Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
I’m working through tendrils of a new day, a new month, and a new year. Not much of it taxes me yet, but we’re only nine hours into it in Ashland.
Winter continues its weather games. Today, Thirstda, January 1, 2026, brings rain and a leaden, swollen sky. Winds whisper, howl, and moan. Temperatures around town reportedly range of 46 degrees F to 53. My house says it’s 51. Today’s high will be…51.
I posted news of Dad’s passing on Facebook and heard from many, including military peers, corporation co-workers, fellow writers-in-struggling, and friends on other continents. Comfort and thankfulness rose in me for so many taking the time from their lives to comment.
I’ve accepted Dad’s death on at least the surface. Flashes of not being able to speak or visit with him slide like gentle waves through my thoughts. Some tears fell yesterday. Today, I’m remembering him with fondness, chuckling and laughing at memories of how he smiled, laughed, and spoke.
As for the new year and month, I’m uncertain of what to expect. Last year was a ride on a cantankerous bear. Too many Trump and GOP actions dismayed my core. That core holds beliefs that We the People are supposed to have a voice in our government; that laws will be followed and enforced; that everyone is equal and deserves freedom and respect. Actions such as Trump’s rants about hoaxes, fake news, Democratic scum, and ICE rounding up people without due process all undermine my hopes.
I’ll continue voting, protesting, and writing about how Trump is conducting business. And I’ll keep trying to nurture hope and optimism that we’ll see a shift toward my hopeful vision of progress and democracy.
Here’s today’s music: “God Gave Rock and Roll to You”. The 1973 song was written by Russ Ballard. Ballard was in Argent at the time, so Argent performed and released it.
I suspect The Neurons planted the song in the morning mental music stream because I was thinking about working hard on the novel-in-progress, and the need to keep editing it. The song reflects those sentiments on one stanza:
Lyrics (h/t to Genius.com)
If you wanna be a singer or play guitar
Man, you’ve gotta sweat, or you won’t get far
‘Cause it’s never too late to work nine to five
And if you’re young, then you’ll never be old
Music can make your dreams unfold
How good it feels to be alive
Coffee is served again. May peace and grace find you and guide you along a hopeful path in the new year. Cheers
Through the year
We did stumble,
Doing weary chores
With a soft-voiced grumble.
Peeking through doors,
Working through days,
Of laughing, sighing,
And weary, changing ways.
Sometimes we shouted,
And sometimes shed tears,
Wondering how it would end,
This long, most miserable of years.
Now we sit
On another cusp,
Wondering,
What the next months
Will deliver to us?
We make promises and vow
To create changes that stay,
But will we be happier
Twelve months from this day?
In under-reported news, I discovered that Trump found Sasquatch. He posted a text about it, but the fake news didn’t cover it, probably because they hate him so much.
“It wasn’t hard to find him,” Trump wrote. “Turned out he’s a nice guy, a great guy. So smart, amazingly smart. We talked about thirty minutes. Then he told me, ‘Sir, you’re the first person I’ve ever encountered who just wanted to talk to me. I am so honored to meet you.’”
Trump said he later received a text from Sasquatch on Truth Social, inviting Trump to publicize the meeting. Trump wrote, “I told Footy – that’s what I call him, Footy, because some people call him Big Foot. He does have big feet, really big feet. I don’t call him Big Foot. Because that’s rude, that’s a rude thing to say, a terrible thing to say. So I call him Footy. I told Footy, you have an open invitation to visit me any time, anywhere, day or night. My door’s always open to you.”
Trump also visited Area 51 last week. Area 51 is a top secret military facility where all the aliens who have come to Earth are kept.
Trump reported that he met several aliens.
“Good looking little guys. All green, with big black eyes. Nice guys, great guys, so smart, amazingly smart. We talked about thirty minutes, me and three of them, four of them. They told me, ‘Sir, you’re the first person we’ve ever met who just wanted to talk to us. We are so honored to meet you.’ The aliens told me that they’ve been trying to go public, trying to get out of the secure area, but that Democrat scum wouldn’t let them out. I told them, ‘Don’t worry, little guys, I’ll get you out. I promise you, I’ll get you out. If anyone can get you out, it’s me. I’m better at getting people out than anyone in history. I’ve gotten more people out than anyone else ever has, huge numbers, huge. More numbers than you can imagine. It’s just amazing what I’ve been able to do.”
Continuing his amazing streak, Trump said that he went to Ireland and hunted down some Leprechauns.
In an interview, Trump said, “Good looking little guys. Dressed in green. Nice guys, great guys, so smart, so amazingly smart. We talked about thirty minutes, two, three of them, and me.
“They told me, ‘Sir, you’re the first person we’ve ever met who didn’t try to take our pot of gold.’ They had the pot of gold just sitting there. I noticed it, big, beautiful pot of shiny gold, most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I noticed it. How can I not notice something that beautiful? But it’s gold. I’m the wealthiest person in the world. You know that, right? I’m the wealthiest person in the world. First person in the world worth a gazillion dollars. That’s me. The first one. What do I need with more gold? I don’t. I already have most of the gold in the world. I have like 90, 99 percent of it. There’s a little bit I don’t have, but not much, not much. The Leprechauns told me, ‘Sir, go ahead and take our gold. We know you’ll put it to good use.’
“So I took it. I took their gold. Not because I need it but because they invited me to take it. Why shouldn’t I take it? Who wouldn’t take it? It’s not really that much gold. I already have more gold than I know what to do with. I’ve been melting it down, making things out of it. You should see the things I make. Beautiful stuff, beautiful. I show it to people when they visit. I show them all my beautiful gold things that I made. Pens and stuff. Shoes. Computer disks, whatever I see, coffee mugs, razors, stuff like that. Underwear. I’m wearing gold underwear now, did you know that? Gold speedos. Speedos made out of gold. So comfortable, amazingly comfortable. You should wear them. That’s why I walk the way I do. That’s why my posture is so good. My posture is perfect. You’ve probably noticed it. It’s perfect. It’s the gold underwear, the gold speedo. Of course, you have to have the right body to wear gold underwear. You can really only wear it right if you’re perfectly built, like me.
“I also make more practical things. Guns. Bullets. Knives. Golf clubs. I have so much gold, I don’t care. People tell me, ‘Sir, it’s amazing what you do with gold. You truly have the Midas touch. You should put this on display. People would pay to see it.’
“But I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to put that stuff on display. I’m too modest. If I wasn’t so modest, I’d probably get more credit for all the great things I’ve already done, and the great things I’m going to do. I’m not like Sleepy Joe Biden, always going around LYING ABOUT WHAT HE DID. That’s not me. That’s why I don’t get enough credit. That’s why I didn’t win the Nobel Peace Prize. Didn’t win the Pulzer Prize, either, what’s it called? The one they give for books? Yeah, the Pulzer. I should’ve won that, too. I’ve written so many amazing books. Beautiful books. I always put them under other people’s names. But they’re like, number one on all the lists. They’re the best-selling books of all times. But I don’t tell anyone that I wrote them. I just write them for fun. I don’t need the money. What do I need with more money? I’m the richest man in the world. Only person in the world worth ten bazillion dollars, did you know that? No, you don’t know that, because nobody gives me credit for how rich I am. That’s because they all hate me. I don’t know why. I think it’s because they’re so jealous of me because I’m so rich and successful. What do you think? Think that might be why they hate me?”
Twozda in Ashlandia finds us cold. Blue sky is in firm command. Sunlight washes over the valley.
It feels like something is broken or disconnected in the weather systems. The temperature is unfolding from 30 F. Alexa and online sources say we’ll get to 61 F today. I don’t know that they can be trusted. My systems and three other local systems all noted 29 to 31 degrees F temperature. At the same time, Alexa and online sites claimed our temperature was 40 F.
This is the same thing we went through several weeks ago; what we observed and felt locally is not what the national systems reported. Back in those weeks, we were steeped in cold fog while the national systems were trying to tell us it was sunny with some clouds. You can see why I’m not sure if we’ll get a high of 61 degrees.
No news has come from the Mom or Dad fronts. I had a long conversation with Dad’s wife yesterday. She related that after the fact, they conjecture Dad may have had a stroke, a-fib, or both. He had no idea how he ended up on the floor. Dad is doing very little talking or eating since that day. Only soft foods are permitted, such as eggs, apple sauce, and oatmeal. Swallowing those challenges him.
His wife says that he responds to voices. Though his eyes are closed, he’ll turn his head toward the speaker. She’s not sure if he recognizes her voice.
She also related that a few days before his fall, she discovered Dad had plotted to move away. He told her that he’d been on the phone with his other son and resolved the transportation issues and had identified all of his needs.
His son confirmed, yes, he and Dad were speaking about this almost every day. My brother was just going along with it to humor Dad; he certainly wasn’t going to help Dad move away. His part was just to indulge Dad because Dad was energetic and into the planning.
The revelations made me smile. I recognized Dad in that. He likes being in charge, making decisions, leading the way. He does not like having others take care of him. Making those plans were his way to stop from being a burden and getting back to being in charge.
Today’s theme music comes from a mental melange. Dreams, thinking, and headlines are all poured into this. Part of that thinking comes from Dad’s predicament.
Overviewing what was going on in my head, The Neurons placed “Wake Up Everybody” by Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes in the morning mental music stream. It’s a song I probably haven’t heard in years. It’s also possible I subconsciously heard it going on in the background somewhere.
I first learned of this song from my Black friends and co-workers. It wasn’t featured on the radio stations that I normally had on. Released in 1975, when I was a young airman in the U.S.A.F., I thought Teddy Pendergrass’s vocals put beautiful and heartfelt power to the words.
The opening lyrics were what I heard today but there was a little verse which I think about as I considered the world’s news and politics. Here they are.
Lyrics (h/t to AZLyrics.com)
Wake up, everybody, no more sleeping in bed
No more backward thinking, time for thinking ahead
The world has changed so very much from what it used to be
There’s so much hatred, war, and poverty, whoa, oh
The world won’t get no better
If we just let it be
The world won’t get no better
We gotta change it, yeah, just you and me
It’s quite the song of hope. It seems like we had more songs like this back in the last century. Moreover, we seemed to be moving toward them. No, it wasn’t straightforward, level progress but it did seem measurable. This century feels and appears very different to me.
Coffee has been served. My hope continues that peace and grace come by to give us all a lift. I know I would appreciate it.
Cheers
Trump directly attacked Venezuela this week, two strikes on two other nations in one week.
Disappointed, I wasn’t surprised. My immediate response: was this a military action or CIA activity?
I was also concerned about deaths, injuries, and property damage and destruction.
Other questions came up for me:
Trump’s increasing attacks on Venezuela and other nations are disconcerting. I worry that they’ll translate to open warfare or counter attacks.
Some comments associated with news of the attack surprised me. Several individuals cited President Maduro’s unpopularity with Venezuelan citizens as a solid reason to attack Venezuela.
I would turn that attitude back on them: Trump is unpopular in the United States. Does that provide other countries with a legal rationale to attack the United States?
Trump and his administration frame this as part of an ongoing war against ‘narco-terrorists’. They’ve not introduced any evidence to support the claims.
The true reasoning is very opaque. Trump often inspires speculation. I think it’s partly due to his established pattern of lying and his growing struggle to remain coherent.
I, with many others, often wonder: is this latest military action to distract us?
Trump has reasons to distract us. The list begins with polling, worries over the economy, and the Epstein files.
While we speculate, there’s certainly valid reasons for the speculation. As this year ends, many polls show growing disapproval for Trump, his government, and the consequences of his actions.
Trump and his administration’s behavior toward the Epstein files lends circumstantial evidence that Trump worries about the files’ contents. Delaying the release of files didn’t help. Neither does Trump’s recurring insistence the files are a ‘Democrat hoax’. Each denial increases our wonder about what the Epstein files say about him.
There’s a third pillar supporting speculation that the attack was a distraction. One, Bondi had the FBI comb through the files for content about Trump. Second, the files were heavily redacted after release. Three, a million more documents were ‘suddenly found’ and released.
Last, though, Trump continues to tout the economy as the greatest. Data doesn’t support him. One quarter showed surprisingly strong GDP growth. That doesn’t translate to Trump’s unbounded enthusiasm. Many professional forecasters project meager average GDP growth for 2025, just 1.9%. 2026 isn’t looking much better.
Job growth has been weak. Unemployment is rising.
Headline inflation isn’t sharp, but affordability worries people.
With such a weak economy and other indicators, I don’t think attacking other nations improves our situation. And that is my largest concern about Trump and the attacks.
They’re illogical, and do nothing to improve conditions in the United States.
That’s why I really wonder if they’re just distractions.
The weather is better. Better is relative. 44 F here in Ashlandia, with expectations of a 56 degrees F high. Sunshine and blue sky are lording over Munda, December 29, 2025. Papi is happy that the rain has stopped, the sun is out, and the fog slunk away. We have instead picked up a stagnant air advisory. Yet, it’s windy. Papi dislikes wind more than anything. Fortunately, he’s older now and less interested in running out to challenge the day.
No updates on Dad. Mom updates are about her upset stomach. She and sis continue adjusting to living together. Each will flare in anger and accuse the other of being mean. These episodes seem shorter and less intense. My fingers are crossed that their relationship and situation will improve as we move into 2026.
I feel for Dad’s wife and her family. Dad’s been with them for over thirty years. He’s been generous, supportive, and loving with them. Watching him decline must be so painful and debilitating for them.
With Mom and Dad’s health problems, I find myself reviewing my health. My energy is up and I seem, from the outside, to be doing well as I slink toward 70. I’ve lost weight, exercise more these days, and have more energy.
Primary concern, though, is the one I spent the most time with: my wife. She and I have been a couple for over fifty years. She’s been struggling with her strength and movement. She doesn’t go to physicians. She just consults solutions on the Internet. I won’t try to reduce her complicated view of herself, health, and the healthcare system into more manageable chunks of understanding. She would insist that I have it wrong anyway!
She’s working on a fifty-year celebration for a friend. The friend, MB, has been a Y instructor for fifty years. Her low-level aerobics, strength and dance class is enormously popular. The Y recognized that MB is popular and that this is a milestone, and asked my wife to organize the celebration. They asked her because she’s the class’s social engine. My wife accepted. She enjoys doing these things.
My wife doesn’t handle stress or anxiety well, though. When either of those increase for her, her health takes a hit. Her eating and digestion goes; she grows stiffer, with less movement. Her stiffness and vulnerability to being physically cold increases.
Yes, she is always cold. She likes keeping our snug — the office — around 80 degrees. My hope is that she’ll get through this February celebration and get stronger and healthier. Meanwhile, my role is to be as supportive as I can.
The Neurons have decided that today’s song is “The Waiting”. The 1981 song is written and performed by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. From Petty’s point of view, the waiting was about the time before going on to perform. Observing me thinking about Dad, Mom, and my wife, The Neurons decided it would be a grand song for the morning mental music stream.
Chorus
The waiting is the hardest part
Every day you see one more card
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart
The waiting is the hardest part.
Yes, Tom, the waiting often seems like the hardest part.
I have my coffee to comfort me while I wait. Hope peace and grace comes by with a cuddle for all of us. Cheers
I looked out the window, and what did I see? Blue skies and sunshine looking down on me. No clouds nor fog! No snow but there is some frost. I did notice yesterday that our southern and northern mountains lack snow but the eastern mountains had snow. Snow there makes sense because the eastern mountains are higher.
It’s 27 at my house now, 29 at SOU’s weather station at the Farm, 30, according to Alexa, and 31 on the net’s weather report on MSN. We’re basically in accordance as elevations, mountain shadows, and the sun’s angle affect the temperature readings. They have forecast a high of 51 F for this late December day.
Yes, this is Sunda, December 28, 2025. Just three more sleeps and 2025 will bow out.
Dad’s end of life situation is worsening. I didn’t get an update yesterday but I understand how emotionally taxing that must be for his wife. She’s lived with him longer than me or my mother and is probably closer to him and knows him better. I will say that Dad and I have a lot of shared personality traits and easily move closer through conversations. As we were both in the Air Force for 20 years, he and I do seem to understand one another. His daughters, my sisters, either don’t speak to him because they’re angry and resentful, or only speak to him when they want something. He has another son, too, through his second marriage, and that son and I get along. He, too, only lived with Dad for about ten years.
Dad was active and gregarious all his life, flirting with women, charming everyone. He kept busy although he grew to enjoy sitting down and watching NBA basketball and college and NFL football. He was in the military 20 years, then worked as a grocery store assistant manager for about ten years before purchasing and running his own grocery store. Married twice, divorced twice, although he lived with another woman for ten years. He eventually moved to Texas and settled there, running a huge truck stop for twenty years, finally stepping down from that in his early eighties. That’s when he met and married his current wife. Back when Dad was in the military, he frequently had a second job, managing a club, bartending, or working in a store. He loved playing poker and he was highly skilled with a pool stick. He’s outlived his own father by almost thirty years.
On the other hand, Dad was never into arts, music, or dancing, admitting, “They’re not my thing.” He enjoyed a good steak and loved Italian and Chinese food but was never a foodie, and didn’t eat candy, sweets, or pastries.
Dad’s wife just texted me that she’s waiting for the nurse to arrive and will then send an update.
For Dad, I’m going with Van Halen and “Jump”. That’s because one of Dad’s usual, casual response was often, “Might as well.” That line is repeated through “Jump”, as in, “Might as well jump.” It’s an upbeat song, and he was pretty upbeat overall.
Hope peace and grace find you before the year’s end. Cheers
While going to the coffee shop, I often pass a cemetery. Not surprising as Ashland has three.
This one is the original. Located just off East Main Street, it sits beside some of the town’s oldest neighborhoods, including the Railroad District.
I often glance at the cemetery while driving by, looking for deer. Deer often visit the cemetery, grazing and digesting between grave markers.
A few weeks ago, I noticed teenagers gathering in the cemetery. Once was a curiosity, twice was a surprise, three times is a trend. They did this for several weeks, regardless of sunshine, freezing fall, or rain and drizzle.
We’re not addressing a few teens; usually ten to eighteen gather, typically a few minutes after eleven AM. I wonder, what’s going on there, and at what grave are they gathering?
Here’s the kicker, though. School is out for the winter break. The children are not gathering. Instead, that same gravestone was host to five deer. I kid you not.
I really need to stop by and see the name on that grave.
Greetings on Satyrda, December 27, 2025. They said it’d be cold and we’d have snow. No snow but it was 38 degrees F, sort of cold. Sunshine is leaking in around clouds stretching a flimsy chain across blue sky. A high somewhere in the 40s is anticipated.
My stepmother texted last night. Dad has taken a bad turn. He was found on the floor, communicative and awake but confused. That was Wednesday. His wife is talking to professionals about whether Dad should go into hospice. She is due to receive an update and then will text me to call her so I can learn the latest.
I sent Mom and Dad holiday cards and letters. My sister read Mom her card and letter from me; my stepmother read Dad his card and letter from me. Neither Mom nor Dad could open their cards on their own. Dad lives in Texas and Mom lives in Pennsylvania. The parallel path of their decline fascinates and depresses me.
Dad has been married to my stepmother for over thirty years. It’s his third marriage. As Dad’s health has declined, my stepmother’s children visit him and care for him, just as my sisters visited Mom’s boyfriend, Frank, and cared for him before he died. Life’s complexities and layers are rich and interesting.
Sis wrote that she hosted Christmas celebrations on Thursday and Friday. Half the family came on one day and the other half came the next door. She said that worked out much better than having the whole tribe there at the same time.
With dreams of homes and families and news of family percolating, it’s not surprising that The Neurons chose a song about houses for the morning mental music stream. Today, it’s “Our House” by Madness.
As I wrote this post, my wife told me of some factoids she just read. Back in 1950, the average starter home in the U.S. was less than 1,000 square feet with two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small kitchen. Now the average starter home is considered 2500 square feet with walk in everything and vaulted ceilings and fireplaces, kitchen, dining room, and breakfast nook. And fewer people seem able to afford starter homes in 2025.
Then I went off to dress to go out to write. My wife and I talked about it, how, while waiting to call my stepmother for an update, I was planning to go write. I shrugged. “The beat goes on.” And that’s why we have a twofer theme music offering for today. The Neurons immediately supplanted “Our House” with Sonny and Cher singing “The Beat Goes On”.
Hope peace and grace come by to present you some comfort. I’m off to the writing races once again. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 