Tag: Uncle Bill

Friday’s Theme Music

56 degrees F at this moment. Expecting the mid to upper 80s before the sun’s Ashlandia sojourn ends. It’s Friday, My 12, 2023.

Today’s heat is a prelude to a week of it. What irritates about many of these weather changes is how it jumps into hot weather and collapses into chilly weather with little warning. Why can’t we hit the middle ground and stay there for a while.

I know, I whine a lot. Everyone complains about the weather but nobody does anything. I said it here first…

I’m feeling better in a psyche way today. Dropped some anxiety and stress. I naturally gravitate to being those things although I’m weirdly known for being calm in an emergency. Three things resolved that were affecting my stress and anxiety. Got my retired military ID — now known as a an Identification and Privilege Card — issued at last. Been trying for almost a year. Picture looks pretty good, too. Look like a sea captain in it.

Second, first annual physical since I passed 65 years old. Hell, first annual physical in a looonnnggg time. Nothing untoward discovered. As part of my general hypertension, I suffer white coat syndrome. Getting the appointment out of the way was a relief although they IMMEDIATELY scheduled one for next year, so I’ve got THAT to worry about.

Third, sadly but painfully true, is that the death watch for Uncle Bill is over. Reminders of immortality, sadness about changes, another milestone in growing older all seen and felt with one strike.

I was watching my boy, Papi, an aloof ginger floof, as he watched the street traffic yesterday. He can’t help but get into a position to see what is making that noise? What is coming? Then, as the noise-maker closes in — runner, biker, walker — with or without dog — street cleaner, he turns and flees to the porch’s safety, hides behind a post and leans around, continue to watch. If he sees me watching, he comes over to be let in, and then walks around the house demanded to be let outside. The back door is open this morning, letting him come and go.

Weird song The Neurons thrust into the morning mental music stream. From 1967, it’s called “Tin Soldier” by Small Faces (not to be confused with “One Tin Soldier”, which is a totally different song). The roots to hearing it today aren’t clear. Although I had disturbing dreams, I can’t pinpoint anything from them which would call the song out. My best guess is that the mid to late 1960s was time spent around Uncle Bill, so the The Neurons expanded the sphere, bringing this song in.

Stay pos, if you can. Can be difficult, I understand. I think a cuppa coffee is in order for me now. Let the pouring commence. Here’s Small Faces. See you on the flipside.

Cheers

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Thursday’s Theme Music

Well, the sky is blue and ripe with sunshine. It’s fine weather, even though Uncle Bill passed away at midnight last night. Heart failure. He was a good person and being related to him is an honor. Not much else I can but celebrate his life and go on.

It’s 62 F right now. 75 F is expected later today, 80 Friday, 90 — some say 97 — an Saturday, kicking off a week of temperatures dancing between highs in the upper 80s to mid 90s. Appears summer is crowding into May. This is May 11, 2023.

It’s also my older sister’s birthday. Happy b’day, sister! She’s two years older than me and about eight inches shorter, and I’m only 5’8″. She’s a grandma several times over and living the life in a suburb outside of Atlanta, Georgia.

Learning of Uncle Bill’s end of life encouraged The Neurons with a 1986 Phil Collins song, “Take Me Home”. I may not be alone in this, but I’d loved to be back in that time when I regularly saw Uncle Bill, and he was young, and I was younger, and both of had forever ahead of us. Death is natural and regular, but always stirs memories up from the well’s bottom and yearning for the times and places I most enjoyed.

On a lighter note, got my new military ID today. Yes, I’m retired, but the card ‘expired’ when I turned 65, something put in place to force retirees to sign up for Medicare, which becomes the primary healthcare for vets of a certain era. Getting the card is hard. Limited places to get it in Oregon. Local Medford guard unit provides walk-in service. Well, that’s easy, isn’t it? No. The onerous system complicates matters. People line up, waiting to get in, as he goes through the process of connecting, entering data, verifying info, registering fingerprints, taking the photo, and then finally printing out the new card and verifying that its chip works. Today was my ninth visit to get ‘er done. Tried too, when I was in PA last year, where they are by appointment only. No appointments were available at any of the three nearby sites. Morgan, the infantry man who mans the office, shared several horror stories about people’s efforts to get a new card. Congratulations to him, too, who is retiring after twenty, but staying on to do the same job as a civilian. He seems pretty pleased.

Have some coffee and stay pos. Enjoy your life and forge ahead as you can. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Sunday’s Theme Music

It’s Sunday, May 7, 2023, in Ashlandia. Sunrise and sunset are at least fourteen hours apart but rain veils keep sweeping over us, diminishing our enjoyment of the rain, to some degree. Rain provides us with convenient excuses for staying in and reading books, like we ever need an excuse. It’s 55 F now but the weather troops tell us that we might warm up into the mid-sixties today. Rain and cool weather will continue until Friday.

We remain on deathwatch for my Uncle Bill. Dad’s youngest sibling, Bill will be the first of the give siblings to pass. His two female siblings, Jean and Jan, made their way back to Pittsburgh, PA, where Bill lives to see him.

It’s an interesting scenario. Dad was 15 n 1947. Lying about his age, he enlisted in the national guard. Though questions were asked, he was permitted to serve. Tracing matters, I realized that Bill was two years old when Dad left home. He’d never spent significant time with his youngest. Oddly, it’s almost the same with me. I left Mom and my siblings when I was fifteen. The youngest sister had not yet entered school.

I’m ashamed about how little I know about Uncle Bill. I haven’t seen him in forty-five years. His sister told me he was a straight-A student in high school and college. I don’t doubt it. He’s always been personable, friendly, quick with a joke, ready to grin. I knew of his heart problems by the time I graduated high school. Bill never talked about it but I heard again and again that he’d be lucky to live to be middle-aged. Now, after open-heart surgery, a pace maker, and six heart attacks, he awaits death at 79 years old. I’ve seen him drink beer but I’ve never seen him drunk. He loved cars and I often admired cars as his vehicles were often a muscle car.

I don’t know what music he likes. He was never listening to it or talking about it in my presence. He loved baseball, especially the Pittsburgh Pirates. That’s what dominated the radio when he had control. One of my favorite childhood memories revolve around baseball, Dad, and Uncle Bill. The Pirates were in the world series, battling the Yankees. A gorgeous Sunday, we were at Grandma and Grandpa’s house, cleaning the windows and screens, and washing and waxing cars while listening to the game on a transistor radio. The Pirates won that day. Bill was ecstatic.

Dreams drive my music today. They were complicated and dizzying. As I emerged from journaling about them, The Neurons popped Madonna into the morning mental music stream. “Live to Tell” was written for a movie, At Close Range. Released in 1986, the movie starred her husband of the time, Sean Penn. The dream and song connections are detailed and complex. I’m not ready to delve into all that today.

Stay pos. It’s afternoon now — had to go down the road for groceries and things this morning — so I’ve had coffee, thanks, along with breakfast and lunch. Here’s the music. Let Sunday roll. Cheers

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