Tag: young

Fridaz Theme Music

Good morning from Ashlandia. It’s foggy today, Frida, December 12, 2025. Think I’ll return to bed. Sleep it out until the fog is gone.

I brew about that while I make my morning brew. What aggrieves me a lot about this is that Alexa is oblivious to the fact. It tells me, “It’s 41 degrees with clear skies in Ashland. Today’s high will be fifty blah blah blah.”

I stopped listening to it. My system says its 31 F. My eyes tell me it’s foggy. No sunshine, no sunshine. Alexa is wrong with the weather today just as she was wrong yesterday and the day before. I don’t think Alexa provided correct weather on any day this week. I don’t know if this is a symptom of Alexa’s failings or a failure caused by the National Weather Service. I further don’t know if the NWS failure was caused by Trump’s DOGE cuts or something else.

Fog socked us in all day yesterday. It’s a freezin’ fog sort, clinging to your exposed skin like it’s trying to suck your warmth out of you. Sort of like some sort of horror movie critter. What’s also interesting about being enclosed in heavy fog for days on end is that we used to get NWS warnings issued for that condition. We were getting them last week. We received none this week.

Photo of downtown Ashland, Oregon, taken in the afternoon, 12/11/2025.

The Trump Regime has successfully created a fog of confusion, distrust, and uncertainty. It’s not just in the areas of the weather and weather warnings, either.

Today’s song is by The Dave Matthews Band. My wife uses the expression, “What would you (say or do) if I told you (something about something).” She was using it yesterday. Paying attention to that, The Neurons brought the song, “What Would You Say” into the morning mental music stream.

The jaunty 1994 song features some interesting lines, such as, “Don’t drop the big one.” A song for our times. Fun video to watch, as the band invests strong energy and passion into their music.

Headlines tell me that Trump pardoned Tina Peters for her election theft efforts. He’s loyal to the lawless. Her pardon does nothing for her because he’s Fed and she’s incarcerated under state law. IEarlier this week, Trump was threatening the International Criminal Court not to go after him or any of his cabinet members for the murders and other crimes they’ve done, just as Putin would warn. Trump also tried bullying Indiana into gerrymandering their districts to save his rear against losing more seats. The Indiana GOP turned him down.

Trumpy Dumpty is also on a tour to convince everyone that he and the GOP are successfully making everything affordable again even if affordability is just a hoax and Trump says it’s not his fault, anyway, it’s all because of Trump’s favorite scapegoat, President Biden, even though…Trump used to campaign on stopping inflation and making everything better on Day 1. Heather Cox Richardson provides a lucid summary in her December 11, 2025 post.

That Trump’s boasting, cajoling, and bullying has a desperate frenzy urgency can’t be denied. He’s losing the plot and he’s losing popularity. Democrats are pretty firmly against him. The young are turning against him, as are Latinos and Independents. Soon, all that will remain will be white Republicans. And when they realize how unpopular, unsuccessful, and unintelligible he is, they, too, will quietly walk away.

Got my coffee. Think I’ll add a little peace and grace to it. Hope you have some peace and grace in your Frida. Here we go. Cheers

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Three Pieces of Dream

A long and chaotic dream won the morning memory. There was another dream about having sex with a French woman in a desert after being accused of some crime, but it’s not a sharply recalled.

First I was with a group of friends, all males. We’d been out having a good time in the outdoors and were now filthy. Many of these people were real life familiars from across my stretch of existence and life stages. I was young and it was sunny. Many more groups of similiar people were out there on a large, dusty, gold-sun plain, like knots of bison congregating around a larger herd.

A sudden call to go get a beer put us in motion. We ran along, laughing and eager. We were going to have a beer! “Don’t worry, I have chits from last night,” I shouted, holding up discolored pieces of white paper. I reached a table and sat, still outside, but now on a plateau. My friends were coming but were behind. I pulled out the chits and discovered, they were chits; they were just torn pieces of paper. Some fluttered out of my hand and dropped into the mud as my friends arrived and I explained, “I don’t have chits after all.”

We all set out to go somewhere and were now downtown in what looked like a small city. Without preamble, I decided that I’d had enough and started in another direction. I was soon running in the streets alone but as I turned a corner, I saw ‘my crowd’ running in parallel in the other direction. They saw and recognized me and called out, but I’d kept going in the other direction, alone.

I arrived at my wife’s mother’s house. I knew that’s what it was even though it was nothing like any of her places in real life. My wife was there, along with my sister-in-law. She was sitting crossed-legged on the ground. As I see her in that scene after awakening, she looks as she did as a young pregnant woman in a photo taken of her when she lived in New Mexico. Giving no warning, she pulled her breast to feed an infant. I was a little surprised but then went, okay, she’s comfortable with it, and my wife, beside me, showed no reaction, so I should be okay, too.

I went off because I noticed my mother-in-law was busy digging. In real life, she passed away about six years ago. She was about the age she was when I first met her, mid-forties, in my dream. I spoke with her briefly but don’t remember what we said, and then wandered around the yard to see what she was doing. She’d dug a moat around her house. Then, I thought, she expanded an existing moat. It wasn’t large as moats go, about a yard wide, and didn’t seem deep. Water lilies floated in places. I discovered little tiles. Two inches square, I realized that she was going to ourline her moat with them.

The first one I turned over was scarlet. I put it in place on the moat to see what it looked like. Next, I found one that was yellow. I took out the red one and put the the yellow one in. It was a soft yellow, not as bright as a lemon. Next, I found a sage green tile. As I was going to put it in, I heard a man calling. A tall male stranger, dressed in a tie with a rust colored corduroy and tan pants and large, handlebar mustache was walking up, telling me how much he liked the yellow tile because it was a bold and striking color, and he approved my choice. I was just beginning to explain to him what was going on when another man in a charcoal business suit came up, urging me to go with the first color, the red, because it looked sharp against the water and grass. As these two began talking about the tiles, I turned over a third one, which was sage green. That was my preference, but I also thought that a pattern using all three colors could be made.

I went back to tell my MIL that, which is where the dream ended.

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The Custard Tart Dream

To set the dream scene, I was different in some ways to my real life self. Still white, I was tall and skinny with short black hair, and wearing a holey white tee shirt dingy gray with age. About nineteen years old, I was clean-shaven and despite my dirty clothes, I was clean. I knew I was poor but I was a happy and hopeful individual.

Walking among some dark industrial ruins, I came across a table. On it were about a dozen tarts. Six inches in diameter, they were custard, with cinnamon sprinkled across the top, and stacked about ten tall. Beside the tarts were a dozen empty tart pans in a stack.

Finding the tarts pleased me. I’d been walking for days, hadn’t eaten and was hungry, but more importantly to me, I’d been travelling alone and had not seen anybody the entire time. Finding the tarts, if they were fresh, was a sign that others still existed and could be close by.

I didn’t eat them, though, though I grinned widely as I looked at them. I didn’t know who owned them and refused to take them, thinking that would be stealing. Then, walking around, I found a cardboard sign with handwritten letters in red marker, “Free”.

I still didn’t take any. At that point, other people emerged from the shadows. Seeing them, I knew they were as hungry as me, so I called to them and started passing out the tarts. As I did, I found that there were more tarts than I thought. While I was surprised, I was also pleased because that meant that everyone could eat more.

Then, a voice told me that they’d been watching. They were going to provide me tarts, and I could sell them. That confused and surprised me. I queried them about why they’d want to do that. They answered that they thought I’d be good at selling them.

I shrugged. If they wanted to do that, it was okay, I guess, I said, but I’d rather just give them away because so many people didn’t have money or food. The voice replied, you can do what you want, they’re your tarts.

Dream end.

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The Teams Dream

I was a young man — again — for this dream, in my late teens or early twenties. I was with a woman at the beginning, in a suburban setting of houses, streets, and parks. About my age, she seemed like a relative stranger. We were just being informed by a tall pale woman that we’d been selected for a team. That pleased us both. We were selected for different teams, which made us laugh. Each team had a uniform and marker. My uniform was black and yellow like a bee. Her uniform was something like pink and black. Others were white and black, and light blue and black.

We readily grasped the rules although it’s nothing that I can recount. Each morning, we showed up and raced to procure a specific object, like spoons or fish, or to recruit people by tagging them with your marker, according to instructions provided by the tall, ball woman. My marker was black and fuzzy. I could throw it at people and make it stick, sometimes throwing curve balls to make this happen, or from extreme distances, astonishing myself and others. Each day became a fun, constant race to get this done, and then get back to our homes. My friend and I taunted one another in a good-natured way throughout the event, along the lines, “I’m going to win today,” and “See you at the finish line, loser.”

We found ourselves in small single-winged prop planes. I began trying to drop my marker onto people below, but the marker was turning into fish as it hit them. I’d tell them, as they picked up the fish and looked up at me in the plane, “That’s supposed to be a marker.” They didn’t understand that any better than a fish hitting them.

We ended up at the ocean, in waves. I ran out through the surf and then turned and entered a cove. At that point, I realized, I’d gone the wrong way. That put me way behind.

I’ve lost, I realized, then decided, I need to start again.

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