The Writing Moment

I haven’t been writing while under the weather, so it’s been a week since I sat in the writing chair. A lot of that was because breathing was a challenge and my nose and eyes were releasing almost constant streams. That didn’t stop me from writing in my head. More than anything, I keep generating new novel ideas. I would scribble notes with a work title and details that came to me. Ended up with five new ideas covering dozens of pages.

Ideas and concepts have never been my problem. Nor dialogue, back stories, settings, or even plots. My challenge is editing and revising the first draft into less than a million pages that others can follow. That’s where I often flail and go on to a new novel. I’ve written fourteen novels, edited and self-publishing three. But the others typically languish in piles or remain as files in a folder. With my most recent novel, I’m being more disciplined about revising and editing. I think that’s in part because I’m happier with its structure, characters, and story.

I look forward to getting back into the writing routine. I hope it’ll be this week but right now, seven inches of snow covers the ground. As with so many things, it’ll be wait and see.

Sunday’s Theme Music

Ashland — February 15, 2026. A gray Sunday, fog covered dawn’s fingers. 50 F outside, rain and 55 are expected today. Snow is supposed to be coming this week — 20% chance.

My cold is worse, and I felt sicker yet when I read of Trump’s ‘Valentine Day’ letter to his supporters. Part of it read, “It’s Valentine’s Day! I love you, and I was pretty sure you loved me back! Is everything okay? Roses are red, violets are blue. Do you still love Trump, as I love you? Before you read my letter – do you still love me and our great movement?”

Trump makes it about himself first and foremost. Second — money.

Family drama ensued last night. Sis went down to pick up Mom’s dishes, tidy, see if Mom needed anything. Hearing Mom on the phone, she stopped and listened. Mom was telling tales on sis and sis’s husband. Then Mom said she was going to kill herself.

Sis intervened. Turned out Mom was talking to daughter number 1, down in Georgia. Sis set up a conference call with me and the other sisters to talk about what should be done. I recommended calling 911. They didn’t like that. Looking up information, I suggested they call Resolve, an Allegheny County function set up for situations like this. After more conversation, that’s what sis agreed to do.

Sis called and spoke with an intervention specialist who said they could send a team out. If they didn’t send a team, they recommended sis stay with Mom the night to keep tabs on her, which sis said that she couldn’t do.

Another sister, let’s call her #2, lives near Mom and sis. She called Mom. She texted us that Mom sounded loopy and claimed she’d taken pills, type and number unspecified. Sister #2 also said that Mom told her she’d left an envelope of money for her. Mom added, “My body would be there, but I won’t be.” Sis called 911.

At midnight Eastern time, sis told us the police and EMT arrived and took Mom to the hospital. Later, we heard the needed paperwork was signed and approved to begin the process of evaluating Mom. They’re looking for a geriatric bed in a psychiatric bed for further evaluation. Sis went into Mom’s room afterward and found a stash of used adult diapers stuffed between Mom’s pillows. That’s stunning — appalling. Mom was a clean freak. Those hidden dirty diapers are alien to everything Mom has ever been, ever done.

Now we’re trying to learn where things will go. Mom and sis agree, Mom is not returning to sis’s house. The family agrees that Mom, 90, hallucinating, a fall risk, should not be allowed to return home but the state and county might have the final word on that.

Today finds The Neurons playing “Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves” in my morning mental music stream. The 1985 hit song was written by Annie Lennox and Dave Stewart, and sung by Lennox and Aretha Franklin. The song’s presence has nothing to do with Mom’s current situation; I was just thinking of my sisters and the song began playing in my head.

Hope the day finds you healthy and happy, and that grace and peace drop by to alleviate your fears and anxieties.

Cheers

Satyrdaz Theme Music

Greetings on Satyrda, December 27, 2025. They said it’d be cold and we’d have snow. No snow but it was 38 degrees F, sort of cold. Sunshine is leaking in around clouds stretching a flimsy chain across blue sky. A high somewhere in the 40s is anticipated.

My stepmother texted last night. Dad has taken a bad turn. He was found on the floor, communicative and awake but confused. That was Wednesday. His wife is talking to professionals about whether Dad should go into hospice. She is due to receive an update and then will text me to call her so I can learn the latest.

I sent Mom and Dad holiday cards and letters. My sister read Mom her card and letter from me; my stepmother read Dad his card and letter from me. Neither Mom nor Dad could open their cards on their own. Dad lives in Texas and Mom lives in Pennsylvania. The parallel path of their decline fascinates and depresses me.

Dad has been married to my stepmother for over thirty years. It’s his third marriage. As Dad’s health has declined, my stepmother’s children visit him and care for him, just as my sisters visited Mom’s boyfriend, Frank, and cared for him before he died. Life’s complexities and layers are rich and interesting.

Sis wrote that she hosted Christmas celebrations on Thursday and Friday. Half the family came on one day and the other half came the next door. She said that worked out much better than having the whole tribe there at the same time.

With dreams of homes and families and news of family percolating, it’s not surprising that The Neurons chose a song about houses for the morning mental music stream. Today, it’s “Our House” by Madness.

As I wrote this post, my wife told me of some factoids she just read. Back in 1950, the average starter home in the U.S. was less than 1,000 square feet with two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small kitchen. Now the average starter home is considered 2500 square feet with walk in everything and vaulted ceilings and fireplaces, kitchen, dining room, and breakfast nook. And fewer people seem able to afford starter homes in 2025.

Then I went off to dress to go out to write. My wife and I talked about it, how, while waiting to call my stepmother for an update, I was planning to go write. I shrugged. “The beat goes on.” And that’s why we have a twofer theme music offering for today. The Neurons immediately supplanted “Our House” with Sonny and Cher singing “The Beat Goes On”.

Hope peace and grace come by to present you some comfort. I’m off to the writing races once again. Cheers

Thirstdaz Wandering Thoughts

I’ve lost over twenty pounds. With that came a reduction in my waist size. Now my pants are too large for me. Friggin’ swimming in them. Fortunately, I kept some pants which were too small for me. Now I fit in them again.

Large part of my weight reduction in my mind comes from exercising. With my exercising now, I can look back and appreciate how much I was hampered from exercising by health issues for the last few years. I’m running and exercising much more consistently and intensely than I’ve done since COVID struck. Back then was when I broke my arm. Feels good, too. Energy levels are up. Thinking is clearer. Mood is better.

My issues forced dietary changes on me. Embracing them, I eat more mindfully, turning down many things, enduring hunger. Like, right now, in the coffee shop, they’ve heated up quiche for someone. Smells exquisite. Another person is wolfing down a cherry turnover. Looks really good, know what I’m saying?

I thank the dawgs for my turnaround. Good medical interventions, often triggered by emergencies, saved me. As did my wife, who had to endure my emergencies, issues, and recoveries.

Just need to keep it up and keep it off. Yeah, there’s the eternal rub.

Mundaz Wandering Thoughts

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I guess that’s my bottom line.

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.

Thirstdaz Theme Music

Thirstda, September 18, 2025, has landed on Earth. It’s a quiet one in Ashlandia, comfortable with low level aircraft humming, yard work, and cars and trucks busy on missions. 77 F, cloud cover is giving shade and humidity. Thunderstorm’s sullen weight presses down. Today’s high will be 79 F, and the air quality is 30, which is good.

It was a rockin’ night so I’m beginning late. After daring to eat three small pieces of cheese pizza during a going-away fete for a friend, my gallbladder leaped up in indignation at 5 AM. Puking and pain accompanied the passing hours. I bolted down a quarter of an oxy and an Ondansetron. Sleep played keep away. I didn’t get out of bed to anything past the bedroom until after noon, when the pains finished their kicks and let me alone.

While lying there, The Neurons filled the morning mental music stream with “I Heard it Through the Grapevine”. The Neurons alternated between Marvin Gaye’s offering and CCR’s long pop rock rendition. I’m playing both for y’all.

My friends and I briefly discussed Charlie Kirk’s life and death last night. I amused myself with a test, repeating what I’ve been hearing so often about Kirk trying to open dialogues and have conversations with the other side. My companions were shaking their heads before I was halfway through. “He was trying to control and manipulate facts and conversation,” I paraphrase them as saying. “He was muddying the waters about facts. And he supported Trump and brought young men into the Trump camp based on hate and lies.”

So, there we go. Meanwhile, we march on toward censorship as Trump flexes government power through agencies such as the FTC. The right wing, always willing to exercise hypocrisy, vociferously thumped liberals, progressives, and Democrats as cancelling others. Yet, here we are, with corporate toadies seeking FTC approval to merge and buy more entertainment and news outlets, bowing to Trump and firing folks. So it goes too at various companies. Point out what Kirk said at your employment peril. Echo his words and they cry, “Foul.” They’re purifying his image, granting him sainthood in the name of the father, son, and Donald Trump. Such enablers, firing people for speaking their minds, are as cheap and tawdry as the plated gold pieces in Trump’s Offal Office. Eventually, they’ll have a gold-plated little dictatorship. It’ll be called the United States but it’ll only resemble the founders’ vision in name. And those tawdry enablers will wonder, what the fuck happened. Fools.

Time to rock and roll. Hope peace and grace get here in time to save our nation. Hugs ‘n cheers to all, M

Satyrdaz Theme Music

Summer is crawling through on a final look see. We’ll strike the low 80s, lifting us from the sunny and mild 66 F where we now reside. Leaves are still green against the summer blue sky but some of those leaves have lost their luster. It’s Satyrda, children, September 13, 2025.

No home-front changes for me with a friend in hospice, Mom on mute, Dad in rehab, as is another friend, and my wife under the weather.

I listened to Trump’s speech from the NATO summit’s closing day. He claimed he ‘rebuilt the entire military’ during his first term. WTF does that even mean? If you take the literal words and their literal definitions, then the United States has a military which is just a few years old. Leaves me confused. Where did he get all those old B-52s, aircraft carriers, F14s, F15s, and F15s if he rebuilt it? How did he get new C5s and why are old ones still in use if he rebuilt the military? He’s such a bombastic blowhard. Some will give Trump leniency and say, “Oh, he’s being metaphorical.” I call BS. It’s like me claiming, you know I rebuilt the entire house last week. Bottom line: no, he didn’t, and making such claims makes him look like a boastful fool. This is in line with other claims, like he’s going to lower drug prices by thousands of percent. Or that in many places, gas prices are below $1.99 a gallon. He just lies and boasts to make himself look good. While some worship his words as the gospel, a bigly number of people know the truth about him, the truth he reinforces whenever he speaks.

Of course, Trump was eager to blame Kirk’s murder on someone from the left. But guess what? It was another right-winger killing another of their own. No apologies from Trump and others for making wild and biased accusations, of course. Trump lacks the moral fortitude and honesty for anything like that.

BTW, how is that whole thing about Epstein going for Trump?

Papi inspires todays music selection. I opened the backdoor for fresh air and sunshine and he whipped around and sprinted over to me with a quick chirp of greeting. Sitting, he put his face to the sun and closed his eyes. As I offered some love touches, I asked, “Where you been, buddy? What are you out here looking for?” As Papi and I entered the house together, The Neurons summoned U2 with “Where the Streets Have No Name”.

Coffee has begun its rounds in my corporeal vessel. Let’s hope grace and peace find and keep us today and always. Cheers

Satyrdaz Wandering Political Thoughts

I’m struck by Trump’s vision for the United States. He’s sending the military into cities and states, even if it’s just national guard units at this point. That makes it feel like he knows he’s unpopular, that his popularity will worsen, and he’s ready to attack We the People with weapons.

He wants manufacturing and factories to return to the United States. These will supply jobs. Yes, but imagine the jobs which factory work will provide. Having never worked in one, I’m dependent on others’ experiences to provide me with any sense of how it is. I understand they’re often noisy, that the work is frequently tedious, and that the repetitive style of work causes mental, emotional, and physical issues. So it sounds like Trump’s dream for our citizens is of a weary, broken people locked up in buildings, slaving for others.

Along with that skewed vision, his regime is removing protections to keep the air, water, and earth clean and safe. We can assume, since actions speak loudest, that he’s okay with people and animals getting sick from a polluted environment. Children and the elderly would be most vulnerable, so he obviously doesn’t give a toss about their health. That’s one reason why he’s letting RFK, Jr, wreck our health systems, too. An unhealthy population will struggle to fight back. They’re too busy just trying to live. Thanks to their actions, diseases will rise again.

Trump doesn’t like protests. He dislikes dissent, such as free speech. He wants everyone to agree with him and idolize and adore him. He enforces this through his regime’s demands on the press, states, cities, universities, and businesses to align themselves with his policies, or else they’ll pay some price. We can basically discern from that that his United States would have little to do with the Bill of Rights and the freedoms embedded in them, other than amendment number 2. Trump’s staunchest MAGAts love their guns.

To make it all work, to make United States citizens willing to accept being sick and working in factories for little pay, Trump is cutting education for the public and the poor. Trump doesn’t want a thinking, intelligent electorate. He wants an ignorant and malleable population.

So that’s his vision for We the People: uneducated, poor, hungry, and sick work slaves struggling through filthy air, drinking poisoned water, all so we can sell more goods in other nations and enrich the already wealthy and well-to-do.

I think it’s one of the cruelest and ugliest visions a human being can devise. It doesn’t matter what Trump says. This is what he’s doing.

Satyrdaz Theme Music

86 F outside. That’s supposed to be our high in Ashlandia for this Satyrda, July 26, 2025.

I haven’t read much news today. Haven’t been up much and haven’t been inclined. Dreams provided me with “Red, Red Wine” as today’s theme music. Neil Diamond wrote the song and originally recorded it. Much as Neil Diamond has said, I prefer UB40’s lighter, reggae arrangement. That’s what I’m going with today.

Hope you have a great day. Cheers

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