or else they’ll pay some price. We can basically discern from that that his United States would have little to do with the Bill of Rights and the freedoms embedded in them, other than amendment number 2. Trump’s staunchest MAGAts love their guns.

To make it all work, to make United States citizens willing to accept being sick and working in factories for little pay, Trump is cutting education for the public and the poor. Trump doesn’t want a thinking, intelligent electorate. He wants an ignorant and malleable population.

So that’s his vision for We the People: uneducated, poor, hungry, and sick work slaves struggling through filthy air, drinking poisoned water, all so we can sell more goods in other nations and enrich the already wealthy and well-to-do.

I think it’s one of the cruelest and ugliest visions a human being can devise. It doesn’t matter what Trump says. This is what he’s doing.

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Satyrdaz Theme Music

86 F outside. That’s supposed to be our high in Ashlandia for this Satyrda, July 26, 2025.

I haven’t read much news today. Haven’t been up much and haven’t been inclined. Dreams provided me with “Red, Red Wine” as today’s theme music. Neil Diamond wrote the song and originally recorded it. Much as Neil Diamond has said, I prefer UB40’s lighter, reggae arrangement. That’s what I’m going with today.

Hope you have a great day. Cheers

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The Writing Moment

I like to write everyday. I enjoy writing fiction novels. It’s not just a goal for me; writing fiction every day is my center pole.

Sometimes I can’t do it, and the start of July was one of those times when life sabotage my efforts. First were dental appointments on July 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and a day of baking on July 3rd in preparation for July 4th, and then the holiday itself. July 5th was my birthday, so my writing was limited. A medical emergency stole my time and attention on July 6th. I swore to get back to it all on July 7th.

But when I say that I wasn’t writing, I mean that I wasn’t comfortably settling in a chair at a keyboard with a jug of coffee at hand. I kept writing in my head during the hours of driving, baking, sitting at the dentist, being social when I was supposed to be conversing with others, watching parades, attempting to sleep, or hanging around the ER waiting for test results.

Writing in my head was so magical and fast. When it came time to find the words and put it together with my coffee fuel, man, that was a different cat. Although I poured through two thousand words a day plus, a lot for me, stringing words together and revisiting and fixing my previous day’s work, I told my wife that it’s only now that I feel like I am finally catching up.

As I once blogged, I dream of a device that can take the scenes and spin into the needed words for me. Although, honestly, I don’t know if that would be nearly as much fun.

I guess, really, what it’s about for me is exploring the idea, seeing the story and hearing it, and then finding the words for others. May it always be so.

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A Positive Dream

Dreamland hasn’t been a happy place recently. Dreams featured me being lost and struggling. Maggots coming out of my skin. Being a broken robot. Etc. Different nights. Each brought a new horror of who I was. I disliked those dreams.

The Neurons flipped the script last night. In this one, a young and vigorous me was starting a new job. In medical device manufacturing, as I did for a few years. I was a mid-level manager. Working alone, as, again, I often did. But I had a great cast of supportive, friendly co-workers. They checked in on me. Helped me set up an office. Joked with me and came to me for my opinion, advice, and insights.

There were some messy moments. Like, my clothes became filthy from an office accident that didn’t otherwise involve me. I felt that I had to get out of those clothes but what was I going to wear? Co-workers came through with clothes they had available. Stuff planned to work after work for the gym, golfing, and dating. They willingly gave me those clothes.

I received a phone call. There was a family emergency. I needed to get somewhere that night. But my car was in the garage. A real-life friend from now, Ron, showed up. Turned out he was a co-worker. He asked me about my problem. “I’m going that way,” he said. “I can give you a ride.” We cemented arrangements.

I was so pleased. Then, chaos broke out at work. Problem after problem. While I worked to solve them, co-workers consistently came through with tools, insights, and helping hands.

The message I took away was, yes, life is messy and chaotic. But don’t worry. Others are there to help.

It was a message I really felt like I needed to hear.

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Tucker (Pronounced Tuck-ah)

I was in the kitchen at midnight. A white flash crossed my vision’s edge.

I knew without doubt that Tucker had just bolted across the rainbow bridge. With some hot fluid boiling out of my eyes, I went in and made confirmation. Another era was over.

He went so quickly, it shocked us. He didn’t respond to any medication. All we could do is take a seat and console him and ourselves as best as we could.

Tucker was another in a long line of BFFs (Best Floof Friends). I’ve been grateful for them all and pleased that each chose to spend their time with me, sharing their secrets, insights, and love. I’m a wealthier person for them all.

And after I ached from my heart out through my chest and my face crumbled and the fluid burned my eyes more and blurred my vision, I squared up to go on. Because this is just part of the fucking roller coaster of life, up and fucking down, again and again. I hurt and will hurt for probably years because that’s just who I am. But I’ll continue moving forward, left foot, right foot, doing what I need to do.

Because all of my BFFs would always do the same. But man, I do still miss them all. Especially that last black and white handsome fellow that had to take his leave.

His name is Tucker. Pronounced Tuck-ah.

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Not An Easy Answer

Daily writing prompt
Share one of the best gifts you’ve ever received.
View all responses

This is another of those questions with contingencies circling around a word. Today, it’s ‘gift’. I mean, the gifts of life and good health are often on people’s lists. I’ve experienced enough personal health scares to appreciate those words. A memory seared into my being is of being very sick one year. Bronchitis turned to pneumonia. I awoke to Mom’s high pitched appeals, “Please, Lord, let my son live.” Her efforts worked, as here I am. Pretty good gift, I think.

Then there is the best gift received as a present. That would be a 1/20 scale model of a 1961 Jaguar XK-E. I was around nine or ten years old. Car fever bowled me over. Porsches, Corvettes, Ferraris, name it. But that Jag impressed me as the most stylistic art on four wheels. The roadster was my choice but the model was a coupe. It was fun to build, and I displayed the result with pride.

However, there was a shirt given to me when I was fourteen. A female classmate had a crush on me. I was aware of this because other girls wrote me a note informing me of the fact. Later that week, she bought the shirt, and gave it to me as a gift. Although the shirt wasn’t my style, I was flattered. Astonished, really. In retrospect, I understand how much courage it took her to buy that and give it to me.

I suppose, though, the best gift is that kiss and hug my wife gave me the first time she ever told me she loved me. Unable to speak the words, she wrote them in the steam on a window. We were teenagers and that’s another memory captured in amber. Married a few years later, we’re still married fifty years later.

So, not an easy question to answer. The question does force me to realize how many great gifts I’ve received.

I hope I was able to give a few to others along the way.

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Monday’s Wandering Thoughts

I hate taking my floofs to the vet. I recognized that today. I’d put off taking Tucker for a long time, probably to his detriment.

Veterinary offices and animal hospitals harbor bad memories. Cats hit by a car and dying in a room, waiting for treatment. Feline fur friends taken in to see what’s going on to learn they have cancer. Nothing to be done. Four friends over seven years, three spread over a four-year period, nine altogether in my lifetime.

I know. Shame on me. I should be stronger. A better human for them. Accept that death, injuries, and pain are part of life.

I do understand. Doesn’t appease my feelings of loss at their demise. It’s not all ’bout me, though. It’s about what my little friends ended up enduring, even before their illness was diagnosed. Vets always validated that they’re suffering.

We took Tucker back today. Check on his thyroid. Those numbers look good now. Other numbers don’t. He has high blood pressure. He’s gained weight, which was good, but his kidney numbers are worrisome.

A prescription was given for the hyperthyroidism. Another for the high blood pressure. Nothing for kidneys – yet. Monitor them for a bit more. See if it’s a side effect of meds or situation. Meanwhile, we continue his pain meds and his thyroid meds. Twice a day, twelve hours apart.

He goes in for surgery on Wednesday. Dealing with refractory stomatitis gingivitis. All his teeth are to be removed. Well, all which remain. Many of his teeth are already gone.

All this came to mind because my wife interpreted some comments made by the vet at Tucker’s last appointment as dismissive of us as pet mates. I didn’t see it myself. I saw it as being weak on my part. A coward, really.

Now, fingers crossed that all goes well for my black and white buddy. He remains upbeat and loving.

I hope I do right by him.

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Mood: glum

After greeting us with sunshine this morning, Sunday, October 22, 2023, has served non-stop rain to Ashlandia, where the fresh air is never canned and the drivers are extra-distracted.

Well, first, my apologies. I’m glum today, even irritated and moody. This is due to my illness. It’s plagued me for over two weeks. Nothing deep nor serious, just enough to be bothersome. After convincing myself I was rid of it, the sore throat, lethargy, and headache parts all stormed back. Just depressing, you know? And irritating.

And frustrating. Did I mention that? I’d entertained visions of industrious editing and revising and this damn sickness just undercut all intentions. I’ve been gritting my teeth in a struggle to will myself through it. Instead, I just want to sit back, feeling sorry for myself, reading and chilling. Heavy sigh emerges after I acknowledge and type that.

I’ve tried to edit and revise twice; it’s a challenge today. Some of this is because I’m dealing with a very abstract notion toward the novel’s end. I’m attempting to transition it from its abstract roots into something real and authentic. Patience, deep thinking, and persistence are needed, and I’m struggling to generate those today.

Today’s theme music is “Black Hole Sun” by Soundgarden. I came up with this by myself, without The Neurons’ help. It came about from watching clouds move in and overwhelm the morning sunshine, undermining my enthusiasm for the day. These days come, of course. It’s not necessarily indicative of anything except a crappy-ish day. It’ll pass.

Meanwhile, I’ve always enjoyed “Black Hole Sun”. It comes across as a declaration to me. The words are sort of contradictory — “Black hole sun, won’t you come, and wash away the rain” — but that somehow springs some defiant hope in me. Perhaps it’s just the plaintive way it first comes across before exploding with brashness, a tone and mood reinforced with hard guitar chords and rolling drums. Besides those elements, weariness is wired into the verses such as this one:

Stuttering, cold and damp
Steal the warm wind, tired friend
Times are gone for honest men
And sometimes far too long for snakes
In my shoes, a walking sleep
And my youth I pray to keep
Heaven send Hell away
No one sings like you anymore

h/t to Genius.com

It’s a stream of consciousness of spent energy, which is much how I feel today. I should warn you, it’s a bizarre video.

Stay pos — at least more positive than me, please — and be strong. I’m trying to move forward; hope you do as well. More coffee, please, black as the sun, hot as ice. Here’s the music. Cheers

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