Tag: reflections

Thirstdaz Theme Music

Sunshine was beaming in, trying to move the needle on this Thirstdaz. Clouds dropped in, muting the sunshine, dousing us with an instant chill. 39 F around my house, the thermometer hopes to see the low fifties today. It’s December 4, 2025. After a mildly wet few months, we’ve suddenly gone cold and dry. Feels like winter out there on many morns.

A friend’s spouse passed away. Most of is learned of it last night. He’d been on hospice for eighteen months, and she carried so much of the caring and the worrying during that long goodbye. Now that he’s gone, she seems ready to step back into her own life again. I only met him a few times, briefly, but always liked his presence. The old photos of him — long dark hair, guitar in hand somewhere in Texas — suggest a version of him I wish I’d known. Wherever he’s headed now, I hope the road is kind. Moments like this tend to shift a group’s energy; the news seemed to quiet all of us, each in our own way. That’s the thing about a death: it sends you off in unexpected directions. Even had me thinking about a novel titled News of a Death.

In honor of Steve Cropper, I’m going with a song that features him. He was one of those musicians and songwriters who helped build my appreciation of popular music and where it can take us by his many contributions. Here’s the Blues Brothers on SNL playing “Soul Man”. And there is grinning Steve Cropper, having fun, playing the guitar, part of the scene.

Occurred to me after posting something about Trump and the records he’s setting, I overlooked his new record of giving pardons. No firm proof has been established but there are allegations and accusations that Delusive Donny is selling pardons. He certainly favors the wealthy, no matter the crime that won them conviction. Nothing like the chief enforcer of the nation’s law and order to undermine and break the system again and again and again and again and again…

My wife also shared a piece with me where some on the right are applauding Trump’s naps. They claim they think it’s smart of him. Yes, we laughed our rear ends off at their deep efforts to spin Trump’s shortcomings, the very same shortcomings for which they previously denigrated President Joe Biden.

Coffee has been poured into the system. Ready to make like a flea and jump. Hope peace and grace makes their way into your day. Cheers

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Thirstdaz Theme Music

We’re again into the territory in the United States called ‘Thanksgiving’ or ‘Thanksgiving Day’. Shrouded with mythology, embedded in gluttony, wrapped with consumerism, T-day has become complicated for many in the U.S. My wife can’t stand the holiday but participates instead in an annual Friendsgiving. It’s just Thanksgiving with a different label. The essence of gathering and eating is unchanged. For the record, my spouse despises Thanksgiving for the cruelty to animals done in its name, and for the celebration of overeating done while so many go wanting. I respect her opinions. For me, Thanksgiving is filled with nostalgia. Mom loved cooking and feeding her family and having us all together. That’s when she was always at her best. So I have great memories of those times. Later, as I rose in rank, we always opened our door to younger military members and shared Thanksgiving with them. Plenty of good memories swirl around those days, too. So, it’s complicated. Let me put this to you: I’ve thankful for what I have and what I had. I’m hopeful that we can create a world where accumulating wealth and power will finally give way to keeping us all healthy and safe, regardless of holiday, nation, or any of the many qualifications too many people attach to who they’re willing to help.

For Thanksgiving in Ashlandia, the weather is complicated but typical. Sunny with blue skies and clouds. Rain might show up later. Temp hovering around 50 F may get up to 58 F. Average and complicated. This is Thirstda, November 27, 2025.

Thoughts of home and reflections about last night’s dreams prompted The Neurons to bring up “Can’t Find My Way Home”. This Blind Faith song came out well over fifty years ago. It still feels right. I went with a cover with Steve Winwood and Tom Petty. Hope you give it a listen.

Funny to read this story this morning:

Trump VP’s old tweet comes back to haunt him

A four-year-old social media post from now-Vice President J.D. Vance has resurfaced online, putting him under fresh scrutiny.

~snip~

In 2016, Vance was openly critical of Trump’s candidacy and at one point referred to him as “America’s Hitler,” a remark that has repeatedly resurfaced since he joined the ticket.

~snip~

Then comes another headline in the story:

A complicated history between Trump and Vance

Nothing complicated about it. Vance sold out for money, power, and position, and willingly and eagerly advanced Trump’s lies to advance himself. In short, Vance demonstrated he lacks principles. Simplest story in the world. Vance isn’t an exception. We’ve seen this with multiple Republicans. After disparaging Trump, they’ve united behind him and stand with him, except for a few outliers, as this 2016 WaPo story attests.

The tortured things GOP Senate candidates have said about Donald Trump, to date

Hope your Thanksgiving provides something for you to be thankful for, and they you enjoy a good, a good month, a good coming year. May peace and grace find us today and every day. Cheers

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Mundaz Wandering Thoughts

Well, Steve died. 85 years old. Diagnosed with cancer in his liver, kidneys, and lungs, his decline was a full slide down a steep hill. Just a few months ago, we were laughing, talking, enjoying drinks and music at a lake in the late afternoon sun. The question before us is, did he use the cocktail? This is Oregon where we have right to death laws. Steve had requested a cocktail to end his life and planned to use it. Laws control when the cocktail can be used. His wife was just requesting the cocktail last week, so we suspect that Steve died on his own yesterday, September 21, 2025.

I support the right to death, BTW. I’ve witnessed too many people growing feeble and drained by their disease to wish that on others. Many people can no longer probably communicate as they hang on by their skins. Sickness, pain, disease, and medication twist and torture their personalities into new folds. By the time of their death, they’re barely the person they used to be. But I also understand and respect others’ needs and desires to hold on as long as they can. Dying and death are complicated matters.

The thing about Steve is that we only knew each other for about three years. Our rapport was immediate. Our wives were good friends and we all became good friends, socializing multiple times at plays, concerts, and dinners. It just seemed like he and I knew each other forever.

Meanwhile, sis reports Mom has moved into her new room. Except Mom’s clothes are still upstairs. That’s a major matter. Although Mom tends to wear a series of night clothes and casual active wear these days, her closet was rigidly organized by season, color, and fabric. Tough transition for her, to cull the threads to current needs only.

This growing old, though. Coping. It’s tough. I’m at the coffee shop thinking and typing. A casual friend of two decades comes by. She uses two canes now to get around but her smile remains as bright as sunshine off snow brilliant.

All just thoughts to help me sort matters, matters which I’ll probably continue sorting until I do my own self-checkout. I won’t even try to predict when that’ll come. From what I’ve seen, change can be sudden and complete. Then again, some demises are a long trip into night.

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Satyrdaz Theme Music

We are socked in with fog in Yachats. No blue sky or sunshine has made their whereabouts known. 57 F now, a high of 65 F has been proclaimed as an afternoon promise. All this is much different from yesterday. Guess we were getting spoiled and things needed to be changed.

We played rousing and enthusiastic Mexican Train last night. The domino game has us enthralled. I was leading until like four hands from the end. Then my friend surged ahead and beat me by a few points. Nevertheless, I was delighted with winning four rounds. Gave me such a high.

After discussing politics and health matters, “Reflections of My Life” from 1970 was brought up into the morning mental music stream by The Neurons. Marmalade wrote and performed the reflective soft rock song. The group had other hits but I never owned any of their albums.

I stayed hooked on those lines, “The world is a bad place, a terrible place to live, oh, but I don’t want to die.” Sums up a lot of the inherent conflict in our many attitudes about life, death, commerce, and politics.

We’re planning a road trip up the road to the aquarium and greater coast exploration. Breakfast is being finished. We’re talking about a friend’s recent fast-food visit. He went into order and encountered a machine asking him for his order. A voice announced it was ready. He picked it up from a racked cart. Never encountered a person, which bummed him. He then went through the drive-thru next time. One person was encountered, to accept payment. I shared my imagination’s output: robotic arms putting the order together in the back, delivering a bag of food to a conveyor belt that carries it out to the customer.

I’m moving on wings of coffee. Hope grace and peace find a way to carry you through the day. Cheers

1

Sharing – The Adult in the Room

I enjoyed this piece’s optimistic, reflective view. Right now, there seems to be few Adults in the room in the Trump era. Hopefully, as posited in this post by earlthepearl137, the young generations will rise up, see what needs to be done, and get it done. Fingers crossed, ya know?

The Adult in the Room

We were taught to respect him. He wore a tie to breakfast. He had opinions on everything from foreign policy to potato salad. He shook his head at protests, praised moderation, and told stories where he was always the hero.

He was The Adult in the Room.

He built systems that favored the seasoned and the serious. He spoke in spreadsheets and nostalgia, mistaking legacy for wisdom. He said youth should “wait their turn,” even as the clock ticked toward irreversible climate change, social fracture, and another news cycle full of grief.

When the world caught fire, The Adult offered a lecture. When the oceans rose, he proposed a committee. When children cried out in fear or fury, he complimented their passion… and resumed business as usual.

But then something shifted.

Continue reading here…

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Fridaz Wandering Thoughts

Dad and I spoke for almost an hour today. The conversation energized me, boosting my mood into a happier place. On the surface, a high percentage can be attributed to relief: Dad was home. No greater problems were found during his latest hospital visit, and it was a short one. He and his wife were both friendly, engaging, and happy on their end. Undoubtably this fed me and my spirits.

I also insist, though, that some of this came from just speaking with Dad. He and I are familiars. We mock and respect one another. He’s one of the few people I sense I can really spill myself to regarding what’s going on, whether it’s politics, writing, relationships with my wife, Mom, and sisters, or my DIY projects.

We’ve not always been like these. It’s been a long evolution. I’m glad we made it here, though. It’s taken time. We followed a torturous path. But here we are.

Finally.

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Thirstdaz Theme Music

Another sunny summer day has been born in Ashlandia. We shall name this day Thirstda, July 24, 2025. Temps right now are moderate at 83 F but if you stand in that sunshine and let it beam down on you, the sweat comes fast. Today’s high will peak at about 92, 93 F, I think. Clouds, dust, or smoke hazes some of the sky’s blue, but I don’t smell smoke. The ol’ schnoz seems unafflicted by particulates today. Yea for me, I guess.

Hulk Hogan has passed away. I greet that with a shrug. Ozzy Osbourne passed a couple days ago. I mourn him more, but it’s remote mourning. I’ve been expecting him to pass. Thanks for the music and entertainment, Oz.

A net friend, Annette, posted a reflective post about family, wealth, and change. It melded well with my mood and thoughts after long exchanges with my sister about my mother, Mom’s health, and her living situation. Life, mortality, and death seem to be draping themselves all over me as I observe others’ situations and reflect upon my own. Make hay while the sun shines, right? Because storms can crash in and change everything in an eyeblink.

Over on the political spectrum of my existence, I grimace to more news about the enshittification of things. Yes, it makes me unhappy. Reading opposing opinions about things like cuts to NPR and public broadcasting, the celebration of their potential demise depresses me. Others are scornful and dismissive of any positive impact they may have on people, communities, and civilization. Some things seem to be strictly defined through a narrow scope of costs, profits, and losses, as if this is what life is about. The debt, the debt, some scream, we must do something about the debt! More tariffs! More tax cuts for the wealthy! More tax write-offs for the ultra wealthy. Less help for the states! Less help for the poor! And so it will go until they need help from other states, need help from the poor, say, in a war, for example, or to work. Yes, I’m disgusting by the right-wing tilt going on. I think it counterproductive to common goals and needs. The tilt benefits a few at the expense of the nation.

Today’s theme music is both homage to Ozzy’s memory, my own life, and how I view the current world situation. Yes, it’s “Crazy Train” from 1980. I told others while commenting on Ozzy last night that I’ve been on the crazy train. I’ve seen my family on the crazy train, and friends. A friend replied, “I think we’ve all spent some time on the crazy train.” Now I think the world is climbing on the crazy train.

Crazy, but that’s how it goes
Millions of people living as foes
Maybe it’s not too late
To learn how to love and forget how to hate

Mental wounds not healing
Life’s a bitter shame

I’m going off the rails on a crazy train
I’m going off the rails on a crazy train
(Let’s go)

I’ve listened to preachers, I’ve listened to fools
I’ve watched all the dropouts, who make their own rules
One person conditioned to rule and control
The media sells it and you live the role

Mental wounds still screaming
Driving me insane

I’m going off the rails on a crazy train
I’m going off the rails on a crazy train

I know that things are going wrong for me
You gotta listen to my words, yeah, yeah

Heirs of a cold war, that’s what we’ve become
Inheriting troubles, I’m mentally numb
Crazy, I just cannot bear
I’m living with something that just isn’t fair

H/t to AZLyrics.com

Coffee has infiltrated me again. Time to rock another day, even if it’s only a gentle rock, just a little more than a nudge. Hope your day fulfills you in ways you need. Cheers

1

Thirstda’s Theme Music

My phone was ringing and dinging with a plethora of text messages. I clicked on the app to see WTF was going on. My phone tried calling people. Sighing, I rolled out of bed. 6:48.

Sunshine was again championing the blue summer sky. 58 F now, it’d be 84 F later. A thin line of nascent white clouds trouble the sky blue from being as rich and pure as possible. I tried again to check messages but they wouldn’t come up on an app. My sister, though, corresponds with me on a separate app. Her summaries detailed an overnight firefight in The Mom Saga between Mom, her boyfriend, his family, and my family.

I exercised to engage my muscles and get blood moving in the right direction and consulted my Fitbit for the results. Fitbit hadn’t registered anything. Some scrolling revealed that my Fitbit was fritzing. WTF.

Thirstda, June 26, 2025, was not off to an inspiring launch. Maybe coffee and perusing the news would help. Meanwhile, I would reboot my Fitbit and phone. I mean by that, turn them on and off. That’s often modern technology’s rudimentary fixes: turn it off and back on. It failed this time, leaving me with some WTF mumbling to my caffeinating self. Almost in parallel, I went to the net via computer to search for help. Blank pages came up. Really, WTAF?

Finagling of computer settings were engaged. Results showed. Turning off the Fitbit and turning it on again a few times, I drank coffee and considered the failed results. With coffee in, brain neurons engaged in what was going on.

Hey, they said, did you notice that the time is going backwards on the Fitbit?

Whaaat? I answered. Yes. Each time I turned the FB off and on, the time it showed went further back.

The Neurons said, This has happened before.

I’d tried snyncing the Fitbit with the app. That failed. The app kept telling me that an update was available. But It also told me that the update was already installed.

Well, hold on, partner, The Neurons said. The app is probably hung.

Of course.

Bringing the app up, I worked a hard shutdown on the phone. Yep, that fixed all Fitbit problems.

Thank god for coffee.

Tethered to my computer and technological issues, The Neurons are huddling with songs about freedom. The morning’s hours have sprinted away. Solomon Burke ends up singing “None of Us Are Free” in the morning mental music stream. A line resonates with me: “If you don’t say its wrong, then you say it’s right.” Yep. That’s how I view those Trump voters who say, “I didn’t vote this. I don’t support it.” You spoke with your actions. “The truth is shining bright right before our eyes.”

On into the day I go. Hope you have a better one. Cheers

1

Some Light

Some Light

Tell me all your secrets

I’ll share a few of mine

We can talk and have coffee

Or maybe a glass of wine

You can tell me about your first love

And what you do for fun

About your first kiss, about your last love

And how that came undone

We can walk together under stars

Mention all the past

Or remember funny movies

And laugh until we cry

We can shake hands before we go

Or maybe kiss good night

I’m not looking for that much

I’m just searching for some light

~ m.w.seidel

6

Munda’s Wandering Thoughts

I’m just a Venn diagram. I’m at a point where massive disappointment in my nation fills me. I didn’t expect the GOP to fight Trump. It saddens me that I’m right. They just rolled over and became the Grand Ol’ Trump Party.

Pisses me off that the Trump Regime thumbs its nose at the law, treating elements like due process as something beneath them. Unfortunately, I predicted this when Trump was campaigning in 2024. So did many others. They laughed at us. But Trump said he would be a dictator on day one. We knew that wasn’t a joke.

Politically, I’m angry, disgusted, disappointed, and a whole dark rainbow of other negative energies about what’s going on from bullshit tariffs to the damaged economy to the ridiculous and unlawful gutting of the Federal government to — well, fill in the blank.

But it’s a sunny and warm spring day. Promise is in the air. I’m getting ready for beer with friends on Wednesday. They’re intelligent, good friends. I’m looking forward to seeing them. Preparing for a secular Easter brunch with friends on Sunday. That’ll have bittersweet toppings drizzled over it. Some of the regulars are gone. Others are in hospice.

Writing is fun and full of promise. That puts me in a very positive frame. A novel draft is finished, and so many other novels are lined up, eager to be written. But will that finished draft hold up in the next round of editing and revision? Then there’s the publishing game. That closes the damper on my enthusiasm.

Mom texts me and reminds me that she wants to be cremated. Do what we will with the ashes. Play Glenn Miller at her service. Hold it in the garden. She’s lived almost nine decades but she endures hourly pain and discomfort. Her quality of life can be categorized as miserable.

Down to one cat, my cativities are truncated from what they once were. An air of depression clouds that aspect of life.

Financially, my wife and I are okay. Viewing my health, I can be better or worse. Got all my limbs. They function well. I endure little regular pain on a daily basis. I’m not as strong nor limber as I used to be, and my hair is trekking away from my forehead. Memory still works for most of the time on most of the days.

My wife’s health is not as good. She searches for words more often and doesn’t find them. She’s developed a new habit of forgetting to turn things on or off. She’s bitter and angry with the world, especially with Trump, and the Roberts Court. She’s furious and anxious about women’s rights. Shoulder and back pain are building up their frequent flier miles with her.

So, I am here. In the middle of it all, happy and sad. Worried and hopeful. Bitter and angry. Joyful and loving. Loved and frustrated. I read of far worse situations for people. Like those in Gaza. Ukraine. Immigrants hunting a better existence for themselves and those they love. War and disaster refugees trying to find a home. People working hard and struggling harder. Sleeping in cars and hanging on for meals and help. Women and people of color hiding, living in fear, beaten and killed for who they are. People with a gender that doesn’t fall cleanly into male or female dismissed as less than equal, unaccepted by narrow-minded bigots. People starving to death as billionaires pile up more money and more property, self-pleasuring themselves with mindless greed.

We seem so far away from Star Trek‘s ideals and so much closer to Mad Max, Solyent Green, and The Handmaid’s Tale.

Life is one hell of a spectrum.

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