Tag: weather

Thursdaz’s Theme Music

The sixth day of February has boarded our minds in the year of 2025 CE, a Thursdaz. Crazy frog — our home’s expression for freezing fog, based on a mondetext — has stolen the sunlight, gifting us twilight colors of, gray, white, and black. No snow falling but ‘they’ are warning us that more is on the way. It’s 32 F and greater warmth isn’t anticipated. Snow might be on the way. Or rain.

The primary roads have been plowed here but get off them and yer on yer own. Sidewalks on not cleared, so people must walk on the streets. Everyone gives pedestrians on the roads wide passage but given the environment, I imagine people walking worry with every step about someone losing control of their vehicle.

Weather caused cancellation of my first two lymphedema massage therapy sessions. Another one is scheduled for tomorrow. Also have an appointment for Papi the ginger blade, aka butter butt, Meep, and butter booger, to see what’s going on about his fur shedding.

The Ban Man is at it. Trump bans with a petulant thump. “Ban transsexuals in women’s sports.” Thump. “If I can’t have fun and play sports, neither can they.” “Ban DEI. I’m a rich white guy, born into a wealthy white household. I don’t understand how that was an advantage over others.” Thump. “Ban it all, everything that isn’t me.” Thump.

Of course, the craziness of the first term is still flowering. ‘The U.S. will take over Gaza. Move the Palestinians out.’ What? Friggin’ nuts. Then his ‘team’ scrambles to make it sound sane, plausible, and supported by everyone, and then Trump realizes how nuts he sounded and tries to change what he said. Brother.

It was a busy morning. Friend called to ask advice about his ailing cat. Another called for help with his recalcitrant computer. And, caught up with Mom drama via texts with Mom and a sis. Mom fell again. She refuses assistance and she’s been at war with her live-in boyfriend for months. She’s 89 and he’s 94. I have never witnessed him be anything but polite and nice to her but she declares him mean. My siblings and I have a lifetime of Mom so her claims draw leeriness as a first response. It’s unfortunate but she’s been married multiple times and has had several boyfriends, and drama is her drug. She makes everything contentious with everyone. It’s a sigh-inducing relationship with her.

With that gray-tinged white world staring back at us, it’s no surprise that The Neurons pulled a Cream song, “White Room”, into the morning mental music stream. It’s a Cream favorite o’ mine. A poet, Pete Brown, was responsible for the lyrics, which strike many as enigmatic. I think iyhat pushes me to look inside myself.

My favorite part is this stanza, followed by the chorus.

You said no strings could secure you at the station
Platform ticket, restless diesels,goodbye windows
I walked into such a sad time at the station
As I walked out, felt my own need, just beginning

[Chorus]
I’ll wait in the queue when the trains come back
Lie with you where the shadows run from themselves

h/t to genius.com

I like the way the stanza is belted out, angry, defiant, challenging, before the softly resigned introspection presented by the chorus.

Then, too, there are three phenomenal rock performers demonstrating their craft with bass guitar, lead guitar, and drums. Awesome.

Coffee and I introduced ourselves to one another again and I’m indulging in more caffeine-infused dark goodness. Hope your day offers some escape from the world’s woes and some satisfaction to your plans. Cheers

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Wenzda’s Theme Music

Greetings from snowy Ashland. It’s Wenzda, February 5, 2025. Our first snowstorm of 2025 came in, kicked our asses, stamped its feet, and moved on.

The entire time that it snowed, there was no wind. The snow fell straight down. The temperatures hung between 31 and 33 degrees. When the snow ceased late yesterday afternoon, the light shifted. Rosy hues colored the snow. Probably sunset from behind clouds, I speculated. Then, it all went gray.

Next, the temperature, released from its obligation to remain at freezing while the snow fell, shed nine degrees in three hours. Clouds now sail through blue skies and sunshine. Trees and utility lines are shedding large clumps of melting snow. It’s up to 29 degrees F. A high of 38 F is possible, ‘they’ tell us. When all the snow stopped falling, my yard was buried under 14 inches.

Watching all that snow falling yesterday, my wife summarized the day well for us: “I guess it’s good to be retired and not need to go anywhere.”

Yes, good thing, because the storm dropped a ton of chaos on our little town. White stuff falling from the sky really confused people’s sensibilities. Didn’t help that the city on which we depend on services seemed really confused by what was happening. Or maybe it was people out sick, miscommunications, or people overcome with two much going on. Roads weren’t getting plowed — no, some roads were getting plowed. Several roads were plowed over and over while other roads, particularly on the newer south end of town, didn’t see plows at all. For the record, our road was just plowed for the first time. It’s not a major matter, as it’s not that long and only has about forty houses on it.

FB photo of I-5 in the valley not far from Ashland. If you zoom in on the road, you’ll see what looks like a train. Those are actually semis stopped in traffic because the Interstate is closed.

Other factors threw complications into the mix. Trees and branches found new resting places on the ground. So did power lines. People who lived on hills parked down where the roads were flat and walked home. Snow convinced some folks to just stop their cars where they were and walk away.

Without much local media, we were at a disadvantage. The city did nothing to bridge that gap. We have an emergency text message system but that wasn’t engaged much, other to say, “It’s snowing. Stay home.” Our best tool turned out to be Facebook. Friends in three other parts of town reported their situation. Between the four of us, we could compare notes and track developments.

One thing that puzzled my household as we surveyed activities from our window: why were so many people out in light jackets without hats and gloves?

But it’s over. Lessons learned? Probably not.

Our snowstorm stirred memories of another snowstorm. This one was in 1978. I’d just returned from a tour of duty in the Philippines. My wife was living with her family in WV while I was overseas. Now, with me back in the U.S., we bought a car and were driving to a new duty location by San Antonio, Texas. A huge blizzard struck. We made the decision to get the hell out of there and drove several hundred miles through blinding snow.

Thinking back on that time, I looked through a pop list, remembering songs. I’d been overseas. This was pre-Internet, pre-satellite TV, etc. When I returned to the U.S., I felt a deep disconnection with the nation. Looking at a list of songs from that time, I saw “Follow You Follow Me”. I know the song but there’s no memories connected to it, much like a lot of music I know from that period. It’s just there, floating in my mind, unmoored to anything.

One good thing emerging from the two snow days for us is that we used the time to clean the oven and pantry. My wife was the major mover on the pantry, emptying it, tossing outdated stuff, wiping the shelves. I only helped with the reorg and handing things to her.

The bad thing about the snow days is that she kept getting sucked into the bad news cycle. Infuriating to watch the checks and balances disintegrating in the face of GOP complicity.

Coffee and I have ran into each other in the kitchen, so we sat and had a cup to talk about the day. Hope you enjoy a good one. Cheers

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Twosda’s Theme Music

Today is Twosda, Feb. 4, 2005. It’s 33 F outside in Ashlandia and ‘they’ are suggesting our high temp will be in the upper thirties.

You want snow? We got snow. Wet, heavy snow. Eight to ten inches of it surrounds my house. Far as I can see across the neighborhood, that’s the same for them. It’s like Nature had a to-do list to deliver snow to us in January. Then, realizing that hadn’t crossed off the list, made up for it with one super load. More snow is falling as I write.

Trees and bushes are bending the knee under the snow’s oppressive weight. Trees have gone down, taking power lines. We endured two short power outages. Each lasted just long enough to reset everything. Others were not so lucky and missed power for four or five hours. More disturbing, shelters weren’t open for the homeless. Reasoning for that varies: no volunteers for it said one place while the city shelter said, it’s contracted to an outside organization and is only open at night. Because, it said, other places like the library are open in the day. That’s the kind of irritating thining that has us rubbing our faces and sighing. I remember this discussion and the objections, but what if the library and those other places are forced to close? That was tutted aside. Sure, let’s plan for the best scenarios, and not the worse.

We also have multiple vehicle accident and stuck vehicles. Been a while since we’ve had snow and it shows. While we have four snowtrucks and drivers to plow the roads, little of that seemed to be done yesterday.

Schools are closed and classs are canceled, if you’re wondering. Not even doing it over the net. And I will also stay home. Write here, if I can. Well, I can, but sometimes *ahem* my household’s other occupants are oblivious to the writing process *ahem*. Yes, I’m whining. I’ll endure and get sumpin’ done.

The Neurons have pulled up a 1992 song and slipped into into my morning mental music stream. I played it once before, in 2021, during COVID shutdowns, when we were social distancing. “These Are Days” is by 10,0000 Maniacs. It’s a song about things happening that you’ll remember and look back upon. It’s an upbeat song about having happy times and remembering them.

Ironically, of course, the song came to me as I perused news that sickened me about what’s being done, supposedly to counter ‘woke’ ideology’, by the Trump administration. ‘These are they days.’ Decades of progress, plans, actions, and history are being chewed up and spit out because it’s ‘not aligned’ to Trump’s values and visions. His efforts are about as misguided as the invasion of Iraq over WMDs that didn’t exist, attacking them over Iraq’s part in an attack on the U.S. that they didn’t do, and is as deep in understanding as relabeling French fries as ‘freedom fries’. I remember, too, that George Dubya Bush claimed afterward that they never said there was a link between Saddam Hussein and the 9/11 attacks. Rewriting history. Look at the toll of that war.

And here we go, down another dark, more twisted rabbit hole.

And cue sigh. Here’s the music.

Two last comments before closing. One is about the War in Iraq. I had a friend who commented a few years after the war, they had us all fooled.

That pissed me off. No. They did not. There was a large segment of us who were not fooled. We raged against the war. We marched in the streets, wrote letters, held vigils, and tried to tell the rest of you. You laughed and dismissed us.

The other comment is that many disparaged President Biden’s efforts to address COVID-19. They raged that President Biden was destroying the United States. Yet, we ended up in better shape than most, with fallig unemployment, an improving economy, and a rising stock market (for what that’s worth). But Trump cheerleaders bemoaned the price of eggs and how much it took to fill the gas tank. And they fooled enough people that here we are.

Twenty years from now, I hope I’m here to look back and remember what was said and done, because I think a lot of people will work hard to re-write history. Hell, there is a small chunk of Americans who think that Trump was a great POTUS and did everything he promised in his first term.

So. We’ll see.

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Munda’s Wandering Thoughts

“It sure is coming down,” my wife declared a while ago. It’s an expression we heard often from our parents. I don’t hear many say it any longer.

Watching the snow, she chose to walk to her exercise class. It’s about .6 miles. She caught a ride back home.

“How was your walk?” I asked.

“Slippery! It’s very slick on the sidewalks. The roads don’t look too bad.”

That was three hours ago. The roads have gotten worse. Snow hasn’t ceased. The temperature continues to hang around 32-33 F. All of this triggers memories of snowstorms I’ve endured. It’s good to have experience but one thing that you learn from experience with this sort of weather conditions is that anything can happen without warning.

You gotta remain vigilant.

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Munda’s Theme Music

It’s a snow day. We could do with a little snow in Ashlandia but no, why do a little when there’s a lot available?

It’s Munda, Feb. 3, 2025. Thick snow is falling and accumulating, dissing visibility. We have a few inches around our house. But the temperature is hovering right at 32 F here. ‘They’ tell us it will climb to 39 F. What will that do to the snow? Well the traffic cameras tell the story. The storm is coming from the south and east. West and north, there’s less impact. We have variable conditions all around us and it’ll stay like that until tonight, when freezing temperatures take over. Everyone who deals with snow, rain, and freezing overnight temperatures know that outcome.

As for sunshine — what sunshine? Clouds? They’re not visible for the snow. As far as we know, the sky is falling in as small white flakes.

The cats have taken well to the snow. Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) has little interest in going out unless the sun is bright, full, and warm. And he’s grown accustomed to this season not being so. Papi, though, always challenges us about being let out. We let him out twice. Second time found him sitting on the porch, watching the snow. He was back in after three minutes. Both then retired to the living room, where the fireplace is going and the blower is kicking warm air across the room.

On to the big news. Beyoncé wins album of the year Grammy. Okay, it was a country album, but still, big accomplishment, right? Big news to fill the weekend gulf when Musk, acting on Trump’s orders, illegally took over computer systems with unvetted people without security clearances or actual positions with the government.

Why, that ol’ Trump. He sure knows how to give the people what they want! They didn’t want all that AID stuff. NO! If they’d wanted that, they would have elected people to Congress to represent them. Then, those people in Congress would have passed an act creating and funding that function.

Which all did happen. The U.S. Agency for International Development was formed in 1961. Congress directs it what to do and provides its funding. As part of the Executive branch the agency then does that. That’s how it’s supposed to work. It’s all part of the checks and balances built into our government’s processes and functions. One man cannot simply say stop.

But he did because Trump gives less than a morning bowel movement about laws and Congress. The GOP is already in his pocket. The Supreme Court ruled that anything he does as POTUS is legal. Or that’s how Trump takes it.

He should be impeached. We know that won’t happen with the GOP in charge. We’ve been down this road before. Few of them have the spine to stand up to Trump. But, hey, the people elected them, too, right?

And this is how the system breaks. This is the fallout of the system coming apart.

I mentioned the Grammy Award because my wife was spitting out curses like a drunken sailor this weekend as she looked at the news. “Look at this news coverage,” I will summarize her as saying, “no wonder this country is going to shit.” Yes, as many of us have noticed, we have infotainment more than news these days. Here’s thirty seconds about Trump, Musk, and the government, and twenty minutes on the Grammies, and a minute on the weather, and five minutes on the NFL Pro Bowl. Now on to sports!

Today, The Neurons have installed “Drive” by R.E.M. in my morning mental music stream. The 1991 song came up because as I thought about all the crap Trump and his minions did this weekend, The Neurons said, “Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.”

Because essentially, the clock is running on inflation, the stock market, the U.S. and economy, after Trump’s moves. And we have judges ruling on his freeze order. And…yes, it’s a list, a list of crimes and transgressions. A list of activity against history, law, and common sense. So…tick. Tock. As the ride commences, we wait for the fallout.

The snow still falls. I’m off to do my writing and then off to a medical appointment. Be safe, and be strong, wherever you are, and whatever you’re doing. Cheers

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Sunda’s Wandering Thoughts

Snow was falling, and I was walking through it. No wind was bothering us, and the temperature is hovering around 33 F, so it’s not too cold. I enjoy walking in general but walking in snow is special. Snow affects all the senses for me. As it collects, it muffles sounds. Falling, it alters light. Snow flakes feel different, too, because each is as unique as a person, animal, or leaf. Everything seems magnified, walking in snow.

At the intersection of all these sensations, I fall back into memories of being a child, walking through snow. Tasting snowflakes with my tongue. Watching air condense as I breathe out. Examining the world as a new cover falls over it. Snow often drove people into buildings, and my walks outside were rewarded with solitude. Sometimes, semi-profound observations visited, but I mostly just walked, holding hands with nature.

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Sunda’s Theme Music

Sunda, February 2, 2025, arrived in Ashlandia as inviting as a gray, wet mop. Sunshine feels like an alien life form. 35 F, the thermometer says the air temp is, and ‘they’ tell me that the temperature will punch up to 36 F. Light snow is falling.

Kind of light snow is falling. Sometimes, it’s rain, sometimes it’s sleet. A position can’t be staked and claimed for the local weather. Reactions on NextDoor about the weather are frequently amusing about this. “The forecast is for rain. Or snow! Maybe we’ll get zero inches, maybe we’ll get 88! Who knows?!!!” I can imagine someone looking a little wild-eyed and giggling to themselves typing this up. But she has aptly captured the general flow of thoughts.

Part of all this is elevation. Ashland is built on a series of southern mountain slopes. Weather changes are experienced as you slipslide up and down. Our house resides around 2100 feet. Looking up the street, where elevation increases a few hundred more, snow is visible lining roofs.

A winter storm warning is out for our area, so ‘they’ think it’s gonna be something. The rest of us are giving the forecast a jaundiced ‘we’ll see’ gaze. It is good soup weather. Soup, with hot buttered bread, as been conditioned into me. Mom had a practice of dishing out soup on days like this. Campbell’s had advertising campaigns predicated on the need. My wife is also out of that school. Her eyes and expression gain a little light as she states the idea, “This looks like a good soup day.” Best of all on a day like this, with trouble in the news — I haven’t looked but this is now the Trump era, and that’s all there is since he’s been installed as POTUS — would be a big bowl of Mom’s chili. She had an awesome recipe, and I could eat that stuff eight days a week.

Today’s theme music emerges from more conversations with my wife. A lifelong feminist who took on the ideology that everyone is born with equal rights regardless of anything else at an early age, the Trump’s administration to break the world and shove us back into the 1800s has her GRRRRRRR cranked up to eleven. The match point from the convos is that Trump respects nothing. We suspect that he doesn’t even have much self-respect; although he blusters about how great it is, his statements ring with a desperate need to be believed. That’s why he lieks his rallies, where the gullibles line up to worship him as he needs.

The other portion of these talks is that Elon Musk doesn’t respect the Trumpet at all. Being genuinely more intelligent, craven, and cruel, Musk is eagerly taking advantage of Trump to plunder the United States, with eyes on plundering the world. He has no respect for anyone but himself.

All these talking about respect invited The Neurons to pulled up a song from my teen years and dropped it into the moring mental music stream. “Respect Yourself” begins with the lyrics, “If you disrespect everbody that you run into, how in the world do you think anybody’s gonna respect you?” Trump thinks he can get respect by bullying everyone; he’s convinced himself that’s how it works, and his sycophants feed him a steady diet of ‘you got that right, sir’, so he never hears — or learns — otherwise. So this 1971 tune by The Staple Singers is dedicated to Trump and the Grand Ol’ Trump Party as they go about disrespected all others. No one is gonna give you respect in return.

Beyond the sentiments of the song, I love the funkiness dropped by the electric piano and bass. What a sweet sound. With its beat and vocals, it’s an excellent song to sing along with as you dance around the house. Feel free to turn it up loud.

Coffee has suggested that I have a cup. I didn’t want to be rude, so I agreed. And off we go, into the gray and white yonder. Look, it’s raining again. Or is that snow?

Cheers

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Frieda’s Theme Music

And on the last day of January of 2025, rain fell on Ashlandia.

Yes, it’s Frieda, January 31, 2025, and rain is peppering Ashlandia. 41 F outside, ‘they’ inform us that it’ll edge close to 50 F before day surrenders to night. Visibility is limited by low, white clouds. Can’t look across the valley to see what’s happening there, or further up the southern range, to see if this precipitation has cast its lot with snow anywhere.

I’m happy with the rain, but not all in the household share the pleasure. Papi has traveled in and out in search of better weather. My wife said that at one point, she opened the door for him to come back in, but he acted like he wanted her to come outside. “I think he was saying, it’s raining, come out here and change the weather,” she related.

Alas, we don’t have the weather change app yet so we couldn’t help him. That forces him to go out and in and forces us to open and close doors for his travels. It’s become stale after ten rounds. We might be starkers by mid-afternoon.

Spending of starkers — no, I’m not going into politics yet. Too damn early to burst my spirit with tales from the dark side. I will say that I read that one Trump supporter, a Muslim, approves of Trump’s first days of activity. I’m waiting for the other shoe on that FAFO situation to drop. Like that man who wholly supported Trump’s actions until they came and took his wife away. Then, suddenly, he is crying, woe is me, and personally begging Trump himself to not take his wife away. They just don’t get it, do they? Trump and his minions care for no one but themselves. For that matter, Trump only cares about Trump. And he’ll lie in a breath without a thought. He’ll also speak without a thought, too, as he keeps proving. On further evidence, Trump supporters are like Trump in many ways, unaffected by these policies until it hits them, thinking only of themselves until it hits them, blissfully oblivious to what they say and do until it comes back and bites them in the ass.

The Neurons have brought up a 1993 Billy Joel tune. “The River of Dreams” is playing in the morning mental music stream. It has a sort of Gospel/spiritual flavor infusing it. The Neurons offered it to the stream after I’d gotten up in the middle of the night. Yes, a cat was involved. After taking care of the cat need, I had several needs, involving trips to the kitchen and the bathroom. I hadn’t turned on any lights, but we have several recessed night lights installed. Anyway, I also wandered to the window to check on the rain. That’s when the song came in. Joel sings, “In the middle of the night, I go walking in my sleep.” Seemed kinda apt at the time, in The Neurons’ opinion. Yes, although there are millions of them, the usually speak with one collective opinion.

Coffee is making its way through my systems, delivering whatever help it can. Time to fly. Hope your day is up to your hopes and aspirations wherever you might travel or whatever you do.* Here we go. Cheers

*Certain restrictions may apply.

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Thursda’s Theme Music

We’re rocking toward the month’s end. I suspect the political chaos unleashed on us is likely to last beyond this month… Hope it doesn’t to too much to our spirits and sanity.

Last night’s sky was super clear. Man, the stars out there were awe-inspiring. To wonder about the distance, the worlds, the science…all subjects capable of reminding me how small and temporary we are.

This is Thursda, January 30, 2025. Sunshine slathers us under a sky that doesn’t seem like it can be any bluer. Temperatures dropped to 25 F around my place last night. Now it’s 47 F. Yesterday’s high achieved 56 F and we think today will visit 57 F. Thing about it is, walking along in 56 F temperature yesterday, I found that winter still skulked in the shadows. Felt like the temperature dropped by ten degrees and acquired a moody chill when I went through shadow.

Bad news was received yesterday. Part of the reason that I was outside last night, considering the sky and reflecting on existence. One of our beer group’s members passed away. Now, with people going through health issues and aging, you’d properly think it was one of them. But no, it was one of the youngest and newest members, Pete. Just 63 years old, he’d only joined us two plus years ago. He immediately revealed himself to be charming and intelligent, with a good sense of humor. Plugged right into group. He didn’t show signs of ill health or problems…but appearances can deceive.

One of our other members has known Pete since their third grade year. That amazes me. That friend joined us again last night and told us more about Pete. One of the revealations was that Pete had survived Hodgin Lymphoma. Beat it with a combination of radiation therapy and drugs. While he beat that disease, it left him with a weakened system and no spleen. Pete contracted a blood infection. Within a day of falling sick, spinal menningitis killed him. He leaves behind a wife, children, grandchildren, brothers and sister, parents. He also leaves a lasting impression. He’s another person I will deeply miss.

On to the music, which arrived by way of dream. After reflecting on the dream after I awoke, I saw that the dream image of me was like I appeared in the mid-1990s. That makes sense; I ranged from my late 30s into my mid 40s during that time, and that’s the mental version of myself who I carry forward. It’s always a surprise to find that I am no longer that age. You’d think that I would learn by now.

Anyway, by-product from the dream was the song “Shine” by Collective Soul. It was one of several songs I caught snatches of during the dream. Or was it? As I strained my brain to recall details, I was moved to wonder, did I dream those song snatches, or was I now just filling the void with falsehoods? Honestly don’t know.

As I popped through that mystery, The Neurons dusted off the song and slotted it into my morning mental music stream. It’s another tune, as with yesterday’s theme music, which gave a sound track to my life as I navigated existence around the San Francisco-San Jose Bay Area Peninsula region. And it’s more of that quasi grunge solid rock guitar ladened sound which I like. Hope you enjoy it and it coaxes memories of your own out of your cells.

Coffee is dazzling me with its caffeine once again. I’m bracing for another day of political chaos. Hope worse news doesn’t darken our existence but in this era, it pays to stay prepared for such. Here’s the music. Have the best day you can. I’m planning to do the same. Cheers

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Wezda’s Theme Music

Here we go. It’s 2025’s first month’s final Wezda. Yes, 29 Jan. 2025. What a month it’s been. Nine days of assault on the U.S. Constitution, human rights, and common decency. Meanwhile, Ashlandia still has had no snow or rain. We’re bathing in another day of blue sky, sunshine, and stagnant air. Yowza. 33 now, up from the 26 F overnight low, we’re expecting to visit 56 F by the time the sun’s regional visit end. That’s exactly how it went yestiday, too.

Happy Chinese New Year! It’s the Year of the Snake. I don’t know what merits and deficiencies are presented by the snake in Chinese culture or elsewhere, but here in ‘Merica, snakes are deadly and are not to be trusted. So the Year of the Snake is apropros for the sick actors now occupying positions of authority in Wash., DC and the halls of power, starting with that head snake, DJ Trump and his henchmen, the GOTP.

I’m not gonna visit that shitshow yet. Not ready. Coffee and I made a handshake agreement but I’m just indulging in my first cuppa. I need more than that before approaching the news in this age. So it’s on to music.

I don’t know why Der Neurons dug up today’s song. But they have dragged “Trippin’ on a Hole in a Paper Heart” by Stone Temple Pilots into the morning mental music stream. I have part of the song’s 1996 chorus popping through my mouth: “I am I am I said, I’m not myself, I’m not dead and I’m not for sale.” Is it grunge or just modern rock? The labels are useful for many to decide before they consume it. It’s not soul, R&B, or bubblegum. I can tell you that it’s upbeat and guitar driven with solid bass lines and masterful drum work.

This is another song that I got to know while working traffic in the SF-SJ Bay Area, on my way to and from places like shopping and employment. Our main artery was Highway 101. Wherever and whenever between six AM and like 9 PM, traffic was heavy and a challenge to your sanity. Plenty of sudden, rarely explained stops, with waits to move again. So having the radio there for news and music helped.

Hope you enjoy the music and find a way through the day, whatever it brings you, whatever it brings us. Courage, as the man said to himself as the firing squad lined up. Courage.

Cheers

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