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.

May 6, 2026 0

April 30, 2026 1

April 29, 2026 0

Another Michael Dream

I was at some resort/business conference, mixing business with pleasure. Younger, I was traveling alone but had met with a group, mostly male, but a few female acquaintances. No relatives were present.

Everything was going smoothly. Prizes were being given out, assignments made, directions planned. While off on my own to one side, sitting, I ran into a former female boss. She asked about my health. I told her about my tendon surgery, showing her where the incision had been made. Then I reminded her that she’d known about that. Agreeing, she wished me well and moved on.

I then moved to another place, a tall table with a chair, to wait for friends. A man passed. I knew of him – elderly, with silvery gray hair, dignified, and gay. I also knew his name was Michael, same as mine. We exchanged nods as greetings.

My name was called to pick up a package, I went to a counter cluttered with packages. One was given to me. As I looked at the name, I saw the first name was Michael but a Spanish surname followed. I knew it was the dignified man’s name and pointed out that this wasn’t my package. I was told that the other guy had turned it down, so it was being given to me, and that I should take it and like it because it was a better package than what I would get.

I went off with that and ran into friends, explaining the package thing with them. Then I returned to the tall table and chair.

The dignified Michael passed several more times. I chatted with him, flirting with him about his plans. He was amused but kept quiet.

I then went to be with another group. More prizes were being given out, and I was again given dignified Michael’s package. I then commented that I kept receiving his package instead of mine.

I stripped off my clothes and was in a neon orange speedo. I decided to walk a back over to where food was now being given out. Although I was almost naked and was drawing attention in my bright speedo, I was comfortable, and heard women whispering how good I looked, which made me grin inside. I then got to the counter where I was given a third, larger package for the other Michael.

Dream end.

February 23, 2026 0

The White Square Dream

I dreamed I was presented with a white vertical square.

The square floated in front of my head. Despite no evident attachments to the wall, floor, or ceiling, it was very stable.

Twenty-five photos in five-by-five columns and rows were in the square. All were the same photo of a young, bald, smiling black man — no one familiar to me. The picture reminded me of a high school photograph, but this man was an adult.

Puzzled, I investigated the white square and then the photographs, learning that pressing a photograph opened another set of smaller, identical photographs of the same person.

Trial and error led to discoveries that the man was twenty-five years old. Each photograph represented a different year of his life. Pressing on them opened up other sets of photographs. Although always looking like the same photograph, by pressing it, I learned of his past, present, and future for him at that time of his life.

Over that exploration, I realized that I could shift the man from where he was in his life to another place in his life, including his future and past.

Swiping left brought up another set of photos, only four, all the same, a grinning white man with tousled ginger hair in a green plaid shirt. Venturing to press photographs revealed he was only four years old, but that I could move into his future and past through the photos, and when I moved through them, I was moving him.

The experience was repeated several more times before I sat back to think about what I’d encountered. This was a system to move people in time or reality, maybe both.

With that understanding, I sat back, warning myself, be careful with what you do until I understand more about the ramifications.

Dream end.

January 10, 2026 0

Fridaz Wandering Political Thoughts

Trump has announced that every street named “Main Street” in the United States is going to be called “Trump Street” by popular acclaim, beginning on Jan 1, 2026.

No, that’s not true. Far as I know. That’s how it feels, though. A golfer, he wants a NFL football stadium named after him. Tasteless, he wants the Kennedy Center renamed after him. He wants to name everything after himself for doing nothing but lying, cheating, stealing, and destroying. I’m not in favor it. Only thing I’d like to rename in Trump’s honor is toilet paper. Call it Trump paper. Then I can use Trump paper to wipe my ass.

Other than that, let’s name poor houses after him. And the homeless. He deserves that. “Look at those poor Trumps, standing out there in the cold rain.”

It’s wild how the nation is spiralling downward. Let’s cut off immigration, except for H1B visas for business. Let’s cut education and help for children but encourage families to have more children. And how will these families pay for them with healthcare, food, and energy prices increasing? We’re building AI facilities and robots to take over jobs. More companies are laying people off to use robots and AI instead of people. In Trump’s rage against Democrats, he’s attacking blue cities and states. Yet blue cities and states provide a large portion of the nation’s economic drive. So he’s gutting the nation of its economic power while trying to attract and encourage manufacturing. But who will have money to buy anything with employment falling?

Trump’s policies are already killing our local economy in southern Oregon. We depend on tourism, education, some beer and winemaking, and healthcare. Those are our largest revenue streams.

Last year, the Trump Regime cut funding for public transportation. Just like that, bus service fell to severely cut levels, affecting students, the poor, elderly, and remote.

SNAP and food assistance programs were cut, affecting the food-insecure, lower incomes, and homeless.

As costs rise for running a city and repairing things, the city is levying more fees on its citizens. That strains people’s spending and savings and cuts into discretionary spending. That results in less people spending on the local economy, with less tax money flowing to the city. See how that works? The city doesn’t.

Meanwhile, parks and rec want to open more parks. This is even though the city’s structural debt is blowing up. Parks and rec already cut their headcount, resulting less park maintenance, and its shows. Their solution is to build more parks. Build more bike trails. That’ll bring in people, they think.

Really, man, they are not paying attention.

Our local college is Southern Oregon University. SOU. They’ve responded to a continuing and growing cash flow problem by cutting programs, raising tuition, and reducing staff, including professors. With funding assistance from the Trump Regime falling, they’re facing a dire future.

The Oregon Shakespeare Festival is our big annual draw. They’ve seen reduced attendance for the last ten years. First, drought, hot temperatures, wildfires, and wildfire smoke pushed tourism down. Then COVID pushed tourism down. Now the Trump regime, with its open hostility towards foreigners, is pushing tourism down. A festival and region dependent on tourism will fall as tourism falls.

Finally, the local hospital announced cutbacks. This used to be the Ashland Community Hospital, but then it was bought by Asante. It has announced it’s closing its beds and surgical center. Just going to be some limited services. We’ll need to trek down the road to another hospital for assistance. But bus services have been cut. How are the poor and needy going to get there?

We’re being gouged and hollowed out in so many ways. This is just my state, my region. How much of this is being repeated across the United States? We know from news reports of growing corporate layoffs and flat employment growth. News reports inform us of meat packing facilities shutting down. Trump cuts through DOGE gutted research funding for universities, including cancer and other medical research. His policies also reduced foreign student enrollment.

As this downward spiral continues, the delta between haves and have nots in the United States will grow with the population of the have nots increasing. We’re leaning toward being a nation of underemployed, uneducated, unmotivated individuals. Our robot-run factories will pump out goods destined for foreign buyers on foreign shores.

Yes, I’m pessimistic about our nation’s future under Trump and the GOP but I’m not the only one. Meanwhile, a Yougov poll shows that while 40% of respondents think Trump will be judged as a “poor” president, 18% believe that he’ll be remembered as “outstanding”.

I guess those 18% are the haves, or perhaps have-nots who have not met their FAFO moment.

December 5, 2025 3

Ghostly Thoughts

Ghost are all around, inhabiting the land.

Offices.

Factories.

Houses.

They’re sometimes noticed.

Most are forgotten.

Except by other ghosts.

The ghosts did many things for us.

Served in the military.

Protected us.

Gave their lives.

Raised food for us. Fed us.

Kept us safe.

Wrote laws with the best intentions.

And tried to lift us up and lead us forward.

They gave us light and security.

Running water.

Safe water.

Safe homes.

Electricity.

Bridges and roads.

Books and paintings, music and rock.

Humor.

Raised us up with hands and ideas.

And now wait.

Until we’re ghosts.

And join them.

To be forgotten.

Remembered only by other ghosts.

October 17, 2025 0

Mundaz Wandering Thoughts

My wife and I had a minor disagreement the other day.

I had surgery to repair a ruptured tendon last year, in October, 2024. I’ve had pain of various kinds since then. One source of pain was along toes three to five, which was often stiff with burning pain. I’d mentioned it to my surgeon, as it began during my convalescence from surgery. He said that it sounds like a nerve was damaged. I felt the same. Although I’m not a medical expert or doctor, etc., I broke and dislocated a wrist in my late twenties. Pins casts immobilized that wrist and arm. I suffered from a burning, painful sensation along the pin sites after they were removed. My doc back then told me it was probably nerve damage. It did go away after about twenty years. This foot pain felt just like that pain.

While walking the other day, I felt a sudden sharp and painful snap in my foot where the toe pain resides. After gasping and slowing for a second, I resumed walking. Lo, that foot pain was gone. It hasn’t come back.

I was so elated. I went home and told my wife. She responded, “Why is this the first that I’m hearing about this?”

One, it wasn’t the first she was hearing about it. She’d forgotten me mentioning it, but I spoke about in early January of this year. I don’t blame her for forgetting it. We don’t remember everything we’re told.

Two was a broader philosophical position. Basically, I don’t tell her about every pain I endure. I’m aging, and have pains from time to time. Feet, ankle, hips, neck, shoulder, back, abdomen, eyes, etc. Those pains often go away. Their duration can last anywhere from a few hours to a week. Sometimes they limit movement, and more rarely limit my activities. My point is, pain comes and goes. I prefer to not complain. And then means, to me, not mentioning.

And there’s a little history in that. Number one was Mom. Mom as a mother often told us to stop crying, stop whining, stop complaining. She wanted us to be happy children. If we couldn’t be happy, she wanted us to be quiet.

Then there’s history with my wife about this. Long ago, when I was twenty, I was severely sick for several days. We didn’t see doctors back then for things like that. Basically vomiting, not eating, listless, sweating a lot, lot of pain. That pain resulted in some moaning and groaning.

Yeah, I got over it and lived. But about a year later, my wife was speaking to others and talked about what a baby I was when I was sick and hurt. That insulted and angered me. I told her so when we were alone. It since became a theme for her to talk about how often men complain about being sick or hurt when women are so much hardier, and more willing to endure. I finally mentioned to my wife that I disliked this reductivism about men and pain. She’s done it off and on since, and once, after seeing me give her a look when she made such a statement, apologized and claimed that she wasn’t including me. Since then, she’s slowly drifted out of the habit.

But this is how we evolve. We have our basic attitudes and tendencies, and then we react to our environment. Part of that is how we react to what we hear. What is said about us, especially by those we love, admire, and trust. Maybe I’m being thin-skinned, but words matter. Part of my problem, too, is that I seem to have a very strong memory. I don’t easily forget or forgive.

I guess that’s my bottom line.