Tag: love

The Sisters Dream

I was with several of my sisters. We were all younger than now.

Don’t know where we exactly were. Outside. Mostly flat and sort of muddy to start.

I’d been off doing something and then returned, looking for them, as it was time to go. I found them by a large broken cement sewer pipe coming out of the base of a dirt hill. Multiple bottles and trash was there.

One of the sisters asked, “Michael, can you help us? We want to clean up these bottles but we don’t know how.”

They had two large plastic containers with a spout on top. Way too small to put the bottles in. So I tore the top of the plastic away. They thanked me and we loaded the bottles up, often breaking them. Some bottles were already broken. As they warned me to be careful, I picked up the bottles and put them in the plastic. Then I carried those away, depositing them somewhere safe.

I was ready to go, so I began walking. My sisters were several hundred yards away. I wanted time to myself. Deciding to avoid them, I began running. My sisters called my name: I ignored them, running faster.

I crossed the muddy plain and then ended up on a highway’s wide shoulder. Traffic was heavy to my right. Dusk was coming. Left was a lot of new constructions: houses and stores were being built, but was suspended for the night.

I thought, wow, that’s a lot of construction. The construction and changes threw me off. I hadn’t been in the area for a while. Confused about where I was going, I decided to go back to my sisters.

Turning around, I gawked with some amazement. I hadn’t realized how far and fast I’d run. Running back, my speed amazed me even more.

I reached the spot where I’d last seen my sisters. They weren’t visible. I called them; no answer.

Then I found them, along with their previous husbands, and more of my family. I looked for my wife but she wasn’t there. I saw my younger sister’s ex-husband, JJ, and said hello to him, adding, “Good to see you.”

The group told me we were going to Sharon and John’s. She’s my sister and that’s her husband. Then the group kind of wandered around, dawdling. Impatient, I went to Sharon and John’s house.

It was a small place. In the dining room was a large oval, polished wood table. Arrayed in front of it on one side were three rows of seven baby highchairs. They were different colors and ages. Each had a placard on it.

I was mystified. Like, what’s going on here? Is this where they expected us – adults – to sit? We wouldn’t fit in those chairs. No, they seemed to be set up for something. Classes for children?

Then the chairs rearranged themselves. Many disappeared. Matthew Perry was seated at one of the tables. Reprising his role as Chandler Bing from “Friends”, he did a few scenes. Except, he was the size of a baby.

John came in. I said, “How was that done,” gesturing to Perry/Bing in a highchair. John explained, “Oh, that’s Matthew Perry. He was in “Friends”.”

I answered, “I know all that, but that’s not him. That’s the size of a child. Is that a puppet? Animation?” It was completely lifelike.

We went back and forth, with John explaining the same thing in almost the same ways. I kept asking questions, trying to clarify it, but never got an answer. My sister came in, interrupting us to announce that there were sandwiches in the other room.

Dream end.

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A Dad Leak Dream

There was a leak in the bathroom.

A thick tube of clear water spurted out of the wall. White tiles had been removed above the tub about five feet up. Oh, dear, what a mess, with some black fuzzy thing happening in the opening.

A trio of engineers, casually dressed, of different styles, heights, ages, one woman, two men, came in on behalf of the townhouse association. Because this wasn’t unique to this townhouse. It’d happened throughout the complex. This trio was going unit to unit to assess and strategize. I was just watching them from back by the door, listening as they ignored me. The spoke of how to fix it, what must be done.

Leaving, I headed across a common through sunshine to my own townhouse because, hey, that had been my father’s place, which slightly changed everything. He wasn’t there to look after it, so I was acting on his behalf.

I entered my own townhouse where the same problem existed but seemed to be on a much smaller scale. Some wall had been removed from the bathroom to the right which didn’t seem to have anything to do with the leak. I didn’t understand what that was about but I knew where to go for explanation.

I sought that women and this little rotund blonde explained something that kind of made sense and eased my anxieties. Going off again, I found I had a broken arm. No, not broken, just not working right. I’d been advised to keep it in a sling. I didn’t have a sling, so I fashioned one, and then modified it again and again, decided this was a good place to keep things, like my wallet, keys, and glasses.

So I tucked them in but then needed more material, so I added other things, and reshaped it, and reshaped it. People were going past as I did this and I turned away, trying to keep things private.

I decided to call my stepmother to tell her about Dad’s townhouse. Then I realized that Dad was dead and this was a dream. That I had actually a dream in a dream, and that the townhouse with the plumbing problem wasn’t real.

But I called my stepmother. I said, “I was thinking about Dad because it’s his birthday.” Then I realized, that’s not right. I said, “No, because it was my birthday.”

She was talking but it came to me, this call isn’t happening; it’s also a dream.

I awoke.

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Sunday’s Theme Music — the Craziest Thing

Ashland, southern Oregon — Sunday, July 5, 206.

It’s another hot summer day. Clouds are in the air and the temperature will be about 90 degrees, not nearly as life-threatening as so many others are enduring around the world.

We attended the Independence Day parade in Ashland yesterday. Very tepid. Low turnout to watch, low enthusiasm for the people marching by, dull interest in the music. The ‘flyby’ came about ten minutes after the parade ended.

It could all be me and my friends, of course, but I walked around to hear what others were saying. One young man pushing a stroller, a woman and another child with him, were all dressed in the national colors. “That wasn’t much,” he was saying, walking away. “Where should we go?

Trump broke more promises yesterday, of course. He said he was going to speak no matter what the weather, but then waited until it was cool, much later. That’s TACO for you. He also said he was going to speak for a very long time but spoke only 40 minutes. More TACO.

Your Trump Quote of the Day:

Trump was said to be talking about the crowd at the July 4th celebration. He thinks that crowd is “the craziest thing anyone’s ever seen.”

No, Trump, the craziest thing ever seen remains how much you lie and steal, and yet people keep saying how wonderful and great you are. That’s the craziest thing anyone’s ever seen in the last fifty years.

Trump promised a ‘golden age’ during his speech. I’ll tuck that promise in with these previous Trump promises:

We’ve seen the outcomes of these Trump promises. Trump has attacked several countries. He went to war with Iran. Inflation is still up and affordability is a hot issue for many people. Trump was frequently golfing during the war with Iran. Medicare has been cut. A new healthcare plan never emerged. Trump is still building the border wall; Mexico isn’t paying for it.

With MAGA’s unquenched love for Trump going strong, The Neurons unspooled “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” by Queen in the morning mental music stream.

I’ve read essays during the last few weeks about how Republicans have weaponized words like patriotism, woke, freedom, God, and religion. They essentially coopted and twisted these words and their meanings in the finest “1984” fashion. So while I use ‘love’ as a descriptor for what MAGAts hold for Trump, I’m not certain that it’s love in the sense that the rest of us employ it. If it is, it’s love in the sense of too many tortured relationships, where one is the abuser and the other is abused, yet the abused cannot quit the relationship. I know that I’m thinking of it from my side of the perspective, and not the abused MAGA position.

But how else can I think of it? Trump continually lies to them. He makes and breaks promises, just as it’s seen in many abusive relationships. Yet, they can’t quit him; they love him. They love him even though he made two billion dollars and did little to improve their lives, even as they struggle more and more with worsening conditions and deteriorating affordability.

So here we go: theme music for the MAGAts and Trump.

Hope your day brings you the best life you can live. May peace and grace smooth your way and take you on to better things.

Cheers

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Saturday’s Theme Music – Looking back

Ashland, southern Oregon — Saturday, July 4, 2026.

Today is Independence Day in the US, another bright day in my valley, destined to be 90 plus degrees F.

Fireworks aren’t permitted in Ashland. They are allowed in our county, so there’s a storm going on about buying fireworks right outside of city limits. People then come in and set them off.

I’m one of those against fireworks. We’re in the middle of a drought, and they terrorize animals and some people. Each year, I bring my cats in and ensure they’re in a safe place. Papi heads to the darkest and most secure space, the walk-in closet in our bedroom.

I understand that people like the colors and noises. We have other tech that can be subbed for this ancient technology. I know, though, that change is slow around traditions like these.

For me, Independence Day has a very special meaning. I met my wife just a short week before the holiday. I was fifteen and she was fourteen. My father, then in the Air Force, was stationed at DESC, just outside of Wright-Patterson AFB in Ohio. I went to live with him after some run-ins with my stepfather.

Dad and my future father-in-law were good friends. Dad worked for him part time years before when stationed at Wright-Pat, trying to make extra money. When Dad returned after assignments in Vietnam, Germany, Iceland, and Turkey, they renewed their friendship.

I met my FIL, Jim, in May that year, 1971, on a fishing/camping trip. Then I met his wife and daughters in June. That was just a short drop by, though. It was on July 4th that my wife and I ‘really’ met.

Dad had given me an old watch after he bought a new one. I wore that all the time. Back when I met her and my wife and I were getting to know one another on July 4th, she asked me about my birthday. As it happens, it’s on July 5th.

My wife asked if she could see my watch. Then she refused to return it. She waited until after the fireworks. She waited until midnight. Then she presented my watch as a gift and told me, “Happy birthday.”

I lost the watch a long time ago, but I cherish her and the memory.

Today’s song is “Tiny Dancer” by Elton John. For the last twenty plus years while living in Ashland, we go to a friend’s house along the parade route to watch our town’s 4th of July parade. It’s a brunch potluck. Our host used to be our neighbor across the street here; when her husband passed away over a dozen years ago, she moved into a small cottage behind her daughter’s house. It’s our daughter’s house where we and about fifty other people congregate and celebrate.

Our host, though, is Barb, the neighbor from across the street, a sweet and charming but small 96-year-old woman. Her husband told me that he met his wife when she was a teenager. She was studying dance, already in college, and he was at college and walking, when he saw her alone on the bridge, dancing, late on afternoon. He didn’t know who she was but he knew he wanted to know her. Since hearing that story, I often call Barb “Tiny Dancer”. And that’s why the song is in the morning mental music stream.

I have you have a wonderful day, whether you’re celebrating the holiday in the US or elsewhere, or just enjoying life in another nation. I hope it gives you memories that make you smile, and comes with memories about what happened before, and full of people who help make your life a better place.

Cheers

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Ashland, southern Oregon — Sunday, June 14, 2026.

Summer is set to officially begin in the northern hemes next week. It’s already getting in place in Ashland. The sky is blue, blue, blue, and the sun is getting hot, hot, hot. My house saw 96 yesterday while most of Ashland felt mid 90s temperatures.

Right now, it’s 77 F with the upper 90s on the table. Officially, the weather services differ from my local reading; they say, it’s 83 and feels like 91.

Going through this heat wave with my wife is fascinating in a terrible way. When it hit 96 outside yesterday, inside was 83. Warmish to me, causing sweat to dribble down the small of my back and accumulate in my pits.

I asked my wife what she thought of the heat in the house. She said, “It’s cool to me.”

She also often needs lights on. Complains, “It’s so dark in here.”

Dismaying. The other day, I came home. It was 86 degrees outside. The room was 78. She had a space heater on.

My sister, Gina, said she thinks Mom is on her ‘last legs’. As an aside, that’s an interesting expression for humans, comparing us to repaired furniture.

Gina’s assessment came in the wake of continued complaints from Mom about headaches, UTIs, yeast infections, and diarrhea. Tests come back and show, ‘nothing is wrong’. But Mom had another fall and hit her head again yesterday.

I have felt that Mom was on her last legs for the last month. She’s continued through a spiral of pain and difficulty communicating, remembering, and moving. She still eats, though. How long her ‘last legs’ will last is always difficult to predict.

Gina sent photos of Mom’s empty rooms today. Mom’s keyboard was given away to a young woman. Gina shared stories of how Mom would play the keyboard and sing while Frank strummed along on the guitar.

I laughed at this World Cup headline:

Journalist stunned by ‘daylight robbery’ food prices at World Cup game

There’s been a few headlines and stories like that abounded, complaining about the costs of food and beverages at World Cup venues. Americans have been enduring this for years at professional sporting events. We’re not overly outraged, just savagely bitter. What makes these prices taste worse is that they’re often inflated by ‘fees’ to pay for the site.

That all helps fuel the K-shaped economy. Prices are hypermanaged to attract consumers. Then we’re gouged on ‘monetized’ aspects. For example, I can buy a ‘cheap’ airline ticket for a few hundred dollars. It won’t include food. The seat will be the worse on the plane. Doesn’t include baggage except a small carryon. And the actual price I pay will be much higher, as fees and administrative charges are added to pay for airport construction, security, and higher fuel and insurance costs.

I don’t expect it to get any better in Trump’s economy. Window dressing drives Trump’s values. He’s interested in what he thinks ‘looks good.’ So ‘low’ ticket prices are nice optics, even if they don’t reflect reality.

Americans have learned, though. We — those marginalized by the costs of living — understand how this works now. Consumer sentiment is understandably low. As this headline nicely puts it:

An update on US consumer sentiment: Gloomier outlook ahead of sunnier days

How is Trump’s war with Iran going? I don’t know; you tell me. The war is now at 106 days as Trump and Iran continue to negotiate.

The Epstein ballroom remains under construction. I believe that Operation Epic LOOK — SQUIRREL! is hosting an event involving UFC fighting on the White House lawn. BTW, in true Trump Double Standards fashion, Bud Light is sponsoring the UFC White House event. Bud Light was boycotted by MAGA just a few years ago for partnering with a transgender influencer.

Instead of a Trump Quote of the Day, I offer you this:

Here’s a little more about Trump’s declining popularity from the Political Tribune article about the Civiqs poll:

The states that remain in Trump’s column are still red on the map, although the intensity of that red has faded noticeably since inauguration day. Wyoming, still his strongest state, now sits at +25 after starting at +47. North Dakota follows at +15, South Dakota at +14, and West Virginia at +13. The more telling detail is not where they sit now, but where they began, with several of these states having effectively lost around half their initial support while staying on the positive side of the ledger.

Kentucky stands out as the only state to cross fully into negative territory, moving from +23 at the start of the term to -4 today, a 27-point swing that leads the national decline. Montana follows closely behind, dropping from +25 to +1, while Idaho slides from +34 to +11.

That’s a present to We the People on Trump’s birthday!

Today’s song is “More than A Feeling” by Boston. While the song is about love and loss, it’s in my morning mental music stream because economists keep talking about a recession vibe. They insist that the numbers look ‘okay’ if not great for the economy and we not heading for a recession. But We the People see the price and then the real cost. We know that’s a screwed-up economy.

My hope for you is that you have an enjoyable, happy day, wherever you are.

Cheers

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Sunday’s Theme Music – Alright

Ashland, southern Oregon — Sunday, June 7, 2026.

Terribly deep blue sky is out there, reflecting the front capping the valley. Clear and sunny, the temperatures are hovering in the mid 50s F but are on their way up to 70.

I’ve been running into friends who have ‘heard the news’ about my bladder cancer. They get the look and posture of concern. Ask how I am, offer to do things for me, all those things that we do. I love the support but dislike the attention.

Of course, it’s more than me. Most of my friends have lost friends and family to cancer of different kinds. They carry that weight.

Mom’s house is still being cleaned out. Gina sent a photo of Mom’s empty closet. Mom’s closet was always tight with clothes but impeccably organized. She had a thing with hangers, using different types of hangers for different materials and needs, a process born from years of life, routines, plans.

Habitat for Humanity is closed to donations in that area. Gina is paying Goodwill to come, take the furniture out, haul it away. The sales of some other furniture, purses, Corning Ware, fans, and electronics will cover those costs. The clothes are being given to various area charities. The irony is that the cost is about $600, which is almost as much as Mom paid for that furniture twenty years ago.

To have a life reduced to dollars and cents.

I have thoughts on Trump today, gleaned from new articles, but I’m running late. My wife arose early to continue cleaning the refrigerator. I couldn’t stand by and not help. It’s all done now, and yes, looks great and was worthwhile to do.

The music in today’s morning mental music stream is “I’m Alright”. Kenny Loggins wrote and performed it. The song was used as the theme music for “Caddyshack”, a movie with Bill Murray, Rodney Dangerfield, Michael O’Keefe, Ted Knight, and Chevy Chase that came out in 1980. It also starred a groundhog.

We were stationed in Japan shortly after that. Home video players were just hitting the market. We bought one and would go down and buy bootleg recordings of movies like “Caddyshack”. Then the USO at the base main gate opened a video rental business where we could rent videos for a dollar. Pause to reflect, that was over forty years ago. Where did the time go?

Hope your weekend is going well and is full of more happy peaks than low valleys.

Cheers

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Sunday’s Theme Music – Days like this

Ashland, southern Oregon — Sunday, May 10, 2026.

Happy Mother’s Day to the mothers in the United States. Oh, what the heck, make it to the mothers of the world, no matter your religion, nationality, or species.

It’s 65 F in Ashland with light clouds mildly blocking the sunshine. Our high will hit the upper 70s, giving us pleasant holiday weather.

I’d written a post earlier. Edge crashed, taking the post with it. WordPress hadn’t ‘autosaved’ it, so there was nothing to show that I’d been typing and thinking. Foolishly, I hadn’t saved it myself.

After that, I decided, I’m taking a hiatus from thinking about the news today and commenting on it. Do a MDB: Mother’s Day Blackout.

That’s when the 1995 Van Morrison song entered the morning mental music stream. I retired from the US Air Force in ’95. I heard this song on the radio in one of the first few days of life after wearing a military uniform for twenty years.

I wasn’t employed for the first time since 1974. Wasn’t really looking yet, either; I had my retirement pension. My wife was getting antsy, though. Still, I’d decided to take time off for myself. There would be other days for work.

That happened in early November. By December, I was employed and was fortunate to remain employed for another twenty years.

Today has a similar vibe to my memory of that 1995 day. Look at how over thirty years have passed, and here I sit, feeling like I’m at another threshold. Then again, every day is another threshold.

Remembered Lyrics

When you don’t need to worry there’ll be days like this
When no one’s in a hurry there’ll be days like this
When you don’t get betrayed by that old Judas kiss
Oh my mama told me there’ll be days like this

When you don’t need an answer there’ll be days like this
When you don’t meet a chancer there’ll be days like this

When all the parts of the puzzle start to look like they fit
Then I must remember there’ll be days like this

Hope your Mother’s Day is a good day for you and yours, no matter your sex, gender, whatever. Just celebrate the day, rejoice in what is, and make something to build in.

Coffee is here. Cheers

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Aging Reflections: the Balance.

A NYTimes headline scored my attention today:

5 Money Lessons From Readers in the Trenches of Elder-Parent Care

Regular visitors to my blog know that my family have been dealing with my aging mother for years. She’d been living a good life; a fall on some stairs changed that trajectory.

Mom fortunately had a good partner, Frank, as she moved toward her 80s. His drawbacks including increasing deafness, blindness, and being five years older than Mom.

We could see what was coming: Mom would need more and more care. The care would become more and more expensive. Frank would be less and less able to help Mom.

I spoke with Mom about it over the years, advocating to get someone in to help her clean and help her take care of herself. I also kept suggesting that they move into smaller place, such as an assisted living facility or a ‘senior’ community.

Mom resisted most of the suggestions. She didn’t want to leave her house. That home represented her life. She bought it on her own, then got her GED and went to nursing school. Mom opened her home to her grandchildren, taking care of them while my sisters went to school or worked.

I eventually convinced Mom to accept someone coming in and cleaning a few times a week. I paid for it, which helped Mom accept the help. She was also willing let that person in because it was a neighbor and someone she knew.

The arrangement ended when the cleaner suffered cancer and could no longer work. Worse, Mom was falling more often. Her recovery arcs were longer. Each hospital episode left her with more challenges. Yet her will to live was undiminished.

Things took a drastic turn last year. Frank, her partner, fell down the stairs. Hospitalized, he went into a coma and died, 95 years old.

This was devastating for us on multiple fronts and forced Mom’s health from concern to crisis.

Mom tried living alone when Frank was in the hospital and everyone hoped he would recover. Falling, though, Mom couldn’t get up several times and slept on the floor. Cooking was a struggle, so she took shortcuts such as eating sardines with crackers for dinner. She grew thinner and weaker.

My sister took her in. Sis set up a nice space for Mom. Perhaps the biggest drawback was that it was located in my sister’s finished basement. It started out fine but soon devolved into a cold war between Mom and everyone living there. Mom has been vulnerable to UTIs, and we think that was part of the problem.

Mom ended up making suicidal comments. She ended up hospitalized and then in an assisted living place where she does not want to be.

All this is just foreshadowing to me. I’ll be 70 in a few months. My wife is a year younger. One sister is two years older, and another is two years younger. The other two sisters are 8 and 10 years younger than me.

The thing is, even as Mom needs help, all of us are also reaching that point. While I’ve been hospitalized and treated for several issues in the last five years, I’ve rebounded. The same can’t be said for my wife, my sisters, and their husbands.

We’re all facing the same issues that others face in this article: how do we help our parents when we’re crossing the threshold into needing help ourselves?

This is the Silver Tsunami, a term many do not like.

I’ve considered moving to be closer to my sisters and Mom. There are many legitimate excuses for why that hasn’t happened. While our southern Oregon home is ideal for us, the location is not any longer. Just under 1900 square feet, the house is single storied with two bathrooms, and three bedrooms. One bedroom is the home office. This is where we spend our most time, reading, exercising, watching television, on the computer.

The area, though, has been enduring droughts. With the droughts have come water shortages, wildfires, and smoke. As those hit, the local economy has suffered. As a result, Ashland is facing a financial crisis. Adding to that crisis is that two major employers, Southern Oregon University (SOU) and the town’s hospital, Assante Ashland Community Hospital, faced their own crises. Those crises forced them to drawdown in significant ways, with more on the way.

At this point, the future is not ideal. As the article points out, we’re not alone in our problems, both with our own health and aging, but also with helping our parents.

What’s troubling me as much as anything is how the GOP has responded. Trump has cut social services to the aging population. He instead wants to spend more money on the military. Equally troubling is that the GOP goes along with this.

There’s already a growing rural hospital crisis in the United States. With Trump in office, madly spending, the national debt has crossed the point where it is now larger than our Gross National Product.

Yet, Trump’s spending priorities are geared toward bailing out countries, starting wars or using the military as a stick to threaten other nations. These do nothing to help our nation’s aging citizens. Trump’s policies have instead resulted in higher prices across the spectrum, which makes everything worse for anyone living a marginalized life. Including people like Mom.

Projections show that it’ll probably get worse, with more citizens requiring healthcare and living assistance. Natural supply and demand for personnel, food, assistance, and medical care will further drive up costs.

It’s a terrible spiral. As wealth becomes more concentrated in the hands of billionaires who care mostly for themselves and their businesses, the rest of us will keep sliding further into debt and crisis.

Sadly, that is Trump’s America. As it now stands, it’s the future for far too many.

Some may say that I’m being fatalistic. I reply, I’m just reading the news and watching the trends.

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