Six AM Thirstda was approaching. We were flying north.
I told my wife, “I’m closing my eyes for a minute.” The Neurons piggybacked into the morning mental music stream with “Dream Weaver” but it didn’t keep.
Neither did keeping my eyes closed. I read for a while, drank coffee, ate the cookies the airline provided.
Funny, getting those cookies. Hundreds of dollars were paid for these seats. This attendant comes along and bends down with a tray and asks, like we’re children, “Would you like a cookie?”
Oh, yes, please!
Descent into SeaTac was been announced. The eastern sky faced me. Molten orange was knifing through the space between a dark stiletto of clouds and the horizon. Then, left – north – a white slice hooked my vision.
Shooting star!
I probably felt the same excitement distant forerunners felt when they looked into a dark sky and saw that quick slash of silvery light. Euphoria jumped me. I felt, yeah, that’s a good sign. A good omen.
Breaking away from writing, I step out for a walk. The sun has warmed us to a comfortable level. I stride along, nodding and saying hello to others encountered.
A shineless brown hot rod comes along. Roadster. Something out of the forties. Driven by a man who looks like he also originated in the forties, and a woman who might be a little younger, maybe even his daughter, as a passenger, bundled up in heavy clothes.
Putting along at 20 MPH, he guides the car to the side and waves a following vehicle past. Silver SUV, its twenty something driver gooses it faster. An electric vehicle, it glides by with a rising brash hum.
The scene on a small-town street seems so perfectly emblematic of change. Trees and their colors tell of the season changing around us, and there goes an old internal combustion car of a kind rarely seen, passed by an electric car, of the kind now commonly encountered.
It makes sense because the Trump Regime values nothing but wealth. Money money money. Gold! Look how he decorated the Oval Office with faux gold pieces. He thinks that’s impressive. “Look, it’s gold. Shiny.”
And yeah, it makes sense because the Trump Regime thinks little through. Trump farts and takes that as a divine sign that he should do something. Attack someone. Wreck a building. Steal more money. Go golfing. Lie about something. Given his behavior, he farts a lot.
If the cyberdefenses fail, there’d be widespread misery in the U.S. Trump’s actions can affect all aspects of the United States infrastructure and includes shipping, the supply chain, the power grid, business and commerce, and air travel, regardless of whether it’s a red state or blue state, regardless of how the votes went in any previous election. It’ll affect all people if those things fail, regardless of skin color, religion, or wealth. And as those things are used by the military, it impacts U.S. military readiness.
I can close by saying, what a fucking idiot. Again. What fucking idiots run that regime.
Or I can close, see? Trump hates the United States. He’s actively working to destroy it.
Thinking about my travel packing this morning. Long ago, I developed a habit of packing my toilet bag a few days before I leave. Then I use my toiletries from it as though I’m in a hotel room. In that way, I sometimes realize something was overlooked, and I’m not rushing through packing it at a later time. This is all my own in that I’ve never read about it, subject to memory limitations. I’ve never mentioned it to others till now, either. Wouldn’t surprise me to learn that others do the same.
Follow me for more tips about drinking beer and coffee.
Another Wenzda has shifted in. It’s October 22, 2025. We’re getting into October’s last legs. Trees are still lively with colors. That huge old oak across the street hasn’t begun shedding yet. When it does, a blizzard of gold will fall to the winds. Meanwhile, seeing its high golden leaves up against the sky’s purest blue refreshes me, and adds depths to my contemplation of what in the world is going on. Now 46 F with the heater on in the house, sunshine, a front, and clear sky will help Ashlandia breach the low seventies today.
Mosquitoes found in Iceland for the first time, says a headline. Well, surely that’s a one off. They just had some record heat. The story says that Iceland and Antarctica were the only places without skeeters. Now there’s just the southern ice cap. I hear it’s been warming and shrinking, so set your calendars. I evaded stories about bomb threats, cars ramming buildings, and other signs of increasing unrest and violence in the U.S. With familiar weariness, I read about Trump rambling through another nonsensical conversation and temper my rage that this is accepted as okay by GOP senators and his donors and minions. I slipped past war updates from Ukraine and edged around the shooting involving a marshal, ICE, and another person, who was supposed to be ‘an immigrant’. Some flirting was done with the tale of the AWS outage that crashed parts of the web over the last several days. My heart and mind were wary of delving into those stories without coffee’s strength first.
The packing for our trip is done. Papi’s minder moves in tomorrow morning. I will miss my furry orange friend. A taxi will whisk us away like refugees in the night. Fingers crossed, etc., by this time tomorrow we’ll be aloft in one of aerospace machines, heading east for Mom’s birthday, seeing family, etc. Sis sent photos of Mom’s new lair. She included the little electric fake fireplace Mom had in her living room. Mom and Frank bought it an estate sale and were so happy with it. I know Mom will find comfort in having it on, warming the air and her heart.
Dad’s birthday is next week. Day after Mom’s, the day before Mom’s late brother, a few weeks after my late mother-in-law, and a week after my brother-in-law. Anyway, I wrote Dad a letter this morning, thanking him for what he’s done for me, telling him how much I enjoy our telephone conversations and laughing with him, etc. Afterward, The Neurons felt it appropriate to insert Dido’s song, “Thank You”, in the morning mental music stream. So here we go.
May peace and grace find their way back to us. Many wonder if they still exist. I believe it’s still being cultivated in many places where protections are in place to keep it from being smashed. Till then, roll on. Cheers
Meanwhile as Trump has the White House transformed into a shit house more suited to him and his regime, he steps forward with his micro balls to demand that the DOJ reimburse him for past cases.
President Trump is demanding that the Justice Department pay him about $230 million in compensation for the federal investigations into him, according to people familiar with the matter, who added that any settlement might ultimately be approved by senior department officials who defended him or those in his orbit.
The situation has no parallel in American history, as Mr. Trump, a presidential candidate, was pursued by federal law enforcement and eventually won the election, taking over the very government that must now review his claims. It is also the starkest example yet of potential ethical conflicts created by installing the president’s former lawyers atop the Justice Department.
Just as with much of Trump’s behavior, there is no precedence. No precedence for the Supreme Court to rule someone is above the law.
No precedence for a convicted felon to be elected to the nation’s highest office.
No precedence for Trump’s trashing of the U.S. Constitution.
No precedence for Trump’s contempt for due process and law and order.
No precedence for a grifter to eagerly and actively use their position to enrich themselves and their family.
No precedence for a liar using a fake narrative to use the military to attack We the People.
That’s the Trump Regime, the GOP, and Project 2025, unprecedented in their hatred of the United States and their eagerness to destroy it.
Cold and shiny Twozda Morning in October. This is 10/23/2025. 46 F in Ashland, the temperature will frolic into the low 70s with the sun’s herding. Fall’s grasp is as firm as ever, with leaves decomposing and dropping while others hang, shimmering in reds and golds.
Sis has moved Mom into her house because of Mom’s repeated falls and inability to care for herself. No one is there to help her at her house, etc. Sis meets with a real estate agent next Tuesday to pull the levers to sell Mom’s house. An estate sale is being established to sell Mom’s furniture and belongings. Not excited to return to this state, and you know what I mean. This is life. But I’m looking forward to seeing family and being in the area of my youth.
In one of Trump’s continuing rampages to show how much he hates the United States, he’s now having the physical building called the White House destroyed. As it was put in a comment on another site, I am volcanically pissed. Breathtaking arrogance. If anything proves that Trump has no sense of history and gives not a jot of shit about anything except himself, this is it. Destroying the house of We the People and replacing it with his own gaudy, cheap imitation of grandeur is disgusting and infuriating. Project 2025 is certainly well pleased and gleeful. Roberts Court is probably shrugging. They let him trample the Constitution with his overweight ego and obese body, why not allow this effrontery? Sure hope all those MAGA are happy too. Isn’t this how love for your nation is shown, by tearing down its heritage?
Approval for him falls. Disapproval for him rises. Strength to stand against him and his regime increases.
A Daily Kos post by Michael Taylor offers solid insights into the Trump Regime’s war against the United States.
Let’s talk about a magic trick. Not the kind with rabbits and hats, but the political kind, where a complex idea is made to vanish, only to be replaced by a simple, monstrous caricature. The latest magicians? Pam Bondi, U.S. Attorney General, and the broader Trump administration, who are attempting to pull off the dangerous illusion of criminalising ANTIFA.
The premise of their act is that ANTIFA is a unified, hierarchical terrorist organisation– a domestic version of ISIS – that can be neatly listed, proscribed, and its members prosecuted. This is a profound and likely deliberate misunderstanding. ANTIFA, short for “anti-fascist,” is not an organisation; it is a political belief and a movement, no more a single entity than “conservatism” or “environmentalism.”
Under cover of criminalizing a concept and calling it an organization, the Trump Regime can attempt to use all of the government’s military and police forces against United States citizens, weakly rationalizing it as part of their fight against ‘antifa’. As Taylor closes:
The real danger isn’t a black-clad protester breaking a window; it’s a government that seeks to break the foundational principle that in America, people are free to believe, and to protest, what they see fit.
Meanwhile, the Epstein Shutdown has moved into its third week, earning Trump’sthird government shutdown in five years of ‘leadership’ as the third longest U.S. government shutdown in history.
Without too much surprise, Trump’s Gaza ceasefire is as successful as Trump University, Trump Steaks, various Trump casinos and hotels, and Trump Air. Trump is a magical enshittifier.
I have The Moody Blues performing “The Story in your Eyes” in the morning mental music stream. Between conversations with Papi as I explain we’ll be going away but his favorite house sitter will be here, and thoughts of Trump’s destruction, and, well, changes in life in general, Les Neurons responded with lines out of the song.
Listen to the tide slowly turning. Wash all our heartaches away. We’re part of the fire that is burning, and from the ashes we can build another day.
May grace and peace get up and going and come around to see how we’re doing. Coffee is making itself familiar to the various body functions. Time to rock it. Time to roll it. Until the next, cheers from Trump and his smirking BFF, Jeffrey Epstein.
The annual property taxes bill arrived in the mail.
Normally a mild-mannered but curmudgeonly individual since I was young, the tax bill brought out my dour side.
I vented to my wife. “Our real market value declined by nine thousand but the assessed value increased by two. The land increased in value but the structure’s value plopped by a few thousand. Yet, the tax has increased a few hundred dollars.”
Used to the annual rant, my wife nodded in feigned sympathy and fed me some new irritation fuel. “That’s so we can pay our city manager their ridiculous salary.”
Yes, we’re in an Ashlandia uproar over the city manager’s compensation. She doesn’t live in Ashland, and makes 226K a year after a 30K pay raise. Total compensation pushes her package close to 400K a year. She earns more than any other city manager in the area, yet there is a general impression among the hoi polloi that things in the city are going in the wrong flippin’ direction. Fer instance, while the city manager and other ‘managers’ were given raises, the city laid off maintenance and office people and cut back services. Like, WTF, over?
I pointed out to my wife, though, “The city manager’s pay doesn’t come out of this. This is the county’s tax bill.” I then read her the itemized list of bond issues we’re supporting in our $6200 tax bill (with discounts for paying it on time and in full in November). Most of it is for the Ashland School District. Yet, Ashland Schools needed a $890,000 donation to make ends meet.
This all does not computer. Our house was built in 2005. Three bedrooms, two baths. Almost 1900 square feet, it’s not large or fancy, all on just under a quarter acre of land.
On the other hand, I reminded myself. I have a decent house and life. I can afford to pay these taxes when it will strain others.
Ranting is in me, though. I’ll rant, let it go, pay it, and move on. Then, though the subject came up in NextDoor. Multiple people turned out to have the same opinion as me about the subject. Reading their comments validated my opinions and insights. Thus comforted, I slept well.
For the record, here’s more about the donation to the school district from last week. Cheers
Ashland School District in Oregon was facing an $8 million deficit last year, until an anonymous donor stepped in with a nearly $1 million donation to save teachers’ jobs and student programs. Kelly meets superintendent Dr. Joseph Hattrick, executive director of the school district’s foundation Erica Thompson, as well as students Soren and Grace and teacher Paul, who share how the community came together to thank the donor. Watch till the end for another huge surprise for the Ashland School District from Scholastic and Kelly!
We were once again facing the eternal question: where should we sit?
My wife and I agree upon many things. We also disagree on many things. She’s much more probable to violently curse when something goes wrong than I am. She’s better at remembering birthdays, faces, names, and gifts. I am really good at untying knots and finding things. None of that is really related to today’s topic. In essence, she’s an indo and I’m an endo.
I generally give her to her when the challenge arises. That means that we’ll sit in the middle. “Let’s move to the middle. We’ll have a better view.” That’s typical indo logic.
As an endo, though, I prefer the row’s endcap. Let’s face it, being on the end has multiple obvious advantages. If you’re leaving, you can stand up, turn, and walk away fast, without the bother of waiting others to stand, stretch, grunt, wake up, and realize where they are. As an endo, bathroom breaks are more easily possible. In an emergency, of course, being on the end is the place to be, preferably by the emergency exit. That’s how endos think.
I started as an end in school, though. I just preferred a little separation from the other young animals who’d been brought together to be taught. Being on the end offers more perspective to me. Easier to turn around and stare at someone. In the middle, you’re part of the end. On the edge, you’re, well…the edge.
It’s amusing when a group comes together and they’ll all one group or another. This come up at the beer group last week. Most of the initial joiners were endo. We ended to corner seats, leaving the middle free. But latter people were like, “Guess I’ll sit in the middle here.” Then they tried making it positive. “Hey, I can hear and see more from here.”
That’s an endo, trying to be an indo.
Not that it’s really important, but where do you fall on the seating spectrum? Are you an endo, or do you enjoy the middle?
Munda, October 20, 2025, has set upon us. 36 F, a clear deep blue sky crowns the valley. With solar influences working through this clear air, 71 F is the hoped-for high.
Bad news from home. Sis reports that she let Mom sleep in this AM. Yesterday, she went over at 11 AM and Mom was still asleep, so, she worked off that. When she reached Mom by phone, Mom said she’d fallen two more times. Mom said she just stayed on the floor and slept there. Sis headed over to see if Mom needed to head to the hospital. That’s at least Mom’s fourth fall Mom reported on herself since last Friday. Not a reassuring trend.
The Epstein Shutdown is creeping toward its third week.
Trump and the GOP shrug. Moderate Dems are unfortunately leaning toward ‘working’ with the GOP to pass something. They have not, apparently, had their FAFO moment with the Trump Regime.
I began pulling up news to see the latest Trump Destruction Machine’s moves. Instead, I came across the graphic below and thought, that’s the way to go.
I will say that many MAGAs and conservatives commenting about the No Kings rally are trying hard to pretend it was very small. Meaningless. They insist Trump is very popular. Also, he’s not doing anything wrong. It’s a familiar scene. We know that people often remain oblivious or accepting until there’s a FAFO moment for them.
I was not surprised that the TACO Regime announced they were ‘investigating’ the No Kings rally. Shows their worries and fears’ depths. Think they can manipulate us into submission via fear and intimidation. They think that Democrats, liberals, and progressives are as easily manipulated as that MAGA base and the Fox fed GOP.
Music choices are swirling in the morning mental music stream. Several music-related celebrity deaths were announced, alongside former NFL and college football players. One of them was Jack White, a producer. He produced Laura Branigan’s cover of “Gloria”. The Neurons are fond of the song, so that won a residency in the morning mental music stream and another turn as theme music. Alas, we lost Laura B way back in 2004.
Time to rock on. Coffee is starting to rock me awake. Yes, I’ve been sleep typing. Hope peace and grace come out of seclusion to give us a sign that they’re still alive and well. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 