Tag: relationships

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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Munda’s Wandering Thoughts

We were at the store to buy supplies for my wife. I was bagging as she was paying. The whole thing was less than $20. She was going through her, taking things out and mumbling how hard it is to find things in her purse, a familiar song. I dove a hand into my pocket and whipped out a twenty.

My wife said, “It worked.”

“What?”

“I was hoping that if I took too long to get my money out, you’d pay.”

“I thought it was all our money,” I said.

She laughed. “Not when it’s in my purse.”

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The Mom Saga

The Mom Saga has resumed.

In the last episode, Mom, 89, was released from the hospital and returned home. Her pain was sourced in her sciatica nerve, which kept her from walking. Everyone realized her pain relief came from steroid shots and now she’s on a recurring program for steroid shots.

Meanwhile, her 95-yo live-in BF, Frank, half-blind and half-deaf, was experiencing dizzy spells. Mom and Frank have separate rooms. He was unable to help Mom, and she was found helpless in bed in piss-soaked clothes and bedding after nobody heard anything from her for a couple days, which precipitated the hospital stay. We’ve been trying to years to convince Mom and Frank to move into assisted living. Mom wanted to but Frank refused because he didn’t want to pay rent. Last week they were close to deciding to move when Mom announced she wasn’t going to move with Frank to live with him until he apologized to her for lying. The cited lie: Frank had lunch with his daughter while Mom could not walk. It gets complicated from there.  

We pick up the story with Mom back in her 1940s era three-story home with its steep, narrow steps.

Sister: Mom’s power went out last night and she was stuck in her room. As you know, she might as well be in a brick pizza over.

Editing note: The temp where Mom lives in Penn Hills hit 95 F yesterday. Mom has air-conditioning window units in her living room and bedroom, and that’s it. Her bedroom faces west.

Sister: We’re going on vacation this week. We’ve been planning this for months. We’ll be gone a week.

Editing note: ‘We’ in this context are the two sisters, husbands and SOs, and their immediate families.

Sister: Frank’s daughter, Karen, called this morning. She said, “We’re bringing Dad over to my house this week so he can rest. His doctor is worried about Dad’s heart and wants him to take it easy for a week. He’ll be wearing a heart monitor. So Dad won’t be staying at your Mom’s and won’t be able to help her.”

Sister: I proposed to Mom that she come and stay at my house while I’m away. It’s one level and air-conditioned.

Editing note: My sister’s house is a nice suburban ranch about fifteen years old, 1800 square feet, built after a fire destroyed her previous home.

Sister: We hired Marc to come and feed Cheesecake twice a day. Marc usually stays a while, has a cup of coffee and sits on the back porch.

Editing note: Cheesecake is sis’s cat.

Sister: We asked him if he would mind cooking a meal for Mom in the evening, filing her water glass in the morning, and making her a cup of decaf.

Editing note: Mom’s practice is to fill a 40 ounce plastic cup with warm water every morning and drink from it through a straw throughout the day. She likes a cup of warm decaf with hazelnut and almond milk in equal measure for breakfast, which is half a bagel with cream cheese. Her suppers vary. She loves KFC.

Sister: I also asked Jessica if she can check on Mom and I asked Sharon if she would mind coming by.

Editing note: Jessica is sis’s oldest daughter. Sharon is another sister. Sharon, two years younger than me, still works. She has a complicated relationship with Mom.

Sister: Sharon says she will be away over the weekend and beginning of next week.

Sister: I just talked to Jessica. She just pretty much straight out said, “I have a relationship with grandma and I’m going to be very busy. You know we have very little time. I of course can find it in my heart to come over there if need be,” but she doesn’t feel obligated.

Editing note: Jessica also has a complicated relationship with Mom. She also has three sons. The oldest is fourteen and their ages descend in two year steps.

That’s where the Mom Saga stands for the day. Tune in tomorrow for more exciting updates in The Mom Saga.

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The Parents Dream

I dreamed of my mother and father last night. Both are still alive. They ceased being a couple by 1961. Both have gone on to several other marriages and long-term relationships.

I’m not surprised that I dreamed about them. It’s Memorial Day weekend. Mom loves the holidays. If little else often worked out right, the holidays usually did. The food was sensational. Mom’s speciaities above everything else is fried chicken and potato salad. These foods figured prominently in the warm weather holidays of Memorial Day, Independence Day, and Labor Day. These were always large family affairs featuring picnics or cook-outs.

On the flip side, I only recall one Christmas with Dad. None of the rest. He and I get along pretty well. That’s not the issue. The issue was once he was away, I had to chose between Mom and Dad, and Mom had better food.

Back to the dream. In it, I was an adult. My two sisters who shared Mom and Dad as their biological parents were present, along with Mom and Dad. I was an adult, and Mom and Dad were the standard parents familiar to me from when I was eighteen to when I was sixty. Then they changed, bodies breaking down, in the old people they now are, restricted in their activities, dealing with medical issues, like, all the time.

But in the dream, we five were together as adults. Something had happened, some disaster, that forced us together. The dream didn’t give that info. So Mom and my sisters were moving into the place that I had shared with Dad in the dream, but not in real life. This was a small, wood-paneled dump. Tiny, cramped kitchen with dim lights. Old white refrigerator. Microwave on a fake wood stand. Tiny formica gray and silver table with four chairs. One of the ‘old-fashioned’ answering machines with microtapes.

And there were notes. This was part of some complex, which had a pool and a clubhouse. Dad had a stack of notes. This was familiar to me in the dream but not anything he’d ever done in real life. It was his handwriting, though. These were codes and bank account numbers, phone numbers for different people and organizations. I’d glanced through them on arrival.

In the dream, Mom, walking around in a fake fur coat, said, “Jim, we need the access code. Can you give it to us?”

I took some digs at Mom. I’d seen her snooping; Mom was always and forever a secret, furtive snoop, a trait which my oldest sister developed. After that dream, I saw that connection very clearly. Mom used to do things in secret and tell us children, “Don’t tell anyone.”

So, in the dream, I chuckled and asked Mom, “You didn’t find it when you were snooping around.”

Mom issued the standard warning with her eyes and mouth that said, ‘Quiet, don’t talk about that.’ Dad was his typical tight-lipped and silent individual, dismayed by what transpired around him.

I went on to Mom, “Oh, come on, Mom. We all know how you snoop and I say you doing it while Dad was in the other room.” Then I went on to Dad, “What’s the code, Dad? Is it 03? I saw that written down over there. I also saw 258. Is it one of them?”

Dad eventually revealed the code, which I don’t remember. That’s when the dream fades out on me. But it opened my eyes about my parents as I reviewed the dream later.

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Fleece Me Up,Scottie

My oldest item on me would usually be my underwear or socks. My wife shamed me into buying new underwear.

“What would your mother say about this?” My wife was holding up a pair of my boxers.

“I always wear clean underwear,” I answered. “That’s all Mom worried about.”

My wife put fingers through holes. “She wouldn’t be bothered by these holes?”

“It’s enough material. Come on, it’s underwear.”

After pressure like that, I examined my undies with a more critical eye. Sure the elastic wouldn’t hold them up any longer. And parts of them were as sheer as honeymoon negligee. Yes, my wife had a point. The underwear was purchased before we moved here. That was in 2005. I think I had them before we moved to Half Moon Bay, in 1999. So new boxers were purchased. It wasn’t easy. Materials have changed, etc. That’s a whole different tale.

As for my socks, I now wear *shudder* compression socks. Every friggin’ day. They are not old.

We come at last to the oldest thing on me: my gray pullover fleece. It’s a quarter zip. I purchased it for $20 in May of 2001 at the Stanford Shopping Center. I know these details because Mom was visiting and I was starting a new job at another startup, Internet Security Systems.

My wife and I had been married over 25 years then. Mom had never visited us at any of our homes. True, she lived in Pittsburgh, PA, and we’d never lived closer than 300 miles. That was with our first duty assignment at Wright-Patterson AFB, just outside of Dayton, Ohio. For eight of those years of marriage, we were outside of the United States. And on three more years, I was alone overseas.

So, I bought a ticket for Mom, and she was there. She took a photo of our black cat, a long-haired rescue we’d named Sammy. Sammy had been left behind on military base housing. We took him in and discovered that he was a beautiful, sweet, intelligent kitty. Mom happened to take a photo of him while he was on the patio enjoying sunshine. She spent a week with us and then went home. Two days later, we rushed Sammy to the vet, where he died, cause unknown. I was wearing my gray fleece that day.

That big old cat loved that fleece. He liked to climb inside it while I was wearing it. Nestling against my belly and completely out of sight, he’d purr himself to sleep. Then he’d start snoring. My wife always laughed because it was like my belly was snoring. In an aside, a few years later, we moved again. Another rescue cat joined our household. Like Sammy, she liked crawling up under the fleece, curling up against me to nap inside my garment, while it was on me. I think Sammy would have approved.

I always remember Sammy when I don this old fleece. Even if it’s for doing yard work, as it was today. And when I do, I always smile.

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Thirstda’s Theme Music

Mai is about to flip to its second half.

It’s Thirstda, Mai 15, 2025. The weather flipped last night as a cold front jumped into the Ashlandia area. Gone is the rain. Blue sky and sunshine fill the vacated space. That translates to a cold but clear night and day, but one that gives the sun permission to warm us. 68 F is our suspected high for the day. For now, it’s 55 F.

Papi has mixed feelings about it. He’s, “No rain, yea!” But, “Cold air, boo, hiss.” Then he adds, “Sunshine, yea!” He searches for a warm and sunny spot in the backyard. Then he comes into the house and yells for treats and attention. He’s such a sweet-chirping cute floof, our wills melt like ice cubes in hot coffee, and we do as he requests.

Starbucks, where I usually write, was closed yesterday. I found out this morning that it was due to a strike. I support them. They can strike as much as needed to gain contracts and improve their conditions. Meantime, we have other coffee shops in Ashlandia. I went to Roco and staked out a place and did my writing thing, as needed.

Another coffee shop is across the street from Starbucks. I like their products but their space doesn’t work for my writing needs. They supported the SB strikers by giving them coffee. How cool is that?

Today’s music is an old favorite by the late Gary Moore. Seeing sunshine and blue skies, The Neurons fed the song, “Still Got the Blues (for You)” into my morning mental music scene. Yes, despite better weather, the blues still weigh me down. Part of this is due to Mom. She’s become such a bitter and angry person that nobody wants to spend any time with her. She can’t see her own part in her isolation, instead blaming everyone else. I believe she needs counseling to help her deal with longtime issues. She fixates on things and never lets anything go. Her history of what happened when is at huge odds with everyone else involved. Suggesting she needs therapy, though, just sends her into a greater rage and accusations that everybody hates her.

Other part of the blues is all about the political thing. It’s amazing that progress begun over two hundred years ago is getting shredded by one megalomaniac backed by right wingers. That they’re quite willing to do whatever is necessary to break down the foundations of individual freedoms and democracy to gain power for themselves, including wreck the world economy and the planet’s environment. Empathy is not in their wheelhouse. Lust for greed and power dominates their intentions. So, yeah, I’ve got the blues.

Despite the blues, I have plans. They begin with coffee. I can check that off my list of things to do for today. Have the best day you can. Cheers

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Dream Repeat: A Running Dream

My dream seasons amuse me. There was a period of episodic adventure dreams that didn’t seem to have me as a character. There are dystopian dreams where I’m part of a cadre of survivors. Military dreams are common in which I arrive at a new assignment and something goes wrong. Then there’s the running dream.

The running dream was had again last night. In them, as in others, I’m running. Yes, that is why it’s called a running dream. This running was being done on a timed closed course full of hills and curves, really like a sports-car or Formula 1 circuit. No purpose was given. All I know is that I arrived to run. My sisters are present to cheer me on. Stripping down to the basics of shoes, trunks, and shirt, I take off on a timed practice run.

I finish and my time is announced. People are astonished by my speed.

But I’m not pleased. I think, I can do better. So I set out again, again, and again. My time improves every time. I’m getting faster and faster. Moreover, I’m noting where I’m slow. Certain curves and hills slow me down. I systematically develop ways to overcome those issues.

Fans are now lining the start/finish line and most of the track. They cheer me on, along with my sisters. My sisters also brag about me. I hear them telling others, “I knew he’d be fast.” Other contestants are dropping out because they don’t think they can beat me. I’m try to encourage them to remain in the race, telling them, it’ll be a good learning experience, and I might not win. They might find more speed in themselves; I might hurt myself. I could fall and fail to finish the race.

But on race day, I’m alone as the sole competitor.

Dream end.

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A Positive Dream

Dreamland hasn’t been a happy place recently. Dreams featured me being lost and struggling. Maggots coming out of my skin. Being a broken robot. Etc. Different nights. Each brought a new horror of who I was. I disliked those dreams.

The Neurons flipped the script last night. In this one, a young and vigorous me was starting a new job. In medical device manufacturing, as I did for a few years. I was a mid-level manager. Working alone, as, again, I often did. But I had a great cast of supportive, friendly co-workers. They checked in on me. Helped me set up an office. Joked with me and came to me for my opinion, advice, and insights.

There were some messy moments. Like, my clothes became filthy from an office accident that didn’t otherwise involve me. I felt that I had to get out of those clothes but what was I going to wear? Co-workers came through with clothes they had available. Stuff planned to work after work for the gym, golfing, and dating. They willingly gave me those clothes.

I received a phone call. There was a family emergency. I needed to get somewhere that night. But my car was in the garage. A real-life friend from now, Ron, showed up. Turned out he was a co-worker. He asked me about my problem. “I’m going that way,” he said. “I can give you a ride.” We cemented arrangements.

I was so pleased. Then, chaos broke out at work. Problem after problem. While I worked to solve them, co-workers consistently came through with tools, insights, and helping hands.

The message I took away was, yes, life is messy and chaotic. But don’t worry. Others are there to help.

It was a message I really felt like I needed to hear.

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Sunda’s Theme Music

May 4, 2025, broke as a Sunda. Rain falling off in the night, blue sky and clouds mix it up in a friendly competition. Sunshine comes and goes with the clouds’ permission. The weather ‘they’ is hyping a high of 65 F, part of a warming trend for the week.

Dreams delivered today’s song. The dreams didn’t include the song. Disturbing as a loud animal roar in a coal-black night, the dreams had me scribbling details for well over an hour. Part of that was the phrase, “I’ve been thinking.” More usually followed. Now, though, The Neurons picked up the phrase, found where it belonged in a song, and rolled it for me. The result in the morning mental music stream was 1990’s song by Londonbeat, “I’ve Been Thinking About You”.

I’ve also been thinking about Mom. Her house is a mess without electricity. Day 5. She was convinced yesterday to go to my sister’s house and stay the night. Mom’s live-in boyfriend stayed at his daughter’s house. Taking care of her has been increasingly difficult for him. Her drugs and illnesses dull her mind and make her moody. She snaps at him. That’s worn thin. With her mobility lessening, he’s forced to carry her. She’s lost weight and doesn’t weigh more than a few birds these days. Still, weight is weight. Repetitive bending, lifting, and twisting is wearing out his 95-year-old body. Both have refused to leave her house and move into assisted living. But with her energy diminishing, his strength dropping, her senses dulling, and his eyesight and hearing worsening, will this be the straw that changes their mind?

We don’t know. More than anything, they’re independent and stubborn. I see so much of her in myself in these matters. Intellectually, I understand. Emotionally, it’s a far more complicated path.

My coffee is half gone. The cat has completed a few laps around the inside of the house. Now he’s gone to find sunshine. I want to do the same but I’ve planned a full agenda for myself. Who knows if I’ll stay with it.

I hope the best for you and your day, and us and our days. Deep breath; here we go. Cheers

2

Wenzda’s Theme Music

It’s days of sunshine for us here on the coast. That’s our river view from our room in Old Town Florence. Only 58 F, a sea breeze keeps the heat load down. But the view was almost forever. S’posed to be better tomorrow, as clear and sunny as today but with a high of 66 F.

Reminder: this is Wenzda, April 30, 2025. A new month lands on us tomorrow.

Today’s morning mental music stream is technically an afternoon offering. I was out somewhere today. ‘Up’ in Yachats because it’s north of here. At a park, looking out at the sunny Pacific. I heard a woman tell her child, “Stay in the middle.” That triggered a collision among The Neurons. From the pileup came a song by Ambrosia, “How Much I Feel”, from 1978. That’s all because there’s a line from the song: “So you try, try to stay in the middle.” The Neurons just stacked from there. Not really my style of song. I was surprised when my rocker buddy, Randy, used to go into that thinking and singing to self zone whenever this song came on. He enjoyed Boston and Van Halen. This song, however, had been part of his life with his wife before their divorced. It always forced another time on his present when it played.

Randy passed away two decades ago. Before Trump’s arrival on the political thing. Randy never liked Democrats. Despised Bill Clinton. Watched a lot of Fox News. I’m afraid he would have been a MAGA. So, in reflection, it’s probably best he passed away before this political era got its hooks into him.

Coffee has been consumed. And pastries. Lunch, etc. Hope your day is a great new page in another chapter of your existence. Here we go. Cheers

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