Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
sighing
reading
thinking
restless
my mind twists and seethes
trapped
with mindless energy
about how the world
has changed
worrying
speculating
drifting
I wonder
what will come to be
roaming through memories
of hopes
history
half-remembered
dreams
darkness
spreads
across the nation
troubles
rise
around
the world
I struggle
to find the shadows
or how
we
once were
now I find
I’m frankly
a little
out of breath
I need to go somewhere
quiet
and give my brain
a rest
It doesn’t feel like a Twozda. The computer calendar insists it’s Twozda, January 13, 2026. I just don’t feel it.
Alexa and the online weather stations claim it’s 46 F in Ashland. My system claims it’s 30 degrees F. The ground’s hard white frost agrees with me.
Invisible fogs surround us again, and invisible clouds keep the sky’s brilliant blue from glowing with sunshine. I don’t know where Alexa and online systems gather their Ashland weather observations but it’s nowhere near my home.
My weather obsession shifts into news obsessions. I floundered with efforts to reconcile Trump’s statements and activities with law, history, and his campaign promises.
Campaign promises are clearly out. Nikki Haley was once his political opponent. Trump said her foreign policy plans were, “Let’s kill people all over the place and let’s make a lot of money for those people that make the messes.”
Now Trump has ordered military attacks on locations in other nations. His body count is rising. He’s threatened to acquire Greenland, and warned Cuba and Mexico to ‘watch out’, rhetoric that underscores his policies’ growing reach and unpredictability.
And the nation’s wealthiest are getting wealthier. What I see happening from Trump’s policy is completely counter to his campaign promises.
In an Agenda 47 video Trump made and circulated in 2024, he complained about foreign intervention. Trump congratulated himself as “the only president who rejected the catastrophic advice of many of Washington’s Generals, bureaucrats, and the so-called diplomats who only know how to get us into conflict, but they don’t know how to get us out.”
Yet the beginning of 2026, before Trump’s first year was over, had Trump sending in military forces to capture President Maduro of Venezuela. And this week, Trump went further, changing a Wikipedia.org page to show he’s the acting president of Venezuela.
Many progressives like me frequently believe Trump projects when he accuses others. He said the same of golfing in his 2016 campaign. After mocking President Obama for golfing, Trump said he wouldn’t go golfing as President Obama did. “I’m going to be working for you — I’m not going to have time to go play golf.”
Analysis of Trump’s first term activities shows he golfed about 30% of his term. He’s just under that level for his second term, running about 27%.
Really, Trump’s campaign promises are as reliable as many of the local weather observations. They just don’t align with the truth before my eyes.
The disconnects bring on my jaded side. The Neurons noted it all. They came up with a reminder about a Green Day song called “Holiday” for my morning mental stream.
Green Day made it a protest song against Trump during Trump’s first campaign. A video of one performance from that period begins, “Do you want to start a fucking war?” The song goes on from there.
Hear the sound of the fallin’ rain
Comin’ down like an Armageddon flame (Hey)
The shame, the ones who died without a name
Hear the dogs howlin’ out of key
To a hymn called “Faith and Misery” (Hey)
And bleed, the company lost the war today
My Neurons knew what they were about. Billy Joe’s angry cynicism fits my developing mood pretty well.
My hope today for you and me and the world is that we quickly find some peace and grace. Meanwhile, brace yourself and be strong. Things don’t seem very predictable for now. Cheers
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.
I saw
and thought
what is it
that
I think
I see
on that
wall?
is that a fly
a speck of dirt
a spider
or
very tiny
bee?
I moved closer
to see
what
I thought
I saw
then I got
distracted
when I thought
I heard
a song
listening to
the rhythm
I thought
I know
this
tune
so I started
singing
with it —
and forgot
to look
at all
In the garden of love and hope
things appear level
but this is a slippery slope
where loss hurts like the devil
words drive worrying stumbles,
and feelings force hurtful falls
sometimes no one answers
your quiet, urgent calls
you fall
you lie
you get up
you swear
never again
but you keep on going in there
to see
what you find
hoping love and answers
will find you there
in time
Munda, January 12, 2026, arrived in Ashland with little fanfare but plenty of cold.
I’m suspicious again of technology and weather forecasts. My weather system told me it was 30 degrees F last night when Alexa shared, 41 degrees F, with a low of 36. I provided feedback. Today, she is closer to my system, which says it’s 25 F outside. Sunny, hard frost coats part of the ground white under a sprawling blue sky.
Circumstances shorten this morning’s post as it’s our morning to deliver Food & Friends. This program delivers prepared meals from state and local agencies to people in need.
Before racing off to deliver meals, I do want to note how heartened I was that so many people protested Trump and demonstrate against ICE. More de-ICEing is needed, given the wanton way they arbitrarily act as judge, jury, and executioner.
So, in honor of those standing against them, or those, like Renee Good — dying while exercising her rights and freedoms as a citizen — I present today’s theme music.
Neil Young first offered us “Rockin’ in the Free World” in 1989 in response to the politics of that era, which included the Cold War. I think what we’re seeing now is worse in the U.S. I hope more people stand up to keep us in a free world.
May peace and grace be with you today and every day as we move forward. Cheers
My wife and I were in Albertsons. A light replenishing mission, this wasn’t a full-on shop. Certain items are only available at Albertson’s or Safeway in Ashland. Albertson’s is closer, and so there we were.
I was in the sprawling produce section, which shares space with the deli and bakery. A frozen section of frozen mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese lines another wall.
Standing on the end, I gazed across these commingled sections and all of their offerings, looking for my wife and trying to remember what she was wearing, eagle-eyed for a purple hat or blue jacket. I think that’s what she was wearing.
As I did, I questioned myself and chuckled, “How many times do I end up like this, looking for my wife in a store?” Seems like every shopping venture with her has a moment like this.
I was perplexed. Everything — just five items — on our list was in the basket, and I had the basket. Clearly, my wife had gone rogue and was shopping ‘off-list’. That happens, but what did she seek? Answering that would let me find her.
I noticed a woman looking at me as she pushed her cart my direction. Not recognizing her, I decided she wasn’t looking at me but something around me.
She came right up to me. “You look confused. Are you looking for the frozen fish? They’ve changed everything around again.”
I smiled. “No, I’m looking for my wife. But you’re right, they’re always moving things around.”
The woman nodded. “Yes, they want us confused and lost, so we spend more time in the store, which might lead to more impulse buying.”
She wheeled her cart away.
I watched her heading down another aisle. She’d clearly given this a lot of thought.
But she was right. Like, right now, my wife was probably pursuing another impulse buy.
Then I turned and added a bag of pistachio nuts to the basket. I mean, as long as it’s there, and I’m there, waiting…right?
Sunda, January 11, 2026, silently settles in around us in Ashland. My wife and I gage the outside weather together.
Alexa told us it’s 36, cloudy, with fog and stagnant air, and a high of 56 F upcoming. My system says it’s 30 F.
“Look at the fog,” my spouse intones.
I nod. “Fortunately, it’s the invisible kind.”
Yes, we can see blue skies, sunshine, and the treed mountains as far as forever and perspective allow us. I suppose other parts of Ashland are soaked in fogs, cloud, and warmer air, and that’s where Alexa gleans her report.
Sis reported that Mom was very loopy this week. Mom again fell out of her wheelchair, again insisting that the chair ‘threw her out’. Sis and I have seen Mom in the chair and warned about leaning too far and not paying enough attention to her posture and balance.
From Mom’s point of view, she was doing everything right. What was going wrong was the chair. But we saw the same thing when she was walking last year but frequently falling. In that case, absently turning and reaching and becoming overextended caused her to fall. She always blamed something else.
Perspectives often matter. Judging from news reports and blogs, politically progressives are as enraged and watchful as me with ICE matters.
It’s dismaying. After an ICE agent killed an unarmed American citizen, Renee Good, in Minneapolis, many called for restraint. Using reports of more ICE confrontations, ICE responded with more aggression.
I watched multiple videos of Good’s encounter and death. They all left me stunned as others. I questioned why ICE agent Ross drew his weapon in the first place. The agent seemed overly aggressive, as if he wanted a chance to shoot.
ICE agents were bellicose, shouting, “Get out of the fucking car.” When Good was shot and the car went off and crashed as she died, someone said, “Bitch.”
I read a report that the killing was the first in Minneapolis in 2026. That doesn’t bode well for a calm and peaceful 2026.
Music helped reclaim some sense of calm this morning. Papi did too, coming by to greet me with chirpy purr-mew. As my oatmeal with cinnamon was made ready, The Neurons put Ray LaMontagne singing “Trouble” in the morning mental music stream.
Trouble
Trouble, trouble, trouble, trouble
Trouble been doggin’ my soul since the day I was born
Worry
Worry, worry, worry, worry
Worry just will not seem to leave my mind alone
The song’s lyrics are right. Worry won’t let my mind alone since Trump emerged on the politic scene.
May worry and trouble leave you alone and peace and grace come by and comfort all of us. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 