Tag: travel

Thirstdaz Theme Music

Cold and dark outside on this Thirstda morning. We’re in the airport, listening for the call to board, packed close to others in the same situation. Conversations rock and roll, mostly one end of cell calls. I’m ready for more sleep. My wife sits tight against me, watching like a bird, observing with sharp eyes. It’s October 23, 2025. 40 F outside. Our trip home has begun.

Today’s music came out of nowhere. I don’t understand what The Neurons had in mind when the entrance to the morning mental music stream and “Champagne Supernova” by Oasis was allowed to flow in. I think about the words, and that refrain, “Where were you while we were getting high?” I think too, of the exultation that, “But you and I, we live and die, the world’s still spinnin’ round, we don’t know why, why, why, why, why.” I like the song’s flows. It’s soft, reflective gentleness at the beginning, like lapping the waves. The hammering, conflicting guitars challenging one another, escalating with the vocals later. Then the gentle fall at the end as the last line repeats over and over with different inflections, “We were getting high.” It’s all about life and courses, and changes to me, how some things lift us up and other matters dump us, and how we sometimes feel different and alien from others. But almost all of us play with those ideas about ourselves, I think, as we slip and slide on the spectrum of being, of what we are, where we’ve been, and where we’re going.

Goodness, that’s a lot of thinking and typing before having any coffee. Done worn me out.

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Wenzdaz Wandering Thoughts

Thinking about my travel packing this morning. Long ago, I developed a habit of packing my toilet bag a few days before I leave. Then I use my toiletries from it as though I’m in a hotel room. In that way, I sometimes realize something was overlooked, and I’m not rushing through packing it at a later time. This is all my own in that I’ve never read about it, subject to memory limitations. I’ve never mentioned it to others till now, either. Wouldn’t surprise me to learn that others do the same.

Follow me for more tips about drinking beer and coffee.

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Wenzdaz Theme Music

Another Wenzda has shifted in. It’s October 22, 2025. We’re getting into October’s last legs. Trees are still lively with colors. That huge old oak across the street hasn’t begun shedding yet. When it does, a blizzard of gold will fall to the winds. Meanwhile, seeing its high golden leaves up against the sky’s purest blue refreshes me, and adds depths to my contemplation of what in the world is going on. Now 46 F with the heater on in the house, sunshine, a front, and clear sky will help Ashlandia breach the low seventies today.

Mosquitoes found in Iceland for the first time, says a headline. Well, surely that’s a one off. They just had some record heat. The story says that Iceland and Antarctica were the only places without skeeters. Now there’s just the southern ice cap. I hear it’s been warming and shrinking, so set your calendars. I evaded stories about bomb threats, cars ramming buildings, and other signs of increasing unrest and violence in the U.S. With familiar weariness, I read about Trump rambling through another nonsensical conversation and temper my rage that this is accepted as okay by GOP senators and his donors and minions. I slipped past war updates from Ukraine and edged around the shooting involving a marshal, ICE, and another person, who was supposed to be ‘an immigrant’. Some flirting was done with the tale of the AWS outage that crashed parts of the web over the last several days. My heart and mind were wary of delving into those stories without coffee’s strength first.

The packing for our trip is done. Papi’s minder moves in tomorrow morning. I will miss my furry orange friend. A taxi will whisk us away like refugees in the night. Fingers crossed, etc., by this time tomorrow we’ll be aloft in one of aerospace machines, heading east for Mom’s birthday, seeing family, etc. Sis sent photos of Mom’s new lair. She included the little electric fake fireplace Mom had in her living room. Mom and Frank bought it an estate sale and were so happy with it. I know Mom will find comfort in having it on, warming the air and her heart.

Dad’s birthday is next week. Day after Mom’s, the day before Mom’s late brother, a few weeks after my late mother-in-law, and a week after my brother-in-law. Anyway, I wrote Dad a letter this morning, thanking him for what he’s done for me, telling him how much I enjoy our telephone conversations and laughing with him, etc. Afterward, The Neurons felt it appropriate to insert Dido’s song, “Thank You”, in the morning mental music stream. So here we go.

May peace and grace find their way back to us. Many wonder if they still exist. I believe it’s still being cultivated in many places where protections are in place to keep it from being smashed. Till then, roll on. Cheers

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Twozdaz Wandering Thoughts

My wife and I are traveling east in October to attend Mom’s 90th birthday celebration. I bought my airline tickets this morning. I have twenty-four hours to cancel them without punishment.

Wasn’t a pleasant process. I’ll put it out up front is that part of this is that we do fly first class. It is elitest, I guess, because we can afford it. Not really our choice, though, I’m gonna claim. My wife and I are naturally frugalish. That comes from parents who were tight with pennies, people who emerged from rural areas where the depression lingered a while. They taught us not to waste money. Then, in the military, enlisted in the 1970s through 1990s, we were solid lower middle-class earners. We’re not wealthy but we’re comfortable, yet my wife and I remain ‘natural savers’.

So saying, “Let’s fly first class,” goes against our grain. But, my wife suffers medical conditions. That’s one. Stack the airline propensity to squeeze us into tinier and tinier spaces to minimize their costs and maximize profits and executive bonuses, and you can understand why we spend the cash on first class.

Going first class automatically limits a lot of options. They aren’t many first-class seats. Usually just a few rows. On many aircraft, the last row of first-class seats do not recline or recline only a little. That severely limits the comfort level, in our experience, so that last row is out. Well, usually. That gets complicated. It’s like that on some aircraft and some airlines.

Then there’s the matter of the first row. They typically lack storage. If you’ve flown, you know that the standard storage for people is under the seat in front of them. Guess what the first row lacks? That’s right, a seat in front of you. That means your belongings must be stored elsewhere. Typically, that’s in the overhead bin, but that requires you to get up to get it. Yet if you have bad weather, you can’t just get up and get things at will.

I know, it’s a lot of complaining, isn’t it.

I’m not done.

We live in southern Oregon. Our airport is Medford. It’s a small airport. We’re flying across the nation to Pittsburgh, PA. That means we must go through hubs. San Francisco, Seattle, Salt Lake City, Denver, and Portland are the main hubs for us out of Medford. So, what time do we want to leave?

We’ve learned from nasty past flights that going early is the best option. That’s because so many friggin’ flights get canceled or delayed. Going early gives us more options when things go awry.

Then, though, there are the layover time gaps. One fight offers five hours in an airport. Another offers six minutes between flights. Six minutes. How the hell are you expected to raise from gate to gate in that time? It’s bullshit, innit?

So, those are the basic parameters for trying to cope with cost, times, space, distance, health, comfort, etc. Whatever we do, a long day is guaranteed. The best we can do is try to make it as easy as possible.

Even though the airlines seem to be actively against that sometimes. Label this as first-world blues.

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The Travel Dream

I was traveling on a large boat. It almost seemed like an enormous barge. Rusted and worn with use, it was safe but old, tired, and without comfort. It was also packed with fellow travelers. Most were women. I knew some, and my wife was among them.

The barge sailed on a rippling brown river so wide that the banks couldn’t be seen. We’d been traveling for days and getting close to the end. While many rode along as gossiping, resting passengers, I had a role of keeping things as organized as possible. This had me racing around. I was often on metal walks above the rest, and would look down and see what was going on as I rushed from task to task.

At one point, I was forced to go down among them. I’d stripped off clothing because I was hot. Wearing only my boxer shorts, I couldn’t find my clothes.

I didn’t care. It was important that I go down and do what was needed. My arrival in my underwear drew attention and comments. I shrugged them off. I overhead my wife undertaking explanations about ‘who I was’, but that didn’t matter to me.

Abruptly, we arrived and disembarked in a chaotic surge. I found myself driving a powerful white sedan filled with people. Racing away from the docks on surface streets, I saw a speed limit sign, 80 MPH. Stepping on the accelerator, I merged with traffic onto a huge white cement Interstate. We were going down a short hill through a curve. Ahead was an enormous hill and multiple exits listed. I called out to my wife, who was in the back seat, for instructions about where to go, demanding, “Which exit do I need to take?”

She replied, “I don’t know, I haven’t been paying attention.”

That infuriated me. I wanted to verbally berate her but then thought, why wasn’t I paying attention?

Dream end.

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Dark Day

In a blow to many, ‘our’ Starbucks is closing. Starbucks announced this week that they’re closing one percent of its US locations. Today I learned that this one is on the list. Besides this one, two Starbucks are closing in Medford, up the road.

My thoughts first go to the employees. They’ve always been great people, regardless of the corporation hiring them, energetic, intelligent, personable. With other locations closing, getting relocated to another will be a challenge for them.

Second, this will be a blow to the Ashland homeless. This location has always been hospitable to homeless beings and their needs, offering warmth and shelter from rain and snow, and a place to recharge phones and get a glass of water.

The local economy will take a hit from this. Tax revenues will diminish. Unemployment will rise. And we all have one less place to go for coffee and socializing.

For me, this is the fourth coffee shop location to fail while I’ve lived in Ashland. First up was The Beanery. Ironically, it’s location is right across the street from this Starbucks, which was a bank back then. Just a mile from my house, it was my habit to walk to the Beanery and back almost daily, get coffee, socialize a little, write a lot. Great people worked there, too, and the other customers helped create an uplifting vibe. The coffee and pastries were monstrously good, too. It was my routine for over nine years. It ended when The Beanery abruptly closed in May, 2015.

Adjusting, I began frequenting the Boulevard Coffee. The walk was longer, two miles, but it, too, offered a friendly place for a coffee-seeking writer, a place to work and linger. Run by Allison and her husband, it ceased business suddenly in January of 2021. After that, I shifted to Key of C, but it shut down, and then the downtown Starbucks was tried. Both of those were a 2.4 mile walk each way. Other coffee shops opened and were tried, but all shut down. Next up came Noble’s Coffee. It’s still open but it’s further away, and it’s packed. Many times, I wedged myself into part of a counter space to work, hurrying to a table when it came open. That was a frustrating experience.

The pandemic was in full swing by then. I began coming here, to this Starbucks, when businesses began cautiously re-opening with spaces between us. It was basically my only choice. RoCo opened up, a good local place, and I’ll probably shift to there. Smaller, more crowded, it’s not as conducive to my needs and desires. Or, I’ll go back to Noble’s.

This business space will be available. It’s a good location, less than half a mile from here, a middle school, and an elementary school. It’s just a mile from Interstate 5, and draws a lot of business from travelers.

Who knows what will open here? As the manager told me this morning about this Starbucks, its volume doesn’t bring in enough to make the rent. That’s a common problem here, as local landlords gouge businesses. Something else will probably open. A coffee shop? Maybe. Who knows. When is a more difficult question. We have multiple empty business locations in Ashland as tourism, our main industry, takes hit after hit.

Like the employees and other customers, I’ll adjust. It won’t be the same; it never is. But sometimes it works out and becomes a place that’s not the same, but just as good.

I will miss this place. I’ll really miss the people.

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The 503 Dream

I was with two others. We were on a black and white train. Very long but familiar, I never knew the train’s entirety but understood that it was a bullet train.

Coming into a station, I covertly leaped from the train. My goal was door 503. Reaching it, I slipped in, grabbed a syringe, and hurried back out. Outside, I looked around for authorities. With none seen, I tossed the syringe to my compatriot. With the syringe caught, he went into a train compartment. I knew he was administering something from the syringe. Impatiently, I urged him, hurry, worrying about being discovered, concerned about the train leaving the station.

My other companion came out with the syringe. He threw it back to me. I caught it and returned it to room 503, then managed to jump onto the train as it began moving. I thought I saw a soldier or police agent watching me. When I turned for a better look, they were gone.

Back in the train, my companions and I found each other and went to a private place to speak. Ensuring we were alone, one companion, younger, but white like me, with like dark, curly hair, gave an update. The shot had helped. More is still needed. I related that I thought I saw someone spying on me, and that worried me. After discussing risks, we concluded that we’d still need to get more for our friend. We’d need to be more careful, more watchful.

The train pulled into the next stop. One of my friends and I stepped off the train. The police presence was immense. We gave one another furtive, questioning looks. With time ticking, I decided to risk getting the syringe with the realization that we might not be able to get it back into the room. If that happened, the loss could be discovered. That would probably result in greater vigilance and security. All that troubled me.

I hurried away, looking for room 503. Just as I found it, I spotted a police officer following. Pretending to go elsewhere, I stole away to watch and wait for an opening. When the officer turned away, I hustled to 503. Breaking in, I grabbed a syringe and ran back out.

My companion was not in sight. Police were. I hid the syringe and fretted. At last I saw one of the others. With a glance around, I tossed the syringe to him.

He fumbled the catch. I gasped in horror, worries skyrocketing through me. He managed to find and pick up the syringe and then scurried away. The train issued a warning sound that it was time to go.

Dream end

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Twozdaz Wandering Political Thoughts

My thoughts are drawn to our local political scene. Ashlandia is a small town, dependent on tourism for most of its business revenue. Ashlandia is home to the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, which puts on several plays from March to November. A local university, Southern Oregon University, supplements the employment base by hiring people for its needs. Adjacent to rivers and a ski resort helps draw more tourism for us. We also have multiple local breweries and wineries. Other than that, we’re mostly restaurants, coffee shops, a couple bookstores, head shops selling THC and CBD products, and several grocery stores.

With tourism down, we’ve been struggling as a town. Tourism was driven down over ten years ago by droughts which lasted several years ago, deepening into a serious problem which called for water rationing, followed by smoke pollution from wildfires. Plays were cancelled due to these threats. Outdoor activities were curtailed. Then the pandemic struck, with all that it delivered to the table. Finally, Trump has struck. Just as tourism was beginning to rebound, his xenophobic policies and tariffs take another axe to our numbers. Local services were also curtailed due to grant cuts and budget cuts. SOU enrollment is down…again. Tuition is up…again. SOU programs and classes were cut…again.

With all this afflicting us, the city was strapped for cash and has a budget deficit. Besides those issues, we also have a homeless problem. Trump’s cuts did us no favors on that front.

Into this cauldron of difficulties come our local government leaders. Their solutions.

  1. Cut back on park maintenance and add service fees to local utility bills to make up the parks deficit.
  2. Build a new park. Mind you, they’re short of funds to take care of the existing parks, but WTH.
  3. Shut down the senior center and pool. Because they’re short of funds, they couldn’t hire the people needed to keep those open. But let’s build a new park that we don’t have the money to maintain.
  4. Give BIG pay raises to the city management staff, especially the city manager. Because, hey, with this budget deficit, revenue down, and tourism down, we need to ensure they’re better compensated than We the People, the Ashlandia denizens.
  5. And let’s cut essential service staff after giving those pay raises because you know, less people are better. We’ll also cut the hours to the utility and city offices because we need to cut expenses.

They even, from time to time, talk about doing away with the police department because it costs too much.

The city manager states, without evidence, that the new park will draw tourists. Ashland already has Lithia Park, Hunter Park, Garfield Park, Clay Street Park, and a half dozen more. Their facilities are being closed because of budget deficits. Sure, the water park shut off the water this summer because we lacked the funds for the water and staff to run it, and Mountain Park is mostly closed for the same reason, but let’s build another park to draw more tourists.

That makes a lot of sense. Not.

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Satyrdaz Theme Music

Welcome again to Satyrda, home this month to August 30, 2025. The sky is blue but small white clouds are sneaking in, then slowing to loiter, waiting for other clouds. I think they’re up to something. 61 F now, we’re peeking at a coolish day, with a high of just 91 F. Smoke free, our Air Quality hovers around 28, a solid green and healthy showing.

My sis-in-law and her boyfriend of six months are visiting this week. They met through a senior dating app. My wife is already annoyed with the new BF. He’s rejected all advice and insights offered but then asks for more advice. They’re arriving in SFO and driving up to Eureka for a night. Then they’re driving on to our place via Highway 101 and 199. They’re staying in a spa resort that’s actually outside of the town. Little is around it except a car dealership. We suggested places in town to stay where they can step out the front door and enjoy our small city. No; BF didn’t want that. They also specified no hiking and no walking, no river floats, no boat rides. They want to drive to Crater Lake, drive around it, and then back. Okay. Then, after three nights here, they’re driving to Carmel, south of San Francisco. O-kay. Sounds like a plan. Not a fun one, to me. They’ll be in a car quite often. We shall do what we can to provide them with good memories and a pleasant visit.

Today’s music is “Desire” by U2. Papi the ginger blade prompted it with a request for his special treats. Checking out Trump’s plans and disgusted by his love of money, The Neurons agreed that “Desire” is a good choice and thrust it into the morning mental music stream. After all, the band sings, “For the love of money, money, money, money, money.” For the love of money, power, and adulation, Trump and the GOP will do anything except anything good. Their love of money and power perverts their sense of justice and stacks their sense of entitlement and privilege to higher levels. Nothing is beneath them in their pursuit of money and power. Just when I think they can’t be an crappier as human beings, they lower the bar.

Hope that grace and peace find and hold you today and always. Coffee has found me once again. Here we go, onward. Cheers

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Two Dreams to Mention

In the first dream, I was traveling with friends and my wife. A small group, I don’t know the travel’s purpose nor the means. At one point, we encountered a storm. Seeking refuge, we found a house. The house unlocked. We went inside. It was solid, warm and comfortable, but completely unfurnished. There was one book in there. A soft-cover trade book, it was open to a page.

We decided we’d stay there and outwait the storm. Meanwhile, we each went by and checked out the book. I don’t recall any name, title, or colors associated with it. But when we each read the book, we discovered it was different for each of us. I thought it was a thriller/adventure. Someone else thought it was a cookbook. Another deemed it a book of poetry. I read through the book quickly but when I came back to look at it again, it was a different book. It looked exactly as it had and was still open to a page, but its contents were completely different.

We’d stayed in the house longer than planned. Although no food was there, we didn’t get hungry. In fact, we were all in very good moods. Despite the lack of furniture, we were well rested. But we decided to move on if the weather was good. The weather was good. After going out and looking around, I realized we were in a different location. Another noticed that the season was changed. Trying to figure out what was going on, we went back into the house. Through testing and talking, we concluded that the house was a time machine and also moved through space. (Yes, like Doctor Who‘s TARDIS, except this was a house, not a phone box.)

A young couple, people we didn’t know, arrived. Like us, they were taking refuge from a storm, We decided not to tell them what we’d learned, to see what they discovered on their own. Then we’d compare notes.

Dream end.

In the second dream, my wife and I were sitting at a small metal table by the side of a road. Another woman was with us. We were chatting. The table was right off the road’s shoulder and the road was lousy with traffic. At one point, my wife saw a big box truck coming. As it went by, she said, “Oh, there’s the artichoke man. I want to catch him and tell him something.”

Leaping up, she ran after the truck. I was wondering if she caught him and what she was telling him, when a second artichoke truck, identical to the first, roared up the road. This was on a hill and a tight curve. He was going way too fast. The driver slammed on his brakes. He went into a skid and fishtailed hard into a hillside. My wife’s body went flying through the air. She landed on some rocks on her back, her head dangling backwards, unmoving.

I leaped up. A car went by, down the hill, oblivious to the scene. Shouting at the person at the table, “Call 911, call 911,” I looked up the hill. People were running to help the truck driver and another car involved in the accident. I sprinted toward my wife, thinking, I’ll check for her pulse and look for breathing, but I don’t think I should move her.

Dream end.

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