I was at some kind of crowded business where I was – again – a young man.
Nobody familiar was with me at that point. A hectic atmosphere surrounded me as people rushed around, doing things.
I was rushing, too. I’d just sealed an envelope. I needed postage to mail it. I stepped up to the postage area as a young woman finished using it. Fumbling through what to do, I pressed buttons to get stamps. Streams of paper spewed out. I thought, are those stamps?
No, I saw, those were someone’s receipts. That woman was gone and I was in a hurry, and others were waiting, so I tossed those aside. Now – ah, I needed to weigh my letter. That done, the machine asked for payment. I pulled out a credit card and tapped it against the machine, amused that I’m using a credit card to pay for a stamp, but that was quickest and easiest
That done, I crossed the wooden floor past knots of people. My wife was sitting on the floor. Beside her was a young French woman I’d previously noticed. Short, she had curly short brown hair. I was barefoot, and so was the woman.
I spoke with them briefly, then went off to get something. Jumping up, the French woman offered to join me, which pleased and flattered me. We crossed the wooden floor again.
I spotted a small fuzzy creature crawling across the floor. Thinking it was a kitten, because I knew there was a clowder of kittens in the room, I picked it up.
It was a small pink elephant with gray ears and a gray belly. So small that it fit easily into my palm, it put up its trunk and released a squeaky trumpet. I talked to it, reassuring it that I didn’t mean it any harm, telling it, “I’m going to put you back to where you belong,” which was some kind of baskets with towels on the floor.
After doing that, the French woman pushed her toes up against my toes and gave me a flirty smile. Grinning, I told her, “You have beautiful toes.”
Ashland, southern Oregon — Tuesday, October 20, 2026.
Last night felt wintry cold outside. Today sits at 66 F under clouds mixing it up with sunshine. The clouds are a chaotic shapes in blues, gray, whites. We expect a high of 75 for this autumn day in the valley.
Mom launched a new barrage of texts and phone calls at me last night. I’d just returned from my third BCG wash and was feeling this one. My energy level was plundered and I was nauseous. Had some burning urinating, and many sudden urges to pee that ended with weak, short trickles. Nuts. Price to pay to get better, of course, and preferable to the alternative.
But that left me ill-prepared for Mom. Just wasn’t up to it. She was texting and calling again about how much pain she’s in and how mad she is with Gina, going into the details of why she’s mad at the only one of her daughters willing to help and visit. Mom finished with the now classic, “If none of the three daughters who live near me want to take me to the doctors, then I don’t want to go.”
Mom has employed that line so many times over the last year, it sincerely *cringe* reminds me of Donald Trump declaring, “We already won the war. I can end it any time I want.” The repetition dilutes their claims’ impact.
I sent Mom a text and basically excused myself from participating due to how I felt, but sent a text to my sisters as well.
And this is life, isn’t it? Sometimes you want sunny skies and get pouring rain. And I shouldn’t complain. It hasn’t rained much in my life. Many, many others have endured much, much, much worse.
Thinking about my childhood much frequently. I attribute it to a combination of Dad’s death last year, Mom’s declining health, my own health matters, along with my wife’s, but also, to history.
Back in my youth, we lived under the threat of nuclear war with China (PRC) and the USSR (Soviet Union, Warsaw Pact). Then the Berlin wall fell. We were supposed to enjoy a peace dividend. That never really came. Much of our foreign policy approaches didn’t change much. Russia replaced the USSR as a major threat and the PRC was still out there.
Now we find Donald Trump aiding Russia. Trump is shaping foreign policy based on his polling woes and fears that he’ll lose the upcoming elections.
Meanwhile, in our schools, children are shot and killed. Few do much about it except dissect what happened and put a spotlight on the killer, victims, and heroes. Then we move on to the next crisis du jour.
With Donald Trump orchestrating matters, there’s always a crisis. His solutions are often short-sighted. They frequently focus on symptoms. They rarely correlate to facts, truth, and history.
These are the days in which we now live.
With all that churning my thinking, The Neurons responded with a Queen song. “These Are the Days of Our Lives” was released in 1991, one of the last songs Freddie Mercury sang with the group before his death.
Searching for a suitable video today, I came up with one featuring Queen with George Michael and Lisa Stansfield.
Sample Lyrics
Sometimes I get to feeling I was back in the old days long ago When we were kids, when we were young Things seemed so perfect, you know?
The days were endless, we were crazy, we were young The sun was always shining, we just lived for fun
Sometimes it seems like lately I just don’t know The rest of my life’s been just a show
I hope the weather accommodates your mood, and your spirit carries you to happy times.
Ashland, southern Oregon – Tuesday, October 13, 2026.
Gorgeous, full-throttled autumn day out there. All of nature is actively participating to give us the full fall experience of changing leaves, blue sky, and crisp morning air. We’re going to heat up to 70 today and expect a warming trend for the coming weekend.
Mom is still doing poorly. Mom complained that she was out of pads and feeling a lot of pain urinating, and several other issues. We discovered that she doesn’t tell the assisted living staff any of that, due to her sense of privacy. There are people who can help her with her issues, but she doesn’t tell them she’s having issues, so they don’t offer help.
My sister went over today with new pads and to check on Mom. Found her in the rec room with others. Gina reported that Mom is very lethargic. Mom’s room smelled like urine. Gina has been going back and forth with the assisted living director, Mom, and Mom’s doctors. Gina has also delved more deeply into Mom’s medical records on Mychart.
It’s a busy morning for us. Workmen were expected to arrive and fix the flashing around the bathroom skylight and a few other minor issues on the roof. They were expected between 9 and 10 but didn’t show.
Meanwhile, I’d scheduled the same time for a contractor to come by to inspect the fence and give us assessment about what needs done, if he’ll take the job, and all the details that go with it. He showed on time and that went well. The fence is in pretty good shape overall, with just three posts requiring replacement. He will do those repairs, power wash the fence, and then paint it.
After that, I called the roofers to see what was going on. The other job they were on took longer than planned. They just arrived at 12:30 to begin the work.
My doctor’s office called and told me the Cologuard results were in. My tests were positive, so they’re going to schedule me for some tests and surgery to see if I have colon or other kinds of cancer down there.
My wife is in a cranky mood. She has a nervous disposition and high anxiety and couldn’t sleep last night because of today’s appointments. So it’s one of those if it’s not one thing, it’s another kind of days so far. All in all, it’s still a better life than many others experience. I complain because that’s who I am.
Probably won’t be able to get out and write today, though, which is a bummer. That’s my escape from the insanity, my coping mechanism. I will write at home but it’s not quite the same. For one, I enjoy the coffee shop’s helter skelter energy. Two, when I write at home, my wife often interrupts. She will actually ask, “Can I interrupt you?” Yeah, I’m a curmudgeon of sorts. *smile*
Today’s music is “Where Is My Husband!” This is a 2025 song by Raye. It played on the radio yesterday morning as my wife and I did our food deliveries. I ‘adapted’ it to “Where Is My Congress?” The Neurons like that twist and kept it in the morning mental music stream.
I enjoy the song on its own, though. Here’s the sample lyrics for you.
Sample Lyrics
Baby (whoo-hoo), where the hell is my husband? (Whoo-hoo) What is taking him so long (whoo-hoo) to find me? Oh, baby, where the hell is my lover? Getting down with another? (Whoo-hoo, yeah) Tell him if you see him, baby, if you see him Tell him, tell him he should holler
Why is this beautiful man waiting for me to get old? Why he already testing my patience? I only fear he’s taking time with other women that ain’t me While I’ve been reviewing applications
Wait ’til I get my hands on him, I’ma tell him off too For how long he kept mе waiting, anticipating Praying to the Lord to give him to my loving arms And despite my frustrations
He must need me (he must need me) completely (completely) How my heart yearns for him Is he far away (is he far away?), is he okay? (Is he okay?) This man is testing me, uh-huh, uh-huh Uh, help me, help me, help me, Lord
Of course, yesterday morning, I was singing, “Where the hell is my Congress!” Then I created other lyrics.
May this day find you healthy, peaceful, and ready to vote blue and take the nation back.
Actually, her ire grew because of how Nebraskans reacted, laughing and cheering. I don’t know which aspect of this pissed her off more.
First, she found Trump’s comments, made in a speech in Nebraska about Iran ‘taking out San Diego or Los Angeles’ as treasonous. “A President should not be suggesting things like that.”
What triggered her was the ho-hum coverage in so much of the media. “They’re writing it off as, oh, that’s just Trump being Trump! That’s one of the big problems with our country. They keep normalizing this insane shit that Trump says.” She went on with a louder, angrier tone about this.
Then, though, her anger punched through the roof as she talked about Nebraskans’ reaction. “They laughed and cheered. Oh, those are California cities! Who cares! Well, hello, Nebraska. What would you think if Trump suggested that Iran could take out Omaha. How would you feel then?
“Did they even think about what he was saying. Do they know how much California contributes to the economy? Think your fertilizer prices are high now? How much higher those prices are going to be if the ports of Los Angeles and San Diego are gone!
“California has a huge economy! Think of all the subsidies that the government would no longer be able to pay if two California cities are destroyed. And what about the radioactive fallout? What do they think, that it’s not going to spread to more of the country, that it’s not going to drift over the Midwest?
“And look how much of the military would be damaged! The Navy has a fleet stationed there, marines!”
She was furious by this point. “I don’t care why Trump said it. No American should cheer that. No human should cheer that kind of killing and destruction.
“Even if he was just suggesting that if he didn’t take action, nobody should be cheering the possibility of someone nuking and killing someone else.”
I think I correctly conveyed the gist of what my wife said. Hard to say, because she was going loud, fast — and angry.
Young again, as it often happens in my dreams, my wife and I were at a three-day festival. We knew a few people there casually, but most were strangers. We were making acquaintances, though.
I’m not sure what the festival was about. It was partly outside and inside, on different levels, but was very easy to get around. Some areas were set up with drinks and other areas had food, dancing, and demonstrations.
After wandering around some, my wife and I went to explore different things. I ended up in the company of a young charismatic man with thick, dark curly hair. He was the de facto leader of a social group there and invited me to be part of that group. I had a lot of fun with them.
Then there was a quiet time for resting. He invited me to find them the next day. I ended up borrowing his car. First, it was a silver blue. Then, it was red. Both times, it was a small car, convertible and sporty but nothing familiar. Yet, with the second car, I thought that I remembered them. Very red and small, it still seated four. I recalled that a panel could be put over the rear seats to give the car a racier look, but that could be removed for seating, which I thought was clever.
I drove the car a bit but had trouble parking it. Misjudging an angle when I turned into the garage, I had to wait until people walked around the back of the car before I could reverse, widen my approach, and park in the space.
After that, I began to drift through the festival, eyes open for my wife or my new friends. I ran into my wife. We talked for a moment but she went on.
The festival was thinning out. A woman who had been with my wife approached me as I looked at a menu board. She asked if I wanted something. Her way of talking confused me and I politely declined and walked away. She re-approached with a large bag of potato chips. Giving them to me, she lectured me a little, telling me that I should accept offers when they’re given. Then she finished, “We Americans need to stick together and help each other.”
She seemed to indicate that we were the only Americans at the festival. Her remark confused me. I came across my wife again and offered her some chips. She declined and went off again. I gave the chips to someone else and went to watch a demonstration of fire department teams showing their skills doing different things.
One woman led a team. She was very impressive with how she went about rolling hoses, wielding axes, and other things. Growing drowsy, I laid down to watch her from a platform. Others were there. I could hear them talking about the same woman who impressed me. After a bit, one of the other people jostled me. Faking indignation, I turned around and demanded to know who was disturbing my sleep.
I was surprised. It was my sister. She was her ‘real age’, that is the age she is now. Her youngest son, also in his current age, was with her, along with a few other people who I didn’t know.
I was now my real age. Telling them, “I’ll see you later,” I decided it was time to leave the festival and went off into a large warehouse lit with yellow lights to find my wife. Behind me, I heard my nephew say, “That’s how he is. Watch, he won’t be back.”
I remember two dreams from last night but only snippets from a third. Here’s what I recall about the two.
First, there was a writing dream. A young man again, I was in my early twenties.
I love how my dreams often make me younger. *smile*
I was sitting with my wife at a low, light gray counter. She was on my right. To my left was a young girl, white with long brown hair. I think she was about 12. Nobody I knew.
In front of me on the counter was a yellow legal pad. A male voice outside of my dream frame was suggesting that I write a book about writing fiction.
I was laughing and denigrating the idea. “I’ve had a couple short stories published, and I self-published a few books,” I rebutted. “That’s not really a good position as someone giving writing advice.”
But as I was talking, I was scribbling ideas on the yellow pad. Using a red pen, I wrote down four columns.
My wife said, “I think you should.”
And the out of dream voice said, “The girl will type it up for you.”
And the girl was saying, “I’m bored. Is there anything for me to type?”
That all made me laugh harder. On the yellow pad, I jotted down ideas in the four columns as I laughed.
Dream end
The Race Dream
I was in some coastal area with my wife and some friends. (The friends weren’t anyone from real life.)
A storm was coming in from the ocean, building up. The winds were growing higher, and the surf was rising and becoming more violent.
But a race was being held in the water. I don’t know what distance was involved but people could parasail, surf, bicycle, swim, or run to win. The race would go along the coastline.
I had a friend there with a saddled brown horse (with a black mane and tail) and several young children. The friend BTW looked like a young Viggo Mortensen. The children were begging him to enter the race. He was uncertain but they talked him into it. So he climbed into the saddle. After pulling the two children up onto the saddle with him, he urged the horse forward to join the race.
I watched, amused and also wondering, “Is that safe?” I saw that the surf was much worse than I thought it was. I was considering how he would do this, envisioning the horse galloping sometimes through waves breaking on the shore, but mostly urging the horse along on the firm, wet sound just above the water line.
I heard people mocking my friend, “Oh, look, here’s another one who doesn’t know how to surf.”
The starting gun went off and the race began. I watched as the racers went south, through the crashing waves, as sunlight broke through thinning gray storm clouds.
Knowing the race would be away, I went to the house where we were staying. This was actually a large, lovely terra cotta mansion. I was standing out there, having drinks with friends and my wife. It was a small group. Two of the friends were from my childhood, and two were adult friends.
One childhood friend asked, “Why did they call you the professor when you were young.”
I laughed it off. “Probably because I read a lot and had to wear glasses.”
My wife said, “No, it was because you were smart.”
My other childhood friend said it was because I always got good grades.
As we were talking, I noticed a blonde teenage girl standing off to one side, listening. I realized that she was going to back and tell her friends about this conversation.
Turning, and shifting angles, I found a view of the ocean. The race was still going on. I saw about forty competitors and thought I spotted my friend on horseback but wasn’t sure.
My wife and I were traveling together. Young adults, I’m in the military again.
We were traveling to some fancy do. Although the details of that weren’t shared in the dream, we were pretty excited.
We arrived at some huge airport. She went off to do something. I wandered, and then drifted into an aircrew lounge. People went to block me from entering, but the officers in there recognized me and invited me in. At least a dozen friends from my Air Force life, pilots and navigators, were in there.
Settling in with them, I watched a baseball game on television for a while. When I saw the score, I asked, “When did this happen?”
Leaving there, I went to find my wife. We connected. I was now carrying her formal gown along with my dress uniform. I realized our flight was supposed to be boarding. On the heels of that, I thought, we need to be in the military terminal. I ran out into the growing wet dusk to hurry there. Where my wife was and why she wasn’t with me was completely overlooked in the dream. As I looked down the airport tarmac, I decided that the military terminal was too far inside and raced back inside
Connecting with my wife again, we hurried to board. Somehow, we boarded through the aircraft’s rear. So we were onboard but didn’t have seats.
The aircraft’s interior was like a large building with stairs, lounges, little sitting areas, etc. I looked for staff to help us find a seat, which was odd as we were passing orange seats that weren’t occupied, but couldn’t find help.
My wife said, “We need to get to the wide part. How do we get to the wide part?”
Looking around at the tall ceilings and seating areas, I mused, “This all looks pretty wide to me.”
Ashland, southern Oregon. Wednesday, September 23, 2026.
66 F, we have blue skies, contrails, and the potential to hit 78 today, a fallish, warmish day.
One contrail fascinated me. Coming in from the southwest, the contrail cut east over Ashland’s airspace before turning due east for a short distance, then veered northeast. Studying the fat contrail, I wondered what air vessel caused those traces and what they were up to.
My wife and I were quietly reading the news this morning when she began railing about something. Engaged in thought, I didn’t play close attention.
Then she started up about Trump’s ballroom — the one he began building to distract us from the Epstein files, the one he said would be paid for by donors and cause taxpayers nothing. We talked about the story about the architect who quit the ballroom project because Trump, safety, and common sense. My wife was practically snarling when she quoted Trump from the story, “I am the code.”
Yes, I honestly get why that pissed her off. Trump loves claiming he knows more than anyone on topics, declaring that he’s an expert. The results say otherwise.
Your Trump Quote(s) of the Day:
My wife then went on about a pet peeve of hers, people parking in front of our house. One car has been there several weeks, which really gets her going. She says things, “I hate it when people do that.” Seems like overdramatic language to me, and unnecessary anger, but it’s a pet peeve. They’re not overly logical.
Anyway, I began chuckling to myself about her outbursts. Something in her tone caused The Neurons to play “Everything About You” in my morning mental music stream. The hard-rock Ugly Kid Joe song came out back in 1992. It’s a playful take on someone with a negative attitude expressing how much they hate things. They hate the rain and sunshine, beach and mountains, country, and city.
Sample Lyrics
I hate the rain and sunny weather And I, I hate the beach and mountains too, boo-hoo And I don’t like a thing about the city, no no And I, I, I hate the countryside too
And I hate everything about you Everything about you
And I don’t like a thing about your mother And I, I hate your daddy’s guts too, boo-hoo And I don’t like a thing about your sister, no no ‘Cause I, I, I think sex is overrated too
And I get sick when I’m around I can’t stand to be around I hate everything about you
As in played in my head, my wife said with a new spurt of anger, “I really hate Trump.” She then added, “And Mitch McConnell.”
So I think the song captures some thoughts very well. Especially when thinking about Trump.
I hope your day is filled with kindness and love, and things you like. May you live long and prosper. *smile*
Young again, middle-aged, I was with my wife and others in this place with blue carpets. I don’t know why the others were present, but I was there to see a doctor. The doctor, young, White female, with, with short, dark hair, briefly saw me.
“You need surgery,” she said, indicating my neck. “We’ll do it today.”
That pleased me although I was surprised that my neck was to be operated on. I waited for the my scheduled time to arrive. I noticed the others began dressing up. My wife emerged wearing a dark suit with a white shirt. From overheard snippets, I realized that everyone else was waiting for surgery as well.
I was taken back; I’d not seen the doctor examine any of them. As people came out dressed up, the doctor began telling people when she would see them. Hastily I dressed like the rest, in a black suit with a white shirt and tie, but laughed at it as I did, thinking, this is silly.
Then – poof – the surgery was completed. I didn’t notice a thing but I knew it was done. It’d been so quick and simple, it was completed in an eyeblink.
I encountered my sister-in-law. She and I went off to await everyone else finishing off. I began helping some children drawing with crayons. I ended up with crayon on my white cuffs. While wondering how I was going to clean those off, my SIL showed up with a similar problem. I then took a paper towel and blotted the colors off. I shared what I was doing with her and she started doing the same.
We talked while we did that. I asked when she was going home and how long it would take her. Then I remembered that she lived in Florida. No, she answered with surprise. “I live just an hour and a half away. I’m taking my boyfriend’s train him.”
I hadn’t met her boyfriend but I knew of him. My wife arrived. She and I talked with my SIL and my wife and I announced that we would go get my SIL and her boyfriend some food for their trip home. We went out and bought very large sandwiches with French fries. We ate while we were there.
Then we rushed back to give them their food. They were already gone. We looked down the track to see a three-car train pulling away, which amused me and my wife.
We then needed to go deliver a package. I jumped into my car, a gorgeous and expensive Aston Martin roadster, green, with a white interior. I raced down the highway at very high speeds, overtaking many cars. Then, seeing a line of cars breaking, I slowed down and moved left.
Good thing I did, I told myself, as we overtook a long line of cars and trucks pulling travel trailers. They were stopped. I worried that we wouldn’t be able to mail my package.
Then I pulled up to a booth. Jumping out of the car with my package, I told him what I was doing. He was short, solemn, round Black guy. He listened and worked as I apologized for the state of my package and for not having it correctly prepared.
He shrugged that off, saying something like, “No problem.” I thought the packaging needed to be replaced. He consulted with a co-worker. They agree, it just needed a new clear plastic bag. He put that on, then grinned and told me, all down.
I laughed, surprised at how easy it went. Returning to my car, I prepared to drive away.
