Tag: memories

Thursda’s Theme Music

Come in, come in, come in. Welcome to Thursda, June 12 2025.

It was a beautiful night for sleeping for me. After a high in the low 80s F yesterday, the night temp zipped down 52 F. I had a window open over my head and a light blanket on my nekkid body. Cool breezes lapped and refreshed me all night long. Truly a sinn-sational sleep experience. Hope the rest of the world experienced the same.

Today’s weather peeked over yesterday’s shoulder and said, “That’s what I’m going to do, too.” 64 F now, sunshine is climbing though cloud-hazed blue sky toward a high of 81 F.

It’s a rare Thursda’s fourfer in the morning mental music stream. Four reasons stand behind The Neurons’ thinking. First and second, two major musical influences on my childhood passed away. That would be Sly Stone and Brian Wilson. Third, PINO Trump is rolling the nation back to the 1960s, escalating violence and warning, “If you spit, we hit.” Fourth, I did some dreaming.

For Brian Wilson departure from this existence, The Neurons summoned a favorite of theirs, “Good Vibrations” from 1966. I was ten years old when the transistor radio speakers roared with this Beach Boy tune. I enjoyed it from the start.

For Sly Stone, The Neurons recalled “Everyday People”. I remembered my buddy Curt talking about this new song and how excited he was when it came on the radio when we were at the ballfield talking about getting a pickup game of baseball going. The song was a wonderful mélange of funk, rock, and pop with neat but meaningful lyrics.

For the 1960s vibe, Jackson Browne was drafted to play “Doctor My Eyes” from 1972. I just felt that the song, though an upbeat melody, captures and projects the weariness we’re enduring in the Age of Trump, when right is wrong, good is evil, and down is up. I particularly enjoy the memorable guitar work by Jesse Ed Davis.

Doctor, my eyes have seen the years
And the slow parade of fears without crying
Now I want to understand
I have done all that I could
To see the evil and the good without hiding
You must help me if you can?

Doctor, my eyes, tell me what is wrong
Was I unwise to leave them open for so long

‘Cause I have wandered through this world
And as each moment has unfurled
I’ve been waiting to awaken from these dreams
People go just where they will
I never noticed them until I got this feeling
That it’s later than it seems

Finally, from the dream world comes the 1986 Van Halen offering, “Dreams”.

World turns black and white
Pictures in an empty room
Your love starts fallin’ down
Better change your tune
Yeah, you reach for the golden ring
Reach for the sky
Baby, just spread your wings

And get higher and higher
Straight up we’ll climb
We’ll get higher and higher
Leave it all behind

Run, run, run away
Like a train runnin’ off the track
Got the truth bein’ left behind
Fall between the cracks
Standin’ on broken dreams
Never losin’ sight, ah
Well, just spread your wings

We’ll get higher and higher
Straight up we’ll climb
We’ll get higher and higher
Leave it all behind

So baby, dry your eyes
Save all the tears you’ve cried
Oh, that’s what dreams are made of
‘Cause we belong
In a world that must be strong
Oh, that’s what dreams are made of

Songwriters: Sammy Hagar, Edward Van Halen, Alex Van Halen, Michael Anthony. From Musixmatch

Well, I’m off. Have your best day possible. Coffee, quick. Let’s go.

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Wenzda’s Theme Music

Wenzda is here, Wenzda is here! Yeah, I’m not that excited. I’m down today.

Regardless of my mood, it’s June 11, 2025. 66 F now, 86 F is the expected upper realm, a nice takedown from the 90s where we’ve been living. The high temps will be back, though. This is Ashlandia, and summer is coming.

My normal awakening process is to stir from sleep, reflect on dreams and then move into the realms of current events going on, personal issues and family, plans for the day and week, and so on. I’m not sanguine about any of those aspects of life. I feel like I’m teetering on depression. But, for me, it’s probably part of my regular cycles. My schedule didn’t permit me my luxury of writing, so I’m likely feeling that. I’ve spent a lifetime trying to do what’s wrong, trying to stand up for others and help others, trying to move us as nation, as a species forward. I wasn’t alone. Many others led the way and inspired me. It feels like everything that we did before now is being callously and stupidly clawed away by Trump and the right wing. To paraphrase Ceelo, “Fuck him, and fuck them, too.”

My version of the Statesboro Blues. Papi seemed to have them, too, incessantly talking to me for attention. I played with him with red dot. Got some lackluster results. Searching for an answer, I whipped out a long shoe string. Man, he went nuts over that, attacking and pouncing, racing away and coming back for more. It was a good time for both of us.

For a whim, I turned to the net and asked, “What was the number one song on billboard fifty years ago in the United States?” And this marvelous technological function called AI said told me it was “Me and Bobby McKee”. Now I know some brain cells have abandoned me but I know that wasn’t the song. Fifty years ago would have been 1975. The cited song came out years before. By 1975, the performer, Janis Joplin, was dead. But, of course, the jackass AI, just like so many other jackass search engines, focused on just one piece of the query and spit out a jackass answer:

“Fifty years ago today, March 23, 1971, the number one song on the Billboard Hot 100 was “Me and Bobby McGee” by Janis Joplin. The song was written by Kris Kristofferson and originally performed by Roger Miller, but became a hit for Joplin after her death.”

Like, hello, you fucking piece of technology, why are you giving me an answer for another month, day, and year? You trying to gaslight me OR are you just that worthless? All those Google answers, and none answered what I asked. But I THINK that had I asked that five years ago, the right answer would have been giving in .0217 seconds. Not this year, not in the year of the Great Trump Enshittification. 

For the record, I asked Microsoft Bing the same question. Here’s the top answer:

The number one song on the Billboard charts fifty years ago was12345:

  • “Grazing In The Grass” by Hugh Masekela (July 1968)
  • “Piece of My Mind” by Janis Joplin (posthumously released, after her death)
  • “My Guy” by Mary Wells (May 16, 1964)
  • “Downtown” by The Monkees (classic hit)
  • “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling” by The Righteous Brothers (on a specific day)

Seriously, WTF Internet land. You guys have lost your way.

Try it for yourselves, please, kind readers. If you get some sane results, please let me know. I can use a little ray of sanity today.

Dark dreams flavored with bitterness and frustration ruled my night. From that mental morass, The Neurons brought up The Black Crowes with “She Talks to Angels” from 1991.

Nothing to do but push through. Have coffee. Enjoy the cool breezes coming through the windows right now, licking me like a giant dog. Drink more coffee. Write.

Cheers

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Sunda’s Wandering Political Thoughts

Quisling: Vidkun Quisling was a Norwegian army officer who in 1933 founded Norway’s fascist party. In December 1939, he met with Adolf Hitler and urged him to occupy Norway. Following the German invasion of April 1940, Quisling served as a figurehead in the puppet government set up by the German occupation forces, and his linguistic fate was sealed. Before the end of 1940, quisling was being used generically in English to refer to any traitor. Winston Churchill, George Orwell, and H. G. Wells used it in their wartime writings. Quisling lived to see his name thus immortalized, but not much longer. He was executed for treason soon after the liberation of Norway in 1945.

h/t to Mirriam-Webster.com

Trump, aka TACO, remains my favorite current political target. This is because he disgusts me. He’s brazenly yet defensively ignorant while posing as a genius. He lacks economic acumen and self-awareness, and pushes ridiculous ideas, often while acting ridiculous. Busy enriching himself at the expense of anyone poor, he’s a shallow individual who is unfortunately put into a position to severely damage the democratic republic known as the United States of America. He has and had helpers, though. One, as Andy Borowitz reminds us, is Mitch McConnell. McConnell was a major bad actor during the years leading to now.

Here’s a taste of Mr. Borowitz’s insights to kick it off:

America’s Top Traitor: Mitch McConnell

A brief review of McConnell’s disgraceful behavior during the Trump era—also known as the Fourth Reich—confirms that “mcconnell” would indeed be a worthy replacement for “quisling” in the dictionary.

Before Trump was elected, McConnell had already spent decades doing everything in his power to make the United States unfit for human habitation. Specifically, he worked tirelessly to ensure that as many Americans as possible were killed by guns.

Whenever gun control legislation was proposed in the wake of a mass shooting, you could count on Mitch to discourage his fellow senators from taking any action that might prevent similar tragedies in the future.

After a mass shooting in his home state of Kentucky in 1989, he warned, “We need to be careful about legislating in the middle of a crisis.” Yes, because… wait, why, exactly?

Continue here. Enjoy.

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Sunda’s Theme Music

Well, it’s toasty out there. Step into the sunshine and toasty shifts to broil.

Yes, Sunda in Ashlandia is a hot space. 92 F now, a 98 F high will crisp us before the thermometer drops back to 65 tonight. Last night had us hanging at 80 F at 10:30 PM, which makes it a push to cool the house before the next heat cycle — I mean, day — begins. We will see some cooling on Wednesday, when the temperature sinks to 86 F.

The heat is expected. This is Jun 8, 2025. This is Ashlandia. Summer is coming.

Thinking about the heat pushed a faraway recollection of my father-in-law once saying to me, “It’s hettin’ up outside,” into my mind’s foreground. I laughed, and he responded, “What?” He passed away the year my wife and I returned from our tour of duty in 1991. And the memory of him saying “hettin’ up” was old by then.

Papi was a rambunctious floof this morning. He slept and chilled all day yesterday so his energy cup was brimming over. He was also apparently bored. Starting a little before 5 AM, he came in, jumped on the bed, and purred loudly at me, often tapping me awake or rubbing his little chin against my head or arm. I kept rising and feeding him. By by count, I fed him six times between 5:30 and 8 AM. And he chowed it all down.

Political heat is rising. Americans are reacting to Trump’s ICE raids. Resistance is rising. Americans don’t care for masked gunmen disappearing other Americans off the streets in snatch and grab ops. Getting particularly het up in Los Angeles. Resistant is rising and protests are planned. Numbers are stacking. So is irritation, as are TACO Regime counter measures. TACO has never been on for restraint and is always eager to rush to violence. It would’ve been more of a surprise if TACO called for restraint, but he rushed in 2,000 National Guard troops in a move that’s sure to escalate tensions and further divide the nation. That’s TACO, the Great Divider, bitchboi for billionaires everywhere.

Today’s song is a 2015 tune. Rachel Platten and David Bassett wrote the song and Rachel Platten performs it. “Fight Song” was written when Rachel Platten was at a low point, and sees the song as a vehicle for empowerment. Some sample lyrics for you:

This time this is my fight song
Take back my life song
Prove I’m alright song
My power’s turned on
Starting right now I’ll be strong
I’ll play my fight song
And I don’t really care
If nobody else believes
‘Cause I’ve still got
A lot of fight left in me

Losing friends and I’m chasing sleep
Everybody’s worried about me
In too deep they say I’m in too deep
And it’s been two years
I miss my home
But there’s a fire burning in my bones
I still believe, yeah I still believe

I wasn’t too surprised that The Neurons offered it to the morning mental music stream as I read news and analysis of the LA protests.

Feel free to raise a fist and sing along.

Coffee is at hand. It’s hot, cuz some, like me, like it hot. Coffee, I mean. Hope your day caps off a good weekend for you. Cheers

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Saturda’s Theme Music

Saturda, June 7, 2025, has fallen upon us splay-legged with sunshine and muggy with clouds. 84 is Ashlandia’s rough temperature, depending on where you stand. It’s cooler by the creek in the park in the old trees’ shade. Today’s high will be in the low 90s, beginning a string of days with highs in the 90s. Looks like summer is doing a temperature check preparatory to taking the stage.

My wife remarked today, “How long will it be until some U.S. citizen will challenge a masked ICE gunman and get shot?” She thinks we’re due for another Kent State moment, when Ohio National Guard killed four demonstrators in the early 1970s. I agree with her point. Any time we have armed people being pressured by resistance, the chance for violence goes up. Wonder what oddsmakers are saying about it? I hope my wife’s fortune telling is wrong.

Today’s song come about from broodling — that is, brooding and noodling — about another novel underway. Sipping the first dark brown hot fluid this morning, I thought, “You gotta find a way for what you want to say.” I answered myself, “Yes, but do you know what you want to say?”

Bored with the exchange, The Neurons unleashed Oasis and their 1994 song, “Supersonic”, into the morning mental music stream. I recognized that they did it because there is a line which goes something like my thoughts. I didn’t do much more thinking about it at that point because Papi was urgently wrapping himself around my legs while purring like an old VW Beetle. I fed him and then he and I hit the backyard sunshine to take the day’s measure for a few minutes.

Stay safe and have the most solid day you can develop. Me, I’m in for more writing, more yardwork, more reading. It’s a rough life but it’s where I landed. Cheers

5

Frida’s Theme Music

Here we go. It’s Frida, June 6, 2025, memorable as D-Day in the big one, WW 2, which was finished with an atomic bang. Trump, meeting with the German Chancellor, gave us more cringespeak while discussing the war and D-Day.

USA Today: D-Day was ‘not a pleasant day for you,’ Trump tells German leader

German Chancellor Friedrich Merz attempted to provide President Donald Trump with some positive reinforcement by crediting Americans for ending a war in Europe during his visit to the White House on June 5.

He reminded Trump their meeting was taking place a day before the 81st anniversary of D-Day, when Allied forces, most of them U.S. troops, invaded Normandy, France, marking the beginning of the end of World War II and the defeat of Nazi Germany.

We are having June 6th tomorrow, this is D-Day anniversary, when the Americans once ended a war in Europe,” Merz said.

“That was not a pleasant day for you,” Trump responded. “This was not a great day.”

WTF, PINO TACO? Guess that’s why the United States and most of the world remembers and honors D-Day. But not you, TACO, no. Honor, courage, and sacrifice are outside of your awareness. So is history. There’s no room in you for these things because your oversized ego pushes everything but greed, malice, and lies out.

Back to local deets. It’s cloudy but sunshine from somewhere still streams in. Current temperature at 11:30 is 80 F. We expect 91 today. Rain? No. Wildfire smoke from somewhere? Maybe. We’re tracking that shit. Gotta stay vigilant.

Today’s musical inspiration was incubated with highlights about the growing Musky TACO rift. Noted weird hair spokesperson Steve Bannon jumped in to urge PINO TACO to seize little Musky’s SpaceX toys. That’s in accordance with the Retribution Clause in the Constitution: “If a business pisses off the royal President, said President may seize assets from the pissee.” The pissee would be little Elon Reeve Musk, of course.

I was chuckling to myself, wondering if this is dinner theater to distract us from some other Musky TACO monstrosity but still had the bandwidth to mutter, “What fucking losers.” Hearing that from me, The Neurons jumped in with the 1994 Beck song, “Loser.” Remember 1994? Much better person in the White House back then. Not perfect but about 10,000 times better than the meatbag currently in the Oval Office.

Beck’s “Loser” was not about others. The weird rift reflects how low he felt at the time. But such logical distinctions escaped The Neurons, as it often does. So I have Beck performing “Loser” in the morning mental music stream, and I’m gifting it to you as a Frida special.

Time to kick it. Wishing you the best of days in always and all times. Coffee has been ingested. Here we go. Cheers

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Sabre Jet Ace

I loved aircraft when I was a kid. I was specially enamored with the sleek, fast fighter jets. I built models of them as soon as I was old enough. I soon had the entire ‘century series’ of jet aircraft the U.S. was fielding. The stubby little centerline jet F86 Sabre Jet was my favorite aircraft. For that, I don’t know why. I do know that I discovered a book about it at our school library. We were in there to read a book and write a book report about it. The book was called, Sabre Jet Ace.

I don’t remember anything about the book except that title.

Spring forward to the mid 1970s. I’m now in the Air Force, working command and control. This was at an ATC training base named Randolph Air Force Base. We weren’t involved in the flying in that command post, and the shifts were slow, long, and boring. Into it came our new director: Major Gross. With so much time on our hands, Major Gross would wander around, looking for conversation. I politely indulged in, asking questions about his career.

A Nebraska farm boy, he’d ended up in the Air National Guard, where he became a pilot. In the early days, he flew P51 Mustangs in Korea during that conflict. “Beautiful aircraft,” he said. “I loved flying them.” But the Air Force was modernizing. He was forced into jets. “Much easier to fly.” The jet he flew was the F86 Sabre Jet.

His story became one of hardship. He was sent home, became a civilian, and started a business. When that failed, he joined the Air Force as an enlisted person. Then, as an enlisted man, his reserve unit was called up. Through bizarre machinations, he became an officer and a fighter pilot again. This time he ended up flying in Vietnam in a century series jet, the F105 Thunderchief, but Major Gross’s aircraft was in an unarmed configuration, conducting Wild Weasel missions. I so enjoyed hearing his stories, and he was willing to share.

As it happens, I ended up working with three other pilots with F86 Sabre Jet experiences. None were aces. One was a vice wing commander when I met him. He started jets on the F84 Sabre Jet, then was moved to F4s, which he didn’t like flying nearly as much. He survived combat missions in Vietnam, but then had a dual engine flame out while taking off from a base in England. Although he safely ejected, his seat malfunctioned. Both legs and his spine were severely damaged. He was told he’d never walk again, but he’d overcome that prognosis and was now a regular runner.

The second officer, another major, went from flying the F84 to A37s in Vietnam in a close air support role. The third office, a captain, converted from F86s to F4s. He flew them in Vietnam, too. Shot down by a SAM while flying a combat mission, he was a prisoner of war for several years. He never spoke about those stories.

I appreciated what men endured, serving our country, even if, like many — including several of them — I didn’t agree with the Vietnam War. The book which originally titillated me probably romanticized the war.

These pilots never did. As for me, I didn’t become a pilot. My eyesight wasn’t good enough back then. I always wonder, would I have been any good?

In a final aside, I was sent to Kunsan Air Base in Korea sometime in the early 1980s. The US Air Force was primarily flying F16 Fighting Falcons at Kunsan, but they shared facilities with a squadron of Korean F86 Sabre Jets.

They still struck me as a pretty plane, although they seemed so small compared to the F4s, F15s, and F16s frequenting the base. I was able to meet and chat with several Korean F86 pilots. Fun aircraft to fly, they told me. Light and nimble.

I could only imagine.

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Munda’s Theme Music

Suming continues in Ashlandia. It’s a spring base with heavy summer nuances today, Munda, June 2, 2025. Presently 60 F, we’ll pop through 80 before the sun declares fini.

I’m in a bit of a hurry this morning. Time again for us to do Food & Friends deliveries. After that, it’s back to the writing routine and then beginning of month chores. I also pruned trees and bushes around the yard, and now must cut it all down and put it in the green bin for pickup tomorrow.

Haven’t heard back from Mom in days. I’ve regularly texted her. I do know she’s okay. Little sister’s youngest just turned 17. I saw Mom in FB photos of he bash. The lad, named Michael because one can’t have enough Michaels, is the youngest of the nieces and nephews. The next generation of them are nipping on his heels, as they’re sixteen. All are impressive examples of human beings, so far; we know how people change as they age, don’t we? Well, not everyone. But many inevitably shift into someone else who may be better or worse.

My wife bought a book this weekend called A Short Stay in Hell. It’s very short but thought-provoking. We both read it and then discussed its ideas.

With my nephew’s birthday in the rear view, it should be no surprise that thoughts of generations and transitions are occupying The Neurons. They dug out The Who with “My Generation” from 1965. Love the video of the era. The basics of people walking, dancing, and working aren’t much different from what we’d see in a video produced today. Shoes, clothing, and hair styles would be the most notable aspect of the differences, along with cars and vehicles. Since there’s no sound, we’d miss the other facet of change: how talk has changed. But of course, any video of people on the streets today would be peppered with folks on cell phones., right?

Time to make it a Munda, just as so many generations before me. I’ll start with coffee. Cheers

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Saturda’s Theme Music

Yesterday was a hot one, as they advertised. Today, Saturda, May 31, 2025, is expected to cool into the mid-80s. It’s 72 F and sunny now, and the clouds have ran away for grayer skies.

It’s May’s last day. Five months of 2025 are history. It’s been as chaotic as a Black Friday sale in the United States. As we spring into summer, I’m not enthused about what will come out of the Gold House, as Nan calls it. Her reasoning is spot on. It ssed to be the White House, but the present occupant, PINO TACO, is remaking it in the right’s craven, gold-worshipping image. They say that’s what the Bible says to do.

From Gold House, I crossed to Heart of Gold. My Neurons went onto a Neil Young kick. Soon they had “Old Man” playing in the morning mental music stream. The music faded for a while as I rambled through a litany of problems, stories, and challenges. Some were personal and narrowly defined from my novel-writing half of living. Thoughts about Mom’s health boiled in, and then came sympathy for a friend who is enduring a mess in his life. Prosaic matters like fixing the oven — the part has arrived — took over. Then there’s the ever-growing worries about the human rights, war, climate change, the nation, the world, and measles.

I read in MedicalXPress this morning:

There are 1,088 confirmed measles cases in the U.S., up 42 from last week, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention said Friday. Texas, where the nation’s biggest outbreak raged during the late winter and spring, reported 10 additional cases this week for a total of 738.

There are three other major outbreaks in North America.

The Neurons shot a gap to bring “Don’t Let It Get You Down” by Neil Young into the morning mental music stream. It’s a 1970 song which will probably get you down, because it makes you listen, think, and feel. I once heard a DJ say that Young announced this song by saying, “This song is guaranteed to bring you down. It’s called “Don’t Let It Get You Down”.” It was a song I preferred to hear with a glass of red wine, either overlooking a body of water at sunset, or in a dark room, alone.

Into the day I go, with a cuppa coffee to help me carry the load. Funny, but our existence is fleeting in the great rush of time and space, but sometimes it seems so long.

Here we go. Cheers

2

Frida’s Wandering Thoughts

Out walking on break today, a Honda Civic passed.

1983, and silver, I saw. As sis had.

Sis’s Honda suffered from cancer rust. This one was in good shape. A Sarah Lawrence College decal was on the back window.

I was taken back. I’ve never been to Sarah Lawrence College, but it’s been in pop culture in sufficient settings that I knew it’s located in New York city. How did that car with that decal end up almost all the way across the nation, in Ashland, Oregon?

I wondered about the car’s history. Was it a gift to a student freshman attending Sarah Lawrence College? Conversely, maybe they bought it for themselves after graduating and beginning a new job. Maybe, though, the car was located here, and a Sarah Lawrence grad bought the car and put their alma mater on the window.

So many questions. When I returned to the coffee shop, I did a distance check between here and Sara Lawrence College: 2901 miles via I80. Take note, though: there’s a lot of construction enroute between here and there, and toll roads. But traffic is light. It’ll take just under 42 hours if you drive straight there.

I wonder if the car would make it. I imagined it returning to its home, like salmon returning to their spawning waters. Then it all veered along science fiction lines and became a tale about cars gaining intelligence and becoming homesick for their first owners, and then seeking them out.

Guess I’ll call it “Tires & Wheels”. That’s the name of the two main characters: a red and white 1985 Chevy K10 pickup called Tires and a 1983 silver Honda Civic named Wheels.

You know what? I think it’s a love story as much as an adventure.

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