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.

Tuesday’s Theme Music

It’s going to be 45 F today but for now, it’s 34 F. This is Tuesday, November 8, 2022, the second Tuesday in November, and election day in the U.S. As ads were countered with attack ads, which were then surmounted by counter-attack ads, an anxious mood has been building in the U.S. Concerns about fair elections, democracy, abortion rights, the economy, and disinformation — otherwise known as lies — has contorted what the election is about. It’s a mid-term election, so the Democrats’ concern is that if the Republican take control, they will block every piece of legislation that rises, stymying the Biden administration so it looks bad. It was their playbook as announced by Sen. McConnell and reiterated by several GOP legislators. If the Democrats win, the GOP fears are that it’s not being taken seriously as a party and that one-party role will progress. That’s the view from the moon. It gets much more involved and complex by state, city, and county. Speaking as a voter — I dropped off my ballot last week — it’s been an exhausting campaign cycle.

The rain stopped falling but drips from every leaf, gutter, fence, and line. Sunlight made thin by heavy gray clouds is creepng across the valley. Trees remain rich with golds, scarlets, shimmering reds, and pumpkin. When sunlight strikes one of these, the leaves light up the area. The mountain snow has gained thickness from this vantage, a sight that causes pauses, but I don’t know how it looks elsewhere.

The Neurons have dropped a Heart song from 1980, “Even It Up”, into the morning mental music stream. I asked them why they chose it. They stay mute as a rock in answer. I had another wild night of dreams but nothing that I recall would make me consciously select this song. It’s a subconscious mystery, like, where did I put that thing, and what is that thing that I’m looking for?

Stay positive, test negative, take necessary precautions, like vaccinations and masks, washing hands, and being cognizant of the potentials when you’re socializing. Coffee has landed in the kitchen, so I’m off, yes, in more ways than one, many claim. But what does the wife, family, neighbors, and friends really know, hmmm?

Here’s the music. Cheers

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A Mom Dream

I was visiting Mom’s place. She was younger than RL, more aligned with the mom known throughout most of my adulthood.

I was younger, but my sisters were their current agents. Their children were present, too, contemporary as adults to me.

Visiting Mom’s place was a process of exploring because she’d moved. On the bottom floor, décor in shades of gray, black, and white dominated. The building was long and wide. I went outside to check out her backyard. I discovered trimmed trees organized in rows. I wondered if they were fruit trees and looked for evidence of that but found nothing conclusive. While I was looking, I inadvertently broke off one branch. Embarrassed, I didn’t want to be caught and looked around for somewhere to hide the branch. Looking up, I saw Mom watching me and smiling from a window above.

I went back in. As I walked through this floor, I realized it wasn’t a house but an apartment building, and I was in the lobby. My sisters and her children arrived, and then their children’s friends. We started having drinks. Many of the children were talking about the Lockheed C5 Galaxy, a huge transport plane. A dream news story said only two or three remained. Some foreign government was quoted as saying that they wanted the aircraft but the U.S. wouldn’t give them up. Some of the children suggested that if they were the other government, they would steal them. I went into a pedantic explanation about security and how that would be difficult because C5s were labeled ‘Priority A’. I suggested that if the C5s were stolen, the U.S. would probably shoot them down so that others couldn’t have them.

We went outside, to the building’s front after this conversation, where the party expanded, becoming louder, concerning me about disturbing the building’s residents. People proposed going to other places. I said that I would need to change.

Then Mom called down to me on the intercom. I answered it. She was asking me if I could go get something for her, but I couldn’t understand what she was saying because her voice was very weak through the intercom. Others came over to help interpret what Mom asked for. I thought she was saying that she wanted some pills like the ones I’d gotten for her before, and that they were available at a store or locker in the building’s rear, but I couldn’t fully comprehend what she meant.

That’s where the dream ended.  

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Monday’s Wandering Thought

When he did chores at home, he always challenged himself with time limits. Vacuum the floors or wax the furniture by such and such time. What will you give me if I do, his neurons always answered, as he rushed about, intent on his artificial goals.

Other people would probably find it silly, maybe childish, making these fake goals, but these small goals helped prop up the day’s structure and keep time from getting away from him. It worked for him, so what did he care what they cared?

It’s not like anyone knew.

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Monday’s Theme Music

Monday scurried in under a rain cloud shouting, “I’m not late. I’m not late. I’m here. Maybe a little late. Not my fault. All that rain, and there’s snow, too. People are driving crazy. Traffic is a mess.”

Yes, it’s Monday, November 7, 2022. Winter has flexed again. Mists, ice, and snow layer our uppers. Snow hasn’t found its way down into the valley’s lower elevations, but we are surrounded. 6:51 AM is when the sun joined the mix, lightening the black and gray tones embedded in the ocean of thickening clouds above us.

34 F is now the temperature. No fear; it’ll bounce up to 7 C before daylight flees at 4:57 PM, the weather they say.

The Neurons are again floof-influenced with the morning mental music stream selection. (Say that three times fast before you had some coffee.) Weather drove Papi and Tucker in. They follow me around asking for sunshine. “I can’t do anything about the weather, boys.” I don’t explain that only nature and powerful Gods can control weather, as that would shatter their belief system. They think that I can do almost anything. I mean, they practically worship me.

Anyway, the cats were following me about, even after I fed them. To amuse the three of us, I run into the other room. They followed, confirming that they were going to stay right by my side.

Which, boom, caused The Neurons to say, “Hey, that’s just like that Metallica song.” Naturally, I responded, “What Metallica song?” The Neurons then commenced with “Until It Sleeps” from 1996.

“Have some coffee,” The Neurons tell me.

“Okay,” I answer, “is it ready?”

They scoff. “Did you make it?”

So, gotta go get some juice going. Stay positive, test negative. Mask as needed, if it’ll help stay some of the reach of those circling viruses. Here’s the music. I’m getting the coffee going, and then I’ll drink it until I sleep.

Cheers

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Sunday’s Wandering Thought

It happened again last night. We were watching a Brit mystery on our television. Not the biggest one, a mammoth 65-inch critter, curved screen digital and all that, but the smaller 36-in digital flat screen that’s in the snug. Most of our living is in the snug. The corner recliner is the number one place for man, woman, and cats. Woman has number one claim on it, chasing the rest of us with sharply worded orders to “Get out.”

But that’s beside the point. The TV screen is big enough and digitally sharp. Not sharp enough for the moment as a character holds up a cell phone to read a text.

“Here we go,” my wife says. “What’s that say? I can’t see that. How am I supposed to see that? And they take it away so fast, I can’t even focus on it before it’s gone.”

She’s got a point. Kind of weird of them to use things like that. They provide us captions FOR THE HARD OF HEARING, as they nicely put it. (Yes, that IS sarcasm.) Would it be so difficult to include the text messages in the captions?

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The White Paint Dream

I’d been alone in some modern office complex and was pretty happy about it. Then three dour men in gray suits with matching hats arrived and announced that they were there to help. All were white, tall, in their forties. They were going to paint. First I needed to clean the areas to be painted.

I rushed about, cleaning white bathrooms with white toilets. Although everything was already bright white, they were painting everything the same color. What was interesting was that the white walls had sharply and deeply etched swirl patterns covering the walls. I thought the walls were already clean but then was appalled to see that dry urine stained some sections. I hastened to find soap, water, and a cloth to clean it. As I did, I found more such stains. Located in such strange places, I wondered how the hell they came to be there?

As I scrambled to clean, some of the first arrivals began painting. Other men arrived to paint. Some came in and watched me cleaning, making comments about the urine stains.

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