Stepping into the coffee shop, I immediately scan for a table and chair to sit and write.
It’s late morning and busy. Aha, though — two tables are there for —
“Hey, Michael.”
I’m being accosted from across the room. The speaker is a barista. Having shouted out my name, they’ve busy multi-tasking.
Spotting Kat first, I begin, “Hey, Ka — “
I see Natalie.
I don’t know which called out.
So I finish, “Talie.”
Chuckling to myself about this, I dumped my gear at a table and head to the counter. Kat is manning the register and Natalie is busy preparing my coffee. I hear Natalie say, “Curling,” before she turns away.
Kat asks, “Let me ask you, Michael. Are you watching the Olympics?”
“Only the curling,” I reply.
Natalie roars with laughter as Kat’s mouth drops open.
“No way,” Kat finally says.
“Yes, way,” I answer. “By the way. When I came in, I heard one of you say hello to me. I didn’t know who it was, so I called you Katalie.”
The two bend over with laughter. “We ARE Katalie,” Kat shouts. Whipping toward each other, she and Natalie exchange high fives.
I pay and take my coffee. The writing day has an auspicious beginning.
Sunshine lit up the room today. It’s Thursday, February 5, 2026, in Ashland but the weather defies that date. Papi and I went out to the back patio and enjoyed sunshine.
“It feels balmy out,” Papi noticed.
“I agree,” I answered.
Oh, wait; reverse that. Papi agreed to me, or so I thought from how he threw himself down and rolled around, inviting a belly rub and purring.
62 F online, my home says it’s 69. White pulled-taffy clouds have a small footprint in the dominant blue sky. Highs might crest 70.
Talking with friends last night, we agreed, nice weather but worrisome for the coming summer’s water needs. Meanwhile, sis sent me photos of her glistening snowclad yard, pretty but 22 degrees.
I showed sis’s snow photo to my wife. “Yes, it’s pretty until it melts,” my wife offered. I agreed.
My wife mentioned that TrumpRx was launching tonight but didn’t think it would do well.
Trump certainly has a chaotic and checkered history that sets his efforts up for doubt. As for TrumpRx, we’ll see. Only time and facts will reveal the truth.
The Neurons pulled a strange song into the morning mental music stream. “Kings and Queens” by Aerosmith came out almost fifty years ago. I knew it from their album but I don’t think I’ve ever heard it on the radio. Yet, there I was, singing it to myself in the kitchen as I fulfilled Papi’s feeding needs.
I suspect the song came up because I’m serving Papi and thinking about recent political developments.
Onward into the day’s mettle with hopes that peace and grace find and carry us. See you on the other side of the coffee cup.
Coffee house hissing, loud laughter, and boisterous conversations swam around me. Waiting in line, a barista prepared quiches and burritos and told me about her cat until I reached the register.
Jessie, the cashier, has grave eyes with a welcoming but cautious smile. As she rang up my order, I tilted my gaze to a cheap-looking white ring on her third finger.
Wondering if it had symbolic meaning, I suggested, “That’s an interesting ring.”
Holding her hand up, Jessie regarded the ring and chuckled. “My sister-in-law lost her wedding ring in the ocean one year. I started worrying that I’d lose mine, so now I only wear my wedding ring on special occasions.”
Turning the ring on her finger, she looked off and smiled to herself. “I wear rings like this instead. I have a bunch of them and let my daughter pick them out for me. She’s say, ‘Today, you’ll wear pink.’ Or, ‘I think you’ll wear orange.'”
We laughed together. Walking off, I imagined her daughter giving her a pink ring to put on her finger.
It’s Friday, January 23, 2026. Eight more days, and 2026’s first month is done.
Ashland’s weather is again blue sky, sunshine, and 36 to 46 degrees F, with stagnant air. I guess the weather isn’t into changing much around here.
Reading of the advance of that big winter storm smothering the eastern U.S., I’m happy with my weather today. Snow, ice, freezing rain, sleet, and record cold temperatures are aligned to strike. All of you in that weather’s path, take care and hang on.
Tell me you don’t know the difference between weather and climate without telling me
It’s sad that people like Donald Trump don’t understand the difference between weather and climate. I don’t think it’s a failure of education as much as it’s lazy thinking. As they say, weather is your mood today; climate is your personality.
I’d like to insert a courtesy reminder that today is a Day of Truth and Justice. This is to remind us that an ICE agent killed a person, Renee Good, earlier this month. Since then, ICE has increased its presence and violence in Minnesota.
While official-sounding reasons about immigration sweeps are announced, the primary reason seems to be retaliation. That explanation fits with the pattern to date under Trump 47. Minnesota is blue and Donald Trump is levying vengeance on any state that he didn’t carry, in much the same way that he’s trying to bully other nations to do whatever he thinks is best.
To counter Trump’s tactics and strategy, a general boycott to support Minnesota and those suffering from ICE’s attacks on Americans is in effect today, January 23, 2026. If you care, don’t buy, please.
For me, that means staying at home to write and not spending any money for anything past what’s already committed for health, safety, and security, such as electricity and water.
The Neurons inserted a song by The Smiths in the morning mental music stream, “Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now”. The trigger for the song’s recall was, “Why do I give valuable time to people who don’t care if I live or die?”
I believe it’s a general reflection that many of us are trying to improve everyone’s life. That includes some people who don’t care about others living or dying. Some even have expressed it online with lines like, “Die Liberal Scum”. It’s enough to make you wonder, as The Smiths did.
My hope for you today is that you’re safe, healthy, and warm. Happy would be nice, too, if it can be managed. For now, I’ll accept coffee. Cheers
I was in the coffee shop — typing, revising, thinking, scrambling through the novel, noticing faults and fixing them. Progress was steady but heavy with challenge.
.Another customer approached my table. Regulars, she and I briefly spoke together a few times. Today she said, “Excuse me, but I love watching you at your table.”
Blinking, I gave her my attention.
She continued, “You become so deeply focused and oblivious to the rest of us, it just amazes me. I’m sorry to interrupt you but I really felt an itch to say something.”
I thanked her with a laugh. “Don’t worry. Interruptions can be helpful. Sometimes a little break is needed to help me think more clearly.”
We exchanged names, then she left the coffee shop, leaving me smiling.
Sometimes it feels good to be noticed as orders are called out, conversations rise and fall, and people come and go.
Monday, January 19, 2026 has rolled into Ashland. 32 F at the house, Alexa and the net insist it’s 43. Stagnant air warnings remain, but the blue sky and sunshine offer hope for something better. Highs are expected to kiss 60 F, maybe inch over that.
Why then, am I down?
Something unidentified broke my sleep last night. Papi swears it wasn’t him. Nor do dreams seem like the cause. The three remembered dreams offer the typical blend of wonder, hope, and anxiety. Writing is going well. Maybe my hormones are causing something. Hormones can be sneaky, underhanded energy challenges.
I felt like Dad’s spirit visited me yesterday afternoon. Busy exercising, my mind was free. A sad thought that I couldn’t pick up the phone and call Dad passed through me. Then it was like Dad was suddenly there, grinning and laughing like he was fifty years younger, a startling few moments, to which I smiled.
Dad and I were both in the military for 20 years and enjoyed cars. We also enjoyed robust political discussions.
During my last conversation with him, he told me he disapproved of Trump’s policies and behavior. He also commented that his wife and her family were staunch Trump supporters. Living in Texas, he was surrounded by MAGA, and related that there was ‘no talking to them’. Those folks consistently maintained that Trump could do no wrong.
Frank, Mom’s significant other and Army veteran, scowled when talking about Trump. The man rarely cursed but when he did, it was often in conjunction with Trump.
I’m pleased both of them passed away and won’t need to endure watching Trump’s policies unfold.
The Neurons turned to Albert King and Stevie Ray Vaughn to help me climb out of this funk. “Born Under A Bad Sign” plays in the morning mental music stream. I wasn’t born under a bad sign but I feel like I woke up under one today. I’ll indulge in some blues music, sipping coffee, partake of some news and blog posts, and sort myself.
Hope your day starts under a good sign that things will go well for you, perhaps one with hints of peace and grace.
Driving through town to my coffee destinaiton, I heard Elton John performing “Bennie and the Jets” on the radio today. The Neurons immediately slipped alternative lyrics into my head.
D-d-d-Donny and the ICEss Oh, but they’re weird and armored up Oh, Donny, he’s really mean He’s got mango skin, and they shoot to kill You know the Minneapolis scene, oh D-d-d-Donny and the ICEss
Sure, it’s because ICE and Trump are heavy on my mind with what’s going on in Minnesota.
But it could just be that I need more coffee, quick.
I was in the coffee shop on a writing mission, nursing a stiff neck. Falling asleep in a chair the other night, my head slipped out of position. I’ve been doing micro movements almost absent-mindedly to loosen it.
So, there I was, eyes closed, flexing my neck and head back and forth. A Steve Miller song, “Keep On Rockin’ Me, Baby”, floated out of the speakers. Without thinking about it, I was moving my head side to side in time with the music.
When I opened my eyes, a small pair of blue eyes were watching me—blonde hair, rosy cheeks, pink plastic boots. She began copying me. Eyebrows lifting, head tilting, she mirrored every little motion.
I grinned, and she laughed, and so did I. For a moment, it felt like we were performing a tiny, accidental duet—two strangers connected by rhythm, movement, and the music of another time.
The temperature is sulking between 28 (my house) and 37 F (the net). The net amends its claim, “Feels like 27 degrees”. Well, alright then.
It’s Frida, January 9, 2026. The grass is a ghostly shade of green under an unstoppable blue sky. Sunshine feeds light into the valley. All of it looks promising, optimistic. Today’s high will drag the mercury to 46 F.
I’m processing news and information, reflecting on 2026’s launch and its relative successes and failures. Mom and sis have been quiet. Sis has only commented on another sister’s behavior. The other sister is urging everyone to sell Mom’s house quickly but is not doing anything to make that happen.
Sis and Mom are quiet. I hope it’s because stress has dropped for the two, letting them breathe and communicate. I have my fingers crossed that we’ll see a peaceful January. If they can go an entire month without blowing up my phone with texts accusing the other of hate and malfeasance, it’ll be a new record.
Likewise, watching growing reactions in the political world, I slowly became hopeful that improvements are rising. My hopes are not unlimited.
After an ICE agent shot and killed an American citizen in Minneapolis, there was a shooting involving border patrol agents and civilians in Portland. Fortunately, only two civilians were shot and they received prompt medical treatment. I don’t know how the two victims are faring; I hope both are recovering.
Mixed concerns rose after listening to Portland’s Mayor and Oregon Governor Tina Kotes speaking after the shooting. They called out Trump, Homeland Security, and ICE to de-escalate the situation. They then talked about re-building an atmosphere of trust.
Sadly, I don’t think Trump cares about a trust between citizens or political parties. Trump has ramped up his belligerence in 2026’s early days by insinuating that more military action against other nations and territories is possible. Even as National Guard units are being removed from Portland (OR) due to a judge’s order, Trump threatens to send them back in.
My worries about his increasing threats are grounded in the claim he’s recently made that only he can stop himself. Trump’s history is not one of self-restraint and his second term is replete with threats. He’s attacked judges who ruled against him, politicians who speak against him, and reporters who don’t portray him as the greatest.
Between Mom, sis, Trump, and the weather, I’m ready for January to be emotionally up and down. As it sometimes is with me, that mood summons songs from the grunge side.
This morning, the delivery came as I watched a small bird fly down to the yard. After three quick hops, he flitted to the wire. His little head popped left and right. To my mind, he was doing a recon, and his conclusion was, no, this is not the place, because he jumped up and flew off.
I smiled throughout this and thought about having wings and flying. The Neurons jumped into the thought party at that point to play me some “Down in A Hole” by Alice in Chains in the morning mental music stream.
The Neurons didn’t start at the beginning. They selected the lines, “I’d like to fly, but my wings have been so denied.” Laughter to that seemed like an appropriate response.
Coffee has been added to my morning tilt. Energy is rising. I hope you all reach and stay in a good place for this day and the many to follow. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 