My wife and I and others were being chased by zombies. Fighting them off, we’d taken refuge in a large building. Seemed like some manner of old mansion, maybe. Don’t know.
During the fight, I’d managed to arm myself with two weapons. One was a large but old revolver. Basically, a six-shooter. The other was a modern 9mm handgun, black and cold.
I kept one in each hand as I met the new people, survivors like us. It was chaotic. I was edgy, tense, a little angry. People seemed to be doing stupid things, leaving doors and windows open. I kept going around, closing these things, looking for food, telling others to be careful.
They didn’t seem to be responding well to my comments. They weren’t angry or anything but seemingly oblivious. As I processed that, I concluded that I needed to establish a safe little place for me and my wife in that larger area, and went up some wooden stairs in such of such a place.
I kept my weapons with me. At one point, though, talking with another, I noticed that the revolver had some pink material. Opening the cylinder, I found that each round had the striking end covered in a bright pink wad of cloth, a safety thing I concluded, with some alarm. If I’d tried using that weapon, it probably wouldn’t have fired.
Meanwhile, I wondered, was the 9mm okay, or did it have something like that? But I’d seen the magazine and I thought I’d fired it once without problem, so I thought it was okay.
The dream ended with me trying to remove the pink wadding from the revolving.
Another dream from last night found my wife and I arriving on an island – not deserted but civilized, part of a nation.
We were younger, in our thirties. Don’t know why we were there, but we were returning.
After disembarking from a red and white ferry, we found our car, got in, and began driving home. Leaving the port parking area, we were behind a small, old, Army-green bus. I knew that the driver – a man about my age – had been on the same boat as me, along with a group of quiet, sullen children.
Both of us drove over and parked at a little office to get cleared to go. I arrived there, went in, got my paper and got clearance.
Back in my car with my wife, we prepared to go on. Watching that slow-moving old green bus, I said, “Oh, no, don’t get in front of us.”
He did, pulling slowly onto the narrow, paved road. The road had a few potholes and high berms where the shoulders had crumbled and the dirt washed away. The green bus belched dark smoke.
I figured I was in for a long, slow trip behind that bus. My wife and I talked about the bus. But the bus pulled over to the right. Getting out of the bus, the driver waved us down.
He asked, “Do you know how to get to Naha?”
“Naha?” My wife and I were surprised, taken aback.
He continued on his own, explaining, “I’m going to go fishing there.”
I thought, fishing at Naha? “Yes,” my wife and I answered, talking at the same time. I took the lead. “Keep going on this road. There’s a intersection where you go right. There’s a brown sign that says ‘Naha’ on.”
“Is it a big sign?” he asked.
I laughed. “No, it’s one of those little military signs.” He looked military so I guessed he would understand that. “It’s brown but it’s by itself. You won’t miss it.”
He walked away and my wife and I drove on. “Fishing at Naha?” we said back and forth, wondering, is he taking the children to go fishing at Naha? We could think of better places to go but that was his business.
The dream found me at home – not my real-life place – with my wife. I awoke to discover that she had hired people to fix the plumbing. Thick, dark dust filled the air from the work. Three men were going all through the house, looking at the pipes and changing things.
I was floored that my wife had apparently decided to do that without consulting me. “First that I’ve heard about it,” I huffed before going off.
Coming back later, the men were in another part of the house. The three were all older, with short hair, white skin, and wore coveralls. Weirdly, usually they stayed clustering, staring at the pipes and talking about what they were going to do.
I came across my wife in another room. Wrench in hand, she was working herself on plumbing in a bathtub. I was like, “What the hell?”
I noticed that she was working on the faucet and spigots but she was on the side of the tub and had the floor torn up; but the tub still had its faucet and spigots attached on the end. I wondered, is she putting in new ones on the side to make it easier for her? Or putting in a new tub? I didn’t.
Going outside, I saw that she had people working in the garden and was building something new out there. That worried me. I knew that she had evidence of crimes committed buried there. (I was thinking that it was a murder but I didn’t seem sure.) I went back and told her that I didn’t think that was a smart decision but she was busy with the pipes and didn’t respond.
Returning outside, I saw a large rock being moved; I knew that was crucial evidence. With a sigh, I also saw that a police detective I’d seen earlier was watching and saw the rock. A little later, the police began digging up the area.
I thought, my wife is going to be going away, because her DNA is all over that. That disappointed and saddened me but I also thought, I should be okay because my DNA won’t be there.
I did my ‘first of the month’ chores the other day. These include pouring things down into the bathtub to keep the sewer lines cleared, and running cleaners through the washing machine, dishwasher, and garbage disposal. We hunt for organic, safe things to do this with. I do them every month on the first day to keep it all working well.
That’s the dream, anyway.
All transpired as planned with everything except the washing machine. It stopped, showing an error message.
My wife pointed it out to me by asking, “What’s this mean?”
“What?”
“The washing machine isn’t doing anything. It shows ‘rL’ where it usually shows the time.”
I looked. Not because I didn’t believe her. It’s just habit: see for myself. Helps me shift into ‘maybe I can fix it’ mode.
She was right about what it said. The time is always in green. These letters were in red.
“That’s not good,” I wisely noted.
We pulled out the manual and found the error message. It’s specifically for the cleaning cycle and means, ‘something is in the washer’. Nothing is supposed to be in the washer during this process. The only thing in it is the tablet purchased for the purpose.
My wife and I talked about it. “This is what we used before,” we agreed. “It was never upset before.”
Shrugging, I took the standard modern technology route: turn it off, turn it back on.
Ashland, southern Oregon — Saturday, July 4, 2026.
Today is Independence Day in the US, another bright day in my valley, destined to be 90 plus degrees F.
Fireworks aren’t permitted in Ashland. They are allowed in our county, so there’s a storm going on about buying fireworks right outside of city limits. People then come in and set them off.
I’m one of those against fireworks. We’re in the middle of a drought, and they terrorize animals and some people. Each year, I bring my cats in and ensure they’re in a safe place. Papi heads to the darkest and most secure space, the walk-in closet in our bedroom.
I understand that people like the colors and noises. We have other tech that can be subbed for this ancient technology. I know, though, that change is slow around traditions like these.
For me, Independence Day has a very special meaning. I met my wife just a short week before the holiday. I was fifteen and she was fourteen. My father, then in the Air Force, was stationed at DESC, just outside of Wright-Patterson AFB in Ohio. I went to live with him after some run-ins with my stepfather.
Dad and my future father-in-law were good friends. Dad worked for him part time years before when stationed at Wright-Pat, trying to make extra money. When Dad returned after assignments in Vietnam, Germany, Iceland, and Turkey, they renewed their friendship.
I met my FIL, Jim, in May that year, 1971, on a fishing/camping trip. Then I met his wife and daughters in June. That was just a short drop by, though. It was on July 4th that my wife and I ‘really’ met.
Dad had given me an old watch after he bought a new one. I wore that all the time. Back when I met her and my wife and I were getting to know one another on July 4th, she asked me about my birthday. As it happens, it’s on July 5th.
My wife asked if she could see my watch. Then she refused to return it. She waited until after the fireworks. She waited until midnight. Then she presented my watch as a gift and told me, “Happy birthday.”
I lost the watch a long time ago, but I cherish her and the memory.
Today’s song is “Tiny Dancer” by Elton John. For the last twenty plus years while living in Ashland, we go to a friend’s house along the parade route to watch our town’s 4th of July parade. It’s a brunch potluck. Our host used to be our neighbor across the street here; when her husband passed away over a dozen years ago, she moved into a small cottage behind her daughter’s house. It’s our daughter’s house where we and about fifty other people congregate and celebrate.
Our host, though, is Barb, the neighbor from across the street, a sweet and charming but small 96-year-old woman. Her husband told me that he met his wife when she was a teenager. She was studying dance, already in college, and he was at college and walking, when he saw her alone on the bridge, dancing, late on afternoon. He didn’t know who she was but he knew he wanted to know her. Since hearing that story, I often call Barb “Tiny Dancer”. And that’s why the song is in the morning mental music stream.
I have you have a wonderful day, whether you’re celebrating the holiday in the US or elsewhere, or just enjoying life in another nation. I hope it gives you memories that make you smile, and comes with memories about what happened before, and full of people who help make your life a better place.
Hot is the word for today. 90 is our expected high. It’s sunny but windy, with a blue sky coping with several blue clouds.
It’s funny to me how Papi awakens me every morning at about 5:50. Today was a little later, 5:57. I wonder about the little clock in his head. More correctly, it seems to be a stomach alarm. “More food, please, hurry.” Which I do. Which he probably wouldn’t ask for if this habit hadn’t been established. Which came about with previous cats and my work schedule. Some things endure change. *smile*
I was looking at the area weather statistics for June. Although we ended on a cool streak, we were 2.5 degrees above average for the month. There were no days when we exactly hit the average.
My body, mind, and spirit feel very strong today. Thank you to everyone who took time to send me positive energy. Send it to others now more in need, please, as I’m doing good.
There’s no escaping Trump today. He’s encountered most days in this era, lying, gloating, boasting, mocking, demeaning. Too often, there’s an announcement accompanied by his smirking visage, and I just respond, ugh.
We have the terrible circumstances that a wealthy man interested only in himself ‘leading’ the government as we celebrate our nation’s beginnings. It feels like a low point. Yes, we’ve been polarized and demoralized before as a country. There have been scandals like Watergate, Contragate, Teapot Dome. There’s been crises like the Cuba Missiles Crises, and so many, many wars. Disasters were endured; pandemics. Assassinations. I didn’t live through many of these and rely on reports others made. I’m living through this, though, and I don’t like it.
What is funny is how fast and consistently MAGA pivots to cover Trump. They embrace his explanations and excuses, ignore his broken promises, and dismiss his lies and convictions in court as meaningless. As they depress me, I turn further and further away from their concerns…
In many ways, I think MAGAts are pretending that Trump speaks for them. They’re pretending that life under him is what they voted for and wanted. They pretend that he’s not misleading them, dismissing them, forgetting them as he grows wealthier and they often grow poorer. Weaker. Sicker.
The real question is, how will they feel when Trump is gone and their situation is not better for any of them except the wealthy? Who will they blame? Where will they turn?
As Trump is already ranked at or near the bottom of historic ratings, I believe that the Trump Era will gain a place in our nation’s history as a dark, low time.
With those of pretending populating my thoughts, The Neurons cranked up “Pretending” in the morning mental music stream. Eric Clapton wrote and recorded it but Jerry Lynn Williams wrote it. With lines like these, it feels right for this Trumpishly diminished day:
“How many times must we tell the tale? How many times must we fall? Living in lost memory you just recall.”
“That’s when I knew she was pretending. Pretending to understand.”
May you find joy and peace in your hours today, happiness in your night, and love in your heart.
An artificially-generated President Theodore Roosevelt managed to get in a few barbs at Donald Trump on Wednesday as the 80-year-old president sought to appropriate some of the 26th president’s glory.
After traveling to North Dakota alongside that state’s former governor, Interior Secretary Doug Burgum, to open Roosevelt’s presidential library, Trump was filmed interacting with an AI version of his predecessor, who had no choice but to talk to him.
~snip~
These are my favorite paragraphs. Teddy is responding to Trump after Trump talked about Teddy’s greatest achievement:
“The Panama Canal showed what America could achieve if we held steady and acted fast when the world dragged its feet. That said, I measure my greatest work by the lives improved, parks set aside, food and drugs made safe, the Square Deal given to all—not just to a few,” it told Trump, who has made sweeping budget cuts to the National Park Service.
The Trump administration has also made cuts to the Food and Drug Administration, which some critics argue will increase the chances of unsafe products being purchased.
Trump didn’t get it at all. Thinks he’s like Teddy and will go to his grave telling himself he is.
Like so many other nuances, it’s all beyond Trump.
Ashland, southern Oregon — Thursday, July 2, 2026.
It’s blue-sky Thursday. Admittedly, that’s the July norm for our parts. 61 F now, our high is jumping into the mid eighties today. There’s a good feel to the air. Papi and I sat back and sucked it up for a while. I went back in, and he commenced a vigorous pre-nap cleaning.
No smoke, either. I feel for places enduring wildfire and its smoke and its impact, such as Utah. I understand from my sisters that their area is insufferable due to high humidity and high heat. They’re trapped under that dome of dangerous heat affecting 160 million Americans.
I’m feeling so good today, it’s almost criminal. Had amazing dreams and a solid night of fantastic sleep.
Mom has been quiet. As has two of my sisters, on vacation. Hope it’s because all is well with all of them. Fingers crossed, knock on wood, etc.
What can we say about Trump and the news at this point that hasn’t been said? Empty promises, lying to promote himself, extending the Trump touch to everything, he gets wealthier while whatever he touches withers and collapses, decaying and fading.
Trump, though, feeds off others’ energy. He’s a strange, unusual creature. That’s why he likes to do rallies, have them all smiling hopefully up at him, agreeing with all he says as he spins stories about his greatness, ‘telling it like it is’.
Job numbers were down. Analysts expected 100K and only 57K were reported. Unemployment also ticked down but that’s because less people are participating in the work force. It’s at its lowest level since 2021. We won’t know what it all means for months but the people embroiled in it probably will tell you, “I know exactly what it means: the economy sucks.” The questions about why it sucks will rage on.
My wife told me of an interview with people in Florida that she watched. Asked about the economy and Trump’s increasing wealth, one said, “He’s not doing anything for the middle class but he’s certainly enriching himself.”
While I like hearing that from others, hoping it’s a sign that people are shifting from Trump, I read — but couldn’t vet — remarks from the MAGAsphere that Trump is so smart, and that’s why he’s making money. *gag*
More news came out about the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pond and Trump’s ‘renovations’, aka Algaegate. Now they’re saying toxic materials were used. Bad for the environment, but that’s never been a Trump worry, long as he has a golf course.
The Epstein files still haven’t been fully released. Although not fully financed, the Epstein ballroom construction rolls on. With Trump’s manhandling of it, the nation continues to stumble through the celebration of 250 years.
He is wrong, of course, but it’s not surprising that he believes it. Being told by staff, friends, and family would let him shrug it off, as they knew he wanted to do. As he’s not a student of law or history, neither of those aspects would affect him, either. Since his bottom line has and is always how can he make things better for himself, how he can make himself look better, and how he can make himself richer, he was happy to run with what he was being told.
As usual, Trump heard what he wanted to hear, so he could think what he wanted to think, and do what he wanted to do.
My thoughts this morning were a stew. Jobs reports, working people, the upcoming holiday, and the struggles with affordability. Tasting it as I stirred, The Neurons emerged with “Blue Collar Man (Long Nights)” by Styx. The 1978 song is all about working and making a living, and the determination to get ahead.
I’m off to other matters. Stay comfortable and safe, whatever conditions come at you, and go with grace and peace.
