Sundaz Theme Music

Ah, Sunda. December 14, 2025. Was 29 F and sunny, with clouds. That was an hour ago. Now it’s 30 with dense fog. High of 50 something forecasted. We never reach those forecasted highs these days. At least, not in the last seven days. I know, it’s a small sample size.

The weather disparity reflects a greater wonder, how is what Trump has done affect our systems and abilities? How long will it take for that delta to become fully revealed. Conversely, does that delta even exist, or is this a product of my life in a news bubble? And if the bubble exists, how long will it take for us to address and fix it? Some will probably hastily explain, oh, AI can fix it all. But AI comes with its own problems and introduces more problems. So it goes, as it has since technology has begun advancing and displacing people and changing experiences and expectations.

It’s kicked off between Mom and sis again. Sis complains that Mom yells at her and complains all the time. So sis yells back. Mom complains that sis is always yelling at her. Meanwhile, my youngest sister won’t talk to Mom. Says Mom is always yelling at her and is tired of it. Oldest sister has been completely disengaged, and sister number three has, in sis’s words, checked out. All this dysfunction is deeply rooted in family history. It’s a sad culmination of a lot of ongoing anger and resentment. Of course, I checked out decades ago, after one of Mom’s husbands threatened me. Saw the future and abandoned everyone. I’m not proud of it but I was a child. I admit, it left me damaged, too. We’re all damaged.

Of course, it comes down to one of those, “What are you going to do?”, situations. We’ve seen this coming for years. Tried to plan to prevent it. Living with Frank, and with Frank helping her, Mom resisted and refused to cooperate. So we held our breath and went on. Now the worse that we feared is happening. I, of course, feel helpless. Most of my sisters seem angry. They have heavier and deeper damage from life with Mom.

Worse of all is how often this sort of situation and worse is replayed around the nation, around the world. We advance, and yet we’re stuck. We’re smart, and we’re stupid. We can see ahead but can do nothing.

All of this extends well beyond families, of course. We see the same kind of helplessness in business, education, the environment, animal and human rights, agriculture. Just adds to the tension and frustration for us that we see but can’t act.

Been reading of all the flood damage up in Washington and northwestern Oregon. The rain amounts and river levels hit historic highs. Messy and disastrous. Stories of dramatic rescues are interspersed with stories, videos and photos of mudslides, houses floating in rivers, huge waves battering the coast, bridges and roads collapsing. State of emergency declared in Washington. I’m surprised that Trump and FEMA approved requested emergency assistance. Let’s see if they deliver. Meanwhile, hope everyone affected can find safe places to endure and recover.

I wonder what fresh heaping will come with the next tomorrow. That triggers The Neurons. They play “Tomorrow Comes Today” by Gorillaz for me. I watch quite a bit of Brit and Irish TV, especially dramas, SF, and police procedurals, and believe I picked up the song from one of those. I often pursuing hearing more of a song when I hear parts of it on a television show or movie.

Coffee has come to rescue me for the moment. Hope peace and grace finds us all and gives us some respite from whatever is stymying and hurting us. Here we, into another day. Cheers

Thirstdaz Wandering Thoughts

I’ve lost over twenty pounds. With that came a reduction in my waist size. Now my pants are too large for me. Friggin’ swimming in them. Fortunately, I kept some pants which were too small for me. Now I fit in them again.

Large part of my weight reduction in my mind comes from exercising. With my exercising now, I can look back and appreciate how much I was hampered from exercising by health issues for the last few years. I’m running and exercising much more consistently and intensely than I’ve done since COVID struck. Back then was when I broke my arm. Feels good, too. Energy levels are up. Thinking is clearer. Mood is better.

My issues forced dietary changes on me. Embracing them, I eat more mindfully, turning down many things, enduring hunger. Like, right now, in the coffee shop, they’ve heated up quiche for someone. Smells exquisite. Another person is wolfing down a cherry turnover. Looks really good, know what I’m saying?

I thank the dawgs for my turnaround. Good medical interventions, often triggered by emergencies, saved me. As did my wife, who had to endure my emergencies, issues, and recoveries.

Just need to keep it up and keep it off. Yeah, there’s the eternal rub.

Thirstaz Wandering Thoughts

My thoughts are wandering as I sit in the Pittsburgh Airport, looking out at the rain, eavesdropping on others’ conversations. Most of my focus keeps shifting to Mom’s paperwork. Her paperwork is just like our paperwork.

Pulling out every bill from 1998 on, I laugh. Notes are on sheets of paper and bills. Who was spoken to, time and date, result. Most simply end like that. No further updates. There are insurance and banking papers, visits to hospitals, doctors, and specialists, and the ever-present pile of warranties.

We are the same back home. For the last how many decades, paperwork was needed for ‘just in case’ reference. Bills and payment records could go wrong, and it was incumbent on us to prove what we did. Even then, that sometimes isn’t enough and required we the customer to scale the corporate ladder past the drones and managerial kings and queens until a person was reached who could overrule the bureaucracy.

The paperwork at Mom’s has some interesting personal choices. Lot of paper clippings for things done by her children back in 1970 through 2010. Yellowed, brittle clippings of newspaper death notices for family members and friends. Crisp sheets of white papers in file folders with emails from family printed out. Things from me from my last days in the military in 1995. Travel information for visits in 1998, 2005, etc.

Mom is now battling Verizon. We’ve all been involved in this fight. It’s classic enshittification. Gotta sign in to do anything with them. Calling them? Hahahahaha. What a joker you are. Should be a stand up with your own HBO or Netflix comedy special. Calling them provided us with a window when it would be okay to call them. Mom had it down to fifteen minutes and counted it down to one, phone in hand, doing little else. The appointed minute arrived. Mom moved her hand. “Oops.” Gone! Her new wait time to reach them was eight hours later.

Meanwhile, we parsed Mom’s crazy notes for userIDs and passwords. Several were found for Verizon. None worked. One sister then went through the ‘Forgot Password’ route and tried to change the password. Hahahahahaha. Easier to turn an apple into a ruby.

This is modern life, yeah? At least in first world America, and maybe only among my family. I, of course, cheat. I maintain a spreadsheet of passwords. 112 lines. They’re for my accounts and my wife’s accounts. If that thing ever falls into the wrong hands, it’d be disaster for us. It’s encrypted and password protected. Every time I go in for surgery, I remind my wife of the password.

All of this has cause us to resolve, do a pare down. Purge paperwork and warranties. Get ruthless about it, and damn the consequences.

A Year of Change

That smell of wet, burnt wood from a large fire bristles in my memories.

1971. I was fourteen. Dad had just returned from an overseas military assignment and took me in, a refugee from an unhappy time with Mom and her husband then. We lived in Dayton, Ohio, first in an apartment, and then in Wright-Patterson AFB base housing, in a place called Page Manor. We lived there from the beginning of July to the end of August. Then, an opportunity came up. He retired from the military to start a new chapter to his life.

He and I moved to West Virginia and he began his new job. Housing was limited so Dad bought a mobile home. A space was found for it in a trailer park. School started. A month later, the trailer burned up. Days were spent trying to recover what we could from the trailer. I carried a smoky odor around my clothes for months.

Dad’s co-worker let us crash at their place, but it was crowded, and the co-worker had a young wife and a new baby. Goaded by her disenchantment to be rid of us — nothing personal, and I understand it — we found a new place to live within a month.

Coincidentally, that was the same time that I met the girl who would become the woman who would become my wife. We married in 1975, less than four years after meeting. We’ve been together since then, although we’ve had separations and struggles. Amazing to think that I’ve known her since 1971 and have been married to her since 1975. It seems like a lot longer… Bet it seems even longer to her.

It’s all sharp in the head, strong in the memories, that period, a time of destruction, change, and beginning. I can’t say that I don’t look back; I’m always looking back, then turning around and looking forward, re-establishing where I’m at, and moving on.

Or trying to.

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