Promises
Compromises
Dreams
And schemes
Guidance
And directions
Beginnings
And endings
Are the things we seek and give
Looking
and feeling
Stumbling toward our best
To be
And live
Falling down
Getting up
Sipping coffee
And drinks
Sleeping
Waking
Trying it all
again
Twozdaz Theme Music
We’re back home. Vacation is over. Taps was played at midnight to signify the last vacay day was done.
My wife reports she had a great bath and great night’s sleep. She prefers her own fixtures and bed. I slept well at both places. This place is far noisier. By 8 AM, garbage trucks, lawn equipment, and woodchippers were eagerly stressing the silence with their grinding, whirling, and groaning. I heard people walking by on the street speaking. One told her friend about their other friend’s birthday. Another woman was on her cell telling the neighborhood that her car was in the shop and needed a new starter, with additional complaints about this car, a Honda Civic. Airplanes, probably looking for lightning fires, droned overhead. Dogs and crows kept up commentary. Maybe my wife missed all the noise.
Hearing my wife speak about me, it shouldn’t surprise anyone that I slept well. From her tales, my superpower is the ability to sleep anywhere, through anything.
It’s now Twozda. We’ll be lowering the flag on another month of 2025 soon, as this is August 26, 2025. It’ll be in the upper 90s here in Ashlandia.
I wish we were lowering the flag on Trump and his administration. The Offal Office dunce keeps displaying his tyrannical streak and wide-ranging ignorance. He can speak ignorantly about everything and anything, doing so eagerly and willingly at every fart of the wind. States have no rights unless they fall in line with his corkscrew thinking. In his latest attacks on our checks and balances, he and his administration sued judges because they keep ruling against him. This, according to them, is bad, because he is the POTUS. Man, that sickens and shames me to write that. Had to swallow some breakfast back down. The way he acts and from his representatives’ speech, they lack interest or comprehension in the three branches of the Federal government. Trump as POTUS is the only Federal office, and Trump as POTUS is the only person with any skills or leadership, to hear them tell it. To the rest of us, he has no skills, and his leadership is like a turd swirling down the toilet’s throat when the commode is flushed.
Papi the magnificent ginger boi who graces me with his presence cheered me up this AM. Chirps and purrs were exchanged with treats and petting. What a sweetheart. I credit him with setting me right and reminding me to live in the moment. The reminder stirred The Neurons to dig into their chambers and pull up a 2018 song by Portugal. The Man called “Live in the Moment”. As it played in the morning mental music stream, I pet my boi and sang along to him. He quickly bored of this and crossed the room to settle down and watch me from a more comfortable distance.
Coffee has restored me to the moment. Hope grace and peace feed your moments today and every day. Here we go again. Cheers
Other Than That
I’m curious about life after death.
I’m curious about life before life. I’m curious about how life began. I’m curious about how our planet will end.
I’m curious about why we exist, if we exist.
I’m curious about reality.
I’m curious about what my parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents were like as children. I’m curious about how my ancestors came to the United States. I’m curious about their lives before then.
I’m curious about life on Mars and other planets. I’m curious about the nature of the universe, the nature of energy, the nature of time, and quantum physics.
I’m curious about what is faster than the speed of light and if we will ever find that out.
I’m curious about what life would be like on an atom.
I’m curious about Zeno’s Paradox and other paradoxes and thought experiments.
I’m curious about how technology affects our brains and societies.
I’m curious about what life was like on Earth three thousand years ago.
I’m curious about what we’ll be like in another thousand years.
I’m curious about the dark side of the moon and the far side of the galaxy.
I’m curious about Earth’s first years.
I’m curious about the psychology of people. I’m curious about why the wealthy and powerful want or need more wealth and power. I’m curious about what causes such hatred in some people and why anger and hatred drive people to kill others. I’m curious about why others can be so indifferent to people’s suffering and children starving.
I’m curious about what it is that makes some people so brilliant.
I’m curious about why I struggle to remember scientific words.
I’m curious about charisma.
I’m curious about how the human body works, and how animal bodies work, and fish and birds and plants.
I’m curious about what rocks think and remember.
I’m curious about why we need to sleep and why we dream.
I’m curious about what my dreams mean.
I’m curious about what my cats are thinking when they look at me.
I’m curious about what my wife is thinking, feeling, planning, and remembering. I’m curious about what she really thinks of me.
I’m curious about why art, music, and literature can move me so deeply.
I’m curious about why I like coffee so much.
I’m curious about why I and others are driven to write fiction and tell stories.
I’m curious about the truth behind our world history.
I’m curious about what happened to Atlantis and other ancient places and peoples.
I’m curious about mystery spots and the illusions behind them.
I’m curious about what makes some people so wildly successful while other talented people work hard and remain in the shadows.
I’m curious about fate and destiny and the future and the past.
I’m curious about what the first people who looked up and saw stars thought.
I’m curious about why, what, how, and when.
Other than that, I remain a pretty incurious person.
Fridaz Wandering Thoughts
Mom participates in a sleep study once a month. An emphysema sufferer, she wears a mask at night with a machine that helps her breathe.
This study, though, I don’t know. Full disclosure: I’m not a sleep expert. Fuller disclosure: I’m not an expert in anything. But from a point of view that I have lived a bit, I question the quality of the sleep study. They have her turn up three hours before her normal bedtime. Then they require all the participants to sleep in their clothes. This idea is so they can get up and leave faster in the morning.
About the morning. They wake the sleep participants up at 5 AM to scoot them out the door. And, Mom complains that they keep the place freezing cold and don’t provide anyone with enough blankets. Not much sleeping is done, Mom says.
Again, I’m not an expert, but it sounds like this sleep study is in the deep throes of full-on enshittification.
Sunda’s Theme Music
I begin my Sunda with the summer morning ritual. I step out to rebalance my circadian rhythm, feel the air temp, and give it a sniff test. How hot is it now and how much smoke is polluting the air are the dual concerns. Today it’s now 80 F, up from the 71 F holding when I first went out. We’ll be at 103 F today, a few degrees above yesterday’s 99.8 F. The smoke isn’t bad. I water things and close windows, sealing us against whatever nature is plotting against us today. I have learned that by closing the blinds and windows and keeping everything shut, we’ll be 13-15 degrees cooler than outside. We like to use fans to move the air when it warms, as the air conditioning, while cooling, makes our noses run. My wife is one who needs heat anyway.
This is Sunda, July 13, 2025. It’s a cousin’s birthday, but she passed away. Cancer. Cheery morning thought. Then I ate a lucious moderate-sized fig, savoring the experience with a slow chew, trying to be mindful. I don’t think I’m mindful enough. At 69 yo, can I become more mindful?
I jogged yesterday morning. It was a whim and I wasn’t prepared, just testing myself to see how far I could go before my body rebelled. The Fitbit says that was 2.5 miles, surprising me. It felt good. I jog walked home, thinking that I should combine those words and create a word: jolk. Yes, I jolked home, letting my sweat drip dry. No aftereffects strike this morning, knock wood. I thought I’d hurt somewhere.
ICE and wildfires dominates our news feed. Nextdoor reports an ICE vehicle was spotted in Ashlandia yesterday morning about 9:30 on Ashland Street by the cemetery. People advise others to report it on the app. A judge blocked random ICE raids in LA. We’ll see if this is appealed to the Roberts Court and swatted away. A man died from a fall during a chaotic ICE raid.
Getting news of the local fire plaguing us, the Neil Creek fire, is problematic. Something like 72 fires are burning in southern Oregon and northern California. The Neil Creek fire is closest to us but isn’t threatening anything (last heard) and is not large. Media focus is on the big burners. I understand that but my understanding doesn’t alleviate my frustration over lack of Neil Creek fire information. The last updates were days ago. Also, I haven’t seen or heard tankers since yesterday morning. Surely all this must mean good news, right? I finally find a Neil Creek fire update on Watchduty from fourteen hours ago. It’s five percent contained. Then there’s a summary:
Despite increased fire behavior, crews held fire lines with the help of helicopter water drops. Firefighters continue to strengthen lines and expand mop-up around the fire. Along the south end of the fire, crews removed hazardous standing dead trees to allow firefighters to access the southern perimeter safely.
There was an incident in the night. The neighbor’s dog erupted with furious barking. Bear or cougar, my wife thought, hurrying to the back door. She flicked on the lights and opens the door but stays in, leaning out to look around. I get a flashlight. By then the dog’s owner has talked the dog down and quiet has reclaimed the world.
“Overkill” by Men At Work is in the morning mental music stream. It’s all about the line, “I can’t get to sleep.” I awoke sometime in the night a few hours after the barking dog, mulled and dissected a dream and then the writing muses took over. I wrote for a while in my head before I managed to shut them down with a meditation process I use to induce sleep in myself. But the song remains in the morning mental music stream. While looking for a video to use, I found this accoustic version by Colin Hay, the band’s vocalist, where he’s backed by a choir. I thought it a cool difference maker and offer it to you.
Coffee has been sucked up. Time to press on. Hope your day answers your needs. Cheers
Twosda’s Theme Music
Welcome, welcome to Twosda, June 17, 2025. We’re continuing a nice weather balance in Ashlandia, dropping into the fifties at night, sunny & cloudy during the day, high of 84 F. No one has been heard complaining.
Although I slept well, I had a night rich with dreams. Papi has refined a way of awakening me which can only be called a bark. I don’t know where this cat learned his bark. I guess he went out and hung around with some dogs, heard them barking, and then imitated them. It’s effective — for him. I wish he’d go back to purrs and nuzzles.
My wife’s ‘movie group’ is meeting today. One of them began hosting about a dozen of her exercise class comrades to watch and discuss movies. Today, they’re watching the 1990 flick, Truly, Madly, Deeply, in which the late Alan Rickman plays a ghost, and Juliet Stevenson is his widow. What surprised me was how many of the rest professed to be unaware of the film. My wife and I both enjoyed it on its theater run and have seen it again since. She is a big fan of it and suggested the film. I’m interested in learning whether others remember the film when they see it again.
Dad’s surgery went well. He told me that his kidney was stented; his wife said, no, he had a nephrostomy tube and drainage bag installed. Come on, give him a break; he’s 92. When I speak to him and ask him for details such as, “Where did they put the stent,” he replies, “Hell, I don’t know. Ask Maxine. She takes notes.” Maxine is his wife (#3, and the longest tenured wife by far).
There’s something wrong with Trump. We have many ideas about what it is. Now we have Catheter Gate & Bag Gate. This is based on Trump’s leaning forward walk, like something is irritating his ass, and photos which seem to show a catheter installed in his johnson area. Since he’s our elected official, don’t we have a right to know? To employ the voice used when Republicans are demanding answers from Democrats, WHAT ARE THEY HIDING FROM US? IS TRUMP DYING? Well, of course he’s dying — just ask Sen. Joni Ernst. But is he dying so fast that he’s failing to do us job? Is he a liability? We the People demand to know the truth about what’s protruding in those photos. Snopes claims they investigated and Trump isn’t wearing a catheter but the Trump Regime may have gotten to them. We want answers and we won’t accept anything reasonable until Trump takes off his pants on national TV and shows us that he’s not wearing a catheter, bag, or diaper. Even then, we probably won’t accept it because that could be Trump clone or a Trumpbot, or AI creating a wholly fake television event.
Trump fled the G7 conference in Canada. He claimed it was because of Mid East tensions but many believe he was just Taco Always Chickening Out again. In this case, the meeting was structured, they weren’t deferring to him, and he wasn’t getting the attention he wanted and kept being quoted saying stupid things, so he fled. That’s so TACO!
Today’s music is “Tough Guy”. It’s a 1980 Reo Speedwagon song. Don’t know why The Neurons plugged it into the morning mental music stream. I was just reading the news online about Trump fleeing the G7 when that song kicked off in the stream.
Coffee has snuggled into my system again. You all have a good one. Here we go, one more time. Cheers
Twosda’s Theme Music
Not a good night of sleep to end March of 2025 for me. Twosda, April 1, 2025, has begun with overnight lows in the bottom of the 30s F. 38 F now. Highs will hit the 40s. Squirmy grey clouds shoulder down onto the mountains and separate into misty tendrils. Rain falls. Blue sky is off limits. A skittish sun reassures us it’s daytime.
Papi disliked the rain. He was in and out a billion and seven times between 6 and 8 AM. Fed up by the stale routine, I lectured him. “You’re the cat who cried in and out too many times. If you go out this time, you’re staying out there.” He was mute in response but went out. Thereafte, he beat to come in every ten minutes. I finally let him in after an hour. He reproached me with a look. Nothing has been learned here.
Dreams then contributed to my sluggish state. I had a dream in three parts. The cat kept disrupting it but I kept returning to it. Now I’m on my cup of coffee, looking to it to prompt more blood flow through me.
“We could get a tushy,” my wife says. “It’s very popular.”
She’s referring to a bidet seat. She’s been off and on about this for six months. First on. She wanted one with warm water. Than off because we don’t have an electric outlet by the toilet. I suggested having one installed. She thought about that for a few weeks and then turned that down.
“Do you want a cold water one then?” I asked. That was the natural follow up.
“Let me think about it.”
So she’s back on it today. “We need to measure the toilet,” I tell her. “To ensure it fits.”
“It fits ninety percent of all toilets,” she says.
I’ve heard that before. “We need to measure and confirm it fits our toilet seat’s shape and size. What’s a skirted toilet?” I will do these things later, I tell myself. I don’t want to disturb my morning routine. It already feels wrecked.
Part of my wrecked sensation came from a foot episode. The one which has recovered from surgery. When I arose to partake of Papi’s ingress/egress routine, the foot was painful and stiff. I’d not had any issues with it. So I responded to self, “WTF?” Thoughts of what I did with the foot the previous day were pursued. Nothing meaningful was found. It feels fine now. I register it in my permanent record as another life mystery.
Tame Impala is performing “Let It Happen” in the morning mental music stream. Maybe it’s associated with the dreams. Could also be from thinking about ordering and installing the bidet seat or from pondering the crumbling United States and the GOTP and MAGA response is to it. Although The Neurons have been with me for a few years, I’m still trying to understand how they work.
“Let It Happen” came out in 2015. I didn’t remember that. Looked it up on the net. Wiki thingy’s summary says, “Let It Happen” is about “finding yourself always in this world of chaos and all this stuff going on around you and always shutting it out because you don’t want to be part of it. But at some point, you realize it takes more energy to shut it out than it does to let it happen and be a part of ‘it’.” That’s according to Kevin Parker. Parker is the Australian who wrote the song and performs it.
I think I’m seeing some glimmering of why The Neurons have it racing around my morning mental music stream.
Coffee is not helping much this morning. My bed is singing me a lullaby. But it’s April 1. No foolin’. We’re washing the bed linens. And I want to get on to things. Writing, um, showering and dressing. I also have a bidet to order.
Hope your day is going better. Cheers
Satrda’s Theme Music
Mood: Sleepsatisfied
It’s the fourth day of the year, Jan 4, 2025. Satrda. 38 degrees F. Cloudy. Blue sky has been banished. The meek, subservient sun does little to warm and light us. We’re prepped for another day of rain with a high of 48 F. But, corresponding with my sister in Plum, PA, it’s not bad. They received a few issues of snow yesterday and then dealt with a snow squall. Monday is forecasted to be a heavy and cold snowy day for her. She’s worrying about patients canceling and travel issues. So, rainy and gloomy will suffice.
Today’s music is “Green Tambourine” by the Lemon Pipers. Came out in 1968. I was twelve. The song became a hit and was rotated on all the regular pop stations heard on transistor radios and car radios. With all that exposure, I remember it well. Don’t know why it’s in my morning mental music stream (Trademark old). I slept heavily last night after feeling pretty gloomy yesterday evening. Didn’t have any cat visitations that I know of. No wind or wife disrupted my Zzzs. No need for visiting the bathroom during the night, and nothing amiss with my foot and ankle broke into my sleep. Only one dream floats around my noggin, and tambourines aren’t featured. The song just rose up as I went about opening blinds on another dull day, feeding cats, and making breakfast and coffee.
I enjoyed this video. Such a black and white throwback, including a sexist commercial for ‘Neet’ hair removal cream. Look how young Dick Clark appears. Check out the clothes and dancing. Trippy.
Coffee and I are doing our daily two-step. Hope your weather and fates are kind to you wherever you are. Here’s the music. Cheers
The Can’t-Wake-Up Dream
I’d been working. In the military, it seemed like from clues, but it was never clearly presented. Staying in some manner of mixed work, play, sleep compound. Very modern. Enormously wide hallways. Well lit.
I’d been going to and fro, doing work and receiving instructions, sometimes passing guidance along, when suddenly, I was asleep. Yep, asleep in my dream. And I couldn’t wake up. And I knew this. I new that I wanted and needed to wake up. But my head was heavy with exhaustion and my eyes felt glued shut.
Someone came by and spoke with me. Don’t know what they said. I replied, “I need to wake up but I can’t. I must get up.”
Somehow, I did manage to get up. “Water,” I told myself. “Drink some water. That will help.”
Feeling my way about, I came to a sink and turned on the water. Using my hand to catch water, I guzzled a bit.
It wasn’t working. “Put water on your face,” I told myself. “Splash your eyes.”
Right; yes. That worked enough that at last I could open my eyes. “Food and coffee will help,” I said to myself. “Go find some.”
Dream end. Early sunlight was petering in around the closed blinds. The dream felt so real that I went into the kitchen and drank a glass of water and then went to a mirror to see if my eyes were open. Very strange.
Michael Seidel, writer 