Time to crank up another Wenzda. December 10, 2025 in Ashlandia began with sunshine and blue skies. I blinked and suddenly fog is smashing its gray face against the window panes. 45 F now, a jump the high fifties has been projected.
Today’s music is torn straight from the headlines. Not really. It’s more of a reflection on the many people experiencing cruelty and heartlessness under the Trump Regime. When this song was released in 1973, it was a protest against police violence and a police murder of a young Black boy in NYC. Now, “Doo Doo Doo Doo (Heartbreaker)” by the Rolling Stones was brought up by Der Neurons to the morning mental music stream in response to general news as ICE heartlessly chases and attacks people on behalf of Trump’s growing intention to make the United States whiter.
I’d like to tear that Trump world apart. I think there’s growing number of people with that same sentiment.
Alright, coffee jumpstarted the brain and various other organs. Hope peace and grace come give you a big hug. Here we go, world, another rotation. Cheers
Read about Chicago’s weather this morning. I felt much better about our weather today, Twozda, December 9, 2025. 44 F now, sunshine has bullied the clouds and fog aside for the moment, graciously giving us a blue sky and the chance of a temperature in the upper fifties. Rain is lurking.
A tense truce has settled between Mom and the family. Mom is ignoring everyone and plotting her own destiny. Sis is polite and helpful but gives Mom her space. Text message volume has dropped from “Trump midnight anger ranting” levels to a more sedate “checking in” scale. Nothing is resolved. More a matter of water seeking its level, you know, adjustments being made. Mom tried different avenues to get returned to her home. This ‘quiet plotting time’ is familiar to all of us. It’s now wait and see what emerges from it. We think it’s best to let Mom talk to those agencies. If one comes to visit her, perhaps they’ll recognize her state and commence proceedings. The sisters on the scene don’t want anything to do with that. I’m considering flying back to address it but the magnitude of the task ismajor bigly.
Today’s song choice is fresh from the dream review. “One” by U2 begins, “Is it getting better or do you feel the same?” Although the dream said nothing about Mom and her situation, thoughts of her situation flooded my dream meditation process. Then, surprise, The Neurons caught on to my thinking and pushed the song into the morning mental music stream to play and ferment. I found this video interesting because it’s not an effort to duplicate the studio sound. The lyrics and delivery end up much different.
Here’s a headline that seized my attention this morning.
Trump admin is ‘trying to put out a fire they started’ at Weather Service as a cold, snowy winter looms
Gosh, I wonder if anyone saw the possibility that the manic cuts Trump made through DOGE was gonna have negative repercussions on the nation’s services, including weather forecasting?
Well, of course, most of us on the left shouted, “Look out, what is wrong with you,” when this happened. We’ve seen this scenario play out time and again during Trump 2 (now with less brain cells!). They fire everyone. Realize they made a mistake and broke a system or need those people. Scramble to find those people and bring them back to fix that system. What maroons.
SEC universities are sixteen institutions located primarily in the south. Outliers are Tennessee and Oklahoma. Several are in Texas.
Why are they going there? Short answer: warmer weather, lower tuition, more fun. Longer answer: student loans and lifelong student debt.
Another interesting headline reminds us that the Epstein files still exist.
Judge grants DOJ request to unseal Ghislaine Maxwell records
In ordering the files released in accordance with the Epstein Files Transparency Act, U.S. District Judge Paul Engelmayer noted that almost all of it was already public record and chastised DOJ for misleading people about the Maxwell files’ content.
~snip~
“As the Court chronicled in denying DOJ’s motion, the motion itself misled victims —and the public at large — in holding out the Maxwell grand jury materials as essential to the goal of ‘transparency to the American public,’ when in fact the grand jury materials would not add to public knowledge,” he wrote in Tuesday’s order.
~snip~
Coffee is awakening the body systems for another go around. Hope peace and grace find and hold you sooner or later. Here we go, one more time. “Let’s be careful out there.” Cheers
Sunshine is making its way. Yesterday’s prevailing gray has been subdued. Temperatures from 46 to 57 degrees F, now and later. It’ll be cloudy. Rain could slip in. So could fog. We’ll see what we see for today, Munda, December 8, 2025. At least it has a less wintry feel to it. Yeah, I know how much I whine. Other places are digging out of snow, dealing with slush and ice. Here I sit, the prince on his cushion, upset about a pea.
Haven’t done this song in a while. “You May Be Right” is a fave for me. Like the words, their sentiments, the beat, and Billy Joel’s delivery. It’s a ripped from life sort of song. That’s what brought it here today. Mom and sisters are now in open war. One sister said she won’t have naught to do with Mom. Sis, the primary caretaker, said she will no longer speak to Mom or help her. Third sister said she is also not speaking to Mom because Mom is not listening and is shouting at everyone. Exhausting a thousand miles away plus.
Mom wants to return to ‘her house’. Her house has been cleaned out of food. Slowly stripped of stuff to make it saleable, an effort begun back in October. Sis and the others are saying, “Let her go if that’s what she wants.” I tried to make peace. Tried to explain how it didn’t work for Mom in October when Frank was hospitalized and it won’t work now. Sis and the others have moved past caring, they say. Mom has alienated everyone in the house. Sigh.
Tried to explain to Mom why it won’t work for her to return to her place. Mom’s response was, well, startling in its unmoored style. She told me that my sister had gotten to me. Went into something about how that was because she’d been in and out of a wheelchair back in October but now they’re keeping her in a wheelchair so her back and legs are week. Like, what? Mom finished, “I’m going to get out of here, one way or another.”
Frequently in the conversations and texts about the situation, I end up saying, “You may be right.” After observing me thinking it so often, The Neurons decided that I needed the song and cranked it up in the morning mental music stream. Although I often look for recordings of live performances, I enjoy the original video for this song, so here it is.
In reflection about Mom and sis, etc., I had doubts about that arrangement working. Mom is hardheaded; sis inherited that from her. Mom also have several other skills, like being overdramatic and the ability to push others’ buttons. Sis and Mom have history. Nonetheless, I was hopeful. This option was also the only one Mom agreed to. I think all concerned dreamed of a different outcome. Of course, we can’t say how much drug, pain, aging, stress, emotions, etc., is dictating this course. I’ve seen other families endure it with grit teeth and heavy sighs. Now it’s our family’s turn. I don’t have hopes for any sort of quick, easy, or happy outcomes. One of them is texting me right now so I must go see what the latest is.
Need I say, we all miss Frank for his patience, support, and endurance?
Hope peace and grace finds and holds you. I’ve had a couple slugs of coffee. Think I’ll have a few more. Here we go. Cheers
Gray, wet, cold. We haven’t even officially started winter and I’m already getting tired of it. One wag said, “Of course, we’ve started winter. It’s December.” I responded with words about the equinox. They rolled their eyes. How dare they.
It’s Sunda, December 7, 2025. 35 degrees F. Gonna be 50 F, the masters of weather tell us through Alexa. I have a problem with that. Last night, I asked Alexa about the weather. She told me the low would be 40. That didn’t strike me as believable so I asked her what the temperature would be at 6 AM. “Forty degrees,” Alexa asserted.
Imagine my reaction when it was below 40 degrees at eight AM. I said, “Alexa, what’s the weather for today?”
“Right now in Ashland it’s thirty-five degrees. Today’s low will be forty degrees with intermittent clouds. The high will be fifty degrees.”
Blatantly lying to me, just like the Trump Regime. “Alexa,” I said, “How can the low for today be forty degrees when it’s five degrees colder than that right now?” Alexa mumbled on about how she didn’t know what I was talking about and then mocked the way I asked the question.
Today’s song is “Your Love Is Driving Me Crazy”. It’s a rocker by the red rocker, Sammy Hagar. Came about when my wife asked me if she could interrupt what I was doing to share something with me. “Go ahead,” I replied. “I don’t mind.” That was even though I did mind because I was reading something and deep into thinking about it and would probably need to start reading it all over again because I haven’t had coffee yet and The Neurons were mumbling, “What are those black things on the screen? What are they? I think I’ve…does anyone have a doughnut?”
Then The Neurons hooked up on the words, “I don’t mind,” and click, “Your Love Is Driving Me Crazy” was playing in the morning mental music stream. Song came out in 1983. Consulting The Neurons, that’s like over forty years ago. I had a friend back then who thought this was the only good Sammy Hagar song he’d put out. He’d turn this one up but change the channel on any other SH offering. When SH joined Van Halen, he declared with deep gloom, “This is the end of them.” He could be so chipper!
Read something about some inane thing Trump said. The press shook their heads. Other liberals grrrrrowled and mocked and raged, etc. At this point, I feel like Heritage Foundation and soulless GOP zombies have taken over the Trump Regime. He’s just a mouthpiece. Way Trump speaks in public these days, it doesn’t seem like much mind remains. Sad in its way, as it’s probably dementia. I don’t want that for anyone but especially someone with control over nukes, someone who others let wander around without oversight and supervision. Seems like the regime lets Trump out to talk and walk in the way that people use toys to entertain their pets or plop their children down in front of a television with a movie to keep them quiet and preoccupied while everything the nation built since the start is torn down. Except the military and police. Yes, I’m a cynic and pessimist at this point. Gimme coffee, stat!
Gonna go make my coffee so I can shut The Neurons up. Hope peace and grace, etc. Here we go. Cheers
I broke out of my writerly cocoon this week. I typically get into the coffee shop, find a table and seat, assume the position and shut down to being friendly. I have met Kim, another writer, and chat with her regularly, but briefly. We each respect the writer’s privacy and methodology, so while we will emerge to joke and exchange words, we shut back down and get down to our respective writing processes.
Meanwhile, though, there are dogs. People bring their pups in with them, a practice I applaud. Living in Europe, it wasn’t unusual to encounter dogs in restaurants, cafes, and shops. I’m fine with them.
And the dogs are fine with me. But because they come and visit me, I end up chatting with their people. Then the people open up with their curiosity about what I do there each day. In explaining, others overhear. They volunteer later, privately, that they’re a writer, too. It’s a veritable writing hive.
I also ventured out of my cocoon on my own. A woman sat down beside me yesterday as I was wrapping up. She put a book down, along with a notebook. Always interested in people’s reading material, I glanced over. The book’s title was A Wild Life, a book about women in botany and their discoveries. I have several botanist friends, learned, intelligent, charming people who are passionate about botany. I said, “Pardon me, I saw your book. Are you a botanist?”
“I wish,” she responded.
We chatted about the book and why she chose it. A local person, Lucretia Saville Weems, is the author, and the woman saw it in Bloomsbury’s local authors section and was interested and bought it.
Packing up, I said my goodbyes to her but wasn’t done socializing. I’d noticed a young couple. She was wearing a One Piece sweatshirt. My wife and I are One Piece fans, so I had to pause to compliment her on her top, and then we talked about the television series and enjoyed some laughs.
Probably just something in the air for a few days. I’m back in my cocoon today, ready to get to it.
Guess what? It’s a cold and gray, wet and sunny December 6th, 2025, Ashlandia Saturda. The wet is drying, the fog is swirling, the sun is breaking in, and the gray is hanging on. The digital mercury currently rests at 46 F degrees with sunny promises of a 50 F degree high.
Mom and sis battle on. Mom’s mind has taken a turn for the worse, and her behavior has pushed the people living with her to the limit. She’s suddenly paranoid and conspiratorial, making bizarre accusations, and is increasingly hostile and critical, accusing everyone of imaginary slights. Mom has exhibited these traits throughout her adult life. All of her offspring can relate periods of encountering Mom in ‘one of her moods’. This period, which has lasted several days, has driven sis to declare she’ll have nothing to do with Mom any longer. Of course, sis is speaking out of anger, stress, and frustration. Mom has declared that she’ll move back to her house and live alone. “Go for it,” shouted sis, according to sis when we spoke on the phone. We are investigating and discussing trying to get Mom into somewhere else for her living situation.
Today’s song is “Sexcrimes”. This is a 1984 Eurythmics song, full name “Sexcrimes (Nineteen Eighty-Four)”. No idea why The Neurons slotted it into the morning mental music stream this morning. In the kitchen doing breakfast things when it made its appearance. Always sort of an odd song to me, never quite to my preference, but I encountered on the radio back in the day. There is something slightly mesmerizing about it to me, maybe the beat, I suppose.
Read the news last night that the National Parks Service has declared free admission for Trumpy’s birthday. Meanwhile, giving us a massive middle finger, the NPS dropped Juneteenth and MLK Jr’s birthday as holidays with free admission that they’ll recognize. More of that kingliness grace that Trump is imposing on We the People as he defecates on our past collective decisions, history, and heritage. Of course, thanks to Dizzy Donny and the massive staffing and budget cuts under his regime, stories of chaotic situations at national parks are on the rise.
Been thirty days since my gallbladder was removed. Recovering and adjusting seem to be going well. It’s my habit to drink hot water in the morning. This week, I’ve experienced nausea when doing that. From the way it rolls from my abdomen and gathers at the back of my throat by my jaw muscles, most online medical sites tell me it’s not unusual and is most likely because of an irritated Vagus Nerve. As a root cause, that’s not startling. They’ve suggested an overstimulated Vagus Nerve is probably behind my high blood pressure for years. Manuka Honey does settle the nausea.
Coffee has been re-introduced to my biosystems. Hope grace and peace show up someday in the United States again someday. Here we go, into another day.
It’s a sighing kind of day. Sunshine is spare as rain falls and gray clouds swallow the valley. 46 F now, we’re almost at our high. Yes, good to have some rain. But not so good for my spirit today, Frida, December 5, 2025. On the plus side of things, Wordle, Connections, and the Spelling Bee were all easy. So I have that going for me.
Mom and sis are again having issues. These are also adjustment things. Relates to how things used to be done when Mom and Frank lived together and Frank ran Mom’s errands. Sam’s Club was being used as Mom’s pharmacy. That was cost-effective and convenient for them. Sam’s Club was just less than ten minutes away, an easy drive. Frank enjoyed going through, picking up the prescriptions, doing some shopping, getting gas. Sam’s Club is nowhere near sis’s house. Going through is an hour plus investment of time and effort deeply affected by traffic and weather. Sis asked Mom to change her pharmacy to CVS because it’s just a few minutes away. Mom said she called the Sam’s Club and told them. No, Mom needs to call her doctor and tell them. She says she did. They told another sister that Mom’s message couldn’t be understood. Sis asked Mom to call them again. Mom said, no, she’s only allowed to call the doctor once a day. WTF? So yeah, confusion, frustrations, and stress are rising. Doesn’t help sis that she’s working this week so much of this is being conducted via phone calls and text messages while she’s at work. It’ll pass. Hopefully that’ll happen soon, and without much bloodshed. This sort of reminds me of the novel, Corrections.
Today’s music is dedicated to Trump and his enablers. After news reading that encouraged headshaking, groaning, growling, and sighs, The Neurons put Linda Ronstadt in the morning mental music stream with her cover of “You’re No Good”.
My wife raised this issue today: why didn’t the Trump Regime pick up those two survivors of the boat attack and question them for intelligence and information? Answer: because it’s about killing and making a show, and not about truth, facts, facts. She continues to advocate for the guillotine. She believes drastic changes will be needed once Trump is gone, and the only way to emphasize that We the People are serious is to lop off a few heads. Mitch McConnell tops her list. Weird to hear this lifelong pacifist advocate cutting off heads but that’s where we’re at.
Coffee and I are making nice again. Time to get out and do other things. Hope peace and grace light your day for a bit. Here I go, into the rain. Cheers
Sunshine was beaming in, trying to move the needle on this Thirstdaz. Clouds dropped in, muting the sunshine, dousing us with an instant chill. 39 F around my house, the thermometer hopes to see the low fifties today. It’s December 4, 2025. After a mildly wet few months, we’ve suddenly gone cold and dry. Feels like winter out there on many morns.
A friend’s spouse passed away. Most of is learned of it last night. He’d been on hospice for eighteen months, and she carried so much of the caring and the worrying during that long goodbye. Now that he’s gone, she seems ready to step back into her own life again. I only met him a few times, briefly, but always liked his presence. The old photos of him — long dark hair, guitar in hand somewhere in Texas — suggest a version of him I wish I’d known. Wherever he’s headed now, I hope the road is kind. Moments like this tend to shift a group’s energy; the news seemed to quiet all of us, each in our own way. That’s the thing about a death: it sends you off in unexpected directions. Even had me thinking about a novel titled News of a Death.
In honor of Steve Cropper, I’m going with a song that features him. He was one of those musicians and songwriters who helped build my appreciation of popular music and where it can take us by his many contributions. Here’s the Blues Brothers on SNL playing “Soul Man”. And there is grinning Steve Cropper, having fun, playing the guitar, part of the scene.
Occurred to me after posting something about Trump and the records he’s setting, I overlooked his new record of giving pardons. No firm proof has been established but there are allegations and accusations that Delusive Donny is selling pardons. He certainly favors the wealthy, no matter the crime that won them conviction. Nothing like the chief enforcer of the nation’s law and order to undermine and break the system again and again and again and again and again…
My wife also shared a piece with me where some on the right are applauding Trump’s naps. They claim they think it’s smart of him. Yes, we laughed our rear ends off at their deep efforts to spin Trump’s shortcomings, the very same shortcomings for which they previously denigrated President Joe Biden.
Coffee has been poured into the system. Ready to make like a flea and jump. Hope peace and grace makes their way into your day. Cheers
It’s now 80 murders. Let’s call them for what they are. Crimes.Yes, Dozy Donny is killing in the name of the United States to provoke Venezuela into retaliation, giving Trumpy a paralegal excuse to invade the oil rich nation. I’m sure Trump will whip out the autopen and pardon this criminal soon. It’s the Trump way!
Dawg, what a gray, wet day looking in on us. It’s up to 36 F with clearance to soar to the mid 40s. Sunshine is lacking and what sun shows up is shaded in fifty shades of gray. This is December 3, 2025.
Today’s music emerges from an exchange with my wife. She was leaving for exercise class. I was still abed. It’s her habit to check on me before she leaves to ensure I’m alive. Hearing her coming, I held my breath and stayed motionless. “Is he alive?” she teased. I felt her hand pressed on my hip. Then she pressed on my scalp. After about ten seconds, I sprang up and proclaimed, “I’m still standing.” We laughed like idiots.
But that’s how “I’m Still Standing” by Elton John arrived in the morning mental music stream on this Wenzda.
Reports on Mom shows her doing pretty good. Sis has stocked Mom’s lair with her favorite munchies and drinks so Mom has some independence of others. Mom has become better at using Alexa to call for assistance. The one major complaint now is that Mom has her television at supercharged levels. Sis says it’s so loud sometimes that they can’t hear their television upstairs over Mom’s TV. I used to complain about the television and radios’ volume (yes, that’s a plural on the radio) when I visited Mom. She always blamed Frank. Guess it’s the ghost of Frank cranking up those devices now.
Lot of news rolling out about Trump falling asleep at meetings. ‘Member when he used to criticize and mock President Biden for falling asleep? Now he can’t seem to stay awake.
Some say it’s because he can’t sleep at night because worries about the Epstein files revelations drive him to midnight sessions of shitposting. Rumors are that Epstein’s ghost has begun haunting him, whispering in Dizzy Donny’s ears reminders of what a failure he is, how weak and vulnerable Deceitful Donny is, and how Duplicitous Donny’s failures are catching up to him. Once BFF with Epstein, TACO now tries to claim he barely knew the guy.
Got my coffee and I’m out of here. Hope peace and grace show up and sing you to sleep. Here we go, into another Wenzda. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 