Clouds mar Monroeville’s autumnal setting. Wenzda, October 29, 2025, is surging across the land. Cars grunt with acceleration down at the intersection, punctuating the 38 F air with flat blats of vehicle noise. Last day here; tomorrow we head home.
Visited with Mom yesterday, and she was in classic elderly Mom mode, telling stories with sharp-mind clarity although, as was her younger habit but veering into lateral paths from time to time, a pattern she has passed on to me. We met with a realtor about selling the house. Sis is lead tiger on that project, with inputs from the rest. The three local sisters are circling this project, as they’re local. Reasonable, right? Disappointed with the initial selling price suggestions, they are interviewing another realtor. I usually interview three before going with one, so I have no problem with doing that. Although the qualifier is that this first realtor is a friend of one sister and sold her the last house that sister lives in. With the Trump economy throwing up all over certainty and the future, home purchases in this area have quickly declined. The realtor said it looks like it’ll be slow for this quarter and the next.
I’m heading to Mom’s to search out papers. I figure I should just box them up and convey them to Mom’s new place where they can be reviewed in comfort as needed, instead of dispatching one of us to ‘find them’ at the old house.
Today’s music is dream related. As I reflected on the dream, in which I was dealing with many famous people but also trying to invent a new game, The Neurons came up with The Police, “Message In A Bottle”, in the morning mental music stream. I don’t get the connection…
May peace and grace be with you and me and all in between, if they ever get off their duff and come see us, that is. Here we go. Cheers
It’s Twozda, October 28, 2025, in Monroeville. My hotel windows face the north. Long fingers of early morning sunshine stretch out of blue skies and blow up the leaves’ autumn colors into fiery hues. It’s 41 F now. They’re pitching a high of 55 F. Rain is on the way for Thirstda, when we leave.
Mom’s hospital visit yesterday revealed no new problems. No breaks from her falls. No head damage, etc. She’s back with sis at sis’s house. They gave her morphine yesterday and she was confused today. Two big items are loaded for the Mom agenda today. Sis and I will meet with a realtor at Mom’s house to talk about putting it on the market. We also need to find the right size adult night time diapers for Mom. She leaks all night long. Wears diapers but they’re too big. Sis has mats on the bed but the leaking is so pervasive that her sheets end up soaked, necessitating taking off the bedding and washing it. I picked up more bedding yesterday so that the wash can be spaced out a few days. But new diapers are needed. I checked local big box stores for a new solution yesterday but nada was had. It’s diapers with pulls, not undies, needed.
Trump’s continued takedown of the United States inspired The Neurons with “Then the Morning Come” in the morning mental music stream. I was thinking that someday it will be morning in America after Trump is done. Then there will be a general, confused awakening. The GOP will realize the party’s over and go off to nurse their hangovers while the rest of us rebuild. So this Smashmouth song feels right for what’s happening now and what will happen when people visit the future building formerly known as the White House and ask, “OMG, WTF happened?” Many of them will proclaim, “I didn’t know. I had no idea.” Which will just earn them the greatest imaginable contempt from me. For how could you not know unless you’re burying your head and pretending, all is well, this is gonna be great? Yeah, I know, it doesn’t render that easily. Much more complicated, so Trump supporters tell me. Sure.
Paint the town, take a bow Thank everybody You’re gonna do it again You are the few, the proud You are the antibody Mind, soul and zen
And the world’s a stage (And the world’s a faze) And the end is near So push rewind, just in time Thank anybody You’re gonna do it again
The way that you walk It’s just the way that you talk Like it ain’t no thing And every single day is just a fling Then the morning comes
Take your knocks, shake ’em off Duck everybody You’re gonna take ’em again You are your foe, your friend You are the paparazzi You are the tragedian
And the world’s a craze (And the world’s a faze) And the end is near So push rewind, just in time Thank anybody You’re gonna do it again
The way that you walk It’s just the way that you talk Like it ain’t no thing And every single day is just a fling
And when it comes, it moves so slow Kind of like it’s saying, “I told you so” Looking back before she goes Tomorrow’s gonna hurt
And the world’s a stage (And the world’s a faze) And the end is near So push rewind, just in time Thank anybody
It’s just the way that you walk It’s just the way that you talk Like it ain’t no thing And every single day is just a fling Then the morning comes
Off to do a little local sightseeing and shopping. Fingers crossed that peace and grace awaken from their slumber and come give us some relief. Till then, hang tight. Cheers
October 27, 2025, has ambushed us, lowering another Munda on us with a soft sigh. Autumn weather is rampant in Monroeville. Blue sky, turning leaves, sunshine. 47 F, upper 50s will join us presently. I spoke with another elevator passenger after I came in from a walk. “Beautiful day outside.” “Yes,” he answered, “I love this time of year.” He got off the elevator, leaving me to finish to myself, I love it, too, but one morning I’ll awaken out of love with it.
Trump delivered another miracle announcement about how awesome and fantastic he is. This was about his MRI. “Best one they’ve ever seen,” he loudly cried. The he hurried to the place formerly known as the White House to put it on the refrigerator with his finger paintings so everyone can ah over it. Thing is, you don’t put ‘im in an MRI unless there’s a medical concern, right?
Mom’s bash was a celebration done right yesterday. A tiara announcing 90. A pink sash proclaiming, ’90 & Fabulous’. I’d picked up her pink party smock and her silver shoes, and that’s what she was wearing. Good food, twenty-four people representing the generations, happy time. But today, there she was, 7:58 AM, going to the hospital. She’d fallen. Sis wanted her checked out. Mom, a retired nurse, refused. Now, suddenly, yes, she needed to go to the hospital, Mom decided. So off they went. I slept through the text telling me this. Now I’m heading over there. Sad, as Mom was happy, alert, present, all that, yesterday. Ate well, etc. Now, here we go. Hopefully, it’s not a spiral into another prolonged health battle.
Recalling the party, though, The Neurons supplied me with “Shiny Happy People” by R.E.M. in the morning mental music stream.
Hope peace and grace get up and out of bed and come visit soon. Have the best you can in the meantime. Cheers
Sunshine abounds outside the hotel window. It’s up to 38 F, a rise from the 32 it was when I took an early morning walk. Didn’t feel that cold when I walked. I wasn’t out long. Maybe that’s all part of how the weather ‘feels’.
It’s October 26, 2025, the day of Mom’s birthday do. We visited her yesterday. Early hours found her sleepy, lethargic, sluggish. She wrapped herself in a blanket, put her feet up, and napped in her wheelchair. A few sixties later, she was lively and alert, and gobbled down a couple pieces of pizza.
Which delivers me to this morning’s music. We visited Mom’s house yesterday, our third swing by it to pick up things for Mom. The inside was in disarray, partly from Frank’s fail, but added by Mom’s bug out to sister’s house, and Frank’s family descending to grab and remove anything that might of been of value that belonged to Frank. I tidied a bit but then stepped out. A storm had swept through a few months ago, wrecking the side porch and taking down trees and branches. It looked so starkly different, like a forecast of the emptiness that was coming to the house.
All that in me head, and The Neurons responded, “Time, time, time, look what you’ve done to me.” Just like that, The Bangles’ cover of the Simon & Garfunkel offering, “A Hazy Shade of Winter”, rolled through the mental music stream, staying strong into the morning.
Off to Mom’s old house to pick up more necessities. May peace and grace leaped up and grab you in a bear hug and hold on tight. Cheers
So our hotel change is completed… This new room, a Hampton Inn, is very quiet and comfy.
Breakfast has been et. Sorry to note that Monroeville’s businesses are going through an enshittification but that’s another blog post.
It’s Satyrda, 10/25/2025. Sunny and pretty autumn Pittsburgh day, temperatures rolling in the mid 50s. Nice pigskin weather. Sis tells me Mom is up and awake and doing well. Sis is cleaning house. My wife and I will now run some errands and bolt toward sis’s house for a day of visiting. Our visit with Mom yesterday was entertaining. She’s decline since the last I saw her, two years ago. Has fallen several times in the past week. Sis says Mom’s right hip and thigh are all black and blue from hitting the floor. Mom’s new home arrangement is in flux at my sister’s house, but it’s a cozy setup, and Mom is as tight with cozy as crossed fingers.
Today’s music is “Run Through the Jungle”. CCR. The Neurons brought it forth as I resuscitated my Pittsburgh driving skills and kept it in the morning mental music stream. Only The Neurons were singing “Drive Through the Jungle”.
Gotta go chase some peace and grace down and try to entice it to out itself to us and hang. Meanwhile, let’s do the best possible for ourselves. Cheers
Frida in Monroeville, PA, a Pittsburgh suburb arrives as a near duplicate of our Ashlandia weather. 49 F now, we expect a mid 50s high.
We had successful and straightforward travel. All went as if designed with us in mind. Cool. But, the hotel, Courtyard by Marriott, is another matter. That’s for another post, I think.
Inflation picked up. Not as much as expected. An Economist article included the idea put forward by many economists that companies are sucking up tariffs for the short term. Their reasoning was that Trump was inconsistent, rolling out tariffs, then pulling them back. Also, companies and countries had found some temporary workarounds. The workarounds are ending as the tariff picture sharpens in focus. They expect it to get worse.
Alongside that, Trump announced he’s no longer negotiating with Canada over tariffs. As befits a person of little understanding of negotiating, tariffs, and history, Trump is whining about ads which Canada had in which Saint Ronnie badmouthed tariffs. Trump, of course, cried, “Fake new!” Naturally, he offers no evidence, instead just screaming in infantile all caps in his trage.
“The ad was for $75,000. They only did this to interfere with the decision of the U.S. Supreme Court, and other courts,” Trump wrote on his social media site. “TARIFFS ARE VERY IMPORTANT TO THE NATIONAL SECURITY, AND ECONOMY, OF THE U.S.A. Based on their egregious behavior, ALL TRADE NEGOTIATIONS WITH CANADA ARE HEREBY TERMINATED.”
Of course, for some reason, the US national deficit shot up a record rate to a record number. Doesn’t have anything to do with PINO Taco, of course. yes, snark.
After a solid day of traveling, a good night of sleep, and some weirdly interesting dreams, The Neurons rewarded me with Pat Benatar singing “Heartbreaker” in the morning mental music stream.
Off to see Mom shortly. First, food somewhere, I think. I’m waiting for my wife to finish dressing before we go about it. Hope peace and grace finishes its break and finds you, me, the nation, and the world in general. Till then, cheers.
Cold and dark outside on this Thirstda morning. We’re in the airport, listening for the call to board, packed close to others in the same situation. Conversations rock and roll, mostly one end of cell calls. I’m ready for more sleep. My wife sits tight against me, watching like a bird, observing with sharp eyes. It’s October 23, 2025. 40 F outside. Our trip home has begun.
Today’s music came out of nowhere. I don’t understand what The Neurons had in mind when the entrance to the morning mental music stream and “Champagne Supernova” by Oasis was allowed to flow in. I think about the words, and that refrain, “Where were you while we were getting high?” I think too, of the exultation that, “But you and I, we live and die, the world’s still spinnin’ round, we don’t know why, why, why, why, why.” I like the song’s flows. It’s soft, reflective gentleness at the beginning, like lapping the waves. The hammering, conflicting guitars challenging one another, escalating with the vocals later. Then the gentle fall at the end as the last line repeats over and over with different inflections, “We were getting high.” It’s all about life and courses, and changes to me, how some things lift us up and other matters dump us, and how we sometimes feel different and alien from others. But almost all of us play with those ideas about ourselves, I think, as we slip and slide on the spectrum of being, of what we are, where we’ve been, and where we’re going.
Goodness, that’s a lot of thinking and typing before having any coffee. Done worn me out.
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.
Michael Seidel, writer 