Author: Michael Seidel

Science fiction, fantasy, and mystery writer. Singer (sorry, no shows) & nudist (in my home). Beer, cat, cheese, coffee, pie and wine friend. Left IBM and Silicon Valley for the southern Oregon life but I miss the ocean. We're too far inland. Gotta move.

Munda’s Theme Music

The space and time continuum of today says its April 14, 2025, in Ashlandia. Sunshine hunts the spaces between the blinds. Pulling the blinds, blue sky rises into place. They say it’ll reach 26 C today. That’s 80 F for Fahrenheit fans. Right now it’s 58 F. Stand in the sun and it feels like it’s over 70.

The cat is out there acting like the sun king. Yesterday was a 74 F day of sunshine. We had the back door open to let it all in. The cat came in and slept against a wall, under a window in the living room, ten feet away from the open door. He later tail rushed me, asking to be let out the front. My wife said, “You know, the back door is open, Papi.” Papi eeped back. I let him out front. He settled into a favorite space between two bushes in a patch of sun against the house. Scheckter established that spot nineteen years ago. Quinn, Lady, and Tucker owned it for many years. Papi continues to ensure it’s used.

Loaded dreams were had last night. Not a great amount of action but a load of of information. Two songs were included in the dream. One was Sam Smith singing, “I’m Not the Only One” from 2014. Startling to realize that song is already a decade old. Still feels ‘new’ to me. I think that’s how it goes when you age and time speeds up for you.

The other song was CCR’s “Suzie Q”. Hard as it was to accept that “I’m Not the Only One” is ten years old, comprehending that “Suzie Q”, spelled differently than the original, “Susie Q”, is more than 50 years old. A large slug of coffee is needed to digest that. Some serious reminiscing follows about hearing the song as a twelve year old, remembering it being played at parties and gatherings, singing along. There’s a lot of that in fifty years.

A video that fit my needs of CCR performing Suzie Q wasn’t found, so I went with John Fogerty doing the song. Hope you don’t mind.

Coffee has encroached on my systems, lifting me up again. Hope your Monday weather satisfies your scratch and that you discover the secrets needed to make it happily through more days. I’m going out into the sunshine to drink coffee and forget about this year for a few minutes. Cheers

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Sunda’s Wandering Thoughts

Planning for Easter Brunch is underway. I am fortunately a passive participant. My wife keeps me apprised of developments. She was searching for some Easter-themed drinks. I found some for her. She rejected them. I did find Chocolate Bunny Coffee. She laughed at that.

“Prude wants to have a Prosecco bar,” my wife says. Prude and her hubby, Carl, are hosting the Easter brunch for the third consecutive year.

“What does that mean?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I’ll chat with her. The brunch is getting big. Twenty-seven people are going to be there.”

“Twenty-seven.”

My wife nods in confirmation.

I do the math. “That’s almost twice as usual.”

“I know.”

My wife gives details of new invitees. Many are people I don’t know. I’ve heard about some of them via my wife’s recounting of ‘Tales from the Y.’ The main characters are all members of the Y, like my wife, and they bring a guest, like me. Most participate in Mary’s exercise class. Mary is celebrating her 50th anniversary of her class next year. The Y wants my wife to organize something for them. Mary’s exercise group has given birth to multiple friendships and activities, including a book club, New Year’s Eve gatherings, and nights out to go dancing.

“Deborah is in charge of the coffee,” my wife says. She’s talking about the brunch. “I mentioned the Chocolate Bunny Coffee. She laughed but said she is not buying that.”

I’m not surprised. Deborah takes her coffee as seriously as I do.

“Mary told me that she has champagne left from a party at her house last year that she’ll donate,” my wife says. “I told her it’s supposed to be Prosecco. Mary said that Prude told her that you and I are going to be there at 10:30 to help set up.”

“We are?” I helped with that last year. Everybody prepares and brings food. A buffet is set up in the kitchen and dining room. The drinks and coffee and dining tables are outside.

“I don’t know,” my wife says. “I’ll talk to Prude.”

I have to decide what to make. Last year I made a potato casserole. It seemed pretty popular. I don’t know what I’ll make this year. I was thinking about a French toast casserole.

Maybe I’ll just buy a fruit tray.

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Sunda’s Theme Music

Blue skies and sunshine immediately informed me that it was a cold day. “Must be cold out,” I said to the cat. “Ooop,” he replied, rushing for the door.

Papi’s first response to almost all stimuli is to rush for the door. Loud noises like fireworks dictate a course to his hiding spot in the primary bathroom.

Today, though, he was hitting the door, exiting the back, into sunshine. I went with him. The measuring device told me it was 42 F. I felt that even with sunshine bathing me. Back inside, I asked the various digital prophets what the weather be like in Ashlandia on Sunda, April 13, 2025. All agreed it was going to be ‘more of the same’ — sunshine and clear blue sky — with a high of 74 F. As they used to say in another era, I can dig it.

I was thinking about words as I motored from coffee maker to kettle to sink to bowl to cat feeding station, doing the necessaries. The thinking about words came from thinking about news stories. For a while, I had Gloria Estefan and Miami Sound Machine performing their 1986 hit in the morning mental music stream, “Words Get In the Way”.

Then The Neurons abruptly pivoted. I can’t source the pivot’s origins. I only know that I began humming a different beat. A melody began rising, then new lyrics flowed into the morning mental music machine: Jesus Jones” with their 1990 techno-pop offering, “Real Real Real”. My mind seemed to be stuck in that period, 1986 – 1990. As it often happens with The Neurons and their mysterious ways (oh, now we have U2 in the music stream), there’s little explained.

Well, now I’ve slipped back to 1991. I remember when “Mysterious Ways” song was first heard for me. My wife and I were enjoying a Sunday morning on our apartment deck in Sunnyvale, California. We’d only lived there for seven months. The cats, Jade, Crystal, and Rocky, were sunning themselves and washing. We’d just finished a breakfast of fresh croissants, bought at Milk Pail Dairy and baked at home, and fruit, and were talking about what to do that day. It’s strange that this scene is so vivid for me. I have no idea what else we did that day. Memory is a funny thing.

Coffee has lived up to its commitment. Ready to rock another day. Sunlight is guiding my way. There’s a promise of a decent day. Hope you have the same. Cheers

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Floofkensian

Floofkensian (floofinition) – Originating with or reminiscent of an animal. Origins: Charles Dickens, English Novelist, 1858, “A Tale of Three Kitties”.

In Use: “Floofkensian habits often endured for Jerry long after his floof’s departure, such as looking for them when he woke up in the morning or came home from work or shopping. Years passed before he finally and totally shed those habits.”

In Use: “Dickens left his mark on the household. By the time the rescue puppy passed away, floofkensian routines like afternoon walks, sharing food with the housefloofs, and sleeping with a furry warm body against you was firmly entrenched.”

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Saturda’s Wandering Political Thoughts

The Trusk Regime elitests are at it again. They’ve already well-established multiple double standards.

Like, there is one set of law, justice, and order for everyone except the wealthy. There’s another for the wealthy. Now Trump and the Grand Ol’ Trump Party has established that they put themselves above the law, even the law enforcement standard meant for the wealthy. Look at Trump’s Oval Office crowing about how much money he made his cronies after his tariff pause. Tsk, tsk, tsk, the people bellowed. Isn’t that illegal insider trading? Not if you’re part of the Trusk Regime.

How ’bout that pesky law that established that the Chairman of the Joint Chief of Staff’s requirements. The law said the nominee must have been a vice Chief of Staff or a chief of staff, of the Air Force or Army, Commandant of the Marine Corps, or Chief, Naval Operations. Besides those rules, he the nominee was commander of unified or specified command, that was accepted.

All of those are four-star positions or higher. Trump wanted a loyalist in there, so that law and its requirements were dismissed. Yet, the compliant Congress installed the retired three-star who Trump wanted. Yeah, that’s good news.

In the latest example of do as I say, not as I do, the Trusk Regime is requiring scientists, biologists, etc., to clean restrooms. If you recall, the Trusk Regime fired 1,000 national park service employees. That was a ‘money-saving move’. That meant that there was no one around to man the gates and clean the parks and clean the restrooms. So that genius called Trump and his surrogates decreed, hey, let’s have the high-priced professionals hired for their research skills go clean the shitters.

See, I wouldn’t have a problem with this, but I haven’t seen the Trump administration doing the same. How many White House staff has been cut? Why isn’t JD Vance and Elon Reeve Musk cleaning the West Wing toilets once a month? Why doesn’t Trump order noted drinker and partier Pete Hegseth or his three-star pet, John Dan Caine, to clean the Pentagon latrines? Peter Navarro should be put to work cleaning Mar-a-Largo’s bathrooms for Trump. Kristi Noem has time to cosplay as a border patrol agent on government time; surely, she can take time to clean some toilets, too.

Or is the Trusk Regime and his minions just too elite to do such work?

2

So Hilarious

I shared this with friends. Some replied, “I wasn’t really sure this was satire. Because, you know, Trump.”

Indeedly do, we do understand. Trump can be a nutter! He often says things that prompt many of us to respond, “Whhhaaattt?” Then we embrace the task of dissecting his crazy verbiage to understand what he’s saying and then struggle to pierce the insanity for truth, logic, and reason.

LucN over at Daily Kos gave us a pitch-perfect youarthere performance of the Donald, and it is so funny, I felt it incumbent to ensure others read and enjoy it.

Trump’s plan to introduce honeybee colonies to public school cafeterias goes spectacularly awry

So, read and enjoy! Laughter is good for you, you know.

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Saturda’s Wandering Thoughts

“Easter is a week away,” my wife said. “You need to get a haircut.”

I just got one last month. Her observation annoys me. I spent twenty years in the military. Keeping your hair cut and neat was, like, an actual regulation. After being freed from military constraints, I’m not interested in being so neat and tidy when it comes to hair. I will lose this discussion, though, and cave. Being neat is extremely high on my wife’s list. She is also adept at being severe and disapproving.

“Want to hear my sister’s text?” I ask.

“Go ahead.”

I read my sister’s updates from Pittsburgh. She’s buying her daughter a new phone. Several features on her present phone are failing. Replace it before Trump’s tariffs add hundreds, she reckons. She used the same logic to replace her eight-year-old ride. She also cashed in her small 401K and put it into certificates in December because she believed Trump was going to trash the economy. She tells me about my other sister’s financial worries.

Four sisters share Mom. Two of them are extremely responsible. The other two are not exactly flighty but they seem to have many crises and make choices that cause more problems. I probably would make more choices that aren’t wise ones, but I’m married to a diligent person.

My sister also comments about how expensive everything is, and how hard it is for young people like her twenty-something daughter these days.

My conversation with my wife swirls into a new zone. “Mom should be using red-light therapy to help with her healing, injuries, and inflammation.” My wife and I both champion red-light therapy. It has helped us in numerous ways. Besides that, NASA, soccer leagues, and the NFL are all red-light therapy true believers.

My wife tells me that Jan approached her for help with another person. The other person suffers Renaud’s disease in her feet. She’s been warned that she might lose her feet if she doesn’t get treatment. The woman doesn’t like going to the doctor. Almost has a pathological fear about it.

Renaud’s has plagued my wife for years. She once showed me her finger. White as a candle, bent and misshaped, horrifying to look at. She aggressively applied red-light therapy and resolved the problem.

“I told Jan to tell her friend about red-light therapy,” my wife says. “She can at least buy a belt and try it.” Pros and cons are discussed for a few more minutes. My wife complains about friends who were told about it but haven’t tried it. She doesn’t understand their reluctance.

I text my sister to ask her if Mom has tried red-light therapy. Then I get online to make a haircut appointment.

There are some things which must be accepted and done.

0

Satura’s Theme Music

April 12 of 2025 begins with a sense of rain. Clouds loaded with grays and blues swell over the western pines and ridges. It’s 42 F. Rain serenaded us through the night. We’re dry for the moment but the wind carries a wintry stick, and humidity puts a clingy wrap on us. The high for today will be 58 F. This is Saturda.

As I loll in bed and think about dreams, I consider nesting a little longer. It is Saturda. I was busy yesterday.

Fresh reminders bolt in from the awakening neurons. It’s Saturda. Green Bag Day!

Checking the time, I relax. There’s plenty o’ time before the scheduled pickup of the bi-monthly emergency food bank donation. But I’m awake and energetic thanks to the momentary panic whipped up when I remembered that the green bag must go on. I get it done, just because.

Papi is again at a loss. The ginger cat was adjusting to warm and sunny naps among the bushes. Now, this stuff again, this wind, this rain. The cat comes to the door and gives me a look to come back in. “I know,” I tell him. “You don’t want to come in. You want to follow your nature and remain outside. But you don’t like the wind.” A wintry glance passes from the cat to me as he drifts past. Once inside, he breaks into a quick trot into the dining room. A grooming sit commences. This is what I had in mind all along, he projects in that way that cats do.

The cat is right, though. We were being groomed for nicer weather. Whatever plans involving involve the outside that arise today, I’ll need gear to block that wind. With that thought crossing the finish line, The Neurons begin chanting, “Block that wind, block that wind.” The Neurons can be an irritating group.

Clive’s Tuesday Tunes 246 was about music about dreams and dreaming. He offered a solid Dream Five. After listening to them and remembering, I woke up this morning with Heart singing “These Dreams” in the morning mental music stream. According to the wiki thingy, Martin Page and Bernie Taupin wrote this song. Stevie Nicks passed on it, but Heart went with it. Released in 1986, the song is about living another life while sleeping at night.

Today’s video offering features a different take on the song. Alison Kraus is on lead vocals with Heart’s Wilson sisters offering backing vocals.

Coffee is wending its way past my lips and down my throat, past the epiglottis and down the esophagus to finish its journey into my stomach. Papi has gone back out to see if the weather is any better yet. With coffee’s encouragement, I’ll hit the news. Hope your day is full of things which make you sing, dance, and be happy. If not those, may nothing kill, injure, or sicken you. I know; it feels like I’m hoping for a lot in these times. But we gotta keep hoping.

Cheers

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