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.
I read a NY Times article about Trump diehards and reality today. The story firmly demonstrates how much Trump has corrupted truth and reality.
Cindy Elgan is an Election Clerk in a sparsely populated Nevada county. Although she is a Trump supporter, other Trump supporters in the county where she works have decided that she may work for the deep state. This is despite her honest and unbending efforts to faithfully uphold Nevada’s laws to ensure fair and accurate elections. She’s been doing this for twenty years.
But because other MAGA supporters keep hearing lies about the ‘stolen 2020 election’ from Trump and other Trumpublicans, they don’t trust Cindy Elgan, even though she is a Trump supporter. So they initiated a petition to recall her.
As the article by Eli Saslow noes, “What in the world happened to these people?” Elgan asked. “What kind of person could actually believe this nonsense?”
Just as so many tens of millions across our nation and around the world are asking.
Yet, Elgan herself supports Trump.
I recommend reading the article to gain insights about what a rot Donald J. Trump is on the United States. Of course, Trump’s supporters won’t read it and will remain in the dark because he declared the NY Times only publishes fake news.
“You make me feel so young,” I told the day. “You make me feel like summer has come.”
Yes, it’s sprummer in Ashlandia, where the crows’ conversations dominate the morning’s sounds. Today is Jun 6, 2024. School is out. Light clouds sketch patterns over the blue sky but mild haze mars our western view. Dust, pollen, fire somewhere? Don’t know yet.
Our temperature currently resides at 70 F. That’s a temporary stop, up sixteen from when the cats forced me out of bed. 88 F is our forecasted high.
In surprise news, Mom is receiving her hospital bed back in Penn Hills. Last that I knew, back on Monday, more paperwork of an unexplained nature was needed. Now, bang, the bed is being delivered today.
The news set up falling dominos of actions and reactions. Mom immediately called daughters to come over with their hubbies to dissemble and move the old bed. Sisters et al responded, “We can’t now. We’re at work, we’re at appointments, we have commitments,” which dismayed Mom. She needed and expected everyone to immediately come to her aid, and adulting prevented that from happening. Stress, irritation, frustration, anger, and resentment all gyrated upward. Mom felt abandoned, and her daughters felt unreasonably burdened. It’s worse because it’s all part of a recurring cycle of ‘come help me now’ and ‘I can’t, I’m busy’.
Viewed from a distance, out of that, The Neurons initiated “King of Pain” by The Police in my morning mental music stream (Trademark changing). The 1983 song elaborates on the many small, overlooked matters that causes an observer to feel pain for the others and their situation, feeling this in his soul. That pain translates to rain, and then they express hope that another would end the rain, which would end their pain. I’m certain that it’s this circle and unfulfilled hope which attracted Les Neurons to this song today.
Be strong, stay positive, and Vote Blue in 2024. Also, enjoy, however you can, and try to make something of it. Coffee is doing its thing; time to go do mine. Here’s the music. Cheers
Floofumnavigate(floofinition) – 1. To go around an animal blocking a path. Origins: First use observed in England, late 1940s
In Use: “Most housefloofs scurry to safety when the vacuum cleaner or sweeper is powered up, but Onyx barely cracked open an eye, forcing Barb to floofumnavigate Onyx while cleaning.”
In Use: “Whenever meals were being prepared, Bishop planted his large body in the kitchen’s entrance to observe, forcing everyone to floofumnavigate the white dog’s mountain of a body.”
2. To follow an animal as though it is a guide.
In Use: “Floofumnavigating the yard behind Bailey was always fun and different as the dog zigzagged the landscape, nose down, sucking up smells and looking for sources.”
In Use: “Cookie was a superb mother, floofumnavigating the room as her kittens began their first waddling explorations under her unflinching vigil.”
Carrying on with modern traditions and protocols observed in the western world, I find myself in Wednesday, June 5, 2024.
What a Wednesday it is. Sunny and fresh, like it just came out of the oven. 74 F now, we’ll climb to 86 on the thermostat. No talk about rain or thunderstorms but some suspicious clouds are hanging around.
You see the weather in Texas? After clipping 105 degrees F in Marathon, Texas, they had a minus 50 degree swing and ended up with several feet of hail. It’s all part of a miserable extended period of bad weather and weather swings — thunderstorms, tornados, flash floods, extreme heat. A few are dead and power was out for over 600,000. I feel for Texans and hope that we don’t end up on the same route out here in the PNW.
Now a bon voyage to Wiltmore and Williams. I know it sounds like a law firm specializing in personal injury cases on late night television. They’re not. They’re astronauts on the Boeing Starliner heading for the ISS.
Today’s morning mental music stream (Trademark flooded) inhabitant is “Woman from Tokyo” by Deep Purple. The 1973 song is quintessential seventies rock. Yet it has that soft, reflective middle interlude that puts a pause to the rocking beat. Why are The Neurons playing it for me his morning? Don’t know. They’re not talking. While I remember several dreams from last night, I can’t trace the song’s lineage to any of ’em. Just another mystery. Either way, this is a fun rendition of the song for me.
Stay positive, deal with the weather as needed, remain strong, and Vote Blue in 2024. Here’s the music video. The coffee consumption has begun. Cheers
Back into the groove again, my little chicklets. I reduced my writing time while I was in Pittsburgh visiting and helping Mom, especially so in the final week. Figured I’d gone there to visit with her, so I needed to shift priorities and reduce my writing (grimace, grimace) and pay attention to her and her life. But now I’ve returned to Ashlandia and the writing and editing scene. Up to page 508 of 590, or over 86%. Probably complete it by week’s end.
And then I’ll turn around and begin again. Number 7.
Each time has felt good, like I’ve progressed in the story telling, and improved the elements. Of course, I’m the mother, so what else would be expected of me but to have pride in my baby? I’m also terrified because what if I’m totally wrong about what I’ve written and I’m deluding mysef about it, and it’s actually a stinking pile of garbage?
I don’t know how much it really matters about its quality. I’m having fun, meeting the challenge, and pressing on.
Have you seen the latest fashion trend among America’s youth? Knee-high crew socks with sandals.
Just like I used to wear in the 1970s, in my boomer youth. I knew I should’ve kept them. Shouldn’t have taken them to a charity for recycling and repurposing. But no, I went with the low cut ‘no-sock’ look and tossed my geeky crew socks.
I am worried about this new fashion trend. What will be next? Disco, and big shoulder pads on women again? They’re already doing big pants legs like we did. We called them elephant legs.
Tuesday, June 4, 2024, has crept in. Sun and clouds play keep away. Air feels cool but humid. A sense of a storm is sneaking in. None is projected. Sunshine is expected to crack through and send the high to 84 F. We’re told it’s a heat wave starting but I don’t believe them. That’s science and facts, which is cover for made-up bullshit. Yeah, that’s some low-grade early morning snark.
Ashlandia is quiet and still this morning. Saw my first fawn of the year two hours ago. No bigger than Papi, my ginger flooft, the fawn was prancing up the street alongside momma. Love those little miniatures.
There’s all manner of news out there around the world. Most of it seems to fall in the ‘not-so-good’ bucket, like large and venomous invasive flying spiders and invasive snake-head fish which can stay on land for several days. The spiders aren’t flying like birds with wings. I would like to see spiders with wings, who also maybe sing. Then they’d start landing on our trees, singing us awake. Singing, flying spiders.
These flying spiders are actually ballooning. If they’re like ballooning humans, expect some festivals and an increase in wine sales.
I’m staying in Ashland for a comment about our newly paved Ashland Street. One of two main drags — the other is Siskiyou Boulevard — it’s actually half-paved at this point. No matter. It’s a vast improvement. I’m hoping the rest is paved before this re-paved piece begins crumbling. That’s the nature of our streets. We’re not the Romans, you know.
With the new pavement has come bold and vibrant street markings. But there’s new green lines, too. No locals I spoke with knew what they were, forcing me to investigate via the net. These green lines are apparently ‘bike boxes’.
“When the traffic signal is yellow or red, motorists must stop behind the white stop line behind the green bike box. Don’t stop on top of the bike box. Keep it clear for cyclists to use. No right turns on red at these intersections.” h/t to Marty Smith @ Williamette Week.
Well, wait then. These are now no-right turn on red intersections? That makes a huge impact on our driving habits.
My morning mental music stream (Trademark chillin’) features Smash Mouth performing “Then the Morning Comes” from 1999. “Why that song?” I coolly asked Les Neurons.
“That’s how it is with some people,” they replied. “Some just say and do shit out of the blue. They walk by and drop a bomb like it ain’t no thing. Just like the song implies.”
“Anyone in particular?” I inquired.
The Neurons snickered. “You probably have some ideas.”
I think these are the lyrics The Neurons are talking about:
Mood: Persistfee (a sense of persistence fueled by coffee)
It’s a day of indifferent clouds and sunshine, this Monday, June 3, 2024. Rain spits and dries. Temperatures fall and bounce. 76 F, thermometers declare, but a chiller feel hangs in the air. Today’s high temperature is at hand.
Spoke with Mom this morning. She related bureaucratic issues keeping her hospital bed from coming on. I depend on her for the info so I can only accept her explanation. According to the PCP’s nurse, aka John, everything has been forwarded to the company who will deliver the bed. But they claim something is missing and hold that the bed can’t be delivered until this unknown element is delivered. It all has Mom and I swearing and wondering.
She sounds good, spirited and energetic. She’s been cleaning, she said. So what will the hired help clean when she comes this Thursday? Mom declares, “I’m not going to pay her to come if there’s nothing here to clean.”
My sisters and I predicted this as a real possibility. Mom prides herself in a clean house. It’s a large part of her persona. Once the cleaner began coming, Mom rose up and began cleaning in anticipation of the cleaner’s arrival. She’d already said the cleaner wasn’t allowed to clean the kitchen because that’s Mom’s territory. Nor could the cleaner help with the laundry; Mom is very particular about how her clothes are washed and dried.
I think Mom is taking a narrow view of having a cleaner come in every week or two. Mom has rallied now but is that sustainable? When will she overdo her poor stenosis-plagued back and cause herself a new injection of pain and immobility? What if she falls – again – and hurts herself? Those are what-ifs, and pieces of logic. Mom’s issues with cleaning are emotional and psychological. Just one son’s opinion. I hope that these worries never see light.
Today’s song is “Green Tambourine” by The Lemon Pipers. The 1967 psychedelic pop hit is playing in my morning mental music stream (Trademark freeze-dried), and I don’t know why. Following the usual course, I interrogated The Neurons, but they closed ranks and shut down. Couldn’t even get a word out of them after plying them with coffee. Stupid little boogerheads.
Off to the coffee shop to let the muses play with words. Be strong, stay pos, and Vote Blue in 2024. Here’s the music. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 