Tag: Information

Another Dream Car

One of my dreams last night left me puzzled but optimistic and in a better mood when I awoke. As I went over its details with myself, one part that captivated me was it featured my first car.

In the dream, I was a young man again, and I was driving my first car. This was a 1965 Mercury Comet. Forest green, it was a four door automatic sedan with a 289 V8.

Dad gave me the car. He’d recently remarried, and this was his new wife’s transpo. Dad bought himself a used service van at an auction to drive to and from work, and turned over his 1974 Chevy Monte Carlo to her to drive. I was completely blown away by their decision. They’d not talked to me about it ahead of time. Until then, I’d been hitching or walking to get around.

With a car, I suddenly had a dating life and began dating the girl who is my wife. Our dates were never much because, car or not, I didn’t have much money. Dad did give me gas money and a few bucks besides. But I was in high school and on sports teams, and local jobs in our rural region were scarce.

After graduating, I joined the military and went in for training. After I returned home from basic training and tech school, I drove that car three hundred miles through a snow storm to my new duty assignment at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, Fairborn, Ohio. It was a taxing drive. Ice and snow were thick on the car by my journey’s end.

One day, the car wouldn’t start. It was probably a starter or selenoid switch. As it was a 1965 car and this was 1975, and it was a four-door sedan, I did what many guys would do, and bought my first used car, a sleek little 1968 Chevy Camaro with a 327 V8. Ah, fun car! Young car!

I left the Comet sitting in its parking spot. A man saw it sitting there without movement, hunted me down, and bought it. I’m not sure how much he gave me but I didn’t haggle. The thing is, though, when he went to change registration, he learned it was still Dad’s car.

Oh, yeah.

Dad was pretty pissed but the sale went through. I still laugh about it, and he still shakes his head.  

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Twosda’s Wandering Thoughts

I had oral surgery with a dentist last week. They sent me home with a ‘complimentary’ pint of chocolate ice cream. Later that week, I found flowers from my dentist waiting on my porch: yellow roses with yellow and white daisies and baby’s breath. When I told others about these things, people replied, “I can see the ice cream. But flowers? I’ve nver heard of anyone receiving flowers from their dentist.”

I grinned. “I think you just need to spend enough money. Tier one is ice cream. Tier two, and they include flowers.”

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Floofeffect

Floofeffect (floofinition) – Impact of animal activities on psyche, emotions, or mood. Origins: Internet, the United States, 2001.

In Use: “During the COVID-19 pandemic, people began discovering the positive floofeffects which fur people can deliver, and adoptions shot up.”I

In Use: “Hearing his cat’s happy chirp when Alex dished out wet food always lifted Alex’s mood, no matter how crappy the rest of us day was.”

In Use: “Running with her dog and playing with her in the park gave Barb a floofeffective of energy like a B-12 shot in the arm.”

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T&P

Daily writing prompt
How do you practice self-care?
View all responses

For my personal self-care, I turn to America’s political leaders. Yes, just like DC’s elected denizens when disasters strike our nation, whenever something goes wrong with my health, I quickly turn to thoughts and prayers for my solutions. It’s wonderfully effective and doesn’t cost me anything! Although, there are sometimes complications. Like, when I broke some verterbrae in my neck. Despite all my thoughts and prayers, I ended up going to the medical clinic. They apparently didn’t have much faith in my thoughts and prayers, either, because they put me in a ‘halo device’ for the summer.

Other than that, oh, and when I had blocked bladder. Although I furiously prayed that my pecker would do its duty soon and gave it almost every minute of thought, I ended up in an emergency room where they fed me some meds and thrust a catheter in me. That relieved the problem, although I’ve remained on Flomax ever since.

Which was good, because I needed to turn my thoughts and prayers elsewhere. Thoughts and prayers were called for a year later when I broke several bones in my left arm. More thoughts and prayers were required for my ultra high blood pressure and then surviving COVID. Fortunately, medical authorities were there to augment my thoughts and prayers both of those times, along with when I needed surgery last year for a ruptured tendon in my ankle. I’d been tending it with plenty of thoughts and prayers but they surprisingly did very little. It does cause me some wonder about how they’re so successful with thoughts and prayers in Washington, D.C.

Now I think I need to lose some weight. I’m begun issuing a lot of thoughts and prayers that I’ll lose about twenty pounds. If that doesn’t work, I’ll probably see my PCP and go on a diet. Right now I’m going to eat some cheese. I pray that I don’t gain weight from it.

Time will tell.

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Munda’s Wandering Thoughts

Some days, shit is happening, and all you can do is pretend to pursue the normal aspects of being. For one, war is hettin’ up in the Middle East or whatever you want to call it. It’s been a war zone for years. It’s usually a matter of who is going to strike back, how, and when. There will be violence, death, and destruction. The Middle East quagmire of religions, history, and tribes and factions are overstocked with tendencies to war.

Personally, dispiriting matters keep piling up in my world. I don’t write about all of them. Not going to start now. My basic bottom line which I return to again and again, is, this is life. Many of us — hell, I’ll go out on a limb and declare that most of us — go through this shit. I can only imagine how worse the shit is magnified if you’re suffering from serious diseases, homelessness, racism and other prejudice, discrimination, or hate. On paper, I have it pretty good but life is lived on a spectrum. We slide up and down it. I’m on the down side today.

We watched again a Neflix series on the gut and the biome’s influence on our brains and pains.* As part of this show, they talked about fecal transplants. Transplants were done by people who had problems and were seeking solutions. One woman used her boyfriend’s fecal material as her transplant source. She noted that he has ‘mental issues’ but didn’t specify more. Or maybe I spaced on it. I did catch her say that she began acting and feeling like him, emotionally unstable, anxious, and depressed. She quit using his shit and used her brother’s shit. After a week, she felt much better.

I imagine a future of routine fecal transplants. A partner on the computer says, “I’m ordering some groceries and things. Is there anything you need?”

“Yes, get me some new shit. I’m almost out of shit and I’m feeling it.”

“What shit do you want?”

“Same shit as last time. It should be in your order history.”

“Is it the Tom Cruise brand Improved Shit?”

“Yes, that’s the shit, but get a big jar. I’m really feeling it.”

“You got it.”

I think about whose shit I might order. Maybe Taylor Swift, Tom Brady, or Patrick Mahomes. I pity the fool who tries mine. But then again, I know people with some shit that’s a lot worse.

*The Neflix series is You Are What You Eat: A Twin Experiment

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Sunda’s Theme Music

Greetings from Ashlandia on Sunda, June 22, 2025. Speaking weatherly, it’s a better day today than yesterday. Sure, dark clouds still clot the sky with potentially ominous intentions. But sunshine is striking, driving the air into warmer realms. We’ve already broken past 60 F, three degrees above yesterday’s high. 72 F is in sight as a possibility.

Papi the butter butt floof is much happier. He’s snuggled into the vinca where just his tiny triangular orange face is marginally visible. Yesterday, he came in and stayed, finding a place to sleep until the rain, wind, and cold had gone away.

Well, Trump attacked another country but we’re not at war, oh no.Yet.We just bombed another country. Just a strategic ‘surgical’ strike on someone Trump thought was being a bully. On a whim. A hunch. Like a bet was being made.

A bet has been made. A bet that Iran’s nuclear program was more advanced than intelligence claimed. ‘We’ – because it was our government, acting on behalf of the United States, so we’re all involved, like it or not. So ‘we’ made a bet that we knew where the facilities were, and could reach and destroy. We bet that Iran and its allies would not respond. We made a bet that the mission would be successful and cow the Iranian leadership into not striking back. Will June 21, 2025, go down as an infamous act that triggered WWIII? Time will tell. If you bet on past history, this will get messy, but it might be down the road a few years. 

We always knew Trump would attack. He’s been eager to use the military in whatever way he could to bolster his self-image. In the space of six months, he’s deployed troops against protestors and bombed another country, after, of course, threatening to invade Greenland and take it over and joking, “Maybe Canada should be our 51st state.” Ha, ha, what a brilliant funnyman. And then he claims he deserves the Nobel Peace Prize. Please, someone shut him up before I pee my pants from laughing.

Today’s musical offering comes from — ta da — Der Neurons. For some reason that isn’t plain to me, they were kicking the morning mental music stream with “Basket Case”, a 1994 song by Green Day.

Alright. Had a double helping of warm oatmeal for breakfast. Risked some blueberries in it. Mouth took it all well, knock wood. Out to the coffee shop to write out the stuff piling up in my head. I wish for good things for you today and all days. Cheers

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Saturda’s Wandering Political Thoughts

Here it comes and here we go again.

BREAKING: Donald Trump says America’s Intelligence Community is “Wrong” on Iran From The Parnas Perspective:

When a reporter referenced U.S. intelligence findings that indicate no current evidence of Iran building a nuclear weapon, Trump responded: “My intelligence community is wrong.” When informed that this assessment came from his DNI, Tulsi Gabbard, Trump reiterated: “She is wrong.”

Gosh, it all makes me flash back to the turn of the century. Dubya Bush, asleep at the wheel, missed intelligence warnings about major terrorist attacks on the United States. We know the results of that day as 9/11. That security failure was used as a platform to attack Iraq and Afghanistan.

Iraq was attacked because the Bush Administration alleged Iraq had or were developing Weapons of Mass Destruction. WMD. Everyone remember that? Remember also that our intelligence showed that wasn’t the case. Just months after telling the world that Saddam Hussein wasn’t a threat, Colin Powell did a 180 and went on a campaign to convince everyone that he now was. As then VEEP Dick Cheney cherry-picked info to give us the rational for attacking, the United States steamrolled toward war on lies, flawed intelligence, and poor reasoning.

Now, here we are, in the wake of Israel’s surprise pre-emptive attack on Iran, contemplating joining the fray. Trump, now playing a dumber version of George Dubya Bush, thinks he knows better, as TACO always does. He can’t spell, he has a poor understanding of history, he doesn’t like to read, is a terrible negotiator, has an inflated ego and lies like a Persian rug, but this fool is insisting that he knows better.

Having just closed one disastrous chapter on war in that region, he seems hellbent on dragging the United States into another. Well, time will tell, won’t it?

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Subfloofmate

Subfloofmate (floofinition) A change of animal behavior to deal with an unacceptable situation or decision. Origins: 1559, Middle Floofish from Floofieval Flooftin, subflooftamus.

In Use: “Ollie wanted treats, to which Ali said, “No, you’ve already had our treats and can’t have more because you’re getting fat,” which caused Ollie to subfloofmate his frustrations by going into the bedroom and knocking everything off the dresser.”

In Use: “Part of the success of suavexavier’s posts about his dobies is how they subfloofmate to deal with the situations he presents them, especially when it’s Bear.”

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Saturda’s Theme Music

Good morning from Ashlandia, where the temperature has jumped 49 F. Thickened clouds lurk with dark intentions, prepared to unleash rain faster than can say “It’s Biden’s fault!” The clouds are forcing the sunshine to circumnavigate the clouds, so the sunshine is low energy and uncertain as Trump’s logic. Today’s high will be 59 F, or a little higher than Trump’s IQ. Or so I read on the net. So you know it must be true.

There’s not much change on Mom and Dad. Dad is going home with his wife. Mom is at home with her boyfriend. Mom’s pain is increasing. The source is sciatica. They gave her a steroid shot at the hospital the other day; that ended the pain. Now it’s wearing off and, as these things work, her pain is returning. I’ve not heard about what’s happening with the hospitalized uncle, Dad’s brother. Then there is also the case of the missing cousin. 72 years old, I’ve never met him but he reached out to me via Facebook. See, he met my sisters years ago, after I’d left home when I was fifteen. They kept in touch. A few years ago, he noticed me commenting on their posts and asked for clarification about who I was. See, Facebook does serve some good. Now, though, he’s dropped off of Facebook. Another cousin noticed first and asked if I knew what happened to him. Nope; I contacted his half-sister (same father, different mother). She had no idea what happened to him. So I’ve reached out to his children (who I’ve never met). I’m awaiting a response. He was hospitalized for heart issues last year, and we’re worried.

Today’s music came out of dreamland. I had an interesting, unresolved and frustrating dream. As I contemplated it while doing morning business, The Neurons introduced “Sunny Came Home”, a 1997 Shawn Colvin song that had a lot of radio play. I was puzzled about why The Neurons picked that song (but then again, The Neurons usually puzzle me by what they’re doing). Yet, as I reflected on the dream, some sort of parallels between the song and my dreeam were revealed. To me, the song is about a woman struggling to make sense of things who then becomes an arsonist to ‘solve her problems’. My dream was a reflection of my struggle to make sense of things, politically and personally. The Neurons agree that this makes sense. Who knows if it’s right?

I’m drinking hot coffee again, to which I raise my hands to the heavens and give thanks for small favors. Ready to rock another Saturday. I hope good things happen for you today. Cheers

3

Mom Update

Mom and her boyfriend appear to be ready to move out of Mom’s house.

This is a big step for Mom. Not only is it a familiar place, a comfortable place for her, but it’s rich with history. She lost her previous house in divorce proceedings when the two parties agreed that selling is what needed to be done, as neither could afford to pay the mortgage on their own. Mom then saved for years for a place that she could afford on her own. This place was finally the one. Like Mom, the house has a lot of charm. Now both are old.

Mom fixed up that home through the years. Seventeen grand and greatgrandchildren have visited it for parties, holidays, and celebrations. She hadn’t finished high school; while living in that house, she got her GED. She then went on to become a nurse, RN & LPN. She was rightfully very proud of those accomplishments.

Her house has always tidy and spotless. Cleaning and cooking, having family, are her passions. But the house, with its narrow, step stairs, are no longer a safe place for her. That’s painful to acknowledge. Her physical limitations keep her from cooking and cleaning. The grands and greats rarely visit because Mom is mostly tired, medicated, and bed-ridden. She depends on her boyfriend. Now 95, he’s finally up against limitations. He becomes dizzy and falls. It’s not a good situation for the two of them. Now, he has mass in his lung which might be cancer, but with his age, they don’t feel there’s any worthwhile treatments for him.

Like many things, there are more factors swirling underneath the surface emotions, conversations, and actions. Like, he doesn’t want to pay rent, which he would need to do in the new place, because he wants to leave money for his children, grandchildren, etc. This is mostly an ego thing because all of his offspring are well off. And if he has cancer and becomes sicker and worse…well, that doesn’t need to be spelled out. We can all visualize the added complexities.

Egos, complexities, and history are all part of the package. Nothing can just be dimissed. It must be lived through, endured, and shaped until it fits the current moment.

That’s life.

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