We’ve touched down on Twosda, March 18, 2023. The rain has ceased. Winter still dominates the seasonal dance off. Those blackened tufted clouds don’t bespeak of spring. Temperature is sticking close to the upper thirties as if it’s been ordered but 46 F is a projected high, the weather ‘they’ say. Sunlight has been flitting in an out on butterfly wings.
News…we won’t get into that yet. Except, locally, a woman died in rural Central Point flooding brought on by our spate of heavy rains. Was apparently clearing branches from a culvert when her waders filled and she was taken into the culvert and drowned. Sad end to a life, fighting water, trying not to drown.
Jesse Colin Young, a member of the Youngbloods folk pop rock group, passed away, 83 years old. Part of the sound of the 1960s frquently heard through a transistor radio’s thin sound as I moved from being young innocent into inquisitive teenager, Mr. Young was also an activist for peace, justice, and the environment. Soon as I read of his passing, The Neurons slotted the Youngbloods’ 1967 cover of “Get Together” into the morning mental music stream.
Coffee and I got together in the kitchen, continuing our brewmance. Hope your day goes solidly your way. Here’s the music. And off we go, into the darkish grayish yonder…
I’ve gone across the United States a few times. Furthest was from San Fransisco to New Hampshire via New York. I did that a few times in the military, always by train, and then SF to Connecticut via NY a few times for business, also by train.
I’ve always loved traveling by car. Back in the late 1950s and early 1960s, my parents loaded us into cars and off we went! One trip, barely remembered, was in a large Chevy station wagon from California to Pennsylvania. I think I was three years old. What I best remember about that was that I shared space in the station wagon’s back end with my older sister and a large black trunk. The trunk was useful as a fort and a table. Traffic being what it sometimes was, peering out the windows and waving to others was a recurring pastime. There were many coloring books involved with that trip, too.
My wife and I took a few almost cross-country trips. After I returned from my military assignment in the Philippines, I traveled to West Virginia where my wife stayed with her parents via commercial aircraft and Greyhound bus. Some of the logistics are a little foggy in my head, but I ended up visiting family in Pittsburgh and bought a used Porsche 914 there. I drove it down to West Virginia, and then my wife and I drove it across the southern United States to my new duty location outside of San Antonio, Texas. The first five hundred miles was through a blizzard. We then drove the reverse trip eight months later, when I decided to exit the military.
Funny enough, years later, there we were, in Texas again. This time we’d returned to the United States from an assignment in (on?) Okinawa. We’d been there for almost four years. Two things to know about driving in Okinawa was that it was on the left side of the road, with a right side steering wheel and the fastest speed we’d gone was 100 KPH, about 61 MPH. Renting a car in San Antonio at the airport, we were suddenly driving on the other side of the ride, the steering wheel on the other side, in the rain, at night, at 70 MPH. It was an awakening.
We then bought a new car, a Mazda RX-7, and drove it from San Antonio, Texas, to…ready? West Virginia. A big blizzard struck Texas that year. Interstate 10 was closed. Fortunately, Texas has Interstate ‘access roads’. We drove out of San Antonio through the blizzard via the access roads until we could get onto I-10. Man, I’ll tell you, traffic was pretty light.
I’ve flown cross country multiple times since then. The last time that my wife and I drove across cross country was from West Virginia to California. This was 1991. We’d been assigned to a base in Germany. She returned a few months early and was living not far from her parents in West Virginia. She’d bought a little Honda Civic. We loaded her and our three cats, Rocky, Crystal, and Jade, into the Honda, along with her belongings, and drove to Sunnyvale, California, via the Rocky Mountains. Let me tell you, the Honda, with its 1.5 liter engine, wasn’t happy about the Rockies. We’d swooped down the mountains as fast as we dared to build up speed to get up the next one. Geez, what a trip.
Not our actual car. Our car looked just like this, except it was gray.
I’ve also gone from Texas to Pennsylvania via Greyhound bus after finishing military basic training in 1975. But the one thing I always wanted to do was take a train across the country. We traveled by train in Japan and Europe, and loved it. It’s hasn’t come to pass in the U.S.
Maybe, someday, though, maybe someday…I’ll get to take a train ride across the United States.
I regularly endure negative feelings, but weirdly, I consider myself an optimist.
Dealing with negative feelings, though, had to be, um, dealt with. By the time that I was in my teens, I knew that I tended to be negative. I’ve always felt like an imposter, less capable, less intelligent, less talented, than others give me credit for being. It’s difficult for me to accept praise. I literally cringe from it.
I found answers in books. From them, I evolved some coping mechanisms.
One, I write down the worse that I think can happen from a given situation. Somehow, writing that down like that lays bare my concerns. It helps me visualize that the likelihood of many of my fears are not as great as they loom in my mind. Secondly, writing them down helps me develop insights into how to counter these fears and make them less likely to come about. It also helps me perceive the emotional side, where my negative feelings reside, and the intellectual side, where the wherewithal to learn, try, and succeed, actually resides.
Next, I learned to grit my teeth and accept that I will not succeed at everything I attempt. I will often fail. But if I don’t give up and try again, then I can learn from my mistakes, keep trying, and maybe, just possibly, succeed.
Third, I let myself rail at myself. I do this alone and I’m pretty hard on myself. But after railing, I feel an emotional release. I’m ready to take a deep breath and try again.
Lastly, I let myself procrastinate. I know that probably sounds flimsy as hell, but giving myself time to find the right energy to take things on has proven to help me overcome my fears and worries. Along the way, hand in glove with that, it gives me time to think back on similar situations where I thought I would fail or something bad would happen, but then ended up with a good outcome. That fosters encouragement that maybe this isn’t as bad as I’m making it out to be.
And now, really, lastly, I learned to laugh at myself. To not take myself and my failures or my successes too seriously. I learned how to have fun while trying these things, to admit that I screwed up, to mock myself for screwing up.
My first name is Michael. My middle name is Wayne.
But that isn’t what was planned.
“Why did you name me Michael Wayne?” I asked Mom. I was looking for a story about why those names were selected, thinking something inspired my name.”
“I didn’t,” Mom said. “Your father did.”
“What?”
“I’d just given birth and I was out of it. He filled out the paperwork and named you. That’s not what I wanted.”
“What did you want?”
“You were supposed to be Dwayne Richard.”
“Dwayne Richard? Why?” And also, “Rick’s name is Richard Dwayne.” That seemed like a weird part of the puzzle. Richard Dwayne is my cousin, born a month before me.
Mom nodded. “I told your Aunt Jean that I wanted to name you Dwayne Richard. She stole it and named her son Richard Dwayne.”
Wild. I later asked Dad, “Why’d you name me Michael Wayne?”
“I didn’t.”
“Mom said you did.”
“I named you what she told me to.”
“That’s not what she said.”
“She probably doesn’t remember. She was pretty out of it. Listen, you know your mother. Do you really think I wouldn’t do exactly what she told me to do?”
I never got any satisfying reason for why my middle or first name was chosen. It’s just is what it is.
Welcome, welcome, welcome. It’s Sattida, March 8, 2025. The spelling for today is inspired by memory of how one of my younger sisters used to pronounce the day. She was a sunny child. When I laughed and teased her about the way she said it, she glowered with thunder cloud intensity. That put an end to that.
Right now, we’re a 39 F but it’s climbing fast as the big swirling ball of energy breaches the blue sky. An upper limit of 64 F is expected, the weather ‘they’ tell us.
Happy International Women’s Day.International Women’s Day (IWD), marked annually on March 8, is a global day of recognition celebrating the social, economic, cultural and political achievements of women while also calling for increased gender equality.
This day has evolved from its early 20th-century socialist roots to a worldwide observance embraced by the United Nations and countless organizations globally.
The observance dates back to the first International Women’s Day in 1911 when over one million people across Europe protested for women’s suffrage and labor rights, according to UN Women.
Women are still protesting for women’s suffrage and labor rights, over 114 years later. As others note, as we witness it, the progress they’ve made is reversible. Many men will state things like, “I think it was a mistake to give women the right to vote.” So, apparently men are born with that right, but men gave it to women. What a crock of maladjusted, egotistical thinking.
The Neurons invited an Elton John song into the morning mental music stream. “Your Song” has lyrics written by Bernie Taupin. Released in 1970, I was fourteen. I found the song to be introspective, a person thinking about who they are, what they want, and where they’re going. That felt perfect for me in that age and era. Bernie wrote the song but Elton John found the inflections and tone to sharpen the focus and enrich the words’ sensibilities.
It’s in me this morning because of dreams. Not a specific dream but the way my dreams lifted me up. I admittedly view the world through a lens of disappointment. We we do not live up to our potential to be so much more. We seem to be regressing, perhaps even devolving. It could be true that we’re doing both of those things, and pondering the mechanics and influences which might make them true is a challenging bit of logic work on its own. Despite my outward anger and disappointment, I constantly experience uplifting and reassuring dreams these days. Like our state of the world, the why behind these dreams are worthy of their own thinking and writing time. We’re still explaining dreams as a species, trying to understand what creates them. Either way, my dreams’ uplifting nature feels like a gift. I’m just not sure who is sending it to me.
“Your Song” wasn’t featured in a dream, though, no. It came about from my thinking, “It’s funny how I feel inside despite my pessimism and disappointment.” It was a short flea jump from that bridge to Elton John’s opening vocals, “It’s a little bit funny, this feeling inside.”
Hope your Sattida lives up to your needs and hopes. Coffee has been welcomed into my gullet once again. Time to rock another day. Cheers
Yesterday, sunshine was uncorked on us. Washing through blue skies, our air temp crested 70 F and lived there for a while. Gorgeous day, right?
Today, it’s 51 F and sunny. But we’re only expecting 63 F. And…rain. Still, pretty springish winter day. ‘Bout average for Ashlandia on Saturda, March 1, 2025.
Yep, a new month has begun. Sixteen percent of 2025 has been experienced. Those expecting a calm after the 2024 elections are probably disappointed. Those working for the Federal government in any capacity are likely stunned. Those hoping for lower inflation are probably too overwhelmed for emotions.
One thing unchanged are the lies that come out of Trump’s mouth. ‘Another lie’: MSNBC’s Nicolle Wallace smacks down Trump and Vance’s latest claims. No matter the subject, he will reliably lie, twist history, and bloviate, a fool who thinks himself a genius. He’s demonstrated these ‘qualities’ throughout his lifetime. Since he first announced his run for POTUS, it has been recorded and documented. And it sill goes on because his cult followers and the GOTP gleefully slurp it up by the spoonful.
Let me turn away from that. Take a coffee break for a while.
The Neurons dragged today’s song out of 2015. It came from a morning compound of wondering and cogitating as I slept-walked through the morning observances related to cleaning, feeding, eating, drinking. Prepping goes with all that. The routines induced a reflective miasma about being younger. Only, I was not the direct object of these thoughts; I was focused on Mom and Dad. Dad is with his third wife. In his nineties, he has issues but she’s younger than him by a decade and tends him well. His situation is solid.
Mom, though, is 89. She lives with her 95 year-old-fiance. It’s an old, three-story house. She falls a lot. Injuries and worries ripple out of each fall. She blames her back for her falls. I blame pride. I blame her refusal to accept her limitations and adjust her activities to their new scope. I understand; I don’t give up my routines. They’re routines because they comfort or reassure, or we enjoy them. These routines address something in our psychological makeup which isn’t easily altered.
The song is by Lukas Graham. As I went through the thought exercise of looking back, gazing forward, and reflecting on now, “7 Years Old” played in my morning mental music stream. The song is about reflections of being different ages and the attitudes and memories of that age prevail. So it was quite apt for my morning mental meandering.
Coffee and a doughnut are trespassing on my taste buds. Don’t know how they got past my defenses. Hope your day rocks in needed good ways. Here we go, in three…two…one…
Sunshine, gejer sunshine here. Another sprinter day had landed in Ashlandia. It held quite well yesterday, with the sun pushing us into the mid to upper 50s. 43 F now we’re expectin’ the same today. ‘They’ of the weather seer industry tell us tomorrow will push 70 F. To which I say, ahhhh…
Read the news but meh. The midweek firehose is fully open. Triggering many thoughts. We’re waiting on the budget news from the House and Senate reconciliation. Democrats are expecting the GOTP to attack Medicaid to fund the wealthy’s tax breaks. The GOTP is retorting with indignity, “Lies, lies.” Most claim they’re not going to touch Medicaid but a few of them have been eagerly eyeing it and salivating. PINO Trusk of course is claiming that the GOTP won’t touch it but he’s a known liar so his assurances don’t much matter. Besides, he’s busy golfing.
Flashback moment: Remember back when he first ran for POTUS last decade when Trump said he would be too busy to golf? He’s since gone on to golf more than any other POTUS. Meanwhile, prices rise and the U.S.’s world standing cracks and falls.
Today’s music is by Free. If you guessed it would be “Alright Now”, you’re damn clever. I don’t know why The Neurons parked the 1971 song in my morning mental music stream. Just arrived sans warning as I bubbled the kitchen doing morning bizness. If you’re of a certain age, watching the video of the boys performing will ring with nostalgia. This was rock.
Coffee has stolen into my body’s inner sanctum. Now I’m ready to rock. Hope you rock your day wherever you are and whatever you do. Here we go, in three…two…one…
This is a simple prompt to address. It’s simple for me because I’ve thought about it before. I long ago read about, “The unexamined life is not worth living.” So I’ve examined. Looked at what I did wrong. Catalogued my failures and successes. Looked at where and how they could be improved.
Five basic tenets emerged.
Have more confidence.
Pursue more education.
Party less.
Be kinder and more helpful to others.
Have the courage to chase your dreams.
I imagine many people have similar insights into themselves. Fortunately, at 68 years old, I can still pursue these changes for myself. Especially the ‘party less’ aspect. I mean, do you know how much energy it takes to party? I don’t have it at my age.
This is another of those questions with contingencies circling around a word. Today, it’s ‘gift’. I mean, the gifts of life and good health are often on people’s lists. I’ve experienced enough personal health scares to appreciate those words. A memory seared into my being is of being very sick one year. Bronchitis turned to pneumonia. I awoke to Mom’s high pitched appeals, “Please, Lord, let my son live.” Her efforts worked, as here I am. Pretty good gift, I think.
Then there is the best gift received as a present. That would be a 1/20 scale model of a 1961 Jaguar XK-E. I was around nine or ten years old. Car fever bowled me over. Porsches, Corvettes, Ferraris, name it. But that Jag impressed me as the most stylistic art on four wheels. The roadster was my choice but the model was a coupe. It was fun to build, and I displayed the result with pride.
However, there was a shirt given to me when I was fourteen. A female classmate had a crush on me. I was aware of this because other girls wrote me a note informing me of the fact. Later that week, she bought the shirt, and gave it to me as a gift. Although the shirt wasn’t my style, I was flattered. Astonished, really. In retrospect, I understand how much courage it took her to buy that and give it to me.
I suppose, though, the best gift is that kiss and hug my wife gave me the first time she ever told me she loved me. Unable to speak the words, she wrote them in the steam on a window. We were teenagers and that’s another memory captured in amber. Married a few years later, we’re still married fifty years later.
So, not an easy question to answer. The question does force me to realize how many great gifts I’ve received.
I hope I was able to give a few to others along the way.
I often think about Mom & Dad at my age of 68 and what they were doing.
Mom, with a couple divorces behind her, was a late bloomer in some ways. She’d given birth to seven children. Five lived. Forfeiting graduating high school to leave her small town of Turin, Iowa and find employment and begin her own life, she eventually acquired her GED. That was long after I’d left home and begun my life. After gaining her GED, she went to college and became an LPN and RN. A twenty-year in that followed; she retired at my current age, devoting herself to being a grandmother.
Dad and Mom had divorced decades before. Dad was in the military, the U.S. Air Force. After retiring at 20 years, when he was thirty-nine years old, he worked in the grocery business as a produce manager and then bought his own restaurant. When he was around 48, twenty years younger than I am now, he moved west to Texas. He worked in different retail businesses while becoming a real estate agent. He always like running stores, though. Eventually, he was running the largest truck stop west of the Mississippi. Along the way, he met another woman; she became his third wife. They’ll be married 33 years on Valentine’s Day of 2025. Meanwhile, he kept managing that truck stop. Every time he told them he was thinking about retiring, they’d offer him more pay, bonuses, and vacation. He did eventually give it up when he was 80. So at my current age, he was fully in the thick of running it.
They’re a surprising couple. From lower class working roots, they married many times. Each had productive careers. Between the two of them, each was parent to seven children but they also buried three children. Five of us siblings shared them as parents. I left Mom’s home when I was 14 to live with Dad and then left his house at 17, joining the military as Dad had done, so much of what I saw of their lives was through a long distance lens. Mom and Dad remain alive. Mom is 89 and Dad is 92. Both endure health issues but because of the era when they worked and the effort they put in, they have excellent health benefits.
Of course, the flip side of it all is, what will I be like at their ages?
Michael Seidel, writer 