Mood: bumgry (bummed out and angry; could be depgry – depressed and angry)
Julying if you say you didn’t realize June was over. Yes, that’s a feeble attempt at levity.
It’s July 1, 2024, and Monday, a day which will go do in infamy, perhaps, with the SCOTUS rulings. It’s 70 F now, sunny under a preternatural blue sky sky, and feels like 82. Today’s high will crank us into the mid 80s. But we’re sailing into the hundreds by mid week and then look at residing in the upper 90s thereafter. Little relief will come at night as temps hang around the neighborhood of high sixties to low 70s. This will be a bake off.
Over to the SCOTUS ruling on Trump’s immunity, it was as bad as Democrats fucking feared. The skewering of the US Constitution and Bill of Rights continues under MAGA Republican influence. Depressing as hell to witness this, to be part, unable to do much except vote and protest. I continue to blame Mitch McConnell for manipulating Senate procedures and blocking Democratic nominees to the Supreme Court. I hope he rots in fucking hell.
I’m just full of bellyaches today. No wonder that I have Talking Heads and “Road to Nowhere” from 1985 in my morning mental music stream (Trademark sent down).
Coffee has been consumed. Here’s the music. Enjoy the “joyful look at doom.” See you later.
This is Sunday, June 30, 2024, and it’s begun as another chilly, comfortable morning. No smoke discolors the sky or assaults the nose. Sheer, lacy clouds sheet some sky aspects, and the temperature is holding in the mid sixties. A high of 86 F has been proposed, all of which fashions June’s final 2024 appearance as a comfortable summer Ashlandia day.
Warning’s are out, though. Gonna get hot next week. 90 on Tuesday, 96 Wednesday, 102 F on Thursday. Get ready. Summer is searing in.
The cats, in a weirdly unanimous decision, moved to the front yard to do their daily napping — I mean, sentry duty. Nothing has changed in the back but they decided that the front is the place to be. Like the back, the front has several traditional floof spots (which, by the way, isn’t related to the g spot). The prime space is just off the porch by the pillar, under a bush. The secondary space, which sees more action when it’s wet or cold, is on the porch’s other side, right of the door, by the cairn.
We like cairns and put one together one year yonks ago and have kept one ever since. Gets knocked over often, especially when the cats are napping by it. The eaves hang over that spot and it’s right against the house, so they’re protected from wind and wuthering there.
Their third place is catty-corner from the porch (see what I did there) about eight feet away from it, under another set of bushes. Tucker has the primary space covered, and Papi is in the teritiary spot.
While I was thinking about my dreams and doing the breakfast routines, train songs began playing in morning mental music stream (Trademark baking). First was Ozzy with “Crazy Train”, then Aerosmith with “Train Kept A-Rollin'”, followed by “Peace Train” by Yusuf. As I politely inquired of The Neurons, “WTF, why are train songs going through my head, I haven’t heard nor seen trains for days,” they began playing Train songs — “Soul Sister”, “Meet Virginia”, “Drops of Jupiter”, and then “If It’s Love”.
That brought a reflective nuance into the proceedings. Admittedly, coffee may have triggered that, for I was dropping the brew into my gullet by the mouthful by that point. I often hear “Soul Sister”, “Meet Virginia”, and “Drops of Jupiter” on the radio, but I don’t hear “If It’s Love”. Of course, I mainly heard that song when I was in the SF Bay area. Released in 2010, I was still travelin’ on business (TOB) in those days. My team was located in Mountain View and I was visiting them for three days every month, a face time bonding thing. Anyway, “If It’s Love” by Train is the theme song du jour. Admittedly, every time I think of its title, I now hear “Is This Love” by Whitesnake. I swear, my brain is all over the place today.
Stay positive, be brilliant, remain strong, and Vote Blue in 2024. Coffee service has ended, so move along. Here’s the music. Cheers
Chilly morning at 57 F under deep blue skies. It’s Saturday, June 29, 2024. A little smoke comes in through the northern windows, irritating my eyes and forcing sneezes out of me. Several wildfires are burning within a few hours of us; don’t know of any local ones, but smoke on the wind always takes me to the net to get updates. Supposed to reach 87 F today, which is a satisfying temp, continuing a week of mild summery weather.
I asked AI where the smoke we’re experiencing is coming from. AI responded with suggestions about two old fires from several years back. I’m like, WTF, really? AI also suggested that it could be cars, fossil based fuels, or neighbors could be burning wood in their stoves and fireplaces to keep warm. Finally, AI suggested it could be manufacturing. Thanks, AI. Damn fine job.
It’s a Saturday and the news cycle is slow. Supremes are saying that we should have a ruling on Trump’s immunity case on Monday. I’m eager to read and hear how that goes as there are tremendous ramifications associated with it. All the lower courts said as directly and quickly as possible, “No, you don’t have immunity,” but it’s hard to say what to expect with this Supreme Court. A heavily conservative court, they manage to really twist history, logic, and law. Besides that, three appointments on the court owe their positions to Trump, so there are questions about how objective these appointees can be.
Besides that, one, Justice Thomas, has been receiving high-end luxury vacations given to him by wealthy Republicans. He didn’t bother reporting most of these and seems arrogantly indignant that any of this could be tit-for-tat payments. Doesn’t help his image that his wife, Ginni, is a MAGA who insists that the 2020 election was stolen, and actively engaged with others to come up with ways to keep Trump in the White House.
Besides, we have Justice Samuel Alito who gives all kinds of appearances of being partial to right wing ideology and a willingness to aid and advance right wing causes. He and his wife flew the US flag upside down at their house to show their distress about the 2020 election being stolen and lied about how it happened. Sam, being a noble fellow, blamed his wife and said he had nothing to do with it and couldn’t do anything about it. They also flew a MAGA sympathizing flag at their vacation place for a few weeks, but he knows nothing ’bout it. That would be enough for many to wonder about Sam’s objectivity in cases regarding Trump, but to seal concerns, he was caught on tape showing more of his right-wing, religious ideology.
After all these red flags and how this Supreme Court has thrown previous legal precedents out the window, we’re all left wondering what they’ll decide.
The house floofs inspired my morning mental music stream (Trademark riffing) inhabitant. Tucker and Papi teamed up to drag me out of bed. I needed dragging because I wanted more sleep. Nope, wasn’t happening. Papi, per his habit, enters the room and yells a request and then goes down the hall. Tucker gets more personal and proximal about it. After bellowing yowls, he gets on the bed, walks up to my head, and starts tapping me, grumbling as he does. I mollified him with some sleepy scritches. He settled down and purred. I headed back to sleep but Papi revisited, yelling several times that he needed something.
With that background, I was head mumbling about how the cats get what they want, which led to The Neurons playing the part of “Heart and Soul” where Huey Lewis sings, “You see, she what she wants.” As I acknowledged the song’s presence, Huey Lewis and the News began doing their whole 1984 cover of the song. So that’s today’s theme music.
Be strong, lean forward, Vote Blue, and stay positive. Here’s the music; sorry, the coffee is already gone, circulating among the neurons. Cheers
It’s Friday, Jun 28, 2024. Summery again today, 65 F with blue skies and clouds mixing it up, and 86 F expected as a high.
Last night’s presidential debate sucked. Watching President Biden was like watching your All-Pro quarterback go into a big game and bomb with fumbles, interceptions, and missed throws. Left me asking, what’s going on? There was also a lot of swearing on my end. I’m avoiding news for the moment. I took a big swig of coffee and looked at the news first thing but between stories of death and Pres. Biden’t debate performance, what I saw was putting me off my year.
Shouldn’t be a surprise, I suppose, that I dreamed of the end of the world. Well, don’t know if it was the planet’s ending or just human civilization or western civilization. Three dreams, actually. I see three, but the third one was a sequel to the first one after awakening and thinking of the first one.
I ended up musing about escaping after reading and dreaming as I muttered around the kitchen attending breakfast needs for me and the floofs. The Neurons picked up on it and offered Gwen Stefani’s song, “The Sweet Escape” from 2006 to the morning mental music stream (Trademark crashing). The song has the phrase in it, “If I could escape and create my perfect world,” which dovetailed with my thinking’s gist this AM.
Stay positive *cough cough* — yes, I have a lot of gall to put that up there after my negativity fest — and be strong — uh huh, I hear ya’ — and suck it in and Vote Blue in 2024. I gotta get more coffee. Here’s the music. Come on, let’s get going. Cheers
Snowy white clouds with blued shadows have bouldered across the blue sky. A promise of rain? We’ll see.
It certainly dipped the temperatures, pushing us into a chilly night. We’re sitting on 63 F now with a promised high of 79. Tucker took the change by moving to a different location but Papi is wandering around whining, what happened to my summer? That ginger boy loves his sunshine-powered outdoors.
BTW, this is Thursday, June 27, 2024.
Family news has all quieted but is it the storm’s eye? Dad has gotten word that he’ll be released for home from the rehab place on July 5. His kidney doctor has told him she wants to hold off on dialysis for now. Dad’s kidney functioning is up and the doctor wants to search for the root cause of his kidney issues before going the dialysis route. I cheer that approach, myself.
Personally, I’m off to see my primary care physician, who is a nurse, after my writing session. It’s the annual thing, done now that I’m into my Medicare years. I don’t expect any major findings. I seem to have some decent if average genes and take reasonable care of myself, resulting in a basically healthy but aging individual, slowing by the day, with mildly misfiring pieces.
We purchased a new printer week. The small Epson ink tank model replaces a brooding Brother monster machine that hasn’t printed well for us in a decade. Why give ourselves that frustration of dealing with a recalcitrant machine, except *sigh* we need to dispose of the old one and that has an environmental impact. We have found a place that will take it apart and recycle and repurpose to alleviate the impact.
I set it up and printed without any issues. My wife…
*sigh* She seems cursed with bad computer luck when it comes to printer and email. She printed a recipe and the result included all the behind-the-scenes instructions for the page layout. I’ll research it later to see how/if that can be resolved. Meanwhile, her Outlook is giving her fits. I hear an Outlook tirade at least twice a week. I’ve investigated and found some potential fixes but all are pretty radical and she’s putting them off.
Her computeries (computer miseries) inspired The Neurons to bring a KISS song, “Hard Luck Woman” from 1976. to the morning mental music stream (Trademark aging). TBH, this song’s sound never brought KISS to mind. Sounds more like a Rod Stewart offering to me.
Stay positive, be strong, and remained informed and involved. Don’t forget, Vote Blue in 2024. I’m sipping my dark elixir now. Here’s the music. Cheers
Another lovely summer morning has slide into place. We shall call it, “Rumplestiltskin”. Naw, we’ll stick to the usual boring but useful process and call it Wednesday, June 26, 2024. Like many a newborn, it’ll be marked but what happens during its short life.
It’s 65 F now and the cats are cooling it in favorite cooling-it spots after eating brekkie. 81 F may tempt the temp measuring devices but the weather cards tell us it ain’t s’posed to be too hot today. My breakfast of kumquats, blueberries, passion fruit, almonds, brazil nuts, and a bagel has been consumed, and I’m loading coffee into my system as cool breezes gambol in through the windows.
Two songs are occupying the morning mental music stream (Trademark refreshed). Snippets of one entertain the neurons, and then the other pops in. One song is “Saturday Night’s Alright for Fightin'”, an Elton John song of some repute. It was featured in a dream where I was playin’ the six-stringed instrument and singing it, performing for a packed place. I had strikingly huge arms in this dream, and kept looking at them in mirrors from different angles, thinkin’, “Boy, that looks strange.” With those aspects all that’s remembered of the dream, it deserves a prefix like ‘mini’ or adejctive like ‘brief’ before it.
The other song has some Sting softly songing “I want my MTV,” and then those drums and other things start up and we go full-fledged into the Dire Straits hit, “I Want My MTV”. MTV offered memoriable shows and ideas but now it’s a fading phenom as MTV.com now says ‘that page does not exist.’
Started in 1981, I was on Okinawa during its early years. I was familiar with it because a friend and co-worker had friends recording MTV for him and sending the videos to him so he could watch them on VHS while he rode an exercise bike in his living room. I watched a little but became bored sitting there as they tried to entertain us with music news and music videos. Many videos were interesting but it didn’t induce me into wanting to waste the day watching them.
Of course, MTV gave us Comedy Central, which begat “The Daily Show”, which often saved us when faced with political insanity.
The first music video played on MTV was “Video Killed the Radio Star” by The Buggles. But the second was Pat Benatar with “You Better Run” so that’s our theme music today.
Stay strong and be positive. Let’s freshen the coffee and start rolling this day up the hill. Vote Blue in 2024. Here’s the music. Cheers
Mood: waitsive (waiting with a pensive feel, ya know?)
Greetings from the third rock. It’s Tuesday, June 25, 2024, and we have a crispy summery morning for you. Temperatures are slipping through the mid sixties and they’d keep that line going until we’re into the mid- to upper- 90s here in Ashlandia. The sky’s so blue, it must be true.
The status quo for me has settled. Act 1 is over, the first half, whatever sports or theatatrical term you wanna apply. We’re at intermission, half time, etc. Next, we’ll see what happens — the debates, the wars, SCOTUS decisions, Dad’s dialysis decision, my annual physical and my ankle, etc. I’m sure you have your own list of matters.
Yes, my ankle worsened yesterday. I went about without wrapping it, and it rewarded me by blooming into a larger size last night. I reciprocated with rest, ice, and elevation. Now it’s wrapped again. Bah, humbug.
With these matters occupying Der Neurons, songs with a waiting theme were percolating in the morning mental music stream (Trademark simmering) but then someone said something that sounded like, “Coming for you.” This was followed by some f-bombs and dog barking, all of which was traced to the street, a good long bomb pass away. A man was walking, his large dark dog unleashed. A woman with a leashed medium-sized canine was taking umbrage and the dogs were cursing one another with great teethy zeal. I went back in and checked on the cats (repping in the back yard) (repping: resting but not quite napping) and resumed my usual routines.
Pretty much a nothing burger, but it shifted Les Neurons’ path. Now they plied the morning mental music stream with “Great Rain” by John Prine with Mike Campbell from 1991. Conducting some forensics, I realized that one point in the verbal melee outside (would that be a verlee?), I thought I heard someone call my name. Confusing and brief, but it apparently hooked The Neurons, inducing them to think of this song’s lyrics, “I thought I heard you call my name.”
Stay positive, stay strong, lean forward, and Vote Blue in 2024. Coffee is being sampled and brain city is coming alive. Here’s the music. Cheers
The cats and I agree, it’s a strong sun today, biting my skin with its heat, blinding my eyes (yes, what else would it be blinding — my ears?) with its light. Not supposed to be hot today, just 87 F, and it’s just 67 F now. This is Monday, Jun 24, 2024.
The cats are pratically living in the backyard, slumbering beneath bushes or stretched out, floof-napping in green patches of lawn. They come in to visit me, get fed, and use the litter box, and then dash back out. Reminds me of being a young child in the summers, doing the same with Mom. Except I didn’t use a litter box. Not in those days.
I jest, of course! Spoke with Dad yesterday. He’s down. They — the omniscient they here is the medical staff — are pushing for the dialysis port, and he doesn’t want to go through with that. He seems fazed by the surgery and claims he doesn’t want to be a burden on people, as others would need to drive him to his appointments several times a week. I’m sure he will go through with the procedure but he needs to work himself up to it. I called him this morning to chat with him but reached his voice mail. I need to call Mom to catch her up on that news. Never did call her yesterday.
Terrible flooding in the midwest. Iowa was severely hit. Evacuations were ordered and bridges collapsed. I remember flying over the plains states decades ago. The floating and the heat dome are connected events. Hope the climate doesn’t get any worse or the nation and its citizens might start getting worried. Yeah, that’s snark, baby.
My spouse picked up a nice Charles Wysocki jigsaw puzzle at Ashlandia’s library of things yesterday. I thought we should have some on hand for more Internet outages. We began the puzzle last night, even though the net didn’t go out. Lovely little beach scene featuring an old house where a high school kite flying club meets. Kites lean against an old fence in the sand and a heart shaped balloon, tethered to the gate, floats above the scene, red against a cloudy blue and white backdrop. A few sailboats skim choppy waters in the background. I can almost smell that ocean.
Other than these matters and the standard form of our days of eating, cleaning, writing, reading, it’s quiet. I accept quiet. Still recuperating with my ankle issue.
Today’s music comes by way of Willy Nelson. I was reading about his show cancellations and the article reminded me of a gay cowboy song Willy sings. The Neurons immediately began a little rendition of the song, “Cowboys Are Frequently Fond of Each Other”, in the morning mental music stream (Trademark grazing). Although Willy’s version came out back when Brokeback Mountain was gaining Oscar attention, I picked up a later version done by Willy and Orville Peck. Hope you enjoy it.
Stay positive, be strong, lean forward, and Vote Blue in 2024. Also brace yourself for a busy news week. With more SCOTUS news forthcoming, the end of June sending up a cloud of dust as it sprints at us, and the debates and the weather, I’m sure there will be a lot to talk about, read about, and GRRRRR about.
The world has dropped a Sunday bomb on Ashlandia, emphasis on sun. Little wind stir the heat. We’ll travel from our current relative pleasant found in 69 degrees to the upper eighties. Cooler than yesterday, not as hot as that endured by those under the skillet lid in the eastern U.S. Today is June 23, 2024. Next Sunday will be June’s final day. This means that almost half of 2024 has slipped by the surly calendar.
In bad news, a friend sent me stats on COVID-19, showing that it’s risin’ agin’. He saved me some time. I’d planned to look into it because eight friends reported they had it in June. Their experience was a few days with mild cold symptoms followed by two to three weeks of poor energy of any kind. One reported, she sit down with a book and go right to sleep.
I spent the morning texting with sisters. One is teaching her sixteen-year-old to drive as her newly adult high school grad takes on adulting as he preps for college this fall. She’s going down to Georgia to vacation with our oldest sister tomorrow. Meanwhile, texting me, the older sister tells me she’s had a couple strokes without elaborating on what kind. She’s always had back problems and now there’s stenosis and they want to fuse five of her vertebrae together. She’s also diabetic and has chronic kidney failure, a byproduct of her meds, she tells me.
Then there’s my middle younger sister. She and her family drove down to the Carolina coast yesterday. They’ve rented a beach house with a pool. They’re all hard workers and mo’ def’ deserve and need a vacay. Hope they’re able to relax and chill.
Meanwhile, my mind is floating around calling Dad to get an update on him and calling Mom to get an update on her and pass the update along about Dad. I’m not quite up to that yet. More coffee and some writing, first.
We had a net outage the other night. Actually, two nights in a row. This frequently happens when the heat jumps into the upper nineties. I mean degrees, not years, decade, or period.
With the net out, we read but then I surfed the television offerings. Since I cut the cable back in 2010, we survive on over-the-air digital broadcasts. We receive the big four networks, along with PBS, and the networks’ sub channels. Like NBC is channel 5.1, then there are three other networks broadcasting old shows or documentaries on channels 5.2, 5.3, and 5.4. X-Files,Two and a Half Men, Seinfeld, along with Green Acres and Hogan’s Heros, and several police/hospital/fire department-based dramas from past decades.
Watching Hogan’s Heros and its silliness, my wife and tried remembering what happened to Bob Crane. Was it suicide or murder? Bludgeoned to death, we rather later recalled, and then conneted it. (Yes, conneted is my word for ‘confirmed on the net’.)
My wife follows a tangent, recalling that Naomi Judd ended her own life. It’d shocked her and me; Naomi Judd, a lovely and talented person, seemed to have it all together, resulting in a life of artistic and commercial success. Naomi Judd, though, coped with many mental and physical health issues and decided, enough. Never know what’s happening in another’s skin and what’s passing through minds.
The final piece that evening was a sort of celebration of the Judds’ music, with my wife enthusing about their songs, like “Mama He’s Crazy” and “Girls Night Out”. But the one she particularly relished was “Turn It Loose” from 1988. She played it a few times once the net returned, heavily accenting her favorite lines by loudly singing along to them.
I love the slide of a steel guitar I love the moan of an old blues harp I love the shake of a tambourine I love the bass when it’s low and mean So put on your shoutin’ shoes And turn it loose
It may surprise you that The Neurons in my head then loaded it up and sprang it on me this morning in my morning mental music stream (Trademark loose) as I was wandering around the kitchen, just minding my own business. So that’s today’s theme music.
Stay positive, be strong, and make what you can of the day. Needn’t be perfect. Just tryin’ can help. I’ve downed some coffee — the last gulp was cold as stone. Time to go write and roll.
Today is Saturday, June 22, 2024. Summer had asserted itself with a firm hand. A solidly blue sky gazes down on Ashlandia and bright sunshine blisters our skin and browns the land. Currently 73 F, Ashlandia’s area will experience low to mid 90s for the highs today. The wind has shifted and the smoke has drifted out of our valley to go plague others in another valley, so it’s breathable outside. Take precautions against the heat and outside activities can be pursued. It supposed to get cooler for a few days, with temperatures dipping into the eighties.
It feels like it’s been a long week. Realizing it’s Saturday surprises me. The big Biden-Trump debate looms on the calendar. Personally, I have a physical this week. Slowing down, moderately overweight, I feel like I’m aging by the day — which, yeah, we all are — so I’m not looking forward to the physical.
Mom and I spoke yesterday. She related one of her favorite precautionary tales. Her mother had a thing about smells. She was living alone, in her nineties, as her children discussed putting her into a nursing home or assisted living facility. Those discussions had stalled.
Meanwhile, on a cold December Nebraska night, her mother put on a light jacket and took a banana peel out to put in the outside trash. She slipped and fell, staying on the ground for forty-five minutes before noticed and helped. That was the end of her living alone. She lived for several more years but wasn’t the same.
On her part, Mom’s big fall over a decade ago triggered her long health decline. For my part, when I was immobilized with an obstructed bladder a few years ago, I saw changes quickly emerge. I was suddenly stiffer and less fluid in my movement. My balance felt slightly off. My metabolic rate had changed as I aged, of course, but suddenly I put on weight. Much of my muscle seemed to slack off overnight. Then, boom, my skin all seemed to be sagging.
It’s likely that all those things were happening but I didn’t notice until my routines were changed. Seeing those changes made me more cognizant of my retreating hair line, and the color fleeing my hair and beard. I feel older, slower, and weary. Reading news of the world and its people, and political news, doesn’t seem to help at all. I turn to coffee for energy boosts but I know I shouldn’t be drinking it any longer. Like Grandma and her banana peel, I can’t stop myself.
I read Jill Dennison’s blog as frequently as I can. She and I seem like kindred political spirits, part of the same tribe as many of you who regularly visit my blog and comment. I read one of Jill’s posts and commented yesterday. In her comments back to me, she mentioned that she’s looking for a rainbow.
That was like a set up for The Neurons. As soon as that was read and digested, they began playing Chris Rea’s song, “Looking for A Rainbow” from 1989, in the morning mental music stream (Trademark smoldering). The song starts out slow as it carries forward the album’s theme, The Road to Hell, but becomes jauntier and of course features Rea’s slide guitar work.
Well we come down to the valley Yea we’re looking for the honey I see a rainbow I say that’s the land of milk and honey
Me and my cousin Me and my brother My little sister too Come looking for a rainbow Yea we’re looking for a rainbow
Well we come down to the valley Got our babies in our arms Yea we’re Maggie’s little children And we’re looking for Maggie’s farm
Me and my cousin Me and my brother My little sister too Come looking for a rainbow Yea we’re looking for a rainbow
Yeah, Jill, baby, I think many of us are looking for a rainbow and the land of milk and honey. Some seem to believe the only way there is by holding others back, beating them down, or banishing them. Yes, I’m looking at you, Republicans.
Stay positive – yes, it’s hard – be strong – yes, also hard – and lean forward and Vote Blue in 2024. Maybe we can create a place that attracts rainbows. Here’s the music. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 