Spreading It Around

Yes, I’m sharing a post that another shared that Digby shared. It’s worth sharing because Trump looks at the world through his Trumpvision glasses, which only permit him to see what he wants to see. His glasses generally colorize the world via politics, sexism, and racism. He is great and all who support him are great. Everyone else is terrible, ugly, crooks, stupid, unfair, etc.

Trump proclaimed in March of 2026, “Because of the fact that we have had such Military Success, we no longer ‘need,’ or desire, the Nato Countries’ assistance _ WE NEVER DID!”

So here is the shared post in response, “The Truth Hurts”. Which is painful for Trump, because it’s the truth.

Cheers

Sunday’s Theme Music

Ashland, southern Oregon — May 24, 2026.

Home again, home again…

Papi was as pleased as he ever shows himself to be when we opened the back door and called his name. Standing, stretching, he paused to wash, then began to trot towards us, then stopped to stretch, and finally walked over, sat down, washed, and looked up: “Oh. Hi. Didn’t see you there.”

Good to see him.

56 degrees F here, roaring power lawn equipment has replaced the sounds of surf. There’s no beach to ponder, no waves to assess and admire, no fresh ocean air to breath, no ‘sea breeze’ to battle as I walk.

Bummer. It’ll be 85 and dry here…

One thing that struck us yesterday coming home was how empty the roads were. Motor homes were especially absent, but in general, it was light traffic to moderate traffic. Long stretches of secondary roads were driven where we met no other cars, followed no vehicles, and had nothing in our mirrors. It did not seem like the holiday traffic — or even the coastal traffic — we’ve encountered in previous years.

Gina, my younger sister, makes progress selling Mom’s possessions: $530 has been realized. The dining room table, chairs, hutch and sideboard are gone. Gina is wheeling and dealing. Someone shows interest, she reaches out, negotiates, shows them what else is available. More prospective buyers are coming by tomorrow. Vacuuming, sweeping, dusting, and polishing is underway. Our oldest sister is driving in from Georgia to help out this week.

Trump says the US is almost close to a peace deal with Iran. Let’s add it to the list of times he said the war was over, we won, or that a deal had been negotiated before.

Iran says that they’ll control the Strait of Hormuz and that their nuclear program isn’t being discussed. They’re proposing ‘fees’ instead of tolls or taxes to use the straits.

It’s the same kind of deals we often see on the local levels when our local government wants to raise money but knows that ‘taxes’ will cause a backlash. The answer: fees. We see it with airlines, too. Security fees, handling fees, administrative fees. Not charges, not taxes, not tolls — fees. I remember once reading that Texas had no taxes but they charged fees on everything.

Besides the Golden Age of Corruption, it’s the Golden Age of Fees.

The war costing our nation a small fortune, monetarily. We also killed many people, disrupted lives, and lost military members.

Economists note that the US has been adding to its national debt at the rate of $5,000,000,000 per day since October of 2025.

In an interest coincidence, October of 2025 is when Trump demolished the White House East Wing to begin building the Epstein ballroom under Operation Epic LOOK — SQUIRREL!

Coincidentally, Trump’s disapproval ratings continue to rise to record levels in polls.

Your Trump Quote of the Day:

Today’s music is by Night Ranger. The Neurons unlocked it when I was in bed this morning, remembering dreams and drifting in and out of sleep. During that fugue state, “When You Close Your Eyes” from the 1980s began playing in the morning mental music stream.

As I remembered the song, I also remembered this was one of the songs I heard while visiting Mom and family after returning from Japan on military duty. My youngest sister and I were together. The song came on the radio. She smiled wide and said, “I love this song.” *smile*

And I realized that’s why the song came into the morning mental music stream; that sister had been in my dream as a young person.

I hope this day is going well for you, and you enjoy a day of peace and grace. If you can’t have that, I hope you can at least have a good meal and some happy times.

Cheers

A Complex Dream of Instructions and Help

It was a complex dream, shifting as ocean waves with a brisk wind. As I thought about it, I distilled it into these general scenes, but it wasn’t quite this linear.

Younger, I was sometimes in the military, sometimes in some other work, seamlessly moving from one to the other from scene to scene. Most of the background was dark, but as if I was in office buildings.

At one point, a guy came by and gave me a silver computer. “Your instructions are on here,” he said. I nodded, understanding, ready to go to work, confident about how to proceed.

Opening the laptop, I brought up the guidance and sat back in surprise. These instructions were different. No worries; I’d figure it out. Probably just take longer.

I was called into another area. It was a small space, and dark. In there were two high-ranking Air Force general officers, small but slender and fit. I wasn’t there to see them. Passing behind the higher ranking one, I heard him describing someone.

I said without thinking, “Oh, you’re talking about – “

I stopped myself from finishing the sentence because I felt I’d overstepped. Then I apologized.  

The general gave me a sharp look and then nodded once. “You’re right. Good job.”

Leaving there, I went back to my dark office space and reclaimed my seat, reading to resume my work. Two other people came by. They’d received their instructions but weren’t sure how to do it.

Laughing, I gave them some insights about how to proceed. We chatted for a few more seconds before they left and I resumed work, pleased about what I was doing.

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

The Lost Jacket: A Dream

Dreamed I was traveling but also that I’d arrived somewhere. It was both familiar but different. I was then again in the military. Several sisters and Mom traveled with me, yet I arrived before them so that I was there to greet them when they arrived.

I put them up in a room and then told them, “I have to go work. I’ll be back and then we’ll go out.” I also suggested to them that maybe they could come see where I work.

In parallel, I’d been out walking around. I took off my jacket: this was a brown leather ‘flight’ jacket. I’d left my money and my wallet with my ID in it.

I suddenly remembered, oh, no – I forgot about that.

I rushed back to get the jacket.

Gone!

I was frantic with worry. What am I going to do?

Casual friends who used to be co-workers arrived. One, a big guy, younger than me, said, “Hey we found this. Thought you might need it.” He gave me my brown leather jacket.

I was relieved but worried, and reached into the pockets.

Empty.

He then held up my wallet.

Relief rushed me.

Then he held up my folded cash in his other hand. “This was in your pocket, too.”

I thanked him, then hugged him, saying, “You are a true friend.”

Dream end.

This Old Thing

My wife carries a small Casio calculator in her purse.

Solar-powered, made of black and gold plastic and black vinyl, the calculator folds. When it’s folded, it’s about the size of a credit card and is as thick as two stacked cards. We bought it for a few hundred yen when we lived in Japan on Okinawa between 1981 and 1985.

Actual size.

We used it last night to balance the checkbook. As we finished, we talked to each other about how amazing it was that the little inexpensive still worked. Back then, the yen to dollar ratio was about 234 to 1.

Over forty years later, it’s a little worn but works perfectly. As I reflected on that, I wondered how many other things I’d ever owned that I could say the same about.

Wednesday’s Theme Music – Outs & Ends

Ashland, Oregon — Wednesday, April 22, 2026.

After a day in which the thermometer didn’t press past the low fifties and the sky cried most of the day, we are seeing more of the same. Less sunshine, so it’s chillier, just 44 F now. The high will be 56.

I skimmed through the news but most of it had me saying, meh. More deaths, more politics, more crime and punishment.

Your Trump quotes for today:

Read those Trump quotes and the contradictions they expose, the outright hypocrisy, and the ignorance. Trump can’t be trusted.

BTW, the Epstein files have still not been all released.

I’m out of sorts today so I don’t have much to say. Dave Mason passed away, 78. He’s a musician. Just a few years older than moi, he was part of my musical landscape. He played with many others, wrote some songs with staying power, and had his own act.

When I read the news, his song, “We Just Disagree”, entered the morning mental music stream and stayed. The song came out in 1977. Married, I was alone on assignment in the Philippines with the US Air Force. 21 years old, I was wrestling with adulting basics. Mason’s music was one of my evening companions as I sat in my room, read, drew, and painted between shifts. Hearing of his death brought that music and time sharply back into focus.

Now I look back and think, wow, look at how many years ago. I sweep a mental eye over all of the changes the world has seen since then.

My hope for you is that peace and grace find you and give you the strength to make this day a success for you.

Cheers

Thursday’s Theme Music – Too Much

Ashland, Oregon — Thursday, April 16, 2026.

It’s fifty shades of spring green outside. How quickly the front yard tree went from being bare to full of green leaves. I was out there working on the yard the other day and noted how bare it was and wondered when its leaves would arrive. Then the leaves were full and green on it, as though they’d been delivered via Amazon. “Your leaves are on the way and will be delivered by 3:30 PM on Wednesday.”

It’s 46 now, up from 32 F, and expected to climb to 52 F. Thunderstorms are expected tomorrow.

In fifty shades of Trump, Republicans in Congress are sticking with their leader, refusing to hold him accountable for the war in Iran. Some have compared it to Operation Poseidon Archer under President Biden. It’s messy, but there was a difference in scope, costs, and intentions. Although President Biden’s operation lasted fifteen months, his administration notified Congress before military operations were ordered and carried out. Not so with Trump, who has been operating more unilaterally, limiting how much Congress is told, and sometimes not telling them until after the fact. President Biden’s operation was also well-defined in objectives and stayed in scope. Trump’s Iran war has been much broader and general, with no clear cut stated goals. While various reasons have been stated, Trump has also threatened to destroy Iran as a nation and attack civilian targets.

  • Operation Poseidon Archer cost about $400 million a day, with a total of $5 billion dollars for the first year of operations. Trump’s Iran war has spent $1 billion dollars per day on average, with an estimated expense of 35 to 51 billion dollar so far. Some experts believe that Trump’s Iran war could exceed one trillion dollars.
  • President Biden’s Yemen strikes had a relatively contained economic effect. Trump’s Iran war has caused gas prices to soar to $7 in some states while disrupting global air travel due to airspace closures.
  • Trump’s war has also affected the price of fertilizer for US farmers. The Strait of Hormuz closure has restricted access to components like sulfur, which is required to manufacture phosphate fertilizers in U.S. plants. Many small farmers are facing fertilizer costs which are 30 to 40 % higher than planned. The scale of the impact on increased cost for food and consumer goods will depend on how long Trump’s Iran war lasts.
  • Total deaths for President Biden’s Yemen operations were estimated at 106 to 337 lives. Trump’s Iran war has claimed an estimated five to ten thousand, so far. No US military members were killed in the Yemen operation, while Trump’s war cost fifteen US military members to date.

It all added up to too much. That was enough for Les Neurons to invite the Dave Matthews Band into the morning mental music stream with “Too Much” from 1996.

I eat too much
I drink too much
I want too much
Too much

Hey
Suck it up, suck it up
Suck it up, suck it up, suck it up, yeah
Suck it up, suck it up, suck it up
Suck it up, suck it up, suck it up baby

h/t to AZLyrics.com

Hope your day isn’t too much for you, and that all goes well.

Cheers

The Little Competition Dream

It seemed as if I was in a quasi-military unit again. A new guy, young, I arrived as a strange ceremony was underway.

I took it in at a glance: large wooden but modern yurt. High wooden ceiling. People in uniforms – could be military, marching bands, firefighters – in groups, waiting.

Two senior people took me aside. The taller one said, “Your timing is perfect. We’re going to have you do the judging.”

I was like, the judging? I said nothing.

They led me to a round wooden table. On it was a brown wooden basket. “Basically,” it was explained, “you find their flare and trinkets and count them up.”

They were doing activity as this was being explained. I watched, following, gleaning the essence. This was a competition. The groups had stuff. I had to find it but judge it not on its merits but on its quantity. This would not be hard.

I counted some stuff. Marked it. Initialed the little slip of white paper it was on.

My instructors laughed. “Don’t bother initialing it. That’ll slow you down.”

I was affronted. I wanted accountability. Precision. But said nothing.

One of the groups’ leaders, tall guy with a rambling reddish-brown beard, was watching and spoke up. “He’s doing the judging? Look how slow he’s going. This is going to take forever.”

The tall leader responded, “He’s just starting. He’ll speed up.”

Indeed, I was speeding up, and learning the challenge’s intricacies. For example, in one green uniform, they had hundreds of small pockets. In each was a little gold trinket. Each had to be found and counted.

That’s how it was with all of these uniforms. The teams found things and hid them. Everything was small, and it was up to me to find and count it. Pretty nuts, I thought.

A woman in uniform, waiting to hand over her garments for my inspection and counting said, “This is pretty important to people.”

I nodded; I could tell.

She continued, “They put a lot of work and thought into it.”

“I can see that,” I replied.

The small things were adding up and time was going faster. I found new places to stack it all, keeping it neat and orderly.

Dream endThe Little Competition Dream

I was in a quasi-military unit again. A new guy, young, I arrived as a strange ceremony was underway.

I took it in at a glance: large wooden but modern yurt. High wooden ceiling. People in uniforms – could be military, marching bands, firefighters – in groups, waiting.

Two senior people took me aside. The taller one said, “Your timing is perfect. We’re going to have you do the judging.”

I was like, the judging? I said nothing.

They led me to a round wooden table. On it was a basket. “Basically,” it was explained, “you find their flare and trinkets and count them up.”

They were doing activity as this was being explained. I watched, following, gleaning the essence. This was a competition. The groups had stuff. I had to find it but judge it not on its merits but on its quantity. This would not be hard.

I counted some stuff. Marked it. Initialed the little slip of white paper it was on.

My instructors laughed. “Don’t bother initialing it. That’ll slow you down.”

I was affronted. I wanted accountability. Precision. But said nothing.

One of the groups’ leaders were watching and spoke up. “He’s doing the judging? Look how slow he’s going. This is going to take forever.”

The tall leader responded, “He’s just starting. He’ll speed up.”

Indeed, I was speeding up, and learning the challenge’s intricacies. For example, in one green uniform, they had hundreds of small pockets. In each was a little gold trinket. Each had to be found and counted.

That’s how it was with all of these uniforms. The teams found things and hid them. Everything was small, and it was up to me to find and count it. Pretty nuts, I thought.

A woman in dark green serge uniform, waiting to hand over her garments for my inspection and counting said, “This is pretty important to people.”

I nodded; I could tell.

She continued, “They put a lot of work and thought into it.”

“I can see that,” I replied.

The small things were adding up and time was going faster. I found new places to stack it all, keeping it neat and orderly.

Dream end

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑