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 — Friday, October 23, 2026.
Rain was yesterday’s major weather theme. Today was a day of sunshine but windy, with a cold wind rushing in from the north, making the trees shiver. We might have turned past 52 F, but it was a short-lived stroll. Now we’re back down to 46 F and dropping.
Many phone calls and texts from Mom. Complaints about Gina in the texts. Gina is my sister, Mom’s medical POA. Phone calls just said, “Michael, you need to call me.” Ten calls.
Gina sent out a lengthy text. Laid out her own schedule next week. Elections, babysitting her grandchildren, work requirements. Then Mom’s appointments. Finally, the big question: “Should I take Mom to her appointments? Will they change her quality of life? Why doesn’t she want to take Access?”
Back and forth from various sisters. Opinions expressed that Mom is toxic. “If she wants to go to the doctor or really needs to, she can take Access,” is mentioned. I refrain from putting in my two cents that not all brains work like that. Especially when you’re 92, tired, and sick. Especially when you’re a mother who feels alone and unloved.
I’ve said these things before. They swoosh by the rest. Maybe I’m wrong and they’re right.
I wonder the same thing about Trump’s MAGA supporters sometimes. Maybe they’re right, and I’m missing some critical element. I spent some time trying to peer into the shadows to see what I’m missing. Mostly I see that they’re angry. Want to tear everything down. Start anew. At the same time, they don’t want the same structure, but they want America, the America they see in the mind’s rearview.
That’s what I think Mom sees, the family that she thought she was raising. It went wildly wrong sometimes.
I had Boston in my morning mental music stream this, um, morning. Yes, that’s redundant. Like IPA ale or ATM machine. Or thinking in my head.
Boston released a song, “Peace of Mind”, back before the Internet caught on, in 1977. Why, we barely had stereo then. Had to use 8 tracks, cassette tapes, vinyl, all forms which are much less in use in 2026. But back in 1977, they were part of the answer when we wanted music. Radio and television helped, too.
Part of the song has lyrics which urge, “Take a look ahead.” I keep trying to look ahead. I feel that Trump — and the GOP — will lose many midterm elections. And if they do, Donald Trump will amp up his crazy weave and become even more of a dictator. “Off with their heads,” he might shout. Minions, not sure if Trump is being serious, will rush out. Heads will roll.
Damnation will follow. Trump will plead, “I never said that.” “That’s not what I meant.” “I was exaggerating for effect.” Or, as likely, he’ll snarl and snap, “You’re an awful person. Why are you saying those things. You’re nasty. Get out of here.”
Could be all of those things. That’s how Trump weaves, like a spider on LSD.
I try looking ahead with Mom, too. Mom’s ID expires on her birthday. “Does she really need an ID?” is asked by a sibling. “She doesn’t go anywhere.”
Yes, hard to argue that. Those are the basic facts. The other fact is that a trip to get a new ID for mom will be challenging for the person taking her. That’s how we see it.
So, I’m only looking forward to tomorrow. Ironically, I’m going to a large birthday bash to celebrate a friend’s 90th birthday. She’s sharp as a tack, as Mom used to say. The birthday will last three hours. I don’t know her well, having only met her three times, but my wife needs me to act as chauffeur.
Sunday, my wife is eager to go to the movies to watch “Wicker”. She’s been looking forward to it for months.
The contractor is arriving at 8 AM tomorrow to paint our fence. He’s made various repairs already, and it looks great.
It’s supposed to be nice tomorrow.
Looking foward to it.
Hope you have day worth looking forward to. Halloween is upon us. Time to get out your holiday decorations and light up the house.
