Tag: sandwiches

Satyrdaz Theme Music

Suddenly, it’s November — again! Yep, we’ve leaped onto Satyrda, November 1, 2025 in Ashlandia, where the temperature is 52 and sunshine is singing praises to blue skies. The thermometer is expected to hop up to 68 F in our area.

Seems like it was just last year when it was November and we were voting on the nation’s future in the United States. The scandal-plagued, greed monger formally known as Trump, more informally known as TACO – Trump Always Chickening Out — won the 2024 election, to the joy of racists, white supremacists, and reactionaries everywhere. The rest of us were less sanguine about it. Now, just a year after that election, the Federal government is grinding to a halt. Under Trump, the government has been shut down for a third time, and Republicans, ‘led’ by Speaker Mike Johnson (R-Hell), are refusing to work. Air traffic control and the military are working on promises to be paid, along with TSA. No worries, they’re just the backbone of safety and security. Thanks to DOGE, multiple agencies which helped farmers and families are struggling to function. Trump has stripped funding away from activities and canceled projects regardless of Congressional approval. Congress, remember, are our delegates, voted into office to work for We the People as our servants, just as Trump is supposed to be our servant.

What a servant. Stealing from us. Wrecking the White House. Trying to rewrite history and wipe out our heritage. Arbitrarily deciding what is a crime and who is a criminal, a total 180 of what is supposed to be ‘the American Way’. Taking bribes. Killing in the name of peace. Hounding and persecuting political enemies without evidence, trying to trump up charges that will stick. Dismissing real and meaningful work in the Department of Justice. He’s fired almost all of the Inspector Generals, who were there to investigate the government’s functions to ensure everything was being done legally. A general sense of disarray circles around D.C. It’s like a storm system building toward a hurricane. Distrust of Trump is growing. Disapproval is increasing as the fog thickens about what Trump is doing and how much is legal. Disapproval is rising as citizens and their families starve, employment falls off, inflation grows, and Trump goes golfing.

We still don’t know what it says in the Epstein Files against Trump. Maybe the Andrew formerly known as a prince can illuminate those things for us. I’d love to see that smirk chased off of Trump’s face.

Just a reminder to Trump, the Heritage Foundation and their Project 2025 wet dream, and MAGAland. We the People said No Kings in 1776. We the People said no to fascists in the last world war. We meant it both times. We the People still mean it.

My dreams featured hills, so The Neurons plugged a familiar song about hills in the morning mental music stream. Mind you, one major dream also featured food. People were plying me with sandwiches and desserts wherever I went, doing so as a way of thanks for stepping up and helping them. The food was so delicious and fresh! Kind of amused me in the dream, as I was just a dog with a bone, organizing things because that’s what was needed and that’s my strength. For a time, Der Neurons did consider songs like”Mean Mister Mustard” and “Long Tall Glasses” in the morning mental music stream. But ultimately, they went with “Over the Hills and Far Away” by Led Zeppelin.

We really need more peace and grace in this world. It’s a struggle to get it with Trump and his agents of chaos and destruction. May peace and grace emerge and grow and spread soon. Till then, be strong. Cheers

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Books and pastries and coffee, oh my!

Daily writing prompt
If you were going to open up a shop, what would you sell?
View all responses

My wife and I have often spoken about opening a book store. But we also like coffee shops, so we amend our play place to be a coffee shop and book store. But I also like deli sandwiches, so…

Yes, in my perfect world, I’d own a three-headed hydra shop selling books, coffee (with pastries), and sandwiches. We’d be playing the blues in there, because coffee shops and blues go together in my mind. Of course, I’ve owned a couple businesses and know, they are not easy work, so I ease away from pursuing the dream. Besides, as my wife likes to relate, someone who owns a book store shouldn’t love books, they should love selling books.

That takeway was from the owner of our favorite book store, Powell’s Books in Portland, Oregon. And whenever we talk about opening a book store, we remind ourselves of what he said.

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The Receptacles Dream

I’ve been experiencing many messy dreams lately, just full of chaos, a far cry from my normally orderly dream sequences.

A remembered dream from last night flowed from chasing kittens to distractions about flowers and weather to examining hair on my face. Then more lucid sequences jumped in.

I was given a brown bag of sandwiches. Hungry, pleased, I thanked the individual giving them to me (unseen off dream), went off a few steps and opened the bag to eat. First sandwich was egg salad on wheat bread — delicious. I scarfed the food down. Still hungry, I opened the bag and discovered three sandwiches were inside. One was hot meatballs with melted cheese which smelled amazing. Someone came by. They looked hungry, so I offered them a sandwich, which they accepted. Overhearing the transaction, another person hurried over, told me that they were hungry, and asked if I had another sandwich to spare.

I did, I answered, and opened the bag. Five sandwiches were inside. Flabbergasted, I thought that I must have miscounted. I realized one was an egg salad on wheat and another was another meatball with melted cheese. Another person had come up, hoping to get a sandwich, so I gave them one and saw that I had more sandwiches. Though incredulous and suspicious, that made me laugh. I told the others about how the bag seemed to be magic, because every time I took sandwich out, several more appeared in it. We all talked about this and how it seemed impossible because the bag was small, but I showed them that there were five sandwiches in the bag. Then I took two sandwiches out and now had seven sandwiches in the bag.

Taking two sandwiches out for myself for later, I gave them the bag and told them to share the sandwiches with others. But after they removed sandwiches, they told me that it wasn’t working any longer. I took the bag back, put one of my sandwiches in, and pulled it out. Voila, more sandwiches. It was only working for me, we all agreed, so I would keep the bag.

Though that decision was easily made, we talked about why the bag worked for me, and how it worked. I didn’t want to claim any special talents or anything and held firm that I didn’t know why, and rebuked them for suggesting gods or fates were rewarding me. The suggestion made me cringe. After passing out more sandwiches, I walked away and stood on a dusty hill in sunshine.

While I was there, I was told that I didn’t need to eat. The speaker was unseen but to my left. I laughed and mocked them. They told me that I had two receptacles installed in my body. Under questioning and searching I learned that two black receptacles were installed on the underside of my right upper arm. I didn’t know how they got there, so I was pretty amazed.

One was about four inches in diameter and fully black, with a flap on it. The other was smaller, about an inch wide, with a blue plug sticking up out of it. I knew without being told that the large one was for being fed knowledge and the tiny one was for taking in food.

Two children arrived with hoses to fill me. I warned them, “Don’t put the wrong hoses in,” which made me laugh because of the receptacles’ size difference.

Dream end

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Monday’s Wandering Thought

I’m a regular at one coffee house in town. There are other regulars but I’m told that I’m one of the most consistent and dependable. I spend a few hours a day in there, drinking my favorite black brew while sitting in the corner, writing.

The baristas and manager all know me just because I’ve been coming here so long, and we chat when I’m ordering. We talk about football, politics, books, news, movies, etc. They know my drink — it’s always the same — so ordering is not necessary, though paying is. It isn’t unusual for them to hand me my drink when I step up to order.

I suppose this is why one small but touching practice has evolved. For whatever reasons — miscommunication or mistake — they’ll end up with food that the customer they made it for doesn’t want it. This includes pastries, cookies, brownies, cake, and sandwiches. So often, they walk across the crowded room to offer it to me first.

I am touched but usually turn it down. I have more than enough to eat. While I appreciate it, I think there are others who would appreciate, enjoy, and need it more than me. And, when I turn it down, they do find another who wants it.

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Friday’s Theme Music

Here we are again on the little backwater establishment known as Earth. Look at the humans; aren’t they cute. Look at that old one, sipping coffee. Just adorable. He looks so sleepy.

It’s 6/16/2023. Friday. Cushioned with a light cool breeze, 64 degrees F and hopping up, Ashlandia is living a dreamy Friday morning. Blue sky and sunshine rule. Gonna get warm. 88 F, they say. I say 90.

Now, a correction. Not that anyone uses this blog for reminders but I thought last Sunday, June 11, was Father’s Day. That’s because my wife said it was. She was pointing at a sign in a store when she said it. It just locked into me. I hustled a card out to Dad but didn’t call him. Put it off because we’d just spoken a few days before. Neither of us are big pholks (phone folks).

Then I began noticing all these Father Day ads springing up and checked the calendar on my wall. Correction realized.

Injured my back yesterday while running. Only went a little less than a mile. Probably closer to a little less than half a mile. Didn’t feel anything snap, crackle, or pop, but when I finished, my back said, “Why did you do that?” It then stiffened like a flag in a strong breeze. The spouse unit, who regularly goes through aches and pains associated with her chronic malaise, provided me with a Salon Pas pad, which heated the back up very impressively, alleviating the pain and stiffness. After wearing it for six hours, I removed it per instructions and then applied CBD TherapyReLeaf to the area. Feel much better this morning, thanks. While the back’s pain surprised, I’m relieved I bounced back, knock wood.

A dream inspired The Neurons to plug a 1982 song by The Kinks, “Come Dancing”, into the morning mental music stream. The dream was all ’bout food prep and eating — mostly cakes and sandwiches — and then dancin’. Sort of chaotic, a little hasty, like the dream had been put together at the last minute and had a small budget. “Come Dancing”, a light song, fit the dream mood and is perfect for a relaxed Friday.

‘Bout done with my first cuppa. I’d gotten up and cleaned the kitchen. That slid things back a bit. Hadn’t been a plan to clean the kitchen. Wasn’t that dirty as my wife had tidied before leaving for her exercise class. We work well in tandems like that. Then ended up cleaning the primary litter box, a.k.a., the big ‘un.

Stay pos. Hope it’s a satisfying day in your existence. Here are The Kinks. Cheers

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YlccGIwg7z0

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Five Dreams, A Few Thoughts

Five dreams are remembered this morning. Takes a while to process them. I usually do this in bed, eyes closed, pulling out their sequences. What normally happens is that I have a dream and wake up with it in mind, process it, and return to sleep. Then I dream again and repeat the process. Later, I sit and freehand the dreams. Sometimes, when the dreams become larger, more involved and remembered, I type them up. And sometimes I post that result, usually without any insights I acquired, just presenting the raw dream. In this instance, because there were five sharply remembered dreams, I just wanted to share intriguing aspects of two.

I was with my father. It was Christmas. His third wife was there, too. I’d brought twelve gifts meant for my cousins. Several of those cousins are dead. I knew that in the dream. When I showed Dad what I’d bought for who, I actually said, “Even though he died,” when I introduced their gifts. Dad laughed at that and I responded, “They’re dead but they still deserve a gift.”

Gifts included beer, pastries, pasta, and books. I explained to Dad when describing the gifts, showing them to him, why I selected each present. Dad seemed particularly surprised by the beer, which was a German Pilsner with a flippy top, which were common in Germany when I lived there.

What happened next is that I went off for a bit, returning to find that Dad gave away several of the presents to the people because he forgot buy them. So instead of a gift for my cousin, Jeff, for example, Dad gave it to his nephew, Jeff. That left me speechless. In Dad’s usual style, he laughed off my protests and explained that he just said it was from both of us so what difference does it make? The people received the gift, which is the intent of the gift being bought.

I didn’t fully buy into Dad’s position but decided yes, the person getting the gift was most important, so why be an asshole about it?

He later asked me if I had other gifts to give people, because he didn’t buy gifts for others but he thought he should receive a gift. I laughed at him, mocking his lack of preparation and planning, but took him to a white chest freezer and began pulling things out. He asked me why I put them into the freezer. I answered, “Ask your wife. She gets it.”

The other dream had a segment involving a vase. I was in a dim warehouse sort of building, metal, with high, dull lights. Items were stacked on shelves, creating a labyrinth, and lots of shadowy places.

White and tall, with flowers and dragons painted on it, the vase had several cutouts. I noticed the vase and remarked on its beauty. When I did that, one of vase’s cutouts yawned wider and issued a black cloud. I jumped back, pushing the others with me back to avoid it. We discussed, “What is that?” Several, including me, believed it to be poison. We wanted to get out of there fast but there was only one narrow path out. The vase was up on a shelf at head level along the path.

We needed to pass the vase to leave, we found, because we found every other way blocked. Two attempts were made to race past the vase but it moved each time, growing larger and growling at us. Finding a hammer, I attempted to attack it. The vase counter attacked, growling more and growing larger again, issuing more scary black gas. The vase’s cutouts now had teeth.

Someone said, “You have to get rid of that vase.”

“I know,” I answered. Swinging the hammer, I knocked the vase onto the floor. It rolled toward us in a rush. I hurdled it, but it was trapping others. I rushed the vase. It spun around me. Jumping back, I dropped the hammer. Teeth bared and roaring, the vase charged me. Dodging it, I pulled a shelf partially over, stopping it from getting me. I spotted an old black, portable television on a shelf. Grabbing the television, I lifted it over my head and slammed it down on the vase. The television and vase both broke. Enough of the television remained for me to hit it again with the television.

The vase pieces were trying to come back together. Someone threw the hammer to me. It bounced on the cement floor. I seized it and hit the larger pieces of the vase. The vase hissed out wisps of the black cloud. I started kicking its pieces around, shouting at the others to run past it and escape. After the last of them had gotten past, I picked up the largest piece of vase, threw it across the warehouse, turned and ran.

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A Writing Dream

It’s a disheveled dream, with a complicated cast and strange twists. I start out in a parking lot, a young man. My wife drives up in her gray Honda Civic, the one driven in yesteryears. I tell her to park and to make sure she locks the car. I point out a parking slot and she drives away.

Others are met. I tell them I’m waiting for my wife to park, but I’ll see them inside. I’m by my car of yesteryear, my first RX-7, a light blue vehicle that we bought brand new. My wife comes up. I ask her to park the RX-7 for me and tell her where. As she gets into the car, closes the door and drives away, I walk off toward a building. I pass her car; she’s left the door open. I’m dismayed, asking myself, what’s wrong with her? Her seatbelt is hanging out of the door, so I theorize that its position prevented her from closing the door and she didn’t notice. I fix all that, and then head on to building, a multi-story, long, white modern edifice with black windows, one of those places seen in business parks across the U.S. As I walk the loaded parking lot, I see my parked Mazda. Its door is open. What is wrong with my wife that she’s left doors open and unlocked in two cars?

In the building, I enter an apartment. Mom is there, along with her boyfriend, Frank. She waves hello to me. I find my wife in the kitchen preparing food and tell her that she left the doors open and unlocked on both cars. She mutters something defensive back. I answer, “That’d be fine if it was one car, but it was two. You have a problem.” I walk off.

Someone comes by to give me the book I’m working on. It’s a big, clumsy book, totally unfamiliar. When I open it, I discover nonsensical words and phrases written in a large, sloppy style using crayons. I recognize that it’s Frank’s book. I protest, “This isn’t my book. Where is my book?”

I go through the house to find my book. As I search, I find sandwiches overfilled with meat, cheese, and lettuce. No one else is there so I wonder aloud but to myself, “What’s with all of these sandwiches.” I continue going through, looking for the book, confounded, picking up a sandwich and eating it as I go. I begin noticing piles of coins on end tables, coffee tables, window sills, and the floor. Someone else is walking through the room. I turn and ask, “What’s with all these coins?” They reply, “I don’t know, you left them there.”

“I left them?” I ask back, but I’m alone. I realize that I’ve eaten my sandwich. It’s gone but there are plenty more. There’s also many more piles of money that I didn’t see before. They’re everywhere, growing taller and wider, filling with silver coins.

Dream end.

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A Sandwich Dream

The trip was starting. Anticipation uplifted me excited energy. But first —

A young boy called after me. Seeing his grin, I answered with the same. “Did you get it?” I asked as he ran up to me. “Did yu get the one you wanted?”

“Better,” the boy replied. “He gave me both my first and second choices.”

I hugged him. “I’m happy for you.” Then I rushed off to my journey.

Events interrupted. I needed my recall roster.*

Where was it? Where was it? I scurried about, opening and closing drawers in search of it as others asked, “Do you have your recall roster,” or told me, “You need your recall roster.”

“I know, I know,” I kept saying. Opening an old wooden rolltop desk, I discovered two fresh sandwiches on plates. “So that’s where I put those.”

I didn’t need two sandwiches so I fed one to a friend’s dog, then took the other sandwich out and place it on a table to eat. Another sandwich of another kind was already on the table. A passing friend said, “I picked up that sandwich for you, Michael.” As I thanked them, another sandwich was put on a plate before me. “For you,” another friend said.

I protested, “I already have a sandwich. Who needs a sandwich?”

Others joined me, eager for a sandwich. As I began eating, I found I had one sandwich left over. A man sat to my right. “Mind if I eat this, Michael?”

“No.” I realized the man picking up the sandwich was my main character.

That made me laugh.

 

* Recall Roster – a telephone contact list used for mobilization and rapid notifications

 

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The Luggage & Shoes Dream

First, the dream was in two parts. I dreamed part one, awoke, returned to sleep and had part two.

Second, it again involved military. I understand more about myself, though, like I’m terrible at socializing. The military with its rank and structure gave me a niche where I was comfortable.

In both dream parts, I was in civilian clothes and traveling alone (which I often did in the mil and civilian life, because of my specialized roles).

Part one had me arriving at a hectic place lousy with Army personnel. They were arriving and staging. All of them were in uniform. Many had down time and were waiting to move on. It was all out doors, and it was a mess.

For my part, I’d arrived, found a place for my two bags, left them, and headed off to find food. Then I’d figure out where I was to next go.

Well, after eating (which happened off-dream, apparently), I went to use a can. All the cans were out of order, which pissed me off (no pun intended). I wandered for a while in search of working facilities. I did find and use a shower, and then eventually discovered a working but filthy latrine.

I’d wandered a long way and had lost orientation, with no idea where I’d left my bags. I began that search. After a bit, I went up on a hill.

A person who used to work with me waved to me from up there. She came down to chat. She was traveling on a separate mission. I told her that I’d lost my bags and had to go look for them. Bored, with time to kill, she volunteered to come and help.

We went down the hill to a sort of ad hoc intersection. While there, she spotted a piece of paper fluttering on the ground. It looked like a set of orders. Picking it up, she read my name off it. She realized that it said something about what’d happened with my bags. With her leading, we went to see a man. She gave him the paper, and he (complaining as he did) gave me one of my bags. I was thankful, but she had to go. That was okay, though, because suddenly I completely knew where I was and went right to my second bag.

Awakening at that point, I thought about it all. The dream setting’s chaos and messiness bothered me, as did the fact that I couldn’t remember and find my bags on my own. I went back to sleep.

I was back in the same place, but order had been established. With chairs set up, all the troops were sitting in order. I had my bags, and the toilets were working. I also had food. We’d been provided with box lunches on the long flight over. I’d not eaten mine, so I had two big sandwiches along with other things to eat in a clear plastic bag that I was carrying.

On arriving, my feet hurt, so I removed my shoes and set the to one side. I had a rental car so I was basically going to eat and use the facilities and then hit the road. As I walked around, though, I worried about my hair not being in reg (I was notorious for that back in the day). I found the barbershop but it was busy. A commander and his staff passed by me. After deciding that I couldn’t do anything about my hair, I decided to eat and leave.

First, I wanted my shoes. I knew where I’d left them but they weren’t there. Irritated, I started searching for them. I spotted them in the middle of a wide, beaten dirt road. As I went to get them, an army PFC (female) was crossing the road and kicked one of my shoes. I yelled at her for that; she gave me a dirty look. I then got my shoes (loafers, as I was still in civies), put them on, and went to a table, where I sat down to eat.

End dream.

0

The Cleaver Greene Dream

Richard Roxburgh as Cleaver Greene of Rake guest-starred in my dream. We were on an asphalt path under tale trees. I was just arriving. Grinning at me, he said, “Hungry? Would you like a sandwich? We have cold cuts.”

He gestured. I followed the gesture with my eyes and saw a huge plate of assorted lunch meat. The pieces were rolled up like fat joints. The variety staggered me.

“We have cake, too,” Greene said with another motion. I saw a huge, multi-layered cake. Each layer was slender and appeared to be a different flavor, as did the frosting flavors, things that I assumed because of their colors, but the cake’s overall appearance was that it was moist, fancy, and large. 

“There’s ice cream, too,” Greene said, drawing my attention to an enormous bowl. Scoops of different colors filled it, and again I inferred they were different flavors.

“Wow,” I said, seeing the amounts and flavors. “Wow.”

“You can have cake and ice cream,” Greene said. “Or sandwiches, or anything you want, if you don’t want that. There’s an entire table of food over there.”

He was pointing. Looking, I saw that out on a green shaded by trees under a clear blue sky was a long table filled with bowls of salads and fruits, and plates of breads and cheeses.

Greene said, “We also have a Lithuanian cake.”

“What’s that?” I said, imagining a white layer cake featuring pearls.

“I don’t know,” Green said. “But we have it.”

The dream ended.

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