Tag: love

Not An Easy Answer

Daily writing prompt
Share one of the best gifts you’ve ever received.
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This is another of those questions with contingencies circling around a word. Today, it’s ‘gift’. I mean, the gifts of life and good health are often on people’s lists. I’ve experienced enough personal health scares to appreciate those words. A memory seared into my being is of being very sick one year. Bronchitis turned to pneumonia. I awoke to Mom’s high pitched appeals, “Please, Lord, let my son live.” Her efforts worked, as here I am. Pretty good gift, I think.

Then there is the best gift received as a present. That would be a 1/20 scale model of a 1961 Jaguar XK-E. I was around nine or ten years old. Car fever bowled me over. Porsches, Corvettes, Ferraris, name it. But that Jag impressed me as the most stylistic art on four wheels. The roadster was my choice but the model was a coupe. It was fun to build, and I displayed the result with pride.

However, there was a shirt given to me when I was fourteen. A female classmate had a crush on me. I was aware of this because other girls wrote me a note informing me of the fact. Later that week, she bought the shirt, and gave it to me as a gift. Although the shirt wasn’t my style, I was flattered. Astonished, really. In retrospect, I understand how much courage it took her to buy that and give it to me.

I suppose, though, the best gift is that kiss and hug my wife gave me the first time she ever told me she loved me. Unable to speak the words, she wrote them in the steam on a window. We were teenagers and that’s another memory captured in amber. Married a few years later, we’re still married fifty years later.

So, not an easy question to answer. The question does force me to realize how many great gifts I’ve received.

I hope I was able to give a few to others along the way.

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Mom & Dad

Daily writing prompt
What were your parents doing at your age?
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I often think about Mom & Dad at my age of 68 and what they were doing.

Mom, with a couple divorces behind her, was a late bloomer in some ways. She’d given birth to seven children. Five lived. Forfeiting graduating high school to leave her small town of Turin, Iowa and find employment and begin her own life, she eventually acquired her GED. That was long after I’d left home and begun my life. After gaining her GED, she went to college and became an LPN and RN. A twenty-year in that followed; she retired at my current age, devoting herself to being a grandmother.

Dad and Mom had divorced decades before. Dad was in the military, the U.S. Air Force. After retiring at 20 years, when he was thirty-nine years old, he worked in the grocery business as a produce manager and then bought his own restaurant. When he was around 48, twenty years younger than I am now, he moved west to Texas. He worked in different retail businesses while becoming a real estate agent. He always like running stores, though. Eventually, he was running the largest truck stop west of the Mississippi. Along the way, he met another woman; she became his third wife. They’ll be married 33 years on Valentine’s Day of 2025. Meanwhile, he kept managing that truck stop. Every time he told them he was thinking about retiring, they’d offer him more pay, bonuses, and vacation. He did eventually give it up when he was 80. So at my current age, he was fully in the thick of running it.

They’re a surprising couple. From lower class working roots, they married many times. Each had productive careers. Between the two of them, each was parent to seven children but they also buried three children. Five of us siblings shared them as parents. I left Mom’s home when I was 14 to live with Dad and then left his house at 17, joining the military as Dad had done, so much of what I saw of their lives was through a long distance lens. Mom and Dad remain alive. Mom is 89 and Dad is 92. Both endure health issues but because of the era when they worked and the effort they put in, they have excellent health benefits.

Of course, the flip side of it all is, what will I be like at their ages?

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Wednesday’s Wandering Thoughts

Breaking out of writing mood, I check the news. I don’t care about the politics at the moment. I’m worrying about winter storms. Southern California wildfires. War in Ukraine and Gaza. Perusing these matters remind me that I exist in a small, sheltered bubble. Scary what else is happening out there.

Those are but the big stories. We know that other fires are burning which are just as meaningful to those involved, even if they’re on a small scale than what’s happening in California. People’s houses and businsses burn down all the time. As for the weather, legions of homeless and poor are enduring bad weather and trying to survive all the time. Below the fold of headline news, shootings are going on across the country. There will be robberies, homicides, rapes. Children are being abducted. Sickening things regularly take place.

So do beautiful things. New songs are being written. Couples destined to be great loves are meeting for the first time. Somewhere, someone is finding an ill person and helping them get up. Nurses and doctors are working to save the sick and diseased. Parents and grandparents are welcoming new children into our existence.

Existence and being is a forever busy place. Then again, how much of this is real?

Listening to the coffee shop blaring music from the eighties, sipping a cup of coffee, gazing out the window as sun flashes off cars hurrying by with people on private missions, don’t ask me. It’s all a mystery.

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Today’s Wandering Thoughts

I found myself thinking about my parents as I dressed this morning. One is from Iowa and resides in Pennsylvania. The other is from Pennsylvania and lives in Texas. They divorced way back in the mid 1960s. Were friends or friendly off and on. Now Mom is bitter and angry about Dad; Dad is reflective about Mom.

I left their homes when I was 17. I’ve visited both as they moved around, remarried, and raised other families. As they’ve aged, Dad tells me he’d like to be closer to me. Mom tells me she’d like to hear from me more often because she worries about me.

But a large elephant marches through their desires. I’ve been married 49 years. Mom visited me once, when I bought her an airline ticket and forced it to happen. Dad visited me once in my first year of marriage, dropping by with my father-in-law for thirty minutes while they happened to be in the area. It just didn’t seem like they were deeply invested in being part of my life.

I don’t feel abandoned by them. Dad admits he wasn’t a good father and wasn’t there. Mom insists she was there as much as she could be. I do see their sides but I’m indifferent to Dad’s efforts for us to be closer or to Mom’s request for me to alleviate worries. I could employ simple sophistry and claim, they made me who I am, but really, I head little from them across my decades of living. Sure, they always sent birthday and holiday cards, but mostly there were months of silence. Yes, I know they each raised other children and went on through a few more marriages.

I get all of that. My feelings about them slice along a spectrum. I love them as they love me, from a distance. I know they made sacrifices on my behalf to ensure I had food and shelter security and a place to call home. But at an early age, as I watched their fights and listened to their arguments, I made a decision to be independent of them. Sure, there are days when I surf the spectrum of our relationships when I want to help them out of guilt or empathy. They become less as I move through my life, age, and deal with my own issues.

My parents both have been supportive in many ways. They tell me they’re proud of me. My wife points out that it all would’ve probably been different if she and I had children.

But we didn’t, and this is where my parents and I stand, like many other parents and their offspring, at a complex crossroads which we never leave.

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Tuesday’s Political Thoughts

Trump’s latest is — hold up.

This is Donald J. Trump. Felon. Just to verify who I’m writing about. He’s the Republican nominee for President of the United States in 2024. One-time POTUS, elected back in 2016, he failed to hold onto the office in 2020, but he refuses to go away.

Trump’s latest declaration is that children are getting sex change operations at school. Going in as one sex, coming home as another.

“Kamala supports states being able to take minor children and perform sex change operations, take them away from their parents, perform sex change operations, and send them back home,” Trump said in a Mosinee, Wisconsin speech.

That’s one of the greatest most out of touch things I’ve heard of him saying. Crazier than his speculation about getting killed by sharks versus being electrocuted if your electric boat sank.

Crazier than his declaration that Mexico will pay for a border wall. Crazier than his lies that wasn’t what he said.

Crazier than windmills causing cancer.

Crazier than his recounting of how the American military took the airports during the American Revolutionary war.

Crazier than his idea that raking forests may help prevent forest fires.

Crazier than his assertion that he actually won the 2020 election, even though he also admits that he lost it. Crazier than his assertion that he has ‘every right’ to interfere in the election results. Crazier than his declaration that he’d been dictator on day one. Crazier than his insistence he knows nothing about Project 2025, despite the evidence of him bragging about it.

Do you realize how crazy and out of touch this latest is? Schools don’t have the money to buy school supplies, and he thinks they have enough money for surgical operations?

C’mon, man. Where are the operating rooms? Are teachers doing this surgery or are they hiring surgeons on the sly? Maybe he thinks the surgeons are volunteers, right?

Seriously, though, this is the best the GOP has to offer the nation, the world, and themselves, a man claiming without any evidence that children are being operated on in schools?

That party has lost its way.

Vote blue in 2024. Please, please, please. Are you seriously willing to accept a person who makes such baseless claims?

If so, I have an airport to sell you. It’s secret, though, at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. Trump goes there all the time. You’ll love it.

5

Floofvibe

Floofvibe (floofinition) – A sense or feeling between a human and an animal, or between one or more animals, that trust and friendship can be found in the other(s). Origins: Late twentieth century, United States west coast.

In Use: “Sometimes, the floofvibe is so strong, the connection is immediate and permanent.”

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Saturday’s Theme Music*

*Began publishing this as Sunday’s theme music. Because I thought it was Sunday. My internal calendar is untethered with my routines disrupted. My apologies.

Mood: Springflective

Spring has taken over Ashlandia on this day in June’s middle. A flotilla of menacing clouds have surmounted the mountains surrounding the valley, blocking the sun’s effects, and holding our temperature hostage in the low fifties. Saturday, June 15, 2024, will likely only face high temperatures in the upper sixties today, ending our unusually warm streak — for this time of year, of course.

Fire season has begun and there are already several on the maps to be watched to see how they grow, what direction they take, how long until they’re under control, and what happens with the smoke.

Dad went into the hospital yesterday. He’s in his early nineties so a visit there once in a while isn’t a great surprise. I mean, he grew up during the cigarette’s heyday and was a smoker, first of Lucky Strikes, and then shifting to pipes and cigars. He quit smoking thirty to forty years ago but the damage was done. He also spent 20 years in the military and was exposed to carcinogenic stuff during his tours, and survived a tour of Vietnam, too.

His current issues began with an enlarged prostrate which blocked his bladder. One kidney has apparently failed, quite some time ago, according to his wife, though Dad never mentioned this. Nor has he ever mentioned that they wanted to start him on dialysis. But the issue du jour is fluid around his heart. He’s been stented before and has had edema issues but this is a new one. So they’re going to drain away that fluid. The stay is basically observation, they said *cough cough*.

Dad, though, was recalcitrant to go into the hospital. His wife said that after the doctor saw Dad’s test results, Doc called Dad and asked him to go to ER, which Dad did. But when they wanted to admit him for obs, he refused to give his permission. Went on for hours. Dad demanded a second opinion. So a second team came in and evaluated him, and agreed, he should be admitted to the hospital. Dad finally gave his permission at 12:30 AM Friday morning after arriving Thursday afternoon. His wife said she left the hospital bone tired but encountered a huge thunderstorm. Not wanting to drive the highways and Interstates of San Antonio, Texas, in the rain, she found a chair and spent the night sleeping in it.

Gotta call them to get the lowdown on here and now.

If you ever read my blog, you can imagine how The Neurons reacted to news about Dad and his health. All manner of songs, poetry, and essays skated through the mental scene while I reflected about who I think Dad is and how he influenced me. As I’m still trying to figure him at with me at 68 years old, I ended up with “Alive” by Pearl Jam from 1991 in my morning mental music stream (Trademark grandfathered). Of course, figuring out Dad is a moving target. I’m changing in slow ways most days, and so is he. We don’t see one another often — he lives in Texas and I live in Oregon — and we don’t talk often. We try, and we mean to, but we’re the same in that way, sort of strange loners who socialize well but aren’t terribly sentimental. We can hazard the company of others but we’re very satisfied being on our own.

Stay strong, be well, keep positive. Endure, lean forward, and Vote Blue in 2024. Got my coffee so we can rock on. Here’s the tune. Cheers

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Saturday’s Theme Music

Mood: Sumflective

Good morning, internetters. Welcome to June’s Second Saturday, June 8, 2024. If you’re like us, we celebrate Second Saturday in June. Holiday or not, we start with feeding the cats because the little dears will pester us into surrender. Yes, they have ‘just in case’ kibble in bowls and nevermind that they didn’t eat all of the previous tinned food in bowls. The tinned food bowls are cleaned and fresh stuff is spooned in for their dining pleasure.

Once we’ve taken care of the floofs, the real festivities begin. We start with coffee. While that’s soaking my system, I make my breakfast because my wife doesn’t eat breakfast for several more hours. Next, I dress. Sometimes a load of washing clothes is started for Second Saturday. The floor was vacuumed for First Friday, so no need for that today. We just go around picking up leaves and sticks floofs carried in for us, along with food they somehow transported around the house from their eating areas, along with fur and hair they’ve dropped along the way. Next, our family traditionally gets on the computer to get a Second Saturday news update, you know, see who died, who has gone to war, who has been convicted, and what new natural disasters have struck. Then we’re free to celebrate Second Saturday by washing the car and running errands. It’s a joyous day.

This Second Saturday is also the Green Bag pickup, so our bag full of supplies for the local food bank is on the porch, awaiting pickup by volunteers who transport it to the sorting and distribution center.

Our sprummery weather continues. It’s 67 F now, up from our 56 F starting point but eighteen degrees below our expected high in Ashlandia, where the creeks and rivers are flowing and full — for the moment. Sunlight is missing kissing some clouds rear end, but a friendly cool breeze is circulating, placating the likes of me. I enjoy a cool sunny morning so long as it’s not too cool. This day is just right.

I have two net friends who had floofs pass away yesterday. Thinking about their losses after expressing something toward to them, a song from 1993 filled the morning mental music stream (Trademark upended). Sarah McLachlan wrote “Possession” in response love letters from her fans. I think The Neurons pulled it out of memory more for the song’s reflective sound about yearning, love, and hope.

Stay positive, remain strong, lean forward, and Vote Blue in 2024. Summer is coming. Well, in the northern hemes. South of zero, winter is coming.

Here’s the music. Coffee is being sucked up. Enjoy your Second Saturday. Cheers

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Saturday’s Theme Music

Mood: Rainified

Saturday, May 18th, 2024, came upon us in the Churchill Valley with a load of leaky clouds. Rain was doing a heavy metal drum solo against the house. Dressing for it, I thought, maybe it won’t be as bad outside our slice of Penn Hills. Turns out our situation was better than others. Rain just increased with no evidence of mercy coming.

It’s part of a trend. Yesterday’s day of intermittent rain ended with tornado warnings and alerts, and a long downpour. Then there were tornado sightings and videos on the news and social media, and flash flood warnings. Potholes became lakes. I appreciated all the drivers’ calm and patience. Only one driver was witnessing doing something stupid. (Cue Frank and Nancy Sinatra singing “Something Stupid”.)

As for temperatures, it’s 66 F now and supposedly climbing to 77 F today. So, it’s not an overly cold rain.

Mom continues to seem to do well. Except for back pain from stenosis, and this weird cough. The cough could be associated with GIRT. She’s just hanging in there. While she often expresses disbelief in others, she has a powerful belief in herself. So, she tends to endure until she’s forced to ask others for help. I recognize it because I’m her son, and I’m the same as her in this regard. Decently intelligent, she (we) wear obstinance like it’s armor.

I am beginning to plan my return to home and my wife and floofs. One segment of last night’s dreams had me petting Tucker, my toothless black and white floof. When I walked away, he clamped onto my hand with his mouth and drew me back. That scene happened three times.

Being here, staying with Mom, watching over her and trying to help, has The Neurons playing “Victim of Love” in the morning mental music stream (Trademark flooded). The 1976 Eagles song is apt, in my cogitating. See, I wish to be back home, pursuing life, but here I am, across the country. It’s love, but also an aggravated sense of loyalty and duty. I really appreciate my wife’s support in this.

Hot, black coffee is blessing the system. Stay positive, lean forward, be strong, and Vote Blue in 2024. Here’s the music. Cheers

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