Floofline(floofinition) – An imposed date or time by which things must be done for animals. Origins: Unknown, first cited in writing in 1885,“A Feline’s Guide to A Well-Managed Household”.
In Use: “Abig-gal joined the house on February first, and established her flooflines for fresh water, breakfast, lunch, supper, dinner, tea, snacks, treats, and desserts by February second.”
In Use: ‘In Chapter 1 of “A Feline’s Guide to A Well-Managed Household”, Queen Florence decreed, “Humans must be made to understand that flooflines, such regular feeding times, must be established and consistently met if there is to be order and happiness among the household pets.”‘
Frida finds our Ashland home peaceful. Alexa says it’s 55 F outside, but my systems put it at 38. Other locations report it’s 48. The invisible fog has lifted, leaving sunbeams a clear path to spread warmth and light through the blue sky.
Today is January 16, 2026. 60 is our projected high, kicking off a week of days in the low to mid 60s. We’ll see if that holds, given weather’s changing ways.
Whatever the temperature, Papi is in good spirits. Patio sunshine glows off his white and orange as he grooms after breakfast.
After a night of a long series of dreams, I’m in a very good mood. One had me with Jerry Seinfeld and George Constanza going to a small, intimate open-air comedy festival. I was with Jerry, who was driving, while George followed in his own car. Although an interesting time, I lost my sunglasses. I kept thinking I’d lost them in the water but consoled myself, it’s only a dream.
I also feel very good with where my health is — today. I’ve kept my lost weight off and still run and exercise. My feet, legs, and ankles stay almost pain-free, with twinges sometimes remarking on what I’m doing. Aided by supplements, my abdominal discomfort and bloating have diminished. I remain careful about what I eat and always give myself time to digest before thinking about eating something else.
While I continue to percolate with dream details, feeling healthy and peaceful, I’ve avoided looking at the news. Trump has a habit of making a good day bad, and a bad day — worse. I’ll eventually scan headlines, hoping that ICE violence isn’t climbing, the U.S. hasn’t attacked another nation, or measles aren’t spreading.
Looking at Trump statements over the last several years, remarks made by him counter history or demonstrate a weak grasp the government. I calculated that Trump has been alive for about 32% of the United States’ age as a nation. You’d think he would’ve picked up that information by now. He is college educated.
Now, for no particular reason at all, The Neurons are playing “The Passenger” in the morning mental music stream. Iggy Pop wrote, performed, and released it in 1977. As it plays, I think, here we go, off on another daily journey.
Hope your journey today is happy and carefree, graced with peace and hope. Cheers
A cat dream came up last night. Featuring a recurring dream theme, I was living in a house. This house was first identified as being in Germany and it’s a real-life abode. Like the other dreams, it’s a house but connected to other houses via tunnels that I slowly find, open, and use, always doing so alone.
Though not much dream time is spent there, my house is comfortable with luxury accoutrements. The tunnels go down and are in good condition and clean. Along the way, I find glassed in rooms. A German neighbor is encountered and tells me that my neighbors have all been wondering when I would come down and use these rooms.
While exploring, I find stray young cats — black and white, ginger, tabbies, seal point, short and long-haired. Huddling together, they’re struggling to survive a storm of growing intensity. Night is falling and it’s getting cold. I open one of my glass rooms and herd them into it with little effort, then go off, returning with food to feed them.
A German woman goes by. At this point, I step out of the tunnel. Looking back and up the hill, I see my house on the crest and know that it’s in California. I register that without thinking it contradicting my earlier idea that it was in Germany. It’s perfectly okay that the house is located in both locations.
Returning into the tunnels and the glass room where the cats are, I run into the German neighbor again, getting rid of watermelons. I tell her that animals like the rinds, which surprise her. I put broken watermelons into the glass room with the cats. They begin eating and licking them and I leave to get them more food.
In the kitchen, I speak to my wife, in the other room, and tell her about the watermelon rinds and the neighbor. She’s amazed as me that she didn’t know that animals like the rinds. Taking cat food down to the cats, I watch the cats through the glass. A handful and a half of cats has grown to about fifteen. Among them, new kittens wrestle with watermelon pieces.
I go in. The cats run to meet me with happy meows.
Wenzda, January 14, 2026, settles onto Ashland like invisible fog. Alexa insists fog is out there but blue skies and sunshine meet my little eye. It’s in truth, very pleasant appearing outside the windows. But dress right; my system warns that it’s 35 degrees F. Alexa actually agrees with that part. We hope to see the low to mid-fifties today, but it depends on where you’re at in Ashland, I think.
Despite the sunshine, rising violence in the United States undermines my hope and optimism. Digby posted several excellent posts about Customs and Border Patrol’s confrontation guidelines, and Trump’s plans to add Greenland to the United States.
Trump keeps circling back to controlling Greenland, suggesting the United States should either buy or invade it. Trump declared the United States is safer against China and Russia with controlling Greenland.
I’m frankly surprised. The United States is about to celebrate the 250th anniversary of the nation’s beginning without Russia or China invading us through Greenland. To be sure, it’d be a circuitous and challenging route to take to reach the United States.
Worries about a Russia/China attack also seems to undermine the U.S. Navy and Air Force’s power and global reach. Geography matters, yes, and firepower doesn’t erase its strategy, but it does limit it, especially when nuclear deterrence is considered.
Greenland is Denmark’s territory, and Denmark is a NATO member. U.S. Attacks on Greenland would probably trigger a NATO response, which is where Digby’s post helps. Digby shared information from Malcolm Nance, former naval intelligence officer, foreign policy analyst and pundit, about the consequences of a United States attack on Greenland.
My perception of Trump is that he thinks that attacking Greenland would be quick and easy for the United States. Despite Greenland’s statements that they would resist, Trump seems to think that Greenlanders want to be part of the United States. I don’t know how he arrives at that conclusion.
To me, Trump’s framing regarding control of Greenland reflects pre-nuclear, industrial-era thinking, and not modern reality. Regardless of a NATO military response, an attack on Greenland would severely damage the global economy, destabilize peace, and increase the threat of nuclear war.
It seems like Trump is omitting or downplaying the political, economic, and military cost of forecefully taking Greenland. As far as buying it, Denmark and Greenland have both declared that it’s not for sale. Unfortunately for them and us, Trump often doesn’t accept rejection.
All of this thinking led The Neurons to fill the morning mental music stream with a rock song about truth. “Tell the Truth” is a Derek and the Dominos original, included on their album, Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs. Like “Layla”, Eric Clapton’s love for George Harrison’s wife, Patty Boyd, inspired Clapton.
More importantly for me is the chorus about telling the truth.
Tell the truth, tell me who’s been fooling you? Tell the truth, who’s been fooling you?
Who has been fooling Trump? Or is he trying to fool us? Probably both, right?
That’s where I really flail with Trump, his plans, and his support. Either some other reality guides their thinking and planning, or they’re lying. I wish they were more straightforward with the facts and truth, instead of making bellicose statements.
Anyway, on into the day and its invisible fog. No great plans for me other than writing, reading, and visiting with my wife and cat. My wife surprised me yesterday by asking if we could have Indian food tonight. So, we’re going out to a local restaurant, House of India. Truthfully, I’m looking forward to it.
Hope truth finds its way to you and carry you forward into the rest of this year, and peace and grace join. Cheers
Sunpudoze(floofinition) – An animal or group of animals, especially housepets, sleeping in a puddle of sunshine. Origins: 1909, Middle Floof floofmanteau, from sun +puddle +doze, initially appearing in Poor Fido’s Floofmanack.
In Use: “Eastern sunshine often poured into the pillowed space. Almost every morning, Soaps, Duds, and Laundry jumped up there, spending hours in a sunpudoze, where the dog and cats gently snored, making Suzanne smile in happiness and envy.”
Floofeasance(floofinition) – Misconduct or wrongdoing by an animal, especially a housepet. Origins: 1763, Flance, from floofaire to do wrong, from floo (animal) + faire, from Floofin, facere, to make or do.
In Use: “Coming home often led to findings of floofeasance in the house, but Sugar and Charley’s adorable expressions always saved them from being disciplined.”
Twozda arrived on January 6, 2026 looking for all the world like it was December of 2025. It’s the same greyness which tamped down spirits and kept us chilly, forcing us to turn on the lights during the day and keep the heat running. Temperatures dance the spectrum from 38 F at my house to 41 according to Alexa with Microsoft announcing 47 F. Southern Oregon University comes in with 40.5 F.
My wife joins me at the window. “Are we in it yet?”
“I don’t know.”
She’s referring to the winter storm we’ve been warned about. Located in a protective valley, Ashland’s zone warns snow is expected above 2000 ft in Jackson County with total accumulations up to 6 inches. My house is at 2100 ft, so we in wait and watch mode.
As uncertain as the weather comes more political news. The Trump administration announced they’re withholding social services funds for five states, all of which happen to have Democratic Party leadership. Here I was, nursing the impression that we’re a nation who harbors an all for one and one for all mentality.
Actions like this from Trump undermines our unity. He does so without offering evidence other than a announcement that there’s fraud.
Not offering any evidence is the Trump way. No evidence was ever offered that the boats he ordered to be destroyed carried any drugs. They were destroyed on Trump’s insistence that they carried fentanyl and other narcotics.
As others noted, although Trump kept insisting that Venezuela and President Maduro were involved in transporting fentanyl to the United States, fentanyl wasn’t mentioned in the charges against Maduro and his wife.
After reading the news about Trump’s activities, my mood was cratering. Fortunately, Papi the ginger blade and The Neurons rescued me. Fresh in from the cold weather, I offered Papi, “Treat?” All signs pointed to “Yes!” as his tail went straight up, his back arched, and happiness glinted in his amber gold eyes.
Laughing, I provided the treats. As Papi gobbled them up, I joked about our home being his treat shack.
In a cosmic flash, The Neurons brought “Love Shack” by the B-52’s into the morning mental music stream. I didn’t mind at all. That jaunty 1989 rocker about a funky little place where people went to have fun and socialize is the perfect antidote to the blues attempting to take over. Singing and dancing and a general elevation of spirits can’t be denied when I hear it.
Once again, I put out hope that peace and grace arise to counter what’s happening to our nation and the world. Perhaps we coffee and time, we will prevail. Cheers
Papi the ginger wonder was beating on the front door. Technically, it wasn’t the front door but the narrow vertical window alongside the door. Seeing me approaching, he opened up and let out an indignant meow.
“Okay, okay,” I said, letting him in. Papi dashed past towards his refueling station like an Indy 500 pit stop. As I shut the door, I saw a flyer hanging from the knob.
I walked into the office reading the flyer. “This was on the front door. It’s about a church grand opening.”
My wife answered, “I don’t think we’re interested in that. We’re not church people.”
“I know but I want to know what church it is. Huh, it’s on Siskiyou. It’s a Baptist Church.”
A chortle spilled from my wife. “Oh, hell no. I’m a recovering southern Baptist. No way I’m setting foot in that place.”
Floofteel(floofinition) – An animal who exhibits high class, or aristocratic mannerisms and behavior. Origins: 1603, Flooflish derived from Flench, itself originating with Old Flooftin, floof, meaning a furry creature. Traced to ‘gentle floof’ which grew into its current form, floofteel.
In Use: “A long-haired floofteel, Cora received guests visiting her owner, JaMykael, like she was a queen meeting subjects there to pay homage.”
I was at some sort of crowded little outdoor coffee. The business was wedged into a place not made for business. Small tables crowded together on a patio lined with low cinder-block walls on two sides, flowery weeds growing out of cracks, all on the edge of a tiny parking lot. A street is close by. The actual business, a rustic hole-in-the-wall offering is on the parking lot’s other side along with two or three other tiny businesses.
Pretty day and I’m a young visitor. A ginger and white cat comes to check me out. A woman who comes and goes says, “She’s begging for food. She’s always begging for food.” I try to accommodate the friendly feline. Fortunately, I have cat food! It’s cheese and something. I open the plastic cat food container and let the cat sniff. It’s eager, so I put the container down under the table, under a flowery tablecloth, so the cat can eat it.
The cat quickly returns. “You didn’t eat all that, that fast, did you?” I look below. “No, you barely touched it.” I laughed and scratched the cat’s head. “You just like being fed, don’t you?”
The woman returns with a small dog. Terrier type with curly beige fur. The dog is polite, with bright eyes, sniffing around but making no sounds.
“He’s looking for food,” the woman says. “He likes to eat the cat food.”
The dog finds the cat food and goes to town. Then the woman orders him to follow her and they’re off again.
I feed the cat again, laughing at myself for doing so. I open several of the plastic tins just to humor the cat. It licks and eats from several of them, then comes back in a quest for more.
The woman and dog return. I tell the woman about opening several packages for the cat. I realize that I’ve been sitting there for a few hours and worry about the food going bad. I ask the woman if it’s okay for the dog to eat them. The dog watches me with silent hope during the exchange. When the woman says, “Yes,” the dog jumps down and I give it some old food.
Then, in a dream shift, a friend arrives. She’s another writer. I know that she’s quit writing but she’s here to talk to me about it. So we go walking. She’s young, Black, and shorter than me. I encourage her not to stop writing. She feels like it’s become a waste. I ask her, “But if you don’t write, how will you know what you think? Isn’t that important to you?”
She repeats what I say. We’ve been walking on a trail. Now we come to a bunch of teens. They’re crowding around a bush. Dozens of tiny black insects buzz through the air. “The hornets are back,” one teen says. “Look, they’re building a nest.”
He indicates a space inside a bush. I look. Yes, the little black things are building a thing that looks like a miniature beehive. I’ve never seen anything like it. I wonder if these are really wasps. I don’t really know.
Michael Seidel, writer 