Munda’s Theme Music
My body and mind were unanimous. More sleep was wanted. Yesterday was busy with an Easter Brunch. We’d been preparing all week. 10:15, we set off to go help with setup. By 11:30, all were there. A smorgasbord awaited. Mexican quiche, salmon with asparagus, salmon and cream cheese rolls. Dutch babies and lemon cake for dessert. Salads. Juices and libation to make it chippier. Easter egg hunt and korn hole. A half dozen present shared their latest stories about demonstrating against Trump in Ashland and Medford. 2 PM, it was all over.
Over to a friend’s house for his 93rd birthday. Just family and my wife and I. He has health issues and didn’t want a gathering. After singing the birthday song, witnessing the candle blowout, and visiting for two hours, we headed home to unpack and wash everything.
Blue skies were the day’s order. Light wind kept it from becoming too warm. 69 F was the tops. Today seems like it looked over yesterday’s shoulder and copied the weather.
I reminded my body and mind that sleeping in wasn’t an option. Today is Food & Friends deliveries. Crank up the car, pick up the food, and roll through the streets on route 3 to knock on doors and ring bells and drop off a small meal in southeastern Ashlandia. I’m the driver; my wife makes the deliveries.
Then, finally, it’ll be back to writing at the coffee shop for a few hours, and then home to wash clothes and attend yard work. The grass and weeds are gladded by the sunshine. It’s all shooting up fast.
Papi is beside himself with happiness by the time the air warms. It’s rolled up to 49 F now. He heads outside and sniffs out the sunshine. Then wind sniffs him out and he’s back in. It’s a never-ending game of ‘In & Out’!
The mountain air loads the night with temperatures that dribble down into the mid thirties. That temp feels colder. But we’re on the regular Ashlandia spring track. Only troubling thing is we’re not seeing any bees. They’re normally all over the place with their buzzing presence. Their absence disturbs.
Yesterday’s Easter Trump dump again illuminated his pathetic ways. That vitriol and lie-filled text mess is a sign of an insecure, demented, ignorant person. Trump’s dark forces again rose to show what a sinister and ugly place the United States is becoming under his hand as two young and wholly innocent German tourists were detained and deported, all for the crime of not having accommodations already reserved. Such fools are now in charge. Then there’s Trump’s undocumented bullshit broadside against Abrego Garcia. WTF, United States. Is this truly your vision?
With those thoughts spinning through my groovy organic thought machine, The Neurons spun up Aerosmith in the morning mental music stream: “Same Old Song and Dance”. Last time I used this ditty was in 2019. Trump occupied the White House then. I wrote back on that day,
Reading the news yesterday and today, I was shaking my head, partially laughing while crying. You know, it was the same old story.
That led to me streaming Aerosmith.
It’s the same old story
Same old song and dance, my friend
It’s the same old story
Same old story
Same old song and dance
It was an easy song to identify with when I was a teenager and the song was released. When you asked questions, you often heard, “That’s just how it is. That’s how it goes.” It was always the same old song and dance, no matter what you were asked.
So here we go. Trump is attacking and bullying whatever he can — law, courts, common sense, history, morality, it’s all open to a Trump attack. He’s like a puppy gnawing on clothes, shoes, and furniture. Nothing is safe from his brainless chewing. A puppy does far less damage, though. A puppy will grow out of it. Trump, with his deteriorating and aging mental capacity, will get worse.
Same ol’ story, same ol’ song and dance.
Have the best day you can, my friend. Fueled with coffee, I’ll rock on for another day, it seems. Cheers
The Learning Dream
My wife and I were at a pool. I somehow got involved in a swimming class. Others were doing it. There was a white cloth or panel on the pool’s bottom. Our guidance was to take a deep breath, dive to the bottom, get the item, swim to the other side of the pool and surfaced.
My wife laughed. “He’s a really strong swimmer. He’ll do that without trying.”
I did. I’m not a strong swimmer but I’m good at holding my breath.
After doing that on the first attempt, they set me loose in free-practice to keep getting better.
Next, we moved inside. Now I was helping with some kind of television or streaming shopping channel. I was to write on a piece of cardboard and then slid the info forward so some announcer could see it. The info was being given to me by another person, and I was to keep writing the new price as it came in and show it.
Well, I screwed it up the first two times. I did well the third time, and then the people told me to keep practicing. I did for a while and then someone came by and told me I had a new assignment. This involved reading textbooks. The assignment confused me. “I’m just supposed to read them all? Will there be tests?” Yes, I’m to read them all, astounding me. A large range of topics were included. Stacks of books awaited my eyes. And yes, I would be tested.
I began that assignment and was startled about how fast I discovered I could read and learn. After four of five books, I was just fanning the pages. Witnessing this, my wife chastised me. “You’re supposed to be learning this.” I laughed back. “I am. Give me a book. I’ll read it and you can ask me questions, and I’ll answer them.”
She gave me a book. I read it. She asked me three questions, and I answered them all.
Another instructor arrived. I was being taken to a new class. The instructor said, “In this class, you’ll be taught how to use energy to change things.” I asked, “What kind of things will I be able to change?”
She answered, “Wait and see.”
The dream ended as a cat tapped my hand and meowed.
It was a very uplifting and energizing dream.
Thirstda’s Wandering Political Thoughts
Once again, without much urging, I think, what fucking idiots.
Unfortunately, I’m in that frame of mind many times as I read the news. This time, the fucking idiots are lawyers.
Lawyers are supposedly smart people. That’s what I’ve always been told. Admittedly, the few lawyers I’ve personally encountered did reduce my appreciation for lawyers’ intelligence. Now, after watching the news for the last five years, I feel that they standards have been steadily dropping. Did you read their arguments about the ‘stolen election’? Did you see their performance in Trump’s trials? Did you read about the Roberts Court decision that Trump has immunity for his acts as POTUS? Sure, they tried to write around it and explain that it’s not absolute. You can bet your ass that Trump is thinking, “I’m President, and I’m making these decisions, and the Supreme Court said that I can’t be tried for that.”
Yes, it was a stupid fucking decision.
I’m telling you, lawyers are dumbing down. Soon, the requirements for being a lawyer will be, “Do you speak English, have five million dollars, and will vow allegiance to the great and mighty sacred god, Donald Trump? Here you go: you’re a lawyer.”
The kickoff for this new round of low regard for lawyers was a New York Times headline:
Law Firms Made Deals With Trump. Now He Wants More From Them.
“To avoid retribution, big firms agreed to provide free legal services for uncontroversial causes. To the White House, that could mean negotiating trade deals — or even defending the president and his allies.“
Absolute fucking fools, I think. Fucking idiots. Have these lawyers not been awake and aware of Donald fucking Trump for the last twenty years? He lacks honor. Has gone back on his word several times, describing it as being ‘flexible’. His only principle is, “How can I further enrich myself?” Secondary to that is, “How can I make others pay for making fun of me and not worshipping me as the greatest ever?” The man is a documented liar. He violated his marriage vows with affairs. He will cheat these law firms out of every fucking dollar and shred of dignity they have.
Capitulating to Trump is not the answer. Reading and thinking individuals know this. Michael Cohen warned us. So I want to know: how did these lawyers get their degrees and pass the bar without being able to fucking read and think?
The House Dream
I dreamed my wife and I were setting up a business. But we needed a place for that. Someone overheard us and said that they have such a place available: their house.
So, we, with the couple who owned their house and several of their friends, went to the people’s house. My wife and I walked around it. Beautiful place. Several levels. Large, off-white, a modern design, resembling something Frank Lloyd Wright may have designed in the way it used light, space, and materials, it was well-appointed with expensive furniture, appliances, and paintings.
My wife and I were impressed. The owners showed us a central rectangular room where they’d set up a small factory. My wife and I agreed, “This would be perfect for us.” Yes, others agreed. The way they said it cause some suspicions. Realizing that, the others tried reassuring me. My suspicions remained but I inquired about buying the house. It was agreed that we could buy it right then and move in.
The original owners had another house on their property. We were now neighbors. People had to go through our property on foot to reach the other house. My wife and I invited friends over for a small gathering. Our cat was with us, exploring the new home and giving its approval. We sat with our friends in the living room, talking, having drinks.
A man burst in through a door. Large, middle-aged, he was armed with several knives. He was also drunk. I grabbed his wrists and pinned them to his side. Then I wrangled him onto a sofa and shouted to my wife to grab the knives while I held him. She came over but did nothing. I repeated what I’d told her but she barely responded. Finally, exasperation seizing me, I held the man’s wrists and pried the knives way.
“What is wrong with you?” I asked my wife. “Why didn’t you do anything?”
She moved away and sat. It seemed like she was in shock.
I held onto the man’s shoulders and told him, “Don’t even think about running away.” Drunkenly grinning, he agreed. I told others to call the police.
The man looked familiar. A friend said, “Don’t you recognize him?”
I asked the man, “What’s your name?”
He said it, and my friend said, “He was an NFL quarterback.” I asked for confirmation. Beaming, the drunk guy replied, “That’s me.” Then he jumped up and ran out of the house. I started giving chase but stopped, thinking, WTF?
A large number of people were outside, moving like ants toward the other house. They were expensively dressed. I asked one, “What’s going on?” She explained that they were all invited to a party.
They were a quiet crowd. I guess several hundred were there. I organized them into a line along the path, although I don’t know why I did that. The bottleneck was the front door of the other house.
Dream end.
Twosda’s Wandering Thoughts
I read several headlines this morning about a former NFL player.
Former NFL tight end Don Hasselbeck dies of a heart attack at age 70
Former Buff, NFL tight end Don Hasselbeck dies of a heart attack at age 70
Ex-Giants TE dies after going into cardiac arrest: ‘There is a 6’ 7” hole in our hearts’
Former Super Bowl winning tight end Don Hasselbeck dies at 70
Former NFL TE Don Hasselbeck, father of Matt, dies at age 70
Ex-NFL TE Don Hasselbeck, father of former QBs Matt and Tim, dies at 70
NFL Legend Don Hasselbeck Passes Away at 70
Don Hasselbeck dies at age 70: Former NFL tight end won Super Bowl with Raiders
It fascinates me how many different ways the headlines for the same story is presented. Some call Don Hasselbeck a legend. A few mention his sons, or just one of his sons. All mention his age, and that he was in the NFL. Most mention he’s a tight end or TE. Several call out the different teams he played for. A couple note that a heart attack killed him.
I probably saw him play on television, but I didn’t remember his name, as it happens with many pro athletes, musicians, actors, writers, and leaders. Only a few catch and hold our attention.
I guess they all give what they can, though. I respect that.
Sunda’s Wandering Thoughts
Planning for Easter Brunch is underway. I am fortunately a passive participant. My wife keeps me apprised of developments. She was searching for some Easter-themed drinks. I found some for her. She rejected them. I did find Chocolate Bunny Coffee. She laughed at that.
“Prude wants to have a Prosecco bar,” my wife says. Prude and her hubby, Carl, are hosting the Easter brunch for the third consecutive year.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I’ll chat with her. The brunch is getting big. Twenty-seven people are going to be there.”
“Twenty-seven.”
My wife nods in confirmation.
I do the math. “That’s almost twice as usual.”
“I know.”
My wife gives details of new invitees. Many are people I don’t know. I’ve heard about some of them via my wife’s recounting of ‘Tales from the Y.’ The main characters are all members of the Y, like my wife, and they bring a guest, like me. Most participate in Mary’s exercise class. Mary is celebrating her 50th anniversary of her class next year. The Y wants my wife to organize something for them. Mary’s exercise group has given birth to multiple friendships and activities, including a book club, New Year’s Eve gatherings, and nights out to go dancing.
“Deborah is in charge of the coffee,” my wife says. She’s talking about the brunch. “I mentioned the Chocolate Bunny Coffee. She laughed but said she is not buying that.”
I’m not surprised. Deborah takes her coffee as seriously as I do.
“Mary told me that she has champagne left from a party at her house last year that she’ll donate,” my wife says. “I told her it’s supposed to be Prosecco. Mary said that Prude told her that you and I are going to be there at 10:30 to help set up.”
“We are?” I helped with that last year. Everybody prepares and brings food. A buffet is set up in the kitchen and dining room. The drinks and coffee and dining tables are outside.
“I don’t know,” my wife says. “I’ll talk to Prude.”
I have to decide what to make. Last year I made a potato casserole. It seemed pretty popular. I don’t know what I’ll make this year. I was thinking about a French toast casserole.
Maybe I’ll just buy a fruit tray.
Sunda’s Theme Music
Blue skies and sunshine immediately informed me that it was a cold day. “Must be cold out,” I said to the cat. “Ooop,” he replied, rushing for the door.
Papi’s first response to almost all stimuli is to rush for the door. Loud noises like fireworks dictate a course to his hiding spot in the primary bathroom.
Today, though, he was hitting the door, exiting the back, into sunshine. I went with him. The measuring device told me it was 42 F. I felt that even with sunshine bathing me. Back inside, I asked the various digital prophets what the weather be like in Ashlandia on Sunda, April 13, 2025. All agreed it was going to be ‘more of the same’ — sunshine and clear blue sky — with a high of 74 F. As they used to say in another era, I can dig it.
I was thinking about words as I motored from coffee maker to kettle to sink to bowl to cat feeding station, doing the necessaries. The thinking about words came from thinking about news stories. For a while, I had Gloria Estefan and Miami Sound Machine performing their 1986 hit in the morning mental music stream, “Words Get In the Way”.
Then The Neurons abruptly pivoted. I can’t source the pivot’s origins. I only know that I began humming a different beat. A melody began rising, then new lyrics flowed into the morning mental music machine: Jesus Jones” with their 1990 techno-pop offering, “Real Real Real”. My mind seemed to be stuck in that period, 1986 – 1990. As it often happens with The Neurons and their mysterious ways (oh, now we have U2 in the music stream), there’s little explained.
Well, now I’ve slipped back to 1991. I remember when “Mysterious Ways” song was first heard for me. My wife and I were enjoying a Sunday morning on our apartment deck in Sunnyvale, California. We’d only lived there for seven months. The cats, Jade, Crystal, and Rocky, were sunning themselves and washing. We’d just finished a breakfast of fresh croissants, bought at Milk Pail Dairy and baked at home, and fruit, and were talking about what to do that day. It’s strange that this scene is so vivid for me. I have no idea what else we did that day. Memory is a funny thing.
Coffee has lived up to its commitment. Ready to rock another day. Sunlight is guiding my way. There’s a promise of a decent day. Hope you have the same. Cheers
Sunda’s Wandering Political Thoughts
Donald Trump declared “Liberation Day” on April 2, 2025. The phrase was used in conjunction with his ‘retaliatory tariffs’.
It reminds me of George Dubya Bush’s “Mission Accomplished” speech on the USS Abraham Lincoln. Given on May 1, 2003, six weeks after the U.S. led Iraq invasion, the Bush Administration backpedalled from the speech and the phrase. Dan Bartlett, Dubya’s communications director, said it was the ship’s banner. Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld claimed that he edited the speech and removed references to “Mission Accomplished”. Bush later stated in several different interviews that “Mission Accomplished” was a mistake.
History tells that the mission wasn’t accomplished as far as that disastrous war goes.
At the time of the president’s speech, Americans had yet to pay the main costs of the Iraq War. The years immediately following “Mission Accomplished” were the deadliest in the conflict, which has left 4,500 U.S. troops killed and over 32,000 wounded. American taxpayers can expect to pay nearly $3 trillion for the Iraq War through 2050 when factoring the costs of veterans’ care, war-related defense spending increases, and additional interest on the national debt.
On a strategic level, President Bush was even more pollyannaish. He declared that, in deposing Saddam, the U.S. had “removed an ally of al-Qaeda” and prevented terrorist networks from “gain[ing] weapons of mass destruction from the Iraqi regime.” These claims reinforced since-disproven narratives that there was a connection between Saddam Hussein and Osama bin Laden to begin with, or that the Iraqi government had weapons of mass destruction.
The key results of the invasion were two-fold: it empowered Iran to expand its influence in Iraq and across the Middle East by removing a check, and it aided our great power competitors, Russia and China, by distracting us in counterinsurgency operations for decades, delaying modernization programs, and wearing out our all-volunteer force and its strategic assets — such as the B-1 bomber fleet — from overuse.
In the days since that Bush speech, “Misson Accomplished” has often been employed in a mocking fashion. As in, “If you were trying to prove yourself ignorant, mission accomplished.”
As the Bush Admininistration did with the war in Iraq, Trump is using misinformation to convince us this is a great idea. Trump’s tariffs have introduced huge uncertainty. His thinking defies the lessons of history and economic theory. Trump will have you believe that the experts’ opinions that he’s wrong proves that he’s right.
I have doubts. Trump has always claimed to be the greatest. Evidence proves him otherwise. He says he’s a great negotiator. Evidence shows otherwise. He claims to be a brillant businessman. Multiple bankruptcies and failed businesses undermine that claim. Trump has instead proven that he’s an inveterate con man, master of spin, and consummate liar.
I believe that “Liberation Day” will join “Mission Accomplished” as a new mocking label in history. As it happened with “Mission Accomplished”, we’ll see in a few years what “Liberation Day” means to the United States and world.
Saturda’s Wandering Political Thoughts
A woeisme fugue is shrouding my mind.
“I give up.” My wife shook her head as she spoke. A heavy sigh followed. She explained that she spoke to her sister and niece yesterday. The two live in Florida. Both are intelligent and vivacious individuals. College educated. Democrats. Trump despisers. Sis is my age. She owns her own business. Daughter works in sales and marketing. Neither were aware that Trump had just passed his tariffs. Nor were they aware that the stock market had been dropping. They weren’t aware of most of the news that had my wife’s head spinning. In fact, her forty-year-old niece had decided that Thursday was the perfect day to invest in the stock market for the first time.
“My sister is a low-information person,” my wife said. “She’s always been like that. She used to be on top of her business dealings but now she’s moved away from those. She just wants to relax and not worry about things.”
I understand how my wife feels. We were shopping in Medford yesterday. Nobody seemed to be doing any prepping buying. In fact, the shoppers seemed like happy, oblivious people.
My wife had noticed this with her coffee group friends. Most seemed serenely oblivious to what Trump was doing. Several were planning their summer vacations.
“Is it just us and our tribe?” I wondered.
Maybe. My beer group members are acutely aware of what’s going on. It significantly depresses the female members. The male members are grim. But all have worried and wondered, what should we do to prepare?
“I don’t think most people know what’s going on,” my wife said. “And I don’t think they care.”
I agreed. “I don’t think they’ll notice until it hits them in the face. Then they’ll think, hey, what happened? Why is the national park closed? Did you see the state of that bathroom? It’s filthy! They’ll wonder why the water and sky is dirtier. They’ll try to buy a new car and will have sticker shock. They’ll try to eat out and discover businesses have closed, and those that are open will cost a lot more than they expected.”
My wife said, “You said one thing wrong.”
“What?”
“‘Then they’ll think.'”
And the band played on.
Michael Seidel, writer 