Tag: Mom

Sunday’s Theme Music

Pittsburgh is tucked into a light gray blanket this morning. Sunrise was at 6:57 AM but the sun is taking it easy behind the clouds. Sunset is anticipated at 7:36 this evening.

It’s September 11, 2022, in America.

Muggy 20 degrees C weather lays on me. The air is fine, a green 18 according to Purple Air. No smoke. Deer strolled across the lawn, mama, two yearlings, and a fawn. Mama eyed me like, “Who are you? I don’t know your smell.” The rest nibbled and chewed.

As I left the hospital yesterday, I heard someone tell another in the parking lot, “Don’t let the world bring you down.” The Neurons nibbled on that overnight and then brought Soundgarden and “Blow Up the Outside World” (1996) into the morning mental music stream. It’s a little harsh for a quiet Sunday morning, I told them. They didn’t care. The Neurons follow their own paths.

Stay positive and test negative. Hope you find joy and satisfaction in this day. Yes, I’ve had coffee, thanks. Had to help overcome the three-hour shift from my normal times. Here’s the music. Off to visit Mom in the hospital. She’s doing much better, thanks, but danger remains. Cheers

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Sunday’s Wandering Thought

Sipping coffee, he watched the morning sky drizzle soft rain over the grass and trees. Mom was in the hospital. Her house was quiet in a different way. It wasn’t the house he grew up in. No, he was years gone when she found and purchased this house. She and the house shared a character. They’d spent years together. Feeling like the house missed her, he told the house what was going on, so it wouldn’t worry.

It was the least he could do for such a kind house.

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Saturday’s Theme Music

I witnessed sunrise in Pittsburgh, PA, from an Airbus window as it landed at Pittsburgh International Airport. Pittsburgh sunrise was at 6:56 and I was arriving at 6:32. 68 C in Pittsburgh then, just like home, but much more humid. Sunset came at 7:38. Back home, we hit 101 F but Pittsburgh’s weather delivered a friendlier 74 F.

Today is Saturday, September 10, 2022. Mom is doing much better, a steep relief. Still in the hospital but matters are getting under control, and she might be released in a week. Depends on what happens with the fluid in her heart and her pacemaker.

Back in my home zone. Left it in 1972 but have consistently returned to see Mom and the sisters. But man is my body’s personal clock running awry. Ate breakfast at the hospital at 8:30, visited with Mom and family until 11:30, back to Mom and a nap for two hours. Lunch at 4 PM, back to the hospital to visit with Mom and then home again at 6:30. Call to wife to update her, then unplanned crash until 8:30. Now here I sit, posting the theme music.

Employing their sense of humor, The Neurons cranked up Dr. John with “Right Place, Wrong Time” from 1973. Oh, ha, ha, ha, hilarious, you neurons. Interspersed with all that were two quite bizarre dreams.

So here is the music. You be positive and test negative. Wear a mask and have a good one. Coffee? Now? Really? No, I think it’s too late. I might go for a piece of that triple chocolate cake in the kitchen, though. Anyone up for some cake?

Cheers

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Friday’s Theme Music

It’s up to 59 F outside. But the buttery morning sunshine delivered at 6:44 is now smoked over. Our lovely sky has rocketed relatively healthy lime green 48 on the air quality scale to 197. The high temperature today will be 103 F. Sunset, 7:31 PM.

Today is Friday, September 9, 2022. I’m waiting to begin my travel home. Tucker volunteered to inspect the bag and floofervise the process. On the other end of phones and texts, my youngest sister is reporting on Mom. Hospitalized for COVID complications and an appendix first thought ruptured but then found perforated, Mom has a lot of issues. A pacemaker was installed a few years ago. A diet of Kools and Salem cigarettes has left her with COPD and emphysema. The physicians discovered that she punctured one of her lung’s lobes. She’s also retaining fluid. Her O2 levels keep dropping to 70 or lower. Without much surprise to me, this 87-year-old woman has declared, “Enough. I’m tired. I’m done.”

My older sister has just arrived there from Atlanta. Another sister can’t attend because she’s COVID positive. The fourth sister is on her way back to the hospital. So is Mom’s partner. I won’t get there until tomorrow. The time, drama, and decisions give me a lot to think about.

The Neurons have a song by The Who circulating in the morning mental music stream. Released in 1971, “Gettin’ in Tune” has often been a standby song for me when I’m reflecting on choices and getting ready to travel. I understand why The Neurons have posted it.

Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, etc. I’ve had coffee. Might have more. Here is the music. Hope your Friday is a good one.

Cheers

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Thursday’s Wandering Thought

As news about his mother’s declining condition was received, he thought for a while and then, teary-eyed, told her with his mind across time and space, “Well, Mom, I’m good with whatever you decide to do. You’ve known pain and sickness for so many years. If you decide you’re done, I understand.”

She would be missed, though. Strong, intelligent, and vital, she was his favorite mother. Probably always would be.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

6:20 AM. It was about twenty-two minutes before sunrise. I was in front of my house, talking to Papi, the floof is who also hailed as the Ginger Prince and the Slender Blade. My house front faces west. Clouds were rolling in over the western horizon. They surprised me because they were contrary to expectations.

Rain began. Big, fat diamond drops. Wow, cool, I thought. 6:21, the rain stopped.

Although the day grew lighter with the sun’s presence, I couldn’t see it. It was already 22 C at that point heralding that the forecasts that we’ll strike 100 F today are probably right. Air is fresh and clean and in the green.

8:08 AM. The Slender Blade and I were in the backyard speaking with the other house floof, Tucker, the black and white fella also known as Your Lordship. Sunshine cracked in between spaces shaped by a roof and a tree. Rain showered down for ten furious seconds and then stopped. Seems like Wednesday, September 7. 2022, will be an interesting day.

Mom is in the hospital, taken in yesterday afternoon after falling at home, all COVID related. Word this morning is that she ruptured her appendix. She was also severely dehydrated. Fingers crossed that she and the medicos work their way through these issues.

While I was floof visiting and noting the weather this morning, I looked to the south and reflected, it’s been a long time since we’ve gone south, i.e., into California. Wildfires and COVID, of course. Plus, expensive.

But The Neurons heard me saying something about traveling south in my head. Right away, they plugged a song by Alice in Chains, “I Stay Away” (1993), into the morning mental music stream.

Here’s the music. I’ve had my coffee. Heading to an appointment to have a Ziopatch applied. Stay positive, test negative, and so on. Cheers

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The Room Dream

I arrived home as a young man. Mom gave me a room. I was happy to see her and happy to be there. We were living on a train, and the room she gave me was an entire train car. Long and narrow, I had a bed, desk, dresser, bookcase, chair, and wardrobe. I set them up to provide separate sleeping and living areas, using the bookcase and vanity as a makeshift wall. As I set it up, my young sisters came in and visited. Sometimes they brought young neighbor boys that they were watching. Mom would also occasionally come by.

I stacked my books and organized my desk, made my narrow bed, and slid against one wall. One side of the train had windows, and I set my desk up under them so I could look outside.

Young people in a sixties era Chevy Impala convertible (after the fins were dropped) began driving by. Whenever they did, some of my things would get shifted, annoying me. This worsened; even as I cleaned and organized again, they drove by, knocking things over. They never reached in or anything, but I knew it was them, as they were laughing about it.

I decided I’d put a stop to that and devised a way by changing the room around. The new arrangement was less satisfying, but it was staying neat and still workable. However, one of the little neighbor boys my sisters were watching kept sneaking into my room and tearing things up. He was fair and blonde, giggling often, but crying whenever he was stopped or reprimanded. I kept putting him out, warning him not to do that, and warning others to keep him out, and then cleaning up again, and again, but he kept getting in there. Mom came to me and told me to be more patient and tolerant because he was a small child and had mental and emotional health issues. I complained to her but took her point and promised I would try.

The train with my room went on the move. That pleased me because I thought we’d moved away from the boy causing the problem. But he got in there again. I was bewildered. My sisters explained that he’d come with us. I felt that I had no choice but to close and lock my doors. After I did that, I discovered him sliding in under the door. It looked like he could completely flattened himself, becoming as pliable and flexible as a sheet of paper.

My exasperation and irritation spiked. How was I supposed to deal with that. I took hold of the boy to take him out of the room. He immediately screamed, writhing and crying in my grasp. Others came running in. I said that I hadn’t done anything to him, that he was overly sensitive, defending myself with the claim, I was just stopping him from ruining things again. My sisters took him out of my room.

Dream end.

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A Facilitating Dream

The commander, a colonel, was walking in, talking on his cell as he came. I knew he was speaking with his wife. I overheard him: “Seidel? Yes, he’s here. He’s always here. He’s everywhere.”

A blush of pride bloomed in me in the dream. That was toward the end. It’d been another military dream, a chaotic one. Whereas most of my military dreams after my service ended has been about my chosen career field, command and control, or about traveling, this one was about facilitating. I’d spent the last three years of my career facilitating special project teams. This dream took off from there.

People were arriving for the session. I knew them and was prepared for them — or so I thought. Things started going wrong. Like Mom showed up. What was Mom doing there? I saw her but then she wasn’t there, so maybe I’d imagined her.

It threw me off my game. A squadon commander, black and and light colonel, arrived. I was pleased to see him, greeting him by name, showing him in, asking him if he’d like something to drink. Coffee, water, juice, tea? “Tea,” he agreed. Excellent, we have multiple kinds. What would you like? He selected (can’t remember what it was) and I went off to get it.

But I couldn’t immediately find the tea. Interruptions hampered the search. Sisters are arrived. I didn’t know what they were doing there. The phone kept ringing. Other team members were arriving. Someone knocked over one of the white boards. And the cookies weren’t put out.

I was scrambling, racing back to the light colonel to tell him that I’d not forgotten his tea, that it would be right out. He was taking it well, smiling and nodding, relatively unconcerned. I was also trying to be a good host with other arrivals and trying to corner one of my sisters to inquire about why she was there.

Someone suggested we play a game. They found something sort of roundish and suggested volleyball. Cheers met the suggestion. Although I first resisted because I had an agenda, I acquiesced. Be flexible, right? “Okay, why not,” I agreed.

We went out. There were five on one side and one, a female, on the other. They were going to play volleyball but there wasn’t a net. The lumpy thing being used as a volleyball turned into an actual volleyball. I told the one woman that I’d be her teammate. We’d take on the rest. Some volleying was done. I was told to serve. Everyone tensed because they thought I’d have a power serve but I kept missing the ball completely.

I finally served the ball and a volley ensued, then we lost the ball. Someone came up with some misshaped black thing, smaller than a volleyball, to use. I argued against it, demonstrating that I couldn’t even hit it right. Nobody else had yet tried. They all encouraged me to keep trying. I did, and suddenly began hitting it spectacularly well.

Others arrived so we quit playing. I hurried back to facilitate because some were up asking about the talking points posted to a white board. I rushed to explain. That’s when the commander arrived talking on the phone, and the dream ended.

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