I was back in the military. One of my people, Randy, a friend, was chosen for a special honor. He was very nervous.
I told him, “Relax, there’s nothing to worry about. You’ll do great.” I then promised to circle back around but I had dozens of things to attend so I kept moving.
Somebody caught me and asked me if it was true that Randy had been selected for the honor. Yes, I confirmed. Did I have anything to do with it, I was asked. Yes, I answered, I nominated him and wrote up the nomination.
Leaving them, I checked on another task. A young officer was selected for a risky mission. I went by to see him and ask if I needed anything. He thanked me for my part in getting him the assignment because he knew I had something to do with it. Laughing, I joked, “Oh, no, don’t try to pin this on me,” and moved on.
After going by some other places, I returned to Randy. More details were emerging. He’d been sitting in a stadium full of people. A spotlight and camera would be on him.
I again assured him that he’d be fine. He then put on a black sports jacket. He told me, “I hate wearing things like this.”
I answered, “You’ll be fine. It’s just for a short time. Besides, it makes you look skinnier.”
He laughed and swore at me.
Time for me to leave. I headed for the exit, still with many things to do. A one star – brigadier general – tall, white, skinny – stopped me. I didn’t know him.
He explained that he’d heard that I’d supported the officer’s request for the assignment.
“Yes,” I replied. “I talked to him and he wanted it.”
The general said, “But it’s risky.”
“I know,” I said.
The general went on, “It took a lot of courage for you to agree with him going.”
“It did,” I agreed.
Thinking the conversation over, I went to move past him.
The general apparently thought I wanted a hug. When I realized that, I reciprocated the hug but I found it very strange. We ended up in an awkward half embrace that was made worse because he was much taller than him. When I looked up at his face, I was surprised that he was teary eye.
I was at an outdoor gathering with others. None were ‘real-life’ friends. I knew them casually in the dream, as we’d just completed some kind of training or gathering.
Setup was very casual, and I was much young then my RL age. Just wrapping up, I received notifications and tickets about my travel plans. I glanced at them but didn’t read them deeply, just making myself aware of what they were.
Walking across a large swath of grass towards where the others were with food, grill, picnic tables, I came across a large brown rabbit. It was watching me as I walked by, and I realized, oh, it’s hungry.
So I said, “Are you hungry?”
Wagging it tail, it hopped toward me.
I chuckled to myself. “Why, you’re just like a cat or a dog, aren’t you?” Then, walking on, I added, “Wait here. I’ll get you something to eat.”
The others were sitting around the tables, bullshitting. We’d eaten earlier. I was trying to figure out, what does a rabbit eat? But I knew what a rabbit ate; I didn’t see anything like that on the table or grill. I only saw buns and cookies. Then I did notice a little salad left.
I casually picked up a few things, including a cookie, not wanting to share with the others that I was feeding the rabbit. The rabbit jumped up on the table and began eating.
Pretending to be upset, I chided the rabbit, “Get down off the table, you’re not supposed to be eating that.”
But I thought, that’s what I’ll give the rabbit to eat.
The rabbit jumped down. One of the guys there said, “You were going to feed that rabbit, weren’t you?”
I denied it, but he went on, “You were going to give him that cookie.”
Shrugging, I replied, “So what if I was?”
Giving the rabbit food, I walked away. Remembering my tickets, I pulled them out to check the details. Everything was washed out by water spots.
For a moment, I thought, how did that happen?
Then I was angry about it. One of the others walked past and asked, “How’s it going?”
I explained what had happened, showing my tickets. They said, “Same thing happened to me. What are you going to do?”
I replied, “I’ll just go to the airport. There will be someone there who can help me.” Shrugging, I thought, there could also be an administrator here who could help.
As I began looking around, trying to figure out where to go to find the administrator, the dream ended.
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.
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.
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.
Summer remains in full effect here. While it’s a pleasant, blue-sky 70 now, we expect 94 F to arrive before the sun curves out of sight.
Papi says, that’s okay. Let’s get something to eat, clean up, and take a nap.
With little surprise and total arrogance, Trump insisted on a huge fireworks display for the 4th. Per nature’s rules, that caused pollution which resulted in unhealthy air for We the People living and visiting there. The situation was made worse by the extreme heat the area is experiencing. Saturday’s temperature reached 103 degrees F that day. The extreme heat caused the pollution to linger.
I have “Cinnamon Girl” stuck in my morning mental music stream. It’s dream related. I had three dreams last night and one involved a woman with cinnamon-colored skin. With my wife, she and I were taken aback by the woman’s beautiful skin. She was petite, barely more than a girl. We saw her three times in the dream but never spoke with her. Instead, we would be walking through the throngs, look up and say, “Look, there’s the cinnamon girl.”
So, here is the song by Neil Young and Crazy Horse.
May happiness and joy fill your Monday and carry you into a brighter, better future.
The dream found me at home – not my real-life place – with my wife. I awoke to discover that she had hired people to fix the plumbing. Thick, dark dust filled the air from the work. Three men were going all through the house, looking at the pipes and changing things.
I was floored that my wife had apparently decided to do that without consulting me. “First that I’ve heard about it,” I huffed before going off.
Coming back later, the men were in another part of the house. The three were all older, with short hair, white skin, and wore coveralls. Weirdly, usually they stayed clustering, staring at the pipes and talking about what they were going to do.
I came across my wife in another room. Wrench in hand, she was working herself on plumbing in a bathtub. I was like, “What the hell?”
I noticed that she was working on the faucet and spigots but she was on the side of the tub and had the floor torn up; but the tub still had its faucet and spigots attached on the end. I wondered, is she putting in new ones on the side to make it easier for her? Or putting in a new tub? I didn’t.
Going outside, I saw that she had people working in the garden and was building something new out there. That worried me. I knew that she had evidence of crimes committed buried there. (I was thinking that it was a murder but I didn’t seem sure.) I went back and told her that I didn’t think that was a smart decision but she was busy with the pipes and didn’t respond.
Returning outside, I saw a large rock being moved; I knew that was crucial evidence. With a sigh, I also saw that a police detective I’d seen earlier was watching and saw the rock. A little later, the police began digging up the area.
I thought, my wife is going to be going away, because her DNA is all over that. That disappointed and saddened me but I also thought, I should be okay because my DNA won’t be there.
Ashland, southern Oregon — Tuesday, June 20, 2026.
Blue skies and sunshine. A light wind is blowing. Temperatures are creeping out of the fifties through the sixties, heading for the seventies.
Hmm. Almost the reverse of the Trump administration. They’re creeping back toward through the seventies toward the fifties — the 1850s.
Hope they’ve read “Yesteryear”. *lol*
Back to the weather. The Gingerboi, Papi, declares it almost perfect. If not for the wind, he says…
Had an excellent sleep last night. My dreams had me laughing. I’d read again a historical novel, “The Winter King”, and watched again “The Last Kingdom”. I then ended up dreaming of myself as basically a character in those settings last night. They were fun dreams, and did not have the bloody violence of the television series or novel.
The War between Trump and Facts continues. In this episode, he battles on against what our eyes show: the Great American State Fair is another Great American Trump Mess.
Reputable reporters and bloggers reported low turnout for the heavily-hyped Trump event. Trump declared there were 45,000 people attending but offered no evidence of that while others provided photos
You know, I side against Trump. He’s lied thousands of times about multiple topics. He repeats lies — like how great the economy is doing and how much respect the nation has gained. Hard data and anecdotal experiences expose his lies.
Then, there is Algaegate, the ‘redoing’ of the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool. Trump began by denigrating how it looked, dismissing what others did to fix. He bragged about how great he would make it look, what a great deal he got to make it happen, misleading us about the price while doing so.
Then the results came in, and its horrible. And the story grows about who did what behind the scenes — driving across the pool, using materials on it for which it isn’t suited, spending more money than claimed. It was supposed to cost $1M to $2M. He’s now had $16.4M spent on it.
There’s that expression, once bitten, twice shy. Other sayings proceeded it: a scalded cat fears cold water. The point is that we learn to distrust. Once mislead, we’re skeptical. Once hurt, we keep our distance.
Trump does not respect that at all. But that’s how I respond to all his claims. Any trust which may have been there is gone.
Here’s today’s music from the morning mental music stream, “Once Bitten, Twice Shy”, by Great White.
I hope you have a gloriously happy but safe day. Go with peace and grace.
Ashland, southern Oregon — Saturday, June 27, 2026.
A cool summer day, overcast and dark. Rain showers came and went yesterday, and the high never broke the low 60s.
Today, it’s 51 F and seems like it might not get as warm as yesterday. I’m okay with it but I worry about how it affects the local agriculture. The good news that emerges from it is that we’re less likely to suffer from a wildfire in our area.
I’m doing much better today with post-op. Moving more like myself. Not bothered by a feeling that I constantly need to pee, I’m also able to sit and bend much more comfortably. The hiccups continue, though; violent hiccups awoke me at 2 AM on Friday morning. They lasted about thirty minutes. Had two more attacks yesterday, mollifying them with Manuka honey. Another attack this morning but it ended after just a few minutes on its own.
Hiccups are common after being intubated, and I was intubated after I was sedated. Several reasons for the hiccups are given, including irritating Vagus nerves and diaphragm tissue.
As an aside, I did wake up several times last night to ensure my tube was draining correctly. I don’t know what prompted that concern, as it always was. Thank you to everyone who texted, emailed, or commented on my medical issues and wished me well.
Catching up on the news, I see that Utah is now on the wildfire front. I feel for them and wish them safety.
My wife pointed me toward an article about the new US commemorative passports Trump created. They feature Trump’s likeness face and say, “Welcome, but be good.”
Like, WTF, old man, do you understand that the passport is for US citizens to go overseas and return?
Meanwhile, we continue to deal with Trump’s messes: Iran war, Epstein files, tariffs, the ballroom, a worsening economy, and the ongoing problem of the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool, otherwise called Algaegate. The thing about all of these is that he took a fair to middling to good situation and worsened. That is the Trump legacy.
In the Iran War, the US and Iran have signed some kind of something to agree not to fight but are shooting at each other once again. Neither side trusts the other.
As part of Operation Epic LOOK — SQUIRREL!, Trump threatened European countries with a 100% tariff if digital services taxes are implemented. Everyone mostly shrugged. One, this is TACO: Trump Always Chickens Out. While he frequentlythreatens, Trump also slinks away without carrying out on his threats. The pattern has been well-established.
I also read that Trump’s Freedom 250 celebration was sparsely attended, leading to him pleading for greater attendance. That brings us to your Trump Quote of the Day:
Newsflash, Trump: historians are rating you as one of the worst presidents ever! As the Trump disasters stack, we expect Trump to cement that legacy as the worst ever. As for popularity, Trump keeps sinking in almost every poll except for the ones he and his staff fake to appease his ego.
Today’s song is “Who Made Who” by AC/DC. The song is in today’s morning mental music stream because of a dream. Not a great deal of the dream was remembered but in one point of it, I remember asking someone else, “Well, who made you do that?” As I sat and remembered that piece of dream, using it as a lure for the rest of the dream to follow and re-emerge, My Neurons — who don’t always pay attention to what I’m doing — began playing the song.
The song was released in 1982 as part of a movie soundtrack. I’ve often thought it as I wonder about people like Donald Trump: who made you? How did you get into power?
In a funny way, I found a good summary of Trump in an historic fiction book, “The Winter King”. This is by Bernard Cornwell. I enjoy many of his books and was re-reading “The Winter King”, which is based on who the mythological King Arthur may have been, and that era of pre-England when Britons were fighting the invading Saxons. In later Cornwell historic series, including “The Last Kingdom”, the Saxons are fighting off the Danes to establish ‘one England’. What a history.
Anyway, in “The Winter King”, paraphrasing, a character describes Lancelot as a man who makes lying a choice and always lies to cover his weaknesses and to make people like him. Lancelot is portrayed as a coward who takes others’ victories as his own and is able to charm others into believing his lies. I’m fascinated because that’s exactly how I think of Trump, and this description of Lancelot was published in 1995.
I hope your day is full of positive energy and that you and yours stay safe and secure.
Michael Seidel, writer 