Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
I was deep into a writing day at the coffee shop when I happened to look up. Across the room was a young girl—maybe six. In her hand was a huge chocolate croissant. I swear the pastry was as large as her head. She kept attacking it with her tiny mouth, trying again and again to make inroads into the dough.
As I smiled to myself and glanced around, I noticed others doing the same. We all seemed to feel it: the quiet pleasure of witnessing a sweet moment—a sweetie going after a sweet.
The rain has ceased and it’s warmer.
Hi. Today is December 24, 2025 in Ashlandia. Just one week of 2025 remains.
It’s 45 F right now. Quite pleasant. The fog left for a while. Yesterday, buzzing around town on errands, brought beautiful vista of long silvery gray fog snakes crawling around the hollows and valleys, and scaling the mountainsides. Clouds blocked the sunshine, lending the scenes an intensely dark backdrop.
Writing neurons immediately pictured the fog snakes as sentient creatures crawling through our presence, perhaps stealing pieces of us. Not all fog snakes are the same; some feed on memories. Others fog snakes still physical presence from us. More nibble away emotions or thinking. Where does it go from there? Give me some coffee and let me think.
While it’s 45 F now, the weather forecasters are warning us that temperatures will be dropping.
News headlines bring us tidings of destruction or recovery of destruction in other parts of the world and nation. I was with friends last night, toasting our friendship, talking about the season’s plans and plans for next year, and addressing political issues. All present believed Donald Trump’s strength is ebbing. That aligns with several articles I’ve recently read about Trump’s weakening influence.
President Donald Trump’s job approval rating stands at just 36 percent in the latest Gallup poll, the joint-worst rating of any U.S. president at the end of their first year in power of the last 50 years.
The other man? Himself – at the end of the first year of his first term in December 2017 – when he picked up precisely the same score.
For comparison, his predecessor Joe Biden was at 43 percent at the end of his first year in the Oval Office in December 2021.
Happy Holidays, Donald Trump.
Today’s song, “Here Comes Your Man” by the Pixies, comes by way of dog watching. I was examining the morning through the office window. Sunshine! Blue sky! No fog! A dog walker was coming up the street, big black dog trotting alongside on a leash. Sudden deep wagging broke out on the dog. The woman walking the black pup called out something. A man strode down the street. The dog began joyous leaps. Letting the leash out, I heard the woman say, “Here comes your man.” Man and dog rushed one another and showered the other with affection.
As I smiled and went to turn away, The Neurons plugged “Here Comes Your Man” into the morning mental music stream. It’s a very pop tune sound, very un-Pixie, almost anti-Pixie. The band themselves resisted releasing it because it was so pop to them. But here we are, playing it 37 years later. Life. Technology. Perspective.
Coffee is served. Sun is still shining. Sky remains blue. A decent day may be brewing, at least for an hour or two. Hope peace and grace is on its way. Have the best day possible, today and every day. Cheers
Twas the day before tomorrow
And all through the land,
Was a man on television,
A person who many couldn’t stand.
Blustery and yelling,
Threatening to be harsh and mean,
Much of what he said made no sense
To those watching the scene.
“Affordability is a hoax,”
He shouted again and again.
“You just watch me, I’ll make it end.
“I inherited the worse job in the land.
“But it’s getting better,
“Just close your eyes and pretend.
“Start buying less of what you want,
“Prices will go down,
“Ten thousand percent, twenty thousand,
“So much! It’ll astound!
“You’ll be much happier
“With one room instead of three,
“If you work harder,
“Eat less eggs and meat,
“Play with less dolls,
“And watch less Teevee.
“You’d better be peaceful,”
He added in a rising voice,
“Or I’ll bomb you all
“Because you give me no choice.”
He finished up with a scowl and a smirk,
And stumbled away with a twitch and a jerk.
Then we read his holiday texts as day went into night,
“I’m the best ever.
“Give up! Don’t fight!”
Dementia Donny has been living up to his hype, blasting us with more wondrous boasts about the greatest and most beautiful things he’s doing for us.
Solving real problems fell off Delicate Donny’s radar long ago. His previous magic was to ‘tell it like it is’. Morally bankrupt and intellectually dishonest people fed off it. Now, with no one reining him in, his reign is a crashing, shambolic nightmare.
Affordability and inflation haunt Trump. The East Wing’s demolition reminds everyone who looks toward the White House sees it and remembers all of Trump’s past failures such as Trump Air and his string of failed promises, like “Mexico will pay for the wall”.
Now, hospitals are shuttering in rural areas. More are closing in 2025 than have in the past five years. Rising costs for food, healthcare, and energy are undermining Trump speeches that everything is better than before. Rising bankruptcies point to data that everything isn’t getting better.
Thing about it was that Trump’s bluster often covered his damage. When that didn’t work, he’d order wild distractions. That strategy was aided by those who want to further his agenda. Now, reality is engulfing the nation. Disapproval for Trump is drifting toward historic lows. Approval is becoming as weak as a memory of sunshine. Although media conglomerates still kowtow to Trump and his sycophants appease him by naming things after him, Trump is a weakening individual with waning influence.
Even Republicans are awakening to that truth. Stands are rising against him. Speaker Mike Johnson in the House remains Trump’s man but voter anger is stinging rank and file Republicans. Worrying about keeping their seats. they’re jumping off the MAGA wagon, though they carefully say little to anger Trump. He still has a big stick.
Trump’s biggest crutches remain the cadre he installed as his cabinet. Vought, Noem, Miller, Hegseth, Bessent, and Kennedy race forward, trying to do as much damage as possible before Trump shuffles off the stage. Vance is eager to seize the reins, but all know, he isn’t Trump. Although Trump can’t or doesn’t care to see it because it isn’t about him, Trump is institutionalizing regression under the guise of progress. That is how Project 2025 planned it. These are not mere villains, but morally ambiguous players dedicated to the Project 2025 cause.
Vance seems to be coming from a place where he thinks he can say, “Hey, we’re all Christians here,” and earn a stronger following. Christians might go for that but the rest of us are dubious about it. As Heather Cox Richardson related in her December 21, 2025, piece, Vance and the Project 2025 crowd continue to try to rewrite history and facts.
Speaking today at Turning Point USA’s annual “AmericaFest” conference, Vice President J.D. Vance said, to great applause: “The only thing that has truly served as an anchor of the United States of America is that we have been, and by the grace of God we always will be, a Christian nation.”
Actually, we haven’t.
Vance’s statement flies in the face of our Constitution, whose First Amendment reads: “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof….” James Madison of Virginia, the key thinker behind the Constitution, had quite a lot to say about why it was fundamentally important to make sure the government kept away from religion.
In 1772, when he was 21, Madison watched as Virginia arrested itinerant preachers for attacking the established church in the state. He was no foe of religion, but by the next year, he had begun to question whether established religion, which was common in the colonies, was good for society. By 1776, many of his broad-thinking neighbors had come to believe that society should “tolerate” different religious practices; he had moved past tolerance to the belief that men had a right of conscience.
Ms Richardson’s final line in that paragraph struck me. This is where we’re seriously regressing as a nation IMO. As a progressive democracy, we were moving more past tolerance to the belief that everyone was equal but individual, but that the roots of individuality didn’t matter. What mattered was that all of us were humans, invested in one another to advance together, or fail together.
Now the Project 2025 gaggle has us as a nation regressing. We’re no longer even ‘tolerant’. Yes, Trump pushed that idea, giving it more emphasis as it gained traction. What deeply disturbed so many of us as Americans and U.S. citizens was how many of our fellow citizens weren’t willing to be tolerant. Not only were they not being tolerant of others different from them, but now they’re moving toward being more aggressively violent.
That is Trump, too. But the resentment, the willingness to be intolerant was always there, as was the violence. Trump and Project 2025 used that to propel Trump forward. Needing more votes than his base provided, Trump appealed to people upset with the economy by falsifying and magnifying how bad it was. Now the truth is out. Affordability is a bigger problem under Trump than it was under President Biden. Paul Krugman noted that the national deficit did not decrease under Trump but is bigger than it was in the first nine months of 2024.
Voters are noticing Trump’s failed economics policies. GOP stalwarts are noticing. No matter how many buildings are named for Trump, no matter how much he tries to change the narrative, the damage has ended Trump’s ability to lie and blame others.
There will be a reckoning with voters in 2026. Despite being in an ideological bubble, Trump knows it’s going to be bad for him.
He feels it, and it shows.
A tight light gray sheet is pulled down over Ashland. Woven of clouds, rain, and fog, it reduces sunlight to graylight. As light rain sings, the temperature hangs at 38 F with a high of 38 F looming. This is Twozda, December 23, 2025.
Thinking of Mom, life, and politics led me into paths of cogitation about how we shape others’ impressions of us. Sometimes our impressions of others actually undermine our ability to see who they are and what they mean. History with them, and disappointments with them, seem to frequently color our greater impressions and reactions. Emotions overtake thinking. Anger sets in and calcifies. Then we limit engagements, refuse to talk to them. Why should we? They’ve proven who they are to us.
Yet, we know that one of the greatest constants of existence is change. Many of us try and succeed to change ourselves for the better. Sometimes we awaken from whatever cocoon held us and realize, “Oh, shit. What did I do?” Then we hunt avenues to fix whatever mess we created.
Not all, I guess. I’ve known some terminally ignorant people who refused to ever admit they were ever wrong, let alone try to fix things. But others saw them for that toxicity and drifted from them until they stood alone, stewing in their rage about how they knew they’re right and everyone else is wrong. I think Trump is deeply into that circle. The thing is, his wealth and power keep extending his life. He’s surrounded himself with enablers. To admit that he’s wrong is to admit they’re wrong. And they’re shying off from that.
Like Trump, like Mom, like me and others I know, underlying our behavior are health challenges. I’m dealing with mine and seem to be rapidly improving. But I know others who are skating downhill, picking up speed, piling up the problems. It’s harder to see those things in others, whether their causes are emotional, neurological, matters with digestion, depression, or the simpler and more insidious problem…getting old. Even when you know ‘what’s wrong with them’ in clear and lucid terms, it’s hard to grasp the many ways that what’s wrong with them interferes with their being, causes them suffering, and makes them seem to lash out. Some people magnify what they’re going through, hungry for attention. Others hide it as deeply as possible, shunning attention and sympathy, disgusted that they might be *gasp* pitied. We’re complicated beings in a complicated world.
I have Fall Out Boy in the morning mental music stream. “Save Rock and Roll” featuring Elton John is the breakfast soundtrack. It hinges on the pins of my reflections and a lyric that goes, “You are what you love, not who loves you.” Not sure how it fits into my morning morass of mingling musings.
Rock and roll never forgets even if peace and grace seem to. Got my coffee. Here we go, into the gray future once again. Cheers
With Trump involved, so many ways to contemplate this news evolves.
Will they be gold plated battleships?
With Trump trying to turn back time and erase history, how many masts and sails will the Trump class of ships have?
Will the Trump class of battleships be as successful as Trump Steaks, Trump Air, Trump Institute, and Trump University?
Which will be finished first: a Trump class battleship, the Trump ballroom, a Trump cellphone delivery, Trump’s next impeachment trial, Trump Ocean Resort Baja Mexico, or Trump’s funeral?
Is the Trump class of ships as real as Trump’s ACA replacement plan?
Are Trump’s promises and assurances about this new class of ships named after him any more significant than his promises to reduce inflation on day 1?
Does Dozy Donny’s statements about this new class of ships carry the same weight as his promise that “Mexico will pay for the wall?”
Dizzy Donny is referring to it as the ‘Golden Fleet’. Is it possible he’s thinking of ‘the golden shower’, like the one he had in Russia?
“The U.S. Navy will lead the design of these ships along with me, because I’m a very aesthetic person,” Trump said.
Yes, sure. Just look at what he’s done to the White House’s East Wing, Oval Office, and Rose Garden. They’re sooooo aesthetic.
Not.
I was in the coffee shop, writing the current novel in progress. In fact, I was writing the newest ending to it. This one was not an ending which I’d envisioned, although it was a path that veered from that planned ending.
As I typed, one of my coffee-shop writing friends came by. “I can see you’re deep into it,” she said. “You have the writer face going.”
She and I laughed and she went on. In truth, I was ready for a break because writing butt was settling in. One cheek felt numb and the other was sore.
But you probably know how it is. There was more to write. Hungry, thirsty, pressed for time, I kept going, writing like crazy till I finally took a breath, sat back, and said, “Done.”
We’ll see if I’m done, of course. If the novel is done. Finished.
We’ll see.
34 F today in Ashlandia as winter takes over. My sister told me she likes it when it gets that warm in winter. LOL. It’s Munda, December 22, 2025. Cloudy but they’re light, torn cloud shards. No rain is expected. Fog might crown some parts of town, according to reports, but it’s clear outside my windows. Today’s high might stretch to 50 F.
Our solstice dinner went well, thanks. We picked up frozen garlic Naan to go with our chosen soups. My wife went with cream of mushroom, which she declared with a mild shrug, “It’s okay.” I had a spicy and satisfying vegan chili. Naan went well with it. We complemented the meal with raw carrots, celery, and radishes.
Mom texted me that she’s very busy trying to get cards out to all her great- and grandchildren but she also had an upset stomach. There’s been no talk of war between her and sis, knock wood. Sis’s grandson turned seven so there was a party where the theme was six and seven. The children apparently found that hysterically funny.
I was speaking with a friend I ran into yesterday. Quickly talking about politics, he mentioned how the Trump Regime was causing so much pain to several family members in different areas of the nation. One of them was a MAGA sister who is shocked by her premium increases. I think he said she lives in Arizona but don’t hold me to that. A nephew he mentioned is a liberal and a farmer who was really bleak about next year. I mentioned in response that Trump is the King of pain. That inspired The Neurons to project “King of Pain” by The Police in the afternoon mental music stream. It carried over to the morning mental music stream.
We’re off to do the Food & Friends deliveries. Swish some coffee down my throat first. If peace and grace show up here, I’ll give them a drink and tell them to go see you, yeah? Here we go. Cheers
Happy solstice morning greetings from Ashlandia. It’s 41 F with moderately heavy rain today. The weather systems tell me that’s how it’ll be all day, with the high reaching for 47 F. A ‘white Christmas’ isn’t being dealt to us this year.
Yes, it’s Sunda, and it also happens to be winter solstice north of the equator, December 21, 2025. Down south of zero, they’re celebrating the summer’s arrival.
We’re doing our ‘traditional solstice’ dinner but it’s being winged. Our traditional celebration evolved from previous celebrations we’d cludged together from pagan practices regarding solstice. Building on those, we started having a simple dinner of soup, salad, and bread as part of solstice. It expanded for a while, with others invited in to celebrate with us. COVID broke the tradition. We observed alone for a bit but shifted from it. Partially contributing to that was a sense of weariness my wife and I both felt; just weren’t up to celebrating, given the world’s state and trajectory.
I proposed doing soup and bread for solstice dinner again. But instead of making it all ourselves, we’d visit the Food Co-op and Market of Choice and buy some fresh soup from them.
I read about “King Mida in Reverse” in blog comments the other day. I haven’t heard nor thought of the song in years. Think I heard it on Sirus XM while driving on a long trip back before BCP – Before COVID Pandemic.
The commenter was saying this song, by the Hollies, perfectly describes the Trump effect. He’s a destructive force masked as something else. Trump will advance, mostly through luck, lying, evading responsibility, and cheating, but whatever he touches is the worse for it. Look how he destroyed so many businesses and yet enriched himself. Now he’s doing it on a gigantic scale, destroying the moral fabric, government structure, and checks and balances of the United States. Meanwhile, he’s turning us, We the People, against each other based on race and politics, cratering the economy, and making us sicker via terrible health care decisions. Yes, PINO Trump is most definitely King Midas in reverse. That’s why he throws gold on everything in a desperate effort to change the optics on what he’s doing. But the results of dropping approval ratings, rising disapproval rating in all areas, increasing unemployment, decreasing employment, and diminishing affordability speaks for itself. Dizzy Donny is failing, flailing, and fading.
Unfortunately for the U.S.A., Trump has turned over governing to Russell Vought for domestic affairs, Stephen Miller for domestic security, and Pete Hegseth and Marcos Rubio for diplomacy and foreign policy. Except for Rubio, these are individuals We the People don’t trust with the keys to a car, let alone running the nation. But that’s where we are, thanks to PINO Trump.
~snip~
I’m not the guy to run with
’cause I’ll throw you off the line
I’ll break you and destroy you
Given time
He’s King Midas with a curse
He’s King Midas in reverse
He’s King Midas with a curse
He’s King Midas in reverse
It’s plain to see it’s hopeless
Going on the way we are
So even though I’d lose you
You’d be better off by far
He’s not the man to hold your trust
Everything he touches turns to dust
In his hands
Nothing he can do is right
He’d even like to sleep at night
But he can’t
All he touches turns to dust
All he touches turns to dust
All he touches turns to dust
All he touches turns to dust
~snip~
h/t to AZLyrics.com
Time to chug some coffee and crank the energy motor up. Hope peace and grace sneaks out of hiding to give you a hug. Here we go. Happy solstice. Cheers
Satyrda, December 20, 2025 finds us under a blue sky marbled with fine white clouds. Sunshine licks the land with lavish light. Not much warmth, though, as we find ourselves floating through the low to mid-thirties right now. Highs in the low to mid-fifties have been cast.
The storms up north in Oregon and Washington abated for the moment but a parade of storms are forecast for them, all part of the atmospheric river. Send energy their way that the disaster doesn’t deepen and become even more tragic for them.
The December calm continues for Mom and sis. Each are privately giving credit to me in their texts along the lines of, “I don’t know what you said to her, but she’s being much nicer to me.” I only suggested that both of them are trying their best, both are frustrated, and please, find some patience and sympathy for the other. Although they initially snapped at the advice — “I am being patient, it’s her!” — I think they went off and thought about it. Or maybe it was just serendipity that I gave that advice but other things intervened to change their moods. Who knows? I’m just accepting the fragile peace with hope that it grows, deepens, and develops into something more sustained.
I read of Trump’s asinine suggestion for his Trump Games. Another distraction from the shallow thinker. Upon reading of it, I wondered if someone joked to him about it with The Hunger Games in mind and he jumped on it as a great idea, “The greatest, most beautiful, most patriotic games EVER!!!” Christ, I hope no one mentions Running Man to him.
In Trump’s honor, The Neurons suggested the 1980 song “Games People Play” by The Alan Parsons Project for the morning mental music stream.
Where do we go from here now that all of the children are growin’ up?
And how do we spend our lives if there’s no one to lend us
I don’t want to live here no more
I don’t want to stay
Ain’t gonna spend the rest of my life
Quietly fading away
Games people play
You take take it or you leave it
Things that they say, honor bright
If I promise you the moon and the stars
Would you believe it
Games people play in the middle of the night
~snip~
h/t to sonichits.com
I’m personally impressed with the song choice The Neurons made. Trump does all his game playing at night, diddling on Truth Social, ranting and raving, promising money to people to curry their support. Then he betrays them faster than an eyeblink.
By the way, going back to the Trump Games, did he mention building a new stadium for it yet? Bet that’s bubbling in his tiny noggin. Yes, he has said he wants an NFL stadium renamed in hizzoner. But it wouldn’t surprise me if he doesn’t instead have something torn down to have a giant stadium constructed in his name. Donors would pay for it, of course *cough cough gag gag*. And it would be “THE BIGGEST AND MOST BEAUTIFUL STATIUM IN HISTORY!!!” Probably have Trump’s name in gold everywhere, along with his portrait. Likely built with ‘illegal immigrant’ labor. He’ll give them a deal. “Build my stadium for room and board and I’ll reward you with U.S. citizenship.”
But as we know, it’ll all be lies and broken promises in the end.
Coffee has appeared in my cup and is making the traditional way to my innards. Hope peace and grace slip out from their spider holes and show up in our lives sometime soon. Till then, peace out. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 