I’m sipping on a smoothie. Wild blueberries with banana, water, pear, and spinach, it’s a personal favorite. It is not going down well.
My abdomen aches from the bottom of my sternum to an inch below my belly button. Last night, I had a mini croissant. Freshly baked frozen thing from TJs. Ate it about seven PM. At 3:30, my gall bladder spasmed, telling me it didn’t like what I’d done.
Fortunately, the emergency room had given me meds for this moment when I visited them on July 6, 2025. I did a pain killer and an anti-nausea pill and then rolled with it back in bed for several softly groaning hours. I sometimes dropped into a sketchy, uncomfortable sleep. Deeper sleep came after full sunshine was lighting the yard.
Awakening, my esophagus felt raw and burning. Bile’s taste pushed into my throat. I sipped water. That made it worse. A small spoon of manuka helped ease all of that. Then back to bed, where deeper sleep comforted me for a while.
Finally at one thirty, I got out of bed. My wife and I made the smoothie together. Now I sit, trying to coax it down. Another pain pill might be in order if I’m gonna get any writing done. I’ve been taught a lesson, again: be more mindful about what you eat. I’ve learned it before.
Mom participates in a sleep study once a month. An emphysema sufferer, she wears a mask at night with a machine that helps her breathe.
This study, though, I don’t know. Full disclosure: I’m not a sleep expert. Fuller disclosure: I’m not an expert in anything. But from a point of view that I have lived a bit, I question the quality of the sleep study. They have her turn up three hours before her normal bedtime. Then they require all the participants to sleep in their clothes. This idea is so they can get up and leave faster in the morning.
About the morning. They wake the sleep participants up at 5 AM to scoot them out the door. And, Mom complains that they keep the place freezing cold and don’t provide anyone with enough blankets. Not much sleeping is done, Mom says.
Again, I’m not an expert, but it sounds like this sleep study is in the deep throes of full-on enshittification.
Another sunny summer day has been born in Ashlandia. We shall name this day Thirstda, July 24, 2025. Temps right now are moderate at 83 F but if you stand in that sunshine and let it beam down on you, the sweat comes fast. Today’s high will peak at about 92, 93 F, I think. Clouds, dust, or smoke hazes some of the sky’s blue, but I don’t smell smoke. The ol’ schnoz seems unafflicted by particulates today. Yea for me, I guess.
Hulk Hogan has passed away. I greet that with a shrug. Ozzy Osbourne passed a couple days ago. I mourn him more, but it’s remote mourning. I’ve been expecting him to pass. Thanks for the music and entertainment, Oz.
A net friend, Annette, posted a reflective post about family, wealth, and change. It melded well with my mood and thoughts after long exchanges with my sister about my mother, Mom’s health, and her living situation. Life, mortality, and death seem to be draping themselves all over me as I observe others’ situations and reflect upon my own. Make hay while the sun shines, right? Because storms can crash in and change everything in an eyeblink.
Over on the political spectrum of my existence, I grimace to more news about the enshittification of things. Yes, it makes me unhappy. Reading opposing opinions about things like cuts to NPR and public broadcasting, the celebration of their potential demise depresses me. Others are scornful and dismissive of any positive impact they may have on people, communities, and civilization. Some things seem to be strictly defined through a narrow scope of costs, profits, and losses, as if this is what life is about. The debt, the debt, some scream, we must do something about the debt! More tariffs! More tax cuts for the wealthy! More tax write-offs for the ultra wealthy. Less help for the states! Less help for the poor! And so it will go until they need help from other states, need help from the poor, say, in a war, for example, or to work. Yes, I’m disgusting by the right-wing tilt going on. I think it counterproductive to common goals and needs. The tilt benefits a few at the expense of the nation.
Today’s theme music is both homage to Ozzy’s memory, my own life, and how I view the current world situation. Yes, it’s “Crazy Train” from 1980. I told others while commenting on Ozzy last night that I’ve been on the crazy train. I’ve seen my family on the crazy train, and friends. A friend replied, “I think we’ve all spent some time on the crazy train.” Now I think the world is climbing on the crazy train.
Crazy, but that’s how it goes Millions of people living as foes Maybe it’s not too late To learn how to love and forget how to hate
Mental wounds not healing Life’s a bitter shame
I’m going off the rails on a crazy train I’m going off the rails on a crazy train (Let’s go)
I’ve listened to preachers, I’ve listened to fools I’ve watched all the dropouts, who make their own rules One person conditioned to rule and control The media sells it and you live the role
Mental wounds still screaming Driving me insane
I’m going off the rails on a crazy train I’m going off the rails on a crazy train
I know that things are going wrong for me You gotta listen to my words, yeah, yeah
Heirs of a cold war, that’s what we’ve become Inheriting troubles, I’m mentally numb Crazy, I just cannot bear I’m living with something that just isn’t fair
Coffee has infiltrated me again. Time to rock another day, even if it’s only a gentle rock, just a little more than a nudge. Hope your day fulfills you in ways you need. Cheers
My spouse is a fignatic, a figinista, a fan of high magnitude of figs. She loves figs. Through her, I’ve come to enjoy them. Knowing this, a friend has been supplying us with figs. I snapped this photo Wenzda; we have three bowls of figs like this. Or had, as we’ve eaten a few.
This is the second go round from this fig supplier. These are huge beauties. So delicious, so nutritious, and a good source for calcium, potassium, vitamins C, A, K, and B6. We just eat them rare, although I’m cautious, as they’re high in oxalates, and can cause kidney stones. I already have that issue.
Figs been hard to come by at the stores and have become expensive. The last pint we purchased was $11 and had five small figs. None were in good shape, so my friend’s largesse is happily accepted.
Cool air regales us today, Twosda, July 15, 2025, in Ashlandia. Tiny wet old smoke offset’s the mountain air’s freshes. We’ll live. 68 F now, 97 F is forecasted. We saw 99.3 at our house yesterday but didn’t need the A/C. A clear blue sky and focused sun says, yeah, this might be a hot one.
On local news, the talk is about affordable housing. Affordable housing has been discussed since I moved here twenty years ago, along with growth. Each time ‘affordable housing’ is approved and built, investors snatch it up to flip or rent out. So it’s all been 20 years of talk and churn with no substantial changes.
Our local economy isn’t doing well. Ashland depends on tourism and Southern Oregon University (SOU) for the most part, along with some spotty light industry, mostly related to outdoor tourism, and of course, healthcare. Wineries and breweries give us two more legs. Beyond that, we have a service based economy, as most residents are older and retired. Tourism has been damaged by heat, wildfires, and smoke. Tourism’s centerpiece is the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, assisted by a series of outdoor concerts called the Britt Festival. Both were heavily cratered by smoke, heat, and wildfires. The pandemic then knocked tourism back again just when recovery began. Now we hold our breath, cross our fingers, and wait to feel what Trump’s attacks on people, trade, common sense and other nations does to tourism.
Meanwhile, healthcare’s rising costs have driven costcutting, layoffs, and firings to that local industry. The Greedy Ol’ Trump Party’s monstrous bill is expected to implode rural healthcare activities, and we’re part of that scene.
Finally, SOU has announced that enrollment has declined again. Tuition has been raised but they can’t keep raising it, so they’ve cut staff and programs. Desperate for money, they’re planning to shift some unused parts of their their campus into that fast-growing industry, assisted living. But again, the greed propelled GOTP absurdly named ‘One Big Beautiful Bill’ is expected to body slam education at all levels. Trump has cut Pell Grants and other programs, and that will leave a mark.
Underlying all of it: Trump’s charge to deny climate change and do nothing except punish those who do try to talk about it and address its impacts and causes. But climate change will affect the beer and wine industry, tourism, and wildfires. Did I mention that insurance companies withdrew from providing coverage in the area?
BTW, talk is about more than just this. We’re also talking a lot about deer, as they’ve become aggressive and attack dogs and people walking dogs.
Today’s song is “Rebel Rebel” by David Bowie. The Neurons slotted the 1974 song into the morning mental music stream for reasons they closehold and don’t disclose.
In a final comment on the morning, the local Internet, and by local, I mean ‘at my house’, is very sluggish. Anything happening to it out there in the world? Probably, but when will we learn?
Have the best day you can. I hope it’s excellent. Cheers
I baked for the Independence Day festivities. I’m not usually the house baker but my wife thought I should bake as a blow against the patriarchy. So bake I did.
My baking was the modern kind: a brownie mix, egg, oil, water. Everything except the water was purchased at a store. The water came from my faucet, part of our city’s water and sewage systems.
I made circular brownies with M&Ms in a silicon baking pan created for that job. We have a gas oven with a timer and all that. I added the ingredients into a bowl per directions, preheated the oven to the temperature they told me to use, and doled the rich concoction into the waiting little cups built into the silicon ‘pan’. Then, see the timer for the time the instructions recommended, wait, watch, and test to see if they’re done, using the honored toothpick test.
The process allowed a lot of free time thinking. And that becomes my point. Baking has been around about 10,000 years. The earliest evidence of baking comes from Egypt, and not the United States. While it may have started around the Meditarranean Sea, it grew. Many peoples, cultures, and societies contributed to its growth and the lessons learned in what works. Then they passed it on. People took it up, tweaeked and refined it, documented it, and passed it on. People from many religions and ethnicities had a hand in it. Men and women, along with people of less certain genders baked, regardless of their sexual orientation, regardless of nationality or religion, until we reached this point that baking is a well-refined and understood process, simplified enough that even a neophyte like me can gather stuff and bake.
Here is my real point, something the Trump Regime and its half-assed backward, racist, sexist supporters want to dismiss. We live in a world of developments built on the shoulders of others. We’ve stacked advances and helped consolidate, perpetuate, and spread the gains. Name an industry and explore it, and amazingly, you’ll probably discover that it wasn’t all done by white Christian American men. Now the Trumpettes want to pretend that no one except white Americans did anything worthwhile, especially in the United States to deliver the success we’ve achieved as a nation, trying to bestow as much credit as possible on men and Christianity, even if they need to lie to make their case, which they do.
America First! Hell, the United States wouldn’t exist without immigration — and shall we talk to the peoples who lived in North America before the waves of explorers, settlers, and armies ‘discovered’ the land mass? America First! Our form of democratic government is derived from other nations, as is our mercantile system, which also depends on other nations for success.
Trump’s willful, deliberate ignorance won’t stand, although it will do serious damage. Progress comes from unforeseen developments as much as planned advances. We don’t know who will make a critical, game-changing insight. Trump is trying to pretend otherwise. He can successfully fake it for a while, but eventually, his willful stupidity will bite us all in the ass.
As always, time will tell when and how. Meanwhile, we grit our teeth and resist his ignorance as best as we can.
I begin my Sunda with the summer morning ritual. I step out to rebalance my circadian rhythm, feel the air temp, and give it a sniff test. How hot is it now and how much smoke is polluting the air are the dual concerns. Today it’s now 80 F, up from the 71 F holding when I first went out. We’ll be at 103 F today, a few degrees above yesterday’s 99.8 F. The smoke isn’t bad. I water things and close windows, sealing us against whatever nature is plotting against us today. I have learned that by closing the blinds and windows and keeping everything shut, we’ll be 13-15 degrees cooler than outside. We like to use fans to move the air when it warms, as the air conditioning, while cooling, makes our noses run. My wife is one who needs heat anyway.
This is Sunda, July 13, 2025. It’s a cousin’s birthday, but she passed away. Cancer. Cheery morning thought. Then I ate a lucious moderate-sized fig, savoring the experience with a slow chew, trying to be mindful. I don’t think I’m mindful enough. At 69 yo, can I become more mindful?
I jogged yesterday morning. It was a whim and I wasn’t prepared, just testing myself to see how far I could go before my body rebelled. The Fitbit says that was 2.5 miles, surprising me. It felt good. I jog walked home, thinking that I should combine those words and create a word: jolk. Yes, I jolked home, letting my sweat drip dry. No aftereffects strike this morning, knock wood. I thought I’d hurt somewhere.
ICE and wildfires dominates our news feed. Nextdoor reports an ICE vehicle was spotted in Ashlandia yesterday morning about 9:30 on Ashland Street by the cemetery. People advise others to report it on the app. A judge blocked random ICE raids in LA. We’ll see if this is appealed to the Roberts Court and swatted away. A man died from a fall during a chaotic ICE raid.
Getting news of the local fire plaguing us, the Neil Creek fire, is problematic. Something like 72 fires are burning in southern Oregon and northern California. The Neil Creek fire is closest to us but isn’t threatening anything (last heard) and is not large. Media focus is on the big burners. I understand that but my understanding doesn’t alleviate my frustration over lack of Neil Creek fire information. The last updates were days ago. Also, I haven’t seen or heard tankers since yesterday morning. Surely all this must mean good news, right? I finally find a Neil Creek fire update on Watchduty from fourteen hours ago. It’s five percent contained. Then there’s a summary:
Despite increased fire behavior, crews held fire lines with the help of helicopter water drops. Firefighters continue to strengthen lines and expand mop-up around the fire. Along the south end of the fire, crews removed hazardous standing dead trees to allow firefighters to access the southern perimeter safely.
There was an incident in the night. The neighbor’s dog erupted with furious barking. Bear or cougar, my wife thought, hurrying to the back door. She flicked on the lights and opens the door but stays in, leaning out to look around. I get a flashlight. By then the dog’s owner has talked the dog down and quiet has reclaimed the world.
“Overkill” by Men At Work is in the morning mental music stream. It’s all about the line, “I can’t get to sleep.” I awoke sometime in the night a few hours after the barking dog, mulled and dissected a dream and then the writing muses took over. I wrote for a while in my head before I managed to shut them down with a meditation process I use to induce sleep in myself. But the song remains in the morning mental music stream. While looking for a video to use, I found this accoustic version by Colin Hay, the band’s vocalist, where he’s backed by a choir. I thought it a cool difference maker and offer it to you.
Coffee has been sucked up. Time to press on. Hope your day answers your needs. Cheers
I like to write everyday. I enjoy writing fiction novels. It’s not just a goal for me; writing fiction every day is my center pole.
Sometimes I can’t do it, and the start of July was one of those times when life sabotage my efforts. First were dental appointments on July 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and a day of baking on July 3rd in preparation for July 4th, and then the holiday itself. July 5th was my birthday, so my writing was limited. A medical emergency stole my time and attention on July 6th. I swore to get back to it all on July 7th.
But when I say that I wasn’t writing, I mean that I wasn’t comfortably settling in a chair at a keyboard with a jug of coffee at hand. I kept writing in my head during the hours of driving, baking, sitting at the dentist, being social when I was supposed to be conversing with others, watching parades, attempting to sleep, or hanging around the ER waiting for test results.
Writing in my head was so magical and fast. When it came time to find the words and put it together with my coffee fuel, man, that was a different cat. Although I poured through two thousand words a day plus, a lot for me, stringing words together and revisiting and fixing my previous day’s work, I told my wife that it’s only now that I feel like I am finally catching up.
As I once blogged, I dream of a device that can take the scenes and spin into the needed words for me. Although, honestly, I don’t know if that would be nearly as much fun.
I guess, really, what it’s about for me is exploring the idea, seeing the story and hearing it, and then finding the words for others. May it always be so.
Twosda, July 8, 2025, has squatted down on us. It’s a cool morning after a quiet night. 75 F now, 95 F later, part of a ‘cooling trend’. We saw 99 at our Ashlandia house yesterday. My wife and I were at to get a few items at its hottest, about 4 PM. Checking the eastern sky, I said, “I think we’re going to get thunderstorms.”
My wife scanned the sky. “No, that doesn’t look like thunderstorms to me.”
A few hours later, the sky darkened. Thunder washed across the sky like an old man clearing his throat and coughing. A few raindrops applauded on the ground. At 7:46 PM, the power went out. An alert telling us about that came at 7:57 PM. They said the power would be back in one and a half hours. They were wrong.
Meanwhile, another emergency text arrived: fire off Pompadour Road. Bottom line of all this, fire crews worked through the night to line and contain the Pompadour Fire, and the electricity came back on a little after 2 AM. I know because things beeped and chirped back to life.
The good part of this is that we updated our power outage equipment last winter and it all proved to work. One purchase was a pair of inexpensive rechargeable light bulbs. Installed over the breakfast bar between the kitchen and dining room, they work great as regular bulbs, giving soft daylight illumination. When the power went out, they were charged and ready to go, giving us needed light at the throw of a switch. Now, with power returned, they’re recharging for the next time they’re needed.
Augmenting those were two simple round little lights. Working off three AA batteries, they’re extremely lightweight but powerful, and were perfect for using to read books. As we both had library books at hand, we picked up our books and lights and read till bed.
BTW, my book was “Hollow Kingdom” by Kira Jane Buxton. Released in 2019, I found this science fiction book about an unfolding human apocalypse, as told by a crow and other birds and animals to be engaging, warm, clever, and moving. I wholly recommend it.
Armored vehicles, mounted officers and armed troops briefly swarmed the city’s MacArthur Park Monday morning before leaving. Bass said 20 children were playing at the park before the troops surged through and shared footage of federal officers running through the park.
According to an X post from the Department of Defense, troops were present at the park to “ensure the safety of federal agents.”
Sorry, I know, writing ‘heavy-handed’ while addressing Trump Regime actions is redundant; everything done by that loathsome, hate-fueled regime is heavy handed. This is especially true when it’s Dog-killer Noem calling the shots. ICE and the military showed up at park, disrupting a children’s day care outing. Now what did that accomplish other than a show of force to intimidate others and blow another wad of Federal funding? Bet some part of the MAGA crowd let out a full-throated cheer but the rest of us simply lowered our expectations of TACO and his chips yet again, just, as they say, you didn’t think they could go lower.
During the power outage, The Neurons plugged a 1983 song by Dio, “Holy Diver”, into the morning mental music stream. “What’s that about?” I inquired of the little gray dude. Shrugging in unison, they chorus-muttered, “I don’t know.” Now tell me, how am I supposed to know why things happen in my mind when The Neurons in charge keep presenting themselves as clueless? And people wonder why I act strange. Well, it’s The Neurons, isn’t it? Anyway, that’s the theme music for Twosda, just to get it out of my friggin’ head.
Right now, I’m fasting. No coffee, water, food, etc., until after my 12:15 ultrasound on my gall bladder. Have the best day you can, okay? I’ll do the same. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 