Tag: junk

Sunda’s Theme Music

Rain took its drops and went elsewhere. Though clouds stayed, sunshine rushed in. A swirly, restless day was had. Hot in direct sun, chilly in shadow when the wind played. We did see 66 F at our house. Now it’s dropping, expecting to stoop to the 40s overnight. Tomorrow, we’ll do it again.

For the record, this is Sunda, Mai 18, 2025.

I’ve been busy all day. This was the culmination of a cleaning project. Ashlandia and Recology were taking in trash and electronics free of charge this weekend at the transfer station. This inspired my wife and I to declare we’ll do some cleanup and rid ourselves of unused and broken old items. Beginning Twosda, I pulled, cleaned, inspected, and decided on what to do with stuff which we’d accumulated and didn’t seem to be using. I consulted with my wife as necessary. Like, we have three big boxes of china. It’s a formal dinnerware setting for twelve, acquired in Germany over a period fro 1988 to 1991. We’ve probably used them a half dozen times, and not any time in the last decade. Much of it was awarded to me as prizes in monthly, quarterly, and annual competitions at a base or specific units. Mikasa was one of the sponsors and would often give gift certificates. My wife used ones I won to buy china. No, we didn’t pitch the china. We put it aside to give to a friend who will take it to a charity boutique. A few times a year they have a big sale and include things like china. Proceeds help offset people’s cost for hospice.

My wife’s health kept her sidelined during Operation Cleanup. But I enjoyed the solitary work. While I put in a couple hours every day after writing, today was the load up and drop off. The SUV was backed up and configured. Loading began at 10:15. By 11:30, I was ready for the dump trip. I hit the line at 11:45 and inched the vehicle to the gate at 12:30. They directed me to trash and electronics, which covered my contributions. By 1 PM, I was back home.

Then I cleaned clean the car and reconfigured its seating and all that, and cleaned the garage and rearranged things to be more organized and take advantage of the cleared space. I just finished that at 6 PM. I sweated a few buckets today, and my feet are singing about their unhappiness like a bunch of hounds with the blues. I’m taking advantage of this time to post before I make my dinner.

Today’s song turned out to be “On A Carousel” by the Hollies. They released it in the 1960s. It’s a song about love and the up and down ride you’re on when you’re in love. I was using it to think about Trump. We’re going around and around with him as he whines about the judicial system and courts, ignores the Constitution, threatens anyone who disagrees with him, and then acts like an idiot who mated a jackass. Guess that would be a idioass or a jackiot. Did you hear about him and his video where he’s supposed to be playing “Don’t Stop Believin'” by Journey in concert? His connections with reality frays more every hour. His supporters don’s seem much better. Guess they’re holding on to their dreams.

Time to call it. Hope you had a good one. Cheers

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Waste

It was a lot of waste.

Morgan was uncomfortable. It felt unnatural. All these years of recycling and trying to reduce waste. Now he was piling it outside.

“There.” Grinning in delight, ogling their pile of junk, Joyce backed away from it. “That’s a pretty good pile of junk and garbage.”

His wife peered up into the sky. “When are they supposed to come?”

“Any time.” Exasperation frosted Morgan’s tone. This had been explained numerous times. “They know it’s here. They’ll come and get it.”

Joyce answered, “Why can’t they tell us when?”

That, too, had been gutted as a topic. “I don’t know.”

He and Joyce studied their pile. Old printers and laptops. Unused televisions. Rugs. Boxes of junk. Old paint. Bags of shredded personal papers. Joyce insisted they be shredded. She didn’t trust the aliens. Like, what did she think was going to happen? These extra terrestrials from another solar system had come to Earth to steal their personal information?

It was good that they’d come. First, they cleaned all the oceans, and then junkyards. They paid well for everything.

“This is a great place,” a leader, Galic, said in a televised press conference.

Galic was a gorgeous black woman. Every female alien he’d seen was eye-watering stunning. He’d not seen any males among the ET, formally known as Porqzens. R-Q-Z was pronounced as a hacking sound.

Galic said, “We love your junk. We’ll take all of it that you can give us.” They were also eager to tear down houses, buildings, and bridges not in use. They wanted it all. “We’ll you if you want. Gold, dollars, diamonds, crypto. Just name it.”

Not everyone liked it. “Why are they doing this? What do they want it?” Mostly conservatives were asking these questions because Galic told them, “We’ll reprocess it to create materials and energy. We’re already so efficient that we have no waste.”

Humans weren’t appeased. They had reasons behind their doubts. “How do we know they’re real?” GOP Presidential candidate asked. “What if they’re taking all these resources to build machines to take us over? What about the recycling and garbage disposal companies? They’ll all go out of business. That’ll put unemployment up.”

Others speculated, “This is a liberal trick. There are no aliens. They’re using these materials to secretly build death rays and disintegration guns. They’re gonna use the disintegration guns to take away all our guns.”

Yes, it was a pickle.

Flat-earthers were freaked. “The Porqzens are Underworlders. They’ve lived on the other side of the planet, the bottom. They’re coming to take us over.”

Morgan didn’t care. All he had to do was put his junk at his curb for pickup? Lot easier than loading it up, hauling it to the various places, and unloading it. And they were paying him, instead of him paying them? Groovy.

A Porqzen popped into the space in front of Morgan and Joyce. Gorgeous, of course. Tight dark red outfit. Looked like leather. Blonde. Smile like a billion watts.

“Hi, Morgan and Joyce. I’m Zugar. We’re taking your waste now.” She handed them dark goggles. “Most people want to see it happen, so we provide these goggles. Please cover your eyes so the light doesn’t hurt them.”

Morgan and Joyce did. Through the lens, Morgan witnessed a dull light cover his pile. Looked purplish under the lens. Stayed there for about five seconds.

“That’s it,” Zugar said. “All gone. You can take your goggles off. Those are yours to keep for future pickups.” She whipped out a slim wallet and counted paper money out. “One thousand dollars, as agreed. It’s the minimum, I’m afraid.” She sounded like she meant it.

Joyce took the money. She and Morgan stared at it.

Zugar said, “It is real U.S. currency.” She laughed. “We sold a bucket of leftover lithium to the U.S. government.” She handed Morgan a card. “Just call us when you’re ready for your next pickup. Any questions?”

The humans shook their heads.

“Then I’ll take my leave. You all have a great day.” With a small bow and a bright smile, Zugar disappeared.

“Well, that was easy,” Joyce said. “She looked like Farrah Fawcett, don’t you think?”

Morgan nodded. “Do you think we’ll ever go to their planet?”

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Coins for A Journey Dream

The dream began in a huge junkyard. Discarded household goods abound. My cats, Boo (a house panther) and Papi (aka Meep, Youngblood, and The Ginger Blade) were with me. Running around, they kept fighting, diverting my attention from other events as I break up their fights, scold them, and stop them from stalking one another. They keep at it, first Boo stalking Papi, then it’s the reverse, noisy and intrusive.

Then I’m walking about a densely populated office. Busy, busy, busy, the place is low-ceilinged and enormous. I can’t see either end. I’m lamenting that a major project has been canceled, lambasting management over that, wondering what I was going to do with myself. People agree with me. We’re all disappointed. It’s wrong. It should not have been canceled. A big boss came along and began commiserating. His arm over my shoulder, we walk around, him looking over about to ensure others couldn’t overheard, reassuring me, the project isn’t over, he likes my work and is keeping me on his team, and he has work for me to do. “Don’t worry, good news is coming soon,” he tells me. “Stay patient.” Okay, that buoys my energy. He’s smiling the whole time and claps me on the back as we separated.

Back to walking about on my own, now I wonder, where are my cats? I haven’t seen them for a while. Are they okay? Strangers come up and give me coins. “Found these and thought I’d give them to you, Michael,” a man said, presenting me with a little bag of coins. I find all shiny, new silver inside. New silver dollars, minted this year, quarters, and an oversized silver coin. Shinier than the rest, it just says “The United States of America” on one side and the year, 2021. A mountain range with a sunset (or sunrise) is on the other. It’s larger than a silver dollar, no denomination on it. I guess it’s a commemorative coin. I discover that I already had a red bag of coins. These are added to my collection, where I find that I had another new silver dollar and a large quantity of new quarters.

Pleased and excited, I now become embarrassed as people continue coming up, giving me coins, which are all new, and usually quarters, although some pennies are mixed up in it. “I don’t need all this,” I protest. Others assure me, “Yes, you do, take them with you on your journey.”

That I’m going on a journey is news to me. Others passing by give me throwaway details, “It’s the trip you’ve been waiting for,” “It’s going to be a long road,” “You’ll need those coins to get what you need,” “You’ll need them for where you’re going.” I respond, “Where am I going?” No one answers this question.

Then, excited and happy, outside now in a small and busy city square, I’m walking around, beginning my journey. Laughing to myself, I ask myself, “Are you really going? Are you going to do it?” Others call out greetings and wave to me. It’s a festive air. As a wind blows, I look up at blue sky and white clouds.

Dream ends.

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An Old Post – Out with the Old

Visiting my Red Room archive, where I posted for a while, and read one of my final post. It’s from June, 2014, but it remains valid. As soon as the pandemic lockdown began, my wife began cleaning. The thinking remains the same…

Here’s the post.

My wife has been on a continuing project.  Starting in March, she selected a room and cleaned it.  Emptied the closets.  Drawers.  Each item and article was examined.  Subjected to investigation.  Do we need it, do we use it?  Bag after bag was filled.  Trips to the Salvation Army and Goodwill were executed. I helped a little but she made it a project, creating lists, planning and executing foot by foot.

We’re down to two spaces she wants to clean:  the garage and my office.

My office.  My sanctuary, my Fortress of Solitude plus one and two cats. See, although it’s my office, that’s just a title.  She has begun calling it the snug.  It’s the warmest room in the house in the winter.  Heat attracts her.  It also has the best wifi connectivity and excellent natural light.  She urged me to buy a larger television for my office, then a recliner….  Despite being an experienced husband, I fell for both. She makes the recliner her home for reading, surfing the net, watching television and talking on the telephone.

Most stuff in the office is mine.  Much is writing or work related.  Clearing her throat in early June, she cautiously suggested we clean the office and get rid of some ‘accumulated junk’.  “Junk!” my heart cried.  She was calling my heritage junk.  Oh, the wound.

“You said you wanted to clean the garage,” I countered.  I’d been waiting for this strike.  “You can start there.  After all, most of the boxes in there are full of things you’re storing.”  Aha, take that!  En guarde!

The negotiations entered a tricky phase.  “I will admit that most things we store in the garage are mine,” she said, tiptoeing through words and tone, “and we should go through those boxes but I’m not ready to do it yet.”

A chink in her logic.  Riposte.  “I understand what you mean,” I replied.  “I’m not ready to go through my office…yet.”

Negotiations were at an impasse.  Weeks passed.  She returned with a counter offer.  “How about we each take out five things from the office?”

“Okay,” I answered.  “And two from the garage.”

She grimaced.  “If we get rid of things, we make room for new things.”

“Assuming that we want new things.  What if I’m happy with the things I’ve already acquired?  Besides, if that’s the case, there’s more junk in the garage.  If we want to make room for more things, shouldn’t we then start with the garage, where more things currently reside?”

My wife launched a rant about the junk we’ve accumulated.  I let her rant until she’d spat it all out.  Silence fell.  She sank her shoulders.  “Okay.  How about five from the office and two from the garage?”

“Okay.”

That’s where it was left, five days ago.  I’m no fool.  She’s not forgotten.

Tick, tock.

 

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The Collusion of Confusion Dream

It was such a muddle, with an interesting cast of my wife and her family, including her late parents. One of her brothers-in-law were present, and a niece and nephew. Three dream aspects were most prominent.

  1. The dream took place in a huge rambling home cluttered with junk.
  2. I wanted to use the toilet but the filth, clutter, and lack of privacy prevented me.
  3. My deceased father-in-law made a startling confession.

Other things that were included is that it was on a place called the property (which was weedy and brown, with a few green bushes), and a young naked man had a cameo appearance, along with car salesmen, and a seven-year-old brat.

I’m in the middle of this, of course, but that’s the dream’s essence. I was in the middle of everything, and sought privacy to use a toilet. This house, never seen before in life, was an old place, circa 1940s, painted pale yellow and brown, with multiple floors. While I don’t recognize it, a tenet of the dream was that I was returning to the house to check its condition. My sister-in-law and her hubby were supposed to be taking care of it, but it was a disaster. They obliviously cackled and laughed when it was mentioned to them.

The house was well-lit with sunlight coming through multiple windows. Trying to get through the rooms was like walking in a junk yard. Old furniture, books, catalogs, tools, and appliances cluttered every available space, including the bathrooms and commodes.

My wife’s parents, sisters, brother-in-law, and I tiptoed about, looking and talking. We tiptoed because it was hard to get around things. We all appeared to be in our forties, including my wife’s parents. After some time, I needed to use a toilet. Finding the bottom floors useless, I went upstairs. Everyone followed me. I figured that if I could find a reasonably clean commode, I’d tidy it and use that. I found a bucket of water to help me flush. I considered using the bucket for my toilet if I couldn’t find one that would do the job.

The problem was, everyone kept following me. I couldn’t get the desired privacy.  As several simultaneous conversations went on, mostly about buying cars, and mostly about buying a BMW, I went up another flight, and perhaps one more, to the top floor. It was just as cluttered as the rest. A young naked white man and young woman (white, with brown hair, dressed in blue) were on the top floor. Appearing about twenty years old, they were strangers. I didn’t care; I only wanted a toilet.

Not to be. It was now, too, that the seven-year-old brat appeared. I have no idea who this white, bespectacled child was, but he was more of a nuisance than the rest.

My father-in-law, hands in pocket, made his confession. He said, roughly, “You need to be careful, or you’ll be swindled. I know, because it happened to me.” It was longer than that but that’s the gist. His confession embarrassed him, and we were struck by his honesty. After making his speech, he walked away, going back down the stairs. The naked man said, “That took a lot for him to say. If I were you, I’d never talk about it to anyone, out of respect for him.” We all agreed that was the case even as I wondered, who the hell is this guy? I questioned him, and he didn’t know my father-in-law. The young woman acted like a cheerleader for the man, laughing at everything he said. I wanted to know why they were there. Without giving reasons, he and the young woman left.

I resumed my toilet search. Finally locating one that might do, except it had only half walls, I told everyone, “You need to leave so I can use the toilet.” Some joking was made of this. My wife and the seven-year-old didn’t go, though. The child thought it was funny to pester me.

I grabbed him by the throat and told him, “I’m serious. If you don’t leave, I’ll kill you.”

He left.

My wife came in. I told her what I’d done. She thought it humorous but I was troubled. I asked her to leave so I could use the toilet. She told me that she wanted to use it after I finished, and urged me to hurry. She would stand outside the room with her back to it and keep everyone back so I’d have “privacy”.

Experimentally flushing the toilet, I found it worked. It flushed all manner of red, yellow, white, green, and blue beads and pebbles away. But the water, which was clear, kept running. I worried the toilet would overflow, and started to panic.

It didn’t overflow.

Relief flooded me. I completed my business and went downstairs. Someone asked me a question, roughly, about how to do locate a car and know its condition. I replied with a brief explanation about a device that could be used. A used car salesman stuck his head out a room and verified what I said, elaborating on it. I thought the elaboration was unnecessary.

My wife and I walked to the front door to leave. The dream ended.

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