Tag: life

Twosdaz Theme Music

Greetings from Yachats (which is pronounced just as it appears, with a silent ‘c’: ya-hots — which isn’t how it appears), where a relaxed but busy Pacific studies the land and plots their moves under a light marine layer. Presently 56 F, it’s gonna be 66 F and sunny.

I have the dining room to myself so I’m typing away while I can. Everyone else is asleep, save my wife, who is down in our room doing her dressing and hair thing. That takes some time. Three couples are sharing a huge place. I think two more couples could stay here and barely be noticed. But while the house is big, with three floors, bordering on fancy and luxurious, it needs some updating and repair routines. That big fancy stainless steel frig doesn’t deploy ice and water as it should. The heating controls are hit and miss. The oven and stove top are ancient and wonky. We have an ensuite arrangement but the tub can’t hold water. Then there’s the dealio of utensils and cookware; there’s barely enough to prep and serve one meal. Like, WTF? Serious feedback is being compiled. It is all first-world whining, of course.

Read, of course, about Trump’s continuing overreach, sending in more troops to DC as he and the GOP make like strongarm dictators. I think the jackasses are overreaching, myself. I’m sure Trump hopes to cut off the voting apparatus so he can ignore the midterms, but we the economy trashing, the Epstein Files hanging over his head, his increasing grift and lawlessness, that ridiculous dog and pony show with Putin, his whining to the Nobel committee, and his dictator moves, I think the majority of U.S. citizens are already ready to cancel the season on this mango clown.

Haven’t heard much about Trump and Epstein today but haven’t been deep into the news. I can’t believe that Trump has already forgotten his BFC (best fucking criminal). I’ll post a photo to remind everyone.

Today’s music comes from vintage shopping. My wife loves going into used good places. St. Vincent’s, consignment store, Goodwills, etc. She can cruise those aisles, eyeing those things all day. I’m ready to depart the door in seven point five seconds. Anyway, as I walked around, trying to be patient in one of those places, up comes the Marshall Tucker Band with “Heard It In A Love Song” from 1977. The Neurons excitedly shouted, “We know this song!” So did everyone else in the store. Amazing how many folks were humming along or softly singing that chorus. The Neurons were so taken with the display that they kept the tune playing in my head for many more hours, and refreshed it in the morning mental music stream. Recognizing the situation, I know the only way to get The Neurons to release it from their grubby little hold is to put it out to the world and infect others. Once I, the carrier, do that, then the song leaves my head. I don’t know why; that’s just how it works.

Coffee is applying its black magic to my bod. Time to drift out toward the ocean. May peace and grace find you today and on all days. Cheers

2

Sundaz Theme Music

Early morning’s bruised sky promised rain in Ashlandia. Within an hour, that threat evaporated. With sunshine, we were still buried in the 60s F. At that point we were packing the car. Papi brought his floof skills to the scene, silently inspecting every movement and bag. The floofsitter arrived on scheduled at 10 AM. Watching her come in the house, Papi watched her from the living room’s far end. After we exchanged greetings, she said with happiness, “There he is. There’s Papi.” Papi stood, stretched, and left the house. We left a few minutes later.

About four hours of driving had us at last on the Oregon coast, cruising into Florence in the mid-afternoon. Traffic was light although an aggro driver had us exchanging commentary and watching this tailgating driver diving in and out, cutting people off to get one vehicle ahead in a parade of vehicles. Stupid stacked on stupid. Once to Florence, we enjoyed hot sunshine and warm, cloudy day.

Other than discussions about Trump meeting Putin and more signs that the economy was heading downhill with increasing speed, it was a news free day. Now we sit in our room, watching the tide come in, waiting for sunset. What time will sunset be? One source pegs it at 8:02 while another says 8:18 and a third declares sunset will be at 8:30, all in PM. They do agree that high tide is coming in at 8:02 PM. We sit and watch and wait, me with a beer in hand.

Today song comes from discussing the tide time. Once The Neurons heard me think ‘tide’, they summoned Blondie’s 1980 new-wave cover of “The Tide Is High” to the mental music stream. I’m not familiar with the original offering.

Beer has breached my body and I’m turning to the mellow side. May the mellowness find and hold us all. Cheers

0

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

Are You Ready?

Daily writing prompt
Create an emergency preparedness plan.
View all responses

I’ve already created emergency preparedness plans for our house. I almost felt compelled to.

First, I spent my life from 18 years old to over 38 years old in the U.S. Air Force. Almost all of those years were in command and control. My initial duties were to learn how to execute checklist and manage communications relating to disasters affecting my base and unit, and executing war plans as defined by our mission. Then I trained others in those procedures. As I advanced in rank, I gained the responsibilities to write and review the plans, operational procedures, and checklist for disaster preparedness and recovery, and taking care of business.

All that sprawled over into the rest of my life. No matter where I was stationed, overseas or in the U.S., there was always a chance for a war, riot, or natural disaster such as a tornado, hurricane or typhoon (cyclone), earthquake, flooding, wildfire, etc. So I wrote us plans and checklists for coping with that, printed them out, and reviewed them with my wife. When we lived in areas prone to those problems, the local authorities strongly encouraged you to have those things and be prepared, so we did. They reside in a desk drawer but copies are in both cars.

So that’s how I am. Prepared. A checklist dictates what we need to take. We have a go-bag sitting in the closet and a kennel ready for the cat. Three days of clothing is inside the bag. Blankets and old pillows are in another go bag. A little case sits by our meds, ready to be swept up and carried off. A large cardboard box sits in the garage, ready to be filled with food. We keep unopened jars of large peanut butter available for that, along with other foods, such as energy bars, instant coffee, tea, utensils (including a can opener), cat food and treats. Our important papers are in a fire-resistant strong box so we can pick that up and go. We have a case of one liter bottles of water on hand. We also have a dozen plastic gallon jugs ready to be filled and carted off. We’ve had to get ready to evacuate places a couple times, so we’ve practiced grabbing all those things. Besides the basics of AM/FM radio, cell phones and flashlights, we keep a solar powered energy brick charged and ready to go. Extra radio and flashlight batteries are kept in plastic bags beside the go bag in the coat closet between the foyer and the garage.

Are we ready? I hope so, but I know from going through these things, plans go awry. I prefer to keep my fingers crossed and hope that we never need to do these things. But just in case, I’m going to do my best to stay prepared.

Fingers crossed, you know?

3

The Water Dream

So there I was…

I’d turned on the water, apparently to water the lawn, a problematic decision because snow and ice loaded the land. I realized all that when I went back and discovered that everything was flooded by a couple inches because I’d left the water on. People were looking out their windows like genuine looky lous. I could hear them commenting, telling each other, “Oh, poor Michael. Look at him. What’s wrong with him?”

The house where I turned on the water belong to Mom. So I figured I needed to turn off that water and reimburse her for what was sure to be an expensive water bill. I had a small paper bag with some money in it, but first things first: I was naked. I needed to dress. I had clothes. Most of it was very fancy. So I dressed out there in the flooded yard in front of the watching neighbors, first with undies, then with a pressed pink dress shirt, finally black dress pants.

Before I could get to my shoes, I saw Mom and accosted her. Her children, my sisters, were with her, as young children. I explained about turning the water on and leaving it on, and that I owed her, so I wanted to give her some money. Reaching into the bag, I pulled out a bundle of money, estimating it as $40,000, and gave it to Mom. She protested, “That’s too much,” but I insisted she take it.

She left and put on my shoes. As I finished that, ‘Dad’ approached. This father was a squat, chunky guy, no at all like my real father. Dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and short black tie, he wore a black bowler hat. I knew he was a drunk and was dismissive and scornful of him. He knew this but still approached, asking, “Can you spare ten dollars for me?” I knew he’d use it for booze but I said, “Yes, of course,” and ended up giving him $40. He profusely thanked me. I replied, “I can spare it.”

As Dad thanked me again and again and walked away, I opened my bag to get a sandwich and eat. As I pulled the sandwich out, I realized the bag was larger than first thought, and full of newly bundled money. As I gawked at the bundles of cash, I thought, there must be four million dollars in there.

Dream end.

0

The Health Update

Like many things I post, it’s both me celebrating myself and my minor victories, but it’s also just sharing my experiences because they might help others. In this case, I’m writing about my gallbladder adventures.

Back on July 6, I had extreme abdominal pain. Went to ER. After tests and talking and examinations, turns out my bile was sludge and my gallbladder spasmed. Further testing was done, ruling other things out. I’m set up to see a vascular surgeon a couple months from now.

I researched what to eat and not to eat. Two weeks later, I mindlessly ate two butter mini-croissants and launched another gallbladder adventure. Didn’t hit the ER because the pains and feelings all dupicated what I’d had before. Just downed the anti-nausea stuff they’d given me and half a pain killer, twice.

Learning from that, I went from being ‘watch-your-sodium-and-fat’ casual to being ruthlessly anti-fat and anti-sodium. With further research, I readjusted my anti-fat stance and adjusted it to consume fats in olive oil and avocados, along with a few others. These were good fats, which might help unsludge my bile.

Meanwhile, others in netland had shared their gallbladder experiences and I took away some lessons. Now I swear by Manuka honey and peppermint tea. Both of them subdue my bile and gallbladder when they get cantankerous. That’s happening less and less frequently.

In parallel, I’ve sought additional ways to unsludge my bile. To that end, I’ve been using milk thistle, Arctic Cod Oil, NAD, and Ashwagandha every day. While medical trials and studies haven’t embraced these as helpful, I feel like they have as my symptoms diminish. Of course, I’ve been super diligent about what I eat and drink, too. And, of course, I might have a panacea effect from them.

While doing those things, I increased my hydrating, and found and ate more fibrous foods, like adding flax seed to my morning oatmeal or buckwheat. I’ve eaten some skinless grilled chicken but no other meat. I have increased my salmon intake. I eat less, always abstaining from ‘eating until feeling full’ and eschewing second courses, treats, and desserts. Dairy-based butter is an absolute no-no but plant-based butter products are okay. Full fat cheese is off the menu, and I suppressed eating any cheese, just on principle. I walk away from my plate, ignoring my inner Mom telling me to clean my plate. And, I exercise more. So now, I’ve lost ten pounds.

To deal with itching from the bile salts (they’re not 100% that this is what causes it), I turned to icing myselfly, repeatedly and abundantly. That worked to kill the need to scratch and the itching urges are ratching down in a strong trend.

Is it all working? Seems to be. Could be. Or maybe I’m fooling myself. As with so many things along life’s spectrum, time will tell.

4

Satyrdaz Theme Music

Last night was beautifully clear and cool.The temperature dropped into the 50s. We were rewarded with a coolly comfortable house in the morning, third day in a row. I credit the skunks for some of that. We usually open our windows at night, and our doors for a few evening hours, to naturally cool the house. Skunks, though, were getting busy at eleven at night, releasing their odor and forcing us to shut the windows. The skunks have taken an August recess. Hope they’re not ending it soon.

Today is Satyrda, August 9, 2025. It’s 75 F now, feels 85 F, and is going to reach 91. Tomorrow, we stalk the century zone again. I think about how pleased I am that I used the cool stretch to get outside work accomplished. The flip of that is, while I was doing that work, I discovered — or sometimes, re-discovered — other work to be done at there. I’m bristling about it a little now because today and tomorrow are swamped with calls for other activities, like a memorial service for a friend. There’s too many of those things going on.

We’re going on vacay, too. Detailed planning plagues the days leading up to our planned departure. Food is the subject. We’re sharing a house with two other couples. Those four are a decade plus older than us. We all live under food restrictions. No this and that. I now have my own list. They all want to cook in the rented home. That’s apparently part of their vacation ethos: “Let’s go away and cook.”

Each couple is to provide dinner one night. We’re on our own for breakfast and lunch. My wife and I have a surprise dessert planned, a vegan fondue smorgasbord.

As I sat reading news and sipping my coffee, my wife said from her part of the office, “We don’t need to worry about him. He’s golfing today.”

“Not true,” I answered. “Thanks to modern technology, he can text something or call someone and launch a new round of craziness.”

Although we never said his name, we’re talking about the human wrecking ball named Trump, who is also known as TACO. My wife and I share some laughs over FAFO stories, like the Trump Burger guy who ICE picked up and plans to deport, Roland Mehrez Beainy. Beainy responds to the claims against him, “Ninety percent of the shit they’re saying is not true.” Well, that’s probaby so. This is the TACO regime. They’re addicted to lying, just their leader, TACO himself.

Shifting tones, my wife and I are angry about reports of how big tech is helping the TACO Regime. Apple’s investments, and Tim Cook’s gold offering to Trump sicken us. Amazon Web Services gave Trump a billion dollar discount. Gag, groan. Google slashed cloud services for the TACO Regime. OpenAI is giving Trump’s agencies access for $1 per year. Ordinarily, I’d think, look how great this is, with these companies helping the United States. But they’re not helping the U.S. Nothing Trump does helps the U.S. It’s all about him. And these companies are bribing him to stay on his good side.

Today’s music is “Pride and Joy”. This is a 1983 rock blues offering by Stevie Ray Vaughn and Double Trouble. My wife and I are both fans of SRV & DT, and we enjoy this song. But I don’t understand any segue that leads from what I dreamed, thought, or observed that led The Neurons to pull this one out and slot it into the morning mental music stream. It’s just one of those brain things, I guess.

Coffee has been sucked up. Its off to the races. Hope grace and peace finds and keeps you. Cheers

2

Fridaz Theme Music

Greetings from Ashlandia. We’ve gotten to another Frida. It’s been predestined to be called August 8, 2025. Last night was a sharp, clear night in Ashlandia. The fullish moon unloaded buckets of light. Stars crowded in like Swifties at a concert. Cool air sweet with freshness took the house’s heat out of it. Now dawn has broken. Sunshine has bulled out over the green land. Heat is coming up. Today will scale to 90 F. Tomorrow, red flag alerts are out as we push past 90, and Sunday, we’re expecting 102 F.

I called Dad and spoke with him and his wife for over an hour. He’s back home and doing well. Both were in good spirits. Trump’s actions and behavior deeply disturbs Dad. He’s worrying and wondering what the country will be like in four years. Other than that, we chatted about other family members and heating and air conditioning. That last was triggered by a task I’m doing: going up into the attic to switch the blower fan for the A/C and put it on high. I really should get a switch installed for that. It’s no fun at all climbing into the attic above the garage to deal with the horizontally-mounted blower for the central system. And I need to do it in the morning in the summer, before it get’s blazing hot in the attic. Complain and moan, that’s me.

Worrying about tariffs, I did order a new computer. It’ll arrive in a few days. Nothing fancy, just something for TSPG: typing, surfing, posting, gaming.

I surveyed a blizzard of news a little bit ago. Court cases the Trump Regime won and lost. More speculation about the Epstein files. Canyon fire growing in California. Troopers shot in PA. New record temperature in Arizona. These are all Trump era trends.

Reviewing some of Trump’s recent lies, The Neurons came up with a Queen song, “Liar”, from 1974, in the morning mental music stream.

And, fueled with coffee again, I’m off. Hope peace and grace finds you today and everyday. Cheers

2

Thirstdaz Theme Music

A hotter day is on hand for Ashlandia today but it’s not insurmountable. Thirstda, August 7, 2025, came in at 62 F and will climb the thermometer until the upper 80s are engaged. Skywise, it’s mostly blue with some curious cumulo type clouds peeking in to see what’s up.

Mom’s addition to her Penn Hills home in Pennsylvania is progressing fast. This will be her new bedroom. Located right off the short hall between the main floor bathroom and the kitchen, with easy access to the living room, this will ease matters for her. My brother-in-law, who specializes in plumbing but has been in construction all of his adult life, is doing the work and managing the site. Ever-reliable sis is managing the project. Completion by August’s finish is feasible. The latest hang up is about the ramp. ADA guidelines end up dictacting a 24 foot long ramp. That’s another five grand, and Mom’s BF, Frank, is against it.

Dad’s in the hospital again. Same matters as before. Feels like he’s doing a slow drain circle. I’ve been through this with other people, in and out of the hospital with declining health and worsening prognosis until it’s finally decided to move them to hospice. Don’t mean to sound blase about it but this is modern U.S. life, it feels like. I imagine that my end will be something similar.

Meanwhile, I’m mourning the passing of a cousin’s husband. I never met him. Haven’t seen her, the cousin, in over forty years. But I know her and love her as family, and always enjoyed her company. And that’s the way that works now, for me. Others might shrug and say, well, I don’t really know her any more and I’ve never seen her, but that’s just not my take.

Over in MAGALand, it’s Trump tariffs, cancelation of renewable energy projects, etc. As Krugman put it when addressing the last jobs report, the hard data will catch up with the soft data. The soft data amounts to anecdotes about rising prices, people being laid off, shortages, etc. A few months later, and the hard data comes, showing the tangible impact of all those decisions, such as tariffs. The same thing will happen with the cancellation of renewable energy projects. First it will show up as lost jobs. Then it will come in revealed as rising energy prices and rolling brownouts or blackouts because demand outpaces supply. But this is the GOP way in the 2020s, to blindly shortchange everything and anything. They ‘don’t believe’ in the climate change evidence, and they think wind and solar energy is inefficient, expensive, and ‘dangerous’. Trump, of course, has all manner of deranged ideas about wind energy causing cancer. But he’s their leader so they eagerly rush down his loony path.

Trump calls wind energy a ‘con job’: Here’s what the data actually says about his tirade on turbines

That brings me to today’s music. Thinking about economic developments, trade wars, declining tourism, and the attack on the education system joined a nexus of thinking about my health, Mom’s health, Dad’s health and their declines. Out of that morass, The Neurons cleverly called up The Fixx with their 1983 song, “One Thing Leads to Another”. That’s the way of living, isn’t it? One thing happening eventually leads to another. On the scientific side of things, I used to enjoy a show hosted by James Burke called Connections. Burke was always tracing discoveries and inventions and how they impacted other discoveries and inventions in unanticipated ways. It was a delightful way to experience learning about history and science, and often, economics and religion.

Dropped my car off for routine maintenance this morning. I left it on a Christian radio station for the mechanics. The driver taking me back home is named Mika. From the Bible.

Coffee has plowed into me again. Here we go on another day. May peace and grace find and hold you. Cheers

0

Wenzdaz Wandering Thoughts

I am apparently a beaucoup sneezer. My sneezes aren’t small blemishes on the aural experience. They explode out of me with Krakatoa force. I’m also sneezing several times a day, basically at home, mostly in the home office (snug), causing me spouse and I to both speculate that something in that region is causing the sneeze.

Well, I let go of three eruptions the other day.

My wife said, “Did you read about the murder in Ashland?”

I was horrified. “No. When did that happen?”

“It didn’t happen yet but I hear that a wife was driven to madness and killed her husband after he kept sneezing.”

Yes, I laughed. She wouldn’t do something like that.

I don’t think.

0

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