Ashland, Oregon – Monday, February 16, 2026. 41 F under a blend of blue skies and clouds. 54% percent chance of snow, with a a high of 48 and a low of 30. Showers are possible.
The Mom saga resumed. Despite Mom’s talk of suicide Saturday and her wild accusations, she’s being discharged today.
She has nowhere to go. Mom called sis to get a ride. Sis is adamant that Mom is not returning to her house. No one else can take her in. I’m amazed that the medical authorities so quickly decided that Mom is physically and mentally capable. I have a long list of reasons why I don’t think she is. I guess their requirements are different.
New update: My other sister called the hospital to confirm they were letting Mom out. The hospital ‘had their wires crossed’ and did not know about Mom’s suicide. A 302 process had been started but the hospital missed that part. The hearing was scheduled and has not been held.
I made a number of calls and spoke with people involved, and then passed that info back to my sisters, who were the 302 petitioners. They must talk to the hospital and stop them from discharging Mom.
It’s frustrating, trying to cut through the fog of information and bureaucracy, a situation compounded by distance.
Here’s a little Jimi Hendrix with “Manic Depression” to lift your spirits. Hope you all find some peace and grace today and that it keeps answering the call for you.
I arrived with another man — my boss — and parked in a parking garage. The car, like others there, was a mid-1960s vintage. Windows were left open so cars could stay cool, a precaution in those pre-AC days.
My boss and I were going to a conference together, meeting our team. When we went in, we learned that we would be learning about and practicing Statistical Process Control. I already knew SPC so I decided to duck out. Taking a long piece of brown cardboard from a window, I returned to my car, put the cardboard over the windshield, and napped.
Waking up later, I realized I’d overslept. Jumping out of the car, I literally ran into my boss. He said, “I’m off now, have a good weekend,” and trotted away.
Hot, I decided to strip off my clothes, leaving only my shoes on, and entered the classroom. Everyone else in there were women. They all noticed that I was naked but nobody said anything.
As I started walking through, a woman called me over to chat with me along with several other women. She was showing us her marvelous new material, which could be used on tables or floors. It seemed odd to me to be doing that then but I looked at her samples. All were bright and colorful, and very shiny, with pieces of different colored tiles embedded in them. As I looked, she asked me, “What would you choose for your floor, Michael?”
At that point, someone else called for my attention. I began walking away but called back, “My floor would be light gray but very shiny.”
Sitting down at a desk, I listened to our team lead, speaking at the front and realized they were finishing an exercise. Deciding that I wasn’t comfortable being naked, I went back to another part and discreetly put on a casual shirt and shorts. Then I went back.
The class was ending. I stepped outside into sunshine and wondered what I should do.
Ashland — February 15, 2026. A gray Sunday, fog covered dawn’s fingers. 50 F outside, rain and 55 are expected today. Snow is supposed to be coming this week — 20% chance.
My cold is worse, and I felt sicker yet when I read of Trump’s ‘Valentine Day’ letter to his supporters. Part of it read, “It’s Valentine’s Day! I love you, and I was pretty sure you loved me back! Is everything okay? Roses are red, violets are blue. Do you still love Trump, as I love you? Before you read my letter – do you still love me and our great movement?”
Trump makes it about himself first and foremost. Second — money.
Family drama ensued last night. Sis went down to pick up Mom’s dishes, tidy, see if Mom needed anything. Hearing Mom on the phone, she stopped and listened. Mom was telling tales on sis and sis’s husband. Then Mom said she was going to kill herself.
Sis intervened. Turned out Mom was talking to daughter number 1, down in Georgia. Sis set up a conference call with me and the other sisters to talk about what should be done. I recommended calling 911. They didn’t like that. Looking up information, I suggested they call Resolve, an Allegheny County function set up for situations like this. After more conversation, that’s what sis agreed to do.
Sis called and spoke with an intervention specialist who said they could send a team out. If they didn’t send a team, they recommended sis stay with Mom the night to keep tabs on her, which sis said that she couldn’t do.
Another sister, let’s call her #2, lives near Mom and sis. She called Mom. She texted us that Mom sounded loopy and claimed she’d taken pills, type and number unspecified. Sister #2 also said that Mom told her she’d left an envelope of money for her. Mom added, “My body would be there, but I won’t be.” Sis called 911.
At midnight Eastern time, sis told us the police and EMT arrived and took Mom to the hospital. Later, we heard the needed paperwork was signed and approved to begin the process of evaluating Mom. They’re looking for a geriatric bed in a psychiatric bed for further evaluation. Sis went into Mom’s room afterward and found a stash of used adult diapers stuffed between Mom’s pillows. That’s stunning — appalling. Mom was a clean freak. Those hidden dirty diapers are alien to everything Mom has ever been, ever done.
Now we’re trying to learn where things will go. Mom and sis agree, Mom is not returning to sis’s house. The family agrees that Mom, 90, hallucinating, a fall risk, should not be allowed to return home but the state and county might have the final word on that.
Today finds The Neurons playing “Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves” in my morning mental music stream. The 1985 hit song was written by Annie Lennox and Dave Stewart, and sung by Lennox and Aretha Franklin. The song’s presence has nothing to do with Mom’s current situation; I was just thinking of my sisters and the song began playing in my head.
Hope the day finds you healthy and happy, and that grace and peace drop by to alleviate your fears and anxieties.
The dream was short. I think it was about sports but it might have been about business. It’s not that clear.
What is clear is that a large group of people went to a place. I was part of them. Arriving there, they spontaneously arranged themselves into two groups. I knew all of the people there although I can’t relate them to real-life individuals.
Arranged into groups, they all sit or squat down but I’m still standing. I’m irritated because none of them seem to know what to do. I begin speaking while walking from one group to the other. “We have three things we must do,” I tell them. I name the three things but I don’t remember them now. Then I ask, “Where do you want to start?”
I hear snickering from both groups. I know they think I’m taking charge, just as I ‘always do’. I don’t want to be that person. Exasperation growing, I tell them, “It’s up to guys to do something.” Then I walk off, alone.
Just in time to save my sanity, I clicked on Jill Dennison’s Saturday Afternoon ‘Toon Time! Quite a collection of humor, I encourage you to check them out. Meanwhile, here are my Saturday super-seven favorites.
ICE to spend $38.3 billion on detention centers across US, document shows
Cutting Federal spending on social safety net programs, cancer research, and education while building more detention centers really shows ‘put your money where your mouth is.’ In Trump’s case, he’s putting his money on locking people up, not taking care of citizens.
We want names! Keeping with their ‘freedom is not free’ position, Trump’s DHS wants social media companies to provide them with the names of anyone who posts anything anti-ICE. They’re doing it quietly.
Trump just goes on and on lying about election results. He keeps insisting he is more popular that he is. Yet, Trump says, “Democrats have gone crazy.”
That article talks about the partial government shutdown as Congress adjourns and elected officials leave D.C. Key in that story, though his how Trump continues to lie about ‘crime in blue cities’. Studies show that simplicity is misleading, that the truth has far more nuance.
Acting more like an absolute ruler than ever, Trump announced that voter IDs will be required for the mid-term elections. Although House Republicans are trying to get that requirement established, it’s not expected to pass in the Senate, meaning that it can’t be signed into law. Trump, though, just insists that it will happen, as if he has the magic right to make it so.
The truth is, a President can’t just make it so. Congress must be involved, and there are tricky obstacles in the Constitution and various amendments would need to be addressed.
Such trivialities as facts and truth don’t seem to hinder Trump. Even as the Reiners’ son was in custody for killing their parents, Trump created a fantasy motive for the double homicides. Trump claimed Rob Reiner and his wife were murdered “reportedly due to the anger he caused others through his massive, unyielding, and incurable affliction with a mind crippling disease known as TRUMP DERANGEMENT SYNDROME, sometimes referred to as TDS.”
Colder but dry, Friday the 13th stole into Ashland. Sunlight and warmth are now missing, shrouded by thin clouds.
It’s February 13, 2026, 48 F in Ashland, but that ‘feels like’ index probably shows a colder picture. Today’s high will be in the low 50s, still better than many areas.
Pivoting from weather to Mom, it pains me to report that Mom, 90 years old, texted me that sis is slapping her, shouting at her, being mean, etc. Mom also accuses her son-in-law of sneaking in at night to hide her remote control, lock the brakes on her wheelchair, and other cruel things.
None of it is true. Sis has sent me several recordings of her interactions with Mom. Mom insists her stories about the SIL of doing things to her is ‘absolutely true’, adding, “Why would I make it up?”
But Mom is staying up all night, sleeping all day, exhibiting classic sundowner syndrome, including confusion about what’s going on and the date. She texts other sisters in the middle of the night, asking them where they’re at, asking them to bring her things to eat and drink, when she has both available.
Sis is again angry and frustrated with Mom and wants Mom gone, based on what Mom is saying about sis’s husband. The managed decline in their relationship and Mom’s situation continues.
All that about Mom has The Neurons playing “Slip Slidin’ Away” by Paul Simon in the morning mental music stream. Lyrics like these make it feel like the song fits the day.
Lyrics
I know a woman Became a wife These are the very words she uses To describe her life She said a good day Ain’t got no rain She said a bad day’s when I lie in bed And think of things that might have been
I feel Mom is doing a lot of looking back, wondering what happened and pondering what’s going on.
I hope you all have a strong day of health and safety. Cheers
My surgery has been over for hours. After catching up on sleep, I’m ravenous because I haven’t had food since ten last night. With a diet limited to cold soft foods, I’m eating sorbet and thinking about what I can eat.
My wife begins reading an article aloud. “Women are having problems creating intimate relationships with men because of men’s addiction to porn.” One part is about a woman asking men if they watch porn. They deny it until she shares what kind of porn she likes.
The story swerves into men spending hours in the bathroom. The writer mocks the idea that they’re having long bowel movements and mentions they probably wouldn’t be in there that long without their phones.
“They’re watching porn on their phones?” I ask.
My wife nods.
“I don’t get that. What in the world would you be able to see on that little screen?”
“I know.” My wife points at our television. “We have that big screen. I watch carefully and feel like I still miss a lot.”
“Yes, and people watch sports on their phones, too. I don’t get that. During football games, they’re always blowing up scenes to show, is the knee down? Was his toe out of bounds?”
“How do people see these things on phone screen?” my wife responds.
“Exactly.”
My wife puts her feet up and closes her eyes. It’s been a long day for her. She had to go in with me and stay for the entire surgery, then drive me home.
I finish my sorbet and wonder what to eat next that’s cold and soft and fantasize about a hot bowl of chile.
Michael Seidel, writer 