A Dad Leak Dream
There was a leak in the bathroom.
A thick tube of clear water spurted out of the wall. White tiles had been removed above the tub about five feet up. Oh, dear, what a mess, with some black fuzzy thing happening in the opening.
A trio of engineers, casually dressed, of different styles, heights, ages, one woman, two men, came in on behalf of the townhouse association. Because this wasn’t unique to this townhouse. It’d happened throughout the complex. This trio was going unit to unit to assess and strategize. I was just watching them from back by the door, listening as they ignored me. The spoke of how to fix it, what must be done.
Leaving, I headed across a common through sunshine to my own townhouse because, hey, that had been my father’s place, which slightly changed everything. He wasn’t there to look after it, so I was acting on his behalf.
I entered my own townhouse where the same problem existed but seemed to be on a much smaller scale. Some wall had been removed from the bathroom to the right which didn’t seem to have anything to do with the leak. I didn’t understand what that was about but I knew where to go for explanation.
I sought that women and this little rotund blonde explained something that kind of made sense and eased my anxieties. Going off again, I found I had a broken arm. No, not broken, just not working right. I’d been advised to keep it in a sling. I didn’t have a sling, so I fashioned one, and then modified it again and again, decided this was a good place to keep things, like my wallet, keys, and glasses.
So I tucked them in but then needed more material, so I added other things, and reshaped it, and reshaped it. People were going past as I did this and I turned away, trying to keep things private.
I decided to call my stepmother to tell her about Dad’s townhouse. Then I realized that Dad was dead and this was a dream. That I had actually a dream in a dream, and that the townhouse with the plumbing problem wasn’t real.
But I called my stepmother. I said, “I was thinking about Dad because it’s his birthday.” Then I realized, that’s not right. I said, “No, because it was my birthday.”
She was talking but it came to me, this call isn’t happening; it’s also a dream.
I awoke.
Wednesday’s Theme Music — Round & Round
Ashland, southern Oregon — Wednesday, July 8, 2026.
It’s another sunny rocking morning. Cool at 69 degrees, which feels wonderful, with a friendly breeze carrying the heat off. We’re expected to pass 90 again today. My house saw 96 yesterday. Still, a dry heat and not so bad that it saps your ability to breathe. Does do a little damage to the will to move around, though.
Papi has staked out a cool spot in some plant shade, giving me a coolly level amber look before lowering his head and closing his eyes. He appears to be asleep in a second.
On the family news front, Mom’s home is moving through the selling stages without a hitch. My brother-in-law ended up with two stents and staying overnight in the hospital. The medicos said he was severely clogged. Reluctantly, I wasn’t overly surprised. Although energetic, slender, and athletic, he ate a lot of pizza, and a great deal of red meat, sausage, and bacon. Fingers crossed for him. He’s set to be released today. Round and round.
Catching up on the news, I wearily wonder, WTF is Trump doing now? How is he making himself look an idiot this time?
Well, earlier this week, he did it by interfering with the World Cup. He thinks he did a great thing. As others point out, whenever Trump touches something outside of his immediate circle, it fails. So it came to pass that the Trump touch brought on end to America’s World Cup hopes.
Now we see, oh, the war with Iran will begin again. Who is surprised with Trump ‘in command’? He’s declared it over. Done. Changes his objectives about why the war was begun. And here it goes, grinding on…again.
Prices will go up again. The long hot summer will get a little hotter, our optimism will fade a little more, and MAGA will shout “Praise him” once again. Don’t know if they actually do that. Seems like something in the MAGA wheelhouse.
Meanwhile, the Trump DOJ announced that Todd Blanche is a good Trump tool — such a great tool, the best tool ever! Everyone says so!
Blanche is busy delaying and obstructing, as a good Trump tool does, keeping the Epstein files from showing Bad Things About Trump. As if, again, We the People — with the exception of solid MAGAs and some GOP who would rather stab out their eyes than admit what they see — don’t see what Trump has done, who he is, and what he’s doing.
The horrendous, bloated Epstein ballroom remains under construction, despite the will of We the People.
So we come to the song inhabiting my morning mental music stream: “Spinning Wheel”. Blood, Sweat, and Tears released the song in 1969. I’ve always enjoyed how the song begins and builds, slyly, smoothly:
Lyrics
What goes up, must come down
Spinning wheel got to go round
Talkin’ ’bout your troubles, it’s a cryin’ sin
Ride a painted pony, let the spinning wheel spin
You got no money and you, you got no home
Spinning wheel, all alone
Talkin’ ’bout your troubles and you, you never learn
Ride a painted pony, let the spinning wheel turn
Did you find a directing sign on the straight and narrow highway?
Would you mind a reflecting sign?
Just let it shine within your mind
And show you the colors that are real
It’s such a perfect song for a summer day despoiled by Trump and his smirking arrogance. He doesn’t understand cause and effect, such as what his tariffs and broken trust has done to prices and trade. Trump likes to pretend it isn’t real — or, if it’s a problem, it’s someone else’s fault!
May the spinning wheel take you and yours to loftier places, where you’re safe, healthy, happy, and free.
Cheers
Medical Update
Received my biopsy results the other day and saw my urologist today.
The TURBT procedure seemed to get all of the cancer. Didn’t get into the muscle tissue, blood, or connective tissue.
That’s all good news.
My bladder seems to be healing well, based on observations. No pain, clearer urine.
The next steps begin in August, maybe September. After my bladder has healed from its surgery, we’ll begin a series of BCG washes. This is an instillation of tuberculosis bacilli into the bladder. This trains the immune system to attack the disease. It then also attacks any cancer cells which dare to show. I’ll go through that once a week for four to six weeks. There’s a less than 1% chance that I’ll develop TB from it.
CT scans with contrast will follow after the BCG wash protocol to see what shows in my bladder. Cystoscopy if or as necessary to see what’s in there. Three-year follow up program of checking and washes.
First steps have been taken. While it’s all positive to date, it won’t be done for a while. Meanwhile, I’m energetic. In good spirits. Overweight — got to eat less and exercise more, but I can’t exercise properly for two more weeks — but optimistic.
Thanks for all the support. I’ll try to reciprocate to the best I can.
Cheers
A Gun & Zombie Dream
My wife and I and others were being chased by zombies. Fighting them off, we’d taken refuge in a large building. Seemed like some manner of old mansion, maybe. Don’t know.
During the fight, I’d managed to arm myself with two weapons. One was a large but old revolver. Basically, a six-shooter. The other was a modern 9mm handgun, black and cold.
I kept one in each hand as I met the new people, survivors like us. It was chaotic. I was edgy, tense, a little angry. People seemed to be doing stupid things, leaving doors and windows open. I kept going around, closing these things, looking for food, telling others to be careful.
They didn’t seem to be responding well to my comments. They weren’t angry or anything but seemingly oblivious. As I processed that, I concluded that I needed to establish a safe little place for me and my wife in that larger area, and went up some wooden stairs in such of such a place.
I kept my weapons with me. At one point, though, talking with another, I noticed that the revolver had some pink material. Opening the cylinder, I found that each round had the striking end covered in a bright pink wad of cloth, a safety thing I concluded, with some alarm. If I’d tried using that weapon, it probably wouldn’t have fired.
Meanwhile, I wondered, was the 9mm okay, or did it have something like that? But I’d seen the magazine and I thought I’d fired it once without problem, so I thought it was okay.
The dream ended with me trying to remove the pink wadding from the revolving.
Tuesday’s Theme Music — Money for Nothing
Ashland, southern Oregon — Tuesday, July 7, 2026.
We’re expecting another warm one, low 90s, with dry air. It’s 73 now. Not getting very cool at night, and doesn’t stay cool long. But these are not bad conditions. Fingers crossed that thunderstorms don’t move in and start fires.
We received bad news yesterday. Feeling ill, my brother-in-law drove himself to the hospital. Bottom line, they admitted it because his enzymes were high and he seemed to be about to have a heart attack. He’s going through a catherization as we speak. I don’t know what was blocked or any percentages involved. I wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up with a stent or two. He’s a great guy, a few years younger than me, and deeply loves my sister. Hoping for the best for him.
Stories are circulating that Mitch McConnell is brain dead. His office is saying otherwise. His wife, Elaine Cho (edit – not Margaret, lol), went to China, which is totally and completely rational. Many people who rush out of the country when their partner is seriously ill.
Circumstantial evidence that McConnell isn’t doing well is rising. Social media accounts being deactivated. No one going in and out of their home. His office and staff aren’t returning calls.
The US is out of the World Cup. As I’m not a fan, I shrugged. Belgium eliminated the US and then mocked Trump in their victory by using his dance. Feels a bit like karma.
As part of the celebration of our freedom, democracy, and independence, a bunch of masked white supremacists marched around D.C. Nothing like old-fashioned racism and hatred to celebrate!
Realizing instantly that it’s bad optics, folks like Laura Ingraham immediately tried to pretend it was ‘Antifa’ faking everyone out. But at least one of the took their mask away and revealed the truth.
Sitting around a short time ago, I was on Bing and typed in, “How are food prices”. Bing responded with a list of facts about what’s going on with food prices in India.
I was like, India? Okay, I feel for them but why am I getting food prices for India? Wasn’t planning to shop there anytime soon. I asked Bing, “Why am I getting food prices for India?”
It responded with a laborious explanation about India exporting rice, and how that can affect prices. I replied, “But it didn’t tell me how prices are in the US.” It then told me how I can check prices in my area.
That just triggered my WTF meter to new levels. Being older than a teenager and a regular shopper, I already have a pretty good damn idea about how to find the prices in my area. I’m not impressed with Bing’s AI and search engine.
Today’s music is “Money for Nothing” by Dire Straits. The Neurons put it into the morning mental music stream as I was thinking about Trump. He’s made two billion dollars in his first year of his second term, basically by being there. And the nation picks up his golfing fees. So it’s all money for nothing and his golf for free for him.
In true Trump fashion, he made out but others riding his wave went under. His other businesses, Trump Phone and Trump shoes, are doing as well as Trump Steaks (2007), Trump University (2005-2010), and Trump Air (1989-1992). Even hawked by Lee Greenwood, Trump Bibles aren’t selling great, probably because of their impressive markup.
Trump Presidency (2025 to now) is making Trump much more money. That’s why he’s trying to game the mid-terms. Trump has never had a business that has done this well, making money for nothing.
As the song says, “That’s the way you do it. Let me tell you, them guys ain’t dumb. Maybe get a blister on your little finger. Maybe getting a blister on your thumb.”
Trump has perfected the art of getting money for nothing.
I hope you stay safe and healthy, wherever you are. Have the best day possible.
Cheers
The Naha Dream
Another dream from last night found my wife and I arriving on an island – not deserted but civilized, part of a nation.
We were younger, in our thirties. Don’t know why we were there, but we were returning.
After disembarking from a red and white ferry, we found our car, got in, and began driving home. Leaving the port parking area, we were behind a small, old, Army-green bus. I knew that the driver – a man about my age – had been on the same boat as me, along with a group of quiet, sullen children.
Both of us drove over and parked at a little office to get cleared to go. I arrived there, went in, got my paper and got clearance.
Back in my car with my wife, we prepared to go on. Watching that slow-moving old green bus, I said, “Oh, no, don’t get in front of us.”
He did, pulling slowly onto the narrow, paved road. The road had a few potholes and high berms where the shoulders had crumbled and the dirt washed away. The green bus belched dark smoke.
I figured I was in for a long, slow trip behind that bus. My wife and I talked about the bus. But the bus pulled over to the right. Getting out of the bus, the driver waved us down.
He asked, “Do you know how to get to Naha?”
“Naha?” My wife and I were surprised, taken aback.
He continued on his own, explaining, “I’m going to go fishing there.”
I thought, fishing at Naha? “Yes,” my wife and I answered, talking at the same time. I took the lead. “Keep going on this road. There’s a intersection where you go right. There’s a brown sign that says ‘Naha’ on.”
“Is it a big sign?” he asked.
I laughed. “No, it’s one of those little military signs.” He looked military so I guessed he would understand that. “It’s brown but it’s by itself. You won’t miss it.”
He walked away and my wife and I drove on. “Fishing at Naha?” we said back and forth, wondering, is he taking the children to go fishing at Naha? We could think of better places to go but that was his business.
Dream end
Cat Video
I saw this video on Youtube. This cat is wandering his routes. He talks to himself a lot, it seems. It also seems like he’s looking for someone or something in particular from the way he arrives at places and then says something. Like others, I thought he hurried a little when the police car cruised by and shifted closer to his left.
I like the video because Papi sometimes wanders and I worry, where’s he going, what’s he doing? Also, it’s funny to me that this cat is ‘chatty’. I’ve had several chatty cats in my life. Papi is not one of them. He’s more likely to just give a nod when you ask him something.
Hope you enjoy this as much as I did. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 