A Chaotic Dream

I read an article in a newspaper, something about prizes being given away, and decided that would be a good idea for my group of friends. I don’t recall prize details but I thought they were practical household goods — but expensive — which some of my friends could use. So I pulled my local friends together and pushed the idea on them, persuading them, “Let’s do this.”

We then got on the phone to call two other couples. We used to live close to each other but they’d moved away. I knew the wives better than their husbands, as I’d known the women first, so I kept forgetting the men’s names when I was on the phone with them.

We ended up at one of the couple’s house. It was a small three-bedroom, two baths California townhouse. Not shabby but cluttered. They were home but the husband wasn’t coming out; I sensed our ‘invasion’ irritated him and felt sort of sad that he lived in a small, cluttered place.

There was a device we were supposed to use in conjunction with this scheme, although the scheme was to call people up or knock on their doors and try to sign them up. The little rectangular device had come apart, so I was trying to fix it. Mostly metal, with a wind-up motor and gears, it also had some small red and yellow pieces, and a body that clipped on it. I continued trying to fix that while talking to others and laughing.

After a long period of aimless conversations, everyone agreed with my idea. One of the guys, a younger Mexican-native American who I worked with before, came to me and told me my assignment was to go sign up three new customers. I declined, explaining, “I’m not a salesperson. My role is to organize and oversee.”

He accepted that but seemed glum. I finished fixing the little device and put it together, telling him, “Look, I fixed it.” I felt very proud of that, vindicated because ‘I knew I could do it’.

I then asked him what the matter because his energy seemed low, then guessed that he was facing discrimination from his boss. He confirmed that, adding, “It’s others, too.” We spoke about that a little bit more.

Another friend came in to tell me my wife was missing. She said she’d gone to bed but she wasn’t in her bed. I went and checked on her; she was in bed. I told her that others checked on her, but she wasn’t there and asked where she’d been. Crossly, she replied, “I had to go to the bathroom.”

I went back out and told my friends about the exchange, then I again went looking for my wife. This time, I went outside and up the street. We were in a suburban neighborhood. I found her sitting on a lawn chair on someone’s walk to their front door. Sprinkler systems were on, watering large, lush green front yards.

My wife was younger and laughing, though she was alone. She pointed out this kitten. Tail straight up, it was an odd tarnished gold color and was prancing around. My wife said that it’s a stray but she was very fond of the cat and had been watching it for a while.

Dream end

Tuesday’s Theme Music

Ashland, Oregon — Tuesday, March 3, 2026. Fog is drifting in from the west, slowly painting over the deep blue sky. Sunshine has us at 52 degrees F with a projected high of 61.

Papi has been in and out several times, like he’s expecting it to be warmer outside because it’s sunny but the chilly air keeps pushing him to return to warmth. He’s just executed the classic move of throwing himself down and rolling on his back while he was washing his face.

Relative quiet is drifting from the Mom front. I’ll take it but it’s one of those ‘waiting for the other shoe to drop’ quiets.

Quiet is not the word I’d use to describe the middle east as the joint US/Israel attack on Iran apparently encourage other regional nations to try to settle old scores. Afghanistan and Pakistan have border battles going on. US embassies have been attacked. Shipping — including a US oil tanker — have been attacked. Dubai’s airport has been hit.

Reverberations are spreading. Shipping has been diverted from the Strait of Hormuz and the average price of gas in the US jumped 11 cents overnight. The Dow, S&P 500, and NASDAQ all dropped.

Trump will dismiss growing worries about affordability as blithely as he dismissed military members’ deaths. I’m sure he’ll shrug and call it a sacrifice that has to be made. He’s not personally affected so he really doesn’t care, and it shows in his speech and behavior.

The war was supposed to be pre-emptive to stop Iran’s attacks on the US. I haven’t been able to find those incidents which Trump and Hegseth. I did find the chants from protestors about “Death to the United States”, but damage and deaths weren’t reported after those chants.

Seeing our rooms brimming with sunshine about half an hour ago, The Neurons fired up Cream and “The Sunshine of Your Love” but in the time I took to type this, fog has blotted out the sun and blue sky. The song is one of the major pieces of frenetic power rock which I grow up with as a teen. I went with a recording of a live rendition from the group’s farewell tour, just to see the young faces.

Hope your day carries you forward on positive energy and delivers good news and optimism. I’m off to the dentist for follow up, next phase of getting an implant.

Cheers

Till When

Just goofing around. “Linger” by the Cranberries floated into the mental music stream. I recalled my youngest sister once saying that she loved that song, and thought about how she had changed and how life had changed. This came come out whole a minute later.

And here’s the sweet song, “Linger”.

Cheers

A Meeting & A Wedding Dream

Dreamed I was at a fancy business dinner. Large, round white tables set across a ballroom, bar in the corner. I’d just arrived and set up was underway. Two of my previous bosses were there. The fete was due to begin in an hour or so.

Participants, including me, had been asked to create some entertainment. I’d created a word jumble. Then my former boss said, “And please provide an answer sheet.”

Uh oh. I hadn’t created that. I went to get the notebook where I’d made it, knowing that I used one of those black and white lab notebooks that I always favored. I’d thrown it away because the notebook was full. I went to a gray, wheeled, large garbage cans sitting there and began going through the trash. People asked me to explain. I reluctantly did, with a grin, and was met with sympathy.

One unfamiliar elderly woman came by and said, “I know what you’re going through. I’ve done that.”

Shrugging, I replied, “If I can’t find it, I’ll just have to solve the jumble.”

Dad was there, putting silverware on tables. He said, “Maybe you used one of these notebooks, Michael.”

I knew I hadn’t because the ones he showed me weren’t the right kind. But I said, “Good idea, I’ll check.” And made a show of checking a few.

That dream segment ended. Another began.

I went to a counter crowded with product and was a little confused. My wife was there, along with several others, including a man behind a counter. I learned they were talking about my hair! Some products had been ordered and had arrived.

I had my own things to do/try for my hair, here and back home, so I was a little puzzled and annoyed. My wife said, “Everyone wants you to look pretty for the wedding.” I think I dimly knew a sister was getting married but didn’t know who.

The man wanted me to try the products. I wanted him to back off but didn’t say anything. I suggested, “Let me brush my hair so we can see what it looks like first.”

I didn’t have a brush, mirror, or comb, so I used my hands, and then asked my wife, “How does this look?”

She hemmed and hawed, not able to decide, which vexed me.

Dream end.

Sunday’s Theme Music

Ashland, Oregon — Sunday, March 1, 2026. It’s raining and foggy in Ashland, with temperatures tottering around 50 degrees F. Not a shred of sunshine out there, and a high of 57 is expected. Spring is muscling in.

It’s a day of questioning for me, starting with what’s going on with Mom to what’s going on in the world and the nation.

I learned yesterday that another sister — our youngest — had been going to visit Mom, taking her things, etc. The youngest has been designated as our contact with Mom because she has the best relationship of everyone living nearby. I reached out to her to see how Mom was doing.

The youngest related that when she arrived, Mom was playing bingo with five or six others at a table and apparently laughing and having fun. Mom told the youngest that she’d gone to church, which she enjoyed, and seemed pretty content and happy.

After wheeling Mom back to Mom’s room, the youngest found clothes all over Mom’s area. Mom complained she didn’t have hangers. Sis pointed out that they’re in the closet, and told her, you need to look, and helped Mom tidy.

Then, though, today, Mom asked the youngest to bring her cookies — “Anything but chocolate chip.” Oatmeal raisin cookies were brought, which made Mom mad. She then gave my sister ‘mean faces’ and quit speaking with her. The youngest rolled Mom to the dining room so she could eat, and then left.

The youngest sister also related that Mom’s roomie is 95 years old with congestive heart failure and two ‘bad shoulders’. She had a hospice aid visiting. My sister suggested that maybe we should get Mom a hospice aid. That took me back, because there’s nothing indicated to me at this point that Mom is ready for hospice.

It’s just as troubling and confusing elsewhere in the world. Trump ordered the U.S. to attack Iran, a joint operation with Israel, “Operation Epic Fury”. While Iran’s supreme leader was killed, Iran retaliated. Americans were killed and injured. More critically, is this the opening that will explode the area into another war? Trump and his advisors seem to think in terms of gunship diplomacy and regime change.

Trump — the peace president, a self-made assertion that has Orwell laughing in his grave — said that the attack was to protect Americans. “Our objective is to defend the American people by eliminating imminent threats from the Iranian regime,” Trump said in prerecorded remarks posted on White House social media accounts early Saturday morning.”

Back in 2011, Trump said President Obama would start a war with Iran. “Our president will start a war with Iran because he has absolutely no ability to negotiate. He’s weak and he’s ineffective.”

Who is weak and ineffective now, Trump?

Protests in Baghdad broke out, with “Death to Israel, death to America,” being shouted. This smacks of the 1970s and 1980s, so it sickens me that we seem to be going into another war spiral. I hope to hell that’s not true.

As I sat with that information, news arrived of a mass shooting in Austin, Texas. Next came updated information about deaths in Iran where 85 are reported killed: “The majority of the dead are schoolgirls aged between seven and 12 years old, according to the regime-controlled news outlets Tasnim and Fars.”

Senseless killing, once again. I expect anger and hatred in Iran to rise in response. This is exactly where we were before, using violence and killing to win hearts and minds. It did not work then; I don’t expect it to work now.

BTW, remember when Trump vowed no more wars when he campaigned? Guess that promise meant as much as Mexico paying for the wall and lower food and energy prices.

The song in my morning mental music stream came when I first looked out the windows, before reading any news. “Rainy Night in Georgia” came out in 1970. The Neurons put it in there when I thought, “Another rainy day in Ashland.” I didn’t remember who performed the song and looked it up to learn it was Brook Benton.

I call again for peace and grace to find its way to us, and maybe it will someday. Right now, it feels less likely than it did last week. But things will change. It’s really just question of how and why.

Cheers

The Morning eMail

My wife heaved a sigh. She’d just come into the home office with her tea and settled down on her computer to check her email.

“My NYTimes is again in my junk folder, along with Ashland News,” she announced. “Two pieces of junk mail are in my inbox.”

“It’s probably the AI that’s supposed to be so helpful,” I answer. She laughs.

Complaints about her emails have been going all week. She uses Hotmail, which is now Outlook. Or maybe it’s the other way. Whatever you call it, she’s displeased with its performance. Every day, she has to check to see where her trusted emails have gone and delete the spam that now hits her inbox. As a product, the Hotmail/Outlook app seems to be going backwards.

It’s not consistent, either. It first started with her saying last Monday, “I didn’t get my NYTimes newsletter.” Then she said, “I found it in my junk mail.” That continued for several days before it went back to her inbox. That’s when Ashland News went to junk mail.

“I don’t understand,” my wife said. “Why is it doing this?”

A search of the net suggests many ways to try to fix this problem. None of them mentioned why the problem began. I decided to use AI to see what it said. ChatGPT blamed new adaptive AI which Microsoft introduced last year.

I passed that on to my wife, who laughed. “Great. AI is screwing up my email. What a perfect metaphor.”

I laughed, too. “I don’t know how much I trust of what one AI says about the other. It’s like wondering, what does your wife think of your girlfriend?”

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