We’re in the middle of the week — Wednesday — and on August’s 7th day in 2024.
Ashlandia’s air is clear this morning — praise be! That makes the cats happy. They were already pleased to sign the flooftition endorsing Gov. Walz to be Vice President of the United States, and are purring over the idea of a Kamala Harris administration.
Yesterday, we saw the temperatures go from 93 F in the late afternoon to 58 this morning. We’re in the mid sixties now under spot free blue skies, and we’ll be churning up to 97 F.
I’m still on the freedom theme. The Neurons have popped Richie Havens playing “Freedom” at Woodstock in 1969 into the morning mental music stream (Trademark still free). I heard this when I was thirteen and the intensity made me pause and listen more closely. And afterward, there’s a release, just a *whew* and a half minute of thoughtful silence about what was heard. The song still strikes me that way today.
I’d like to let freedom roll over us like a good long blast of fresh cold mountain air.
Stay positive and be strong. Lean forward and Vote Blue in 2024. Coffee has been brewed up. Here’s the video. Cheers
Today is Saturday, July 6, 2024. It’s 80 F outside and we’re expected to peak at 110 F. Well, some say it’ll just be 104 or 105. My house saw over 104 yesterday while a friend on the other end of town recorded 107 at their place. It’s already feeling hotter today because the temperature didn’t dip much below 70 today. A bright, vigorously hot sun is working with cooperative air to keep it viciously hot. The clouds have scurried away from this endeavor.
Triple digit highs are expected to continue visiting Ashlandia for the next three days but today is expected to be the most bakiest heat, although it’s by a degree and depends on where you’re at in town, and how much shade is offered by trees and mountains.
The cats are coping well with the heat. I give them kibble water — water with a few pieces of dry food in it — and they suck that up, keeping them hydrated. My wife and I are also coping well despite our AC being inop — or even the HVAC’s fan being available. It did reach a warm 86 in the house yesterday but fans blowing on our sweat and lots of water kept us cool.
Discussions about the weather yesterday inspired today’s theme music. We were talking about how it was hotter than yesterday but it won’t be as hot as tomorrow. The Neurons took license like that, twisting an old pop song. Suddenly I had them singing, “It’s hotter today than yesterday, but not as hot as tomorrow.” They were doing it to the music of “More Today Than Yesterday”, a 1969 song by the Spiral Staircase, which was now ringing through the morning mental music stream (Trademark dated).
I need to pause here because I didn’t know it was the Spiral Staircase performing. I didn’t know who it was. It often sounds like Stevie Wonder to me. I just learned today via Wikipedia.org that the vocalist, Pat Upton, was known for his unusually high voice. He passed away in 2016, 76 years old, so thanks for the music, Mr. Upton.
Stay positive, be strong, lean forward, and Vote Blue in 2024. Coffee and I have met this morning and begun our exchange. Here’s the music. It appears to be a lip syncing offering, as there aren’t any visible microphones and there are no wires leading to the electric guitars, among several clear clues. Cheers
Just the facts, folks: 47 F and sunny. This is Sunday, October 29, 2023 in Ashlandia, where the marijuana is local and above average. We’ll be in low sixties as our high point today but all that sunshine and blue sky makes it bracing and invigorating. Across the street, the huge, very old maple remains festooned with golden brown leaves. Soaked in sunlight, standing tall against blue sky, the tree seems majestic and steadying.
Stepping out with the cats, though, a determined northern wind delivers the taste and smell of winter. Papi, the ginger blade, still launches himself into the outdoors, foraging for summer for a bit before returning to the house’s protection and surrendering to the change. Tucker, the older black and white fellow, has probably felt the change in his bones and tucks for more sleep on the bed.
Once again, so many, many dreams. They leave me thinking and sometimes typing to understand what I’m thinking. Altogether, they were convulsive, erratic pastiche of experiences with a huge cast of people. What a trip they were.
After the latest US mass shooting — Lewiston, Maine, a forty-year-old shooter, 18 dead, dozens injured — I’d been thinking about the world’s state. Wars, greed, selfishness, and the rise of white supremacy, antisemitism, racism, sexism complicates our fragile existence on this rock. A small but growing number of people seem to think that the answers to our complex problems are in the past. Some claim that it’s all about God and religious and cites things like Christianity and religion as the answer, even as their behavior toward their fellow humans often stands starkly opposite of Christianity’s tenets against greed and for helping your fellow human.
Between the dreams and the the world’s state, The Neurons ended up plating up “Helter Skelter” in the morning mental music stream (Trademark comical). The Beatles wrote and released the song in 1968. One of their hardest rockers, the song became associated with Charles Manson and the murders committed in his name in 1969 in Los Angeles, CA. With that, the song has become embedded with ideas of chaos and destruction.
That’s true with me. I originally thought of it as a druggy come on about sex, based on the words about going up and coming down, then doing it again. The drug part arrives on the song’s feelig of changing moods and disorder.
And there we are: disorder. That’s how I see us now. Polarized and disordered, confused as a civilization about where we’re going and even where we want to go.
Ah, sorry for the pessimistic vibes. Maybe coffee will save me. Be strong and positive, and keep leaning forward. Here’s the music, a recording of a live version of Paul, without the rest of the Beatles. Cheers
Friday, October 20, 2023, has risen. Or has it descended? Maybe neither; maybe it’s just there because the calendar said next time Earth completed its spin, this will be the day, the result of eons of evolution of people thinking about time and how to best track it in a coordinated, organized manner.
Today’s weather in Ashlandia, where the streams are low and the mountains are high-ish, looks like yesterday’s weather on paper. Same numbers. Greater quantity of thin white clouds have stolen into our picturesque blue sky fall theme.
The planet’s trajectory and axis have changed things, though. Weirdly, 80 F at this time of year doesn’t feel as hot as 80 F in spring and summer.
The sun rises further to south. Trees and mountains limit the early morning and late afternoon sunshine reaching my house. That reduced direct sunlight keeps it feeling cooler, even though the thermoment says otherwise.
The sun’s angles affect our house in other ways. The night cools faster and deeper. The house doesn’t warm as much during the day. Our interior temperature drifts along at 68 at night to 72 in the day, all temperaturs Fahrenheit. That was true yesterday despite reaching 82 at our house outside and 53 F last night. Not complaining, just noting it all. It is in fact, extremely pleasant and relaxing. Weather like this is one selling points for us to remain in Ashlandia, buy a house, and spread roots.
An interesting time was had in our house yesterday. My wife went to have lunch with a friend and then see Taylor Swift’s concert movie, The Eras Tour. She left at 2:00 PM. I came home from writing at the coffee shop at 2:40. A note was on my desk: “Strong smell of gas in the laundry.”
Natural gas heats our house. We also have a gas dryer, stove fireplace, and hot water heater. She and I both worry about gas leaks. It’s our nature, but when I a child, several homes in the area where I grew up exploded after gas leaks went undetected and untreated.
I went into the laundry. Yep, I agreed with her; I smelled gas.
So, I did all the things I’d been taught. Shut off the gas at the meter. Turned off circuit breakers so nothing could spark. Opened all the doors and several windows to air the house. Then I took my cell phone outside, along with a book. I called the gas company and reported the situation and sat on a chair on the porch and read and waited.
Nice day for such a thing if you need to endure, I thought, enjoying warm sunshine and a cool breeze.
The tech arrived about forty-five minutes later. He went through the house with an expensive gizmo which looked like a huge old cell phone, checking the gas levels, first with the gas turned off, then with the gas turned on. Nothing, he reported. “I don’t smell any, either.”
All clear, then. He left. I turned everything back on and set the clocks. End of emergency, though not end of worry. What did we smell?
I’d ask the tech for his ideas. He basically shrugged. Naturally, I checked the laundry for smells later. Nothing last night, nothing this morning. But it’s the kind of event that plague my mind, because nothing was essentially resolved.
For today’s music, I have Jimi Hendrix playing “Voodoo Child (Slight Return)” in the morning mental music stream (Trademark uncertain). The Neurons started playing it when I was out walking yesterday in a mountain’s shadow. It was very natural. I mean, the song starts, “Well, I’m standing next to a mountain.” Making a transition from standing next to a mountain and walking next to one and back was very easy.
Stay pos, be strong, and make the best of what you can with your day and what the situation provides. I’m off for coffee. Here’s the music. BTW, look at this stage and crowd. So different from many rock star concerts being put on this year, wouldn’t you say? Crank that up to eleven.
We’re celebrating Aug 9 2023 in Ashlandia, where the morning is cool and the afternoon is hot in the summer. Nothing special for this day for me, but happy anniversary and birthday to anyone out there celebrating those things. Congratulations on your promotion, your accomplishment. Well done on finishing that task, doing that work, completing that project, writing that book.
Another night where I ran through a complete slate of dreams. Most of it had to do with being in England with my wife, ironic as we’ve both been to England, but not together, and knowing where we were and getting things done. Not a surprising dream, given where I’m at.
I’ve been forced to dig down and try harder on a few things this week. Like others, I have a MO for it; I isolate, cutting access to me, and digging deeper for energy, narrowing my focus to laser intensity. It can be sustained but it’s one of those things that can become ingrained and diminish my satisfaction with life. Better to use it to achieve what’s needed to be done, and then step back and breathe and celebrate the outcome.
With that trying in mind, The Neurons dug Janis Joplin and the Kozmic Blues Band out of the gray vault, pumping “Try (Just A Little Harder)” (1969) into the morning mental music stream (Trademark surreal). While Janis is singing about romance and her man, her exhortations on trying is great stimulation for breathing deep, settling up, and going back in for another determined push. Yeah, in this case, I’m speaking of the solitude and angst of finishing a novel’s first draft.
So here’s a look at Janis and her band on the Dick Cavett show from a day over sixty years ago. Thank you, technology.
Stay strong, be positive, and keep moving it forward. I’ve have some coffee but I might be up for a little more, yeah? Sure. Here’s the music. Cheers
Sunday, July 9, 2023, has landed on us. Fact of the day: the 14th Amendment was adopted on this day in the US back in 1868. Part of the amendment was dealing with reconstruction, black voters, and the Dred Scott decision. Northern Republicans preferred that blacks not be allowed to vote in the structure and demographics established before the Civil War because southern states would have gained substantial power, creating its own set of problems. These southern states just fought a war to leave the union, and their loss was going to be rewarded with more power? No, that didn’t fly. Hence, the 14th Amendment: “All persons born or naturalized in the United States and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside.” And off we went, all fixed, right?
Yeah, it’s been a helluva merry-go-round. There are always groups against others having equal rights under the law. More recently, GOP legislators have led creative ways to make voting a problem for the people who don’t vote for them, citing the US Constitution. It reads, in part, “When in the course of human events, political leaders decide they don’t like what people are reading, or fear that some other race will come to dominate, or don’t like it when people declare themselves to be some other gender or prefer a sexual orientation other than what’s spelled out in the First Amendment of the Bible of the United States, then that party and its political leaders have the right to pretend that in the name of freedom and God, they have the right under said document to restrict others from doing these things because gosh, darn, those things are different than what they grew up with, and they don’t have to take it, and have the right to cry and throw tantrums about anything they don’t like until they’re blue in the face, just like Jesus would do.”
And by using that authority as provided and intended, and wholly in the Founding Fathers’ spirit, that’ll fix everything. Everyone will be happy, and peace will rule, and the United States will be Great Again, #1 in everything in the world, which can be achieved by just pretending that other countries don’t really exist, and if they do, they can’t be as good as America because they’re not America.
Whew, glad that’s all cleared up.
It’s cooling this week. 68 F now, the mercury won’t rise to 90 F today. Fine by me. I enjoy cooler hot summer days. I should be happy, then, because the weather conjurers have proclaimed that our high temps will be in the 80s most of the coming week. Side note: we’ve yet to reach 100 F this year in Ashlandia, where the sidewalks are cracked and the people are pissed off. Hope I haven’t jinxed us by mentioning it.
The Neurons have plugged Elton John’s cover of “Pinball Wizard” by The Who into the morning mental music stream. The Who song came out in 1969, part of the rock opera, or ropera, as we say in these days, called Tommy. I was thirteen, and just loved that song with its story of a blind kid being a pinball champion, a story backed by dramatic guitars, swooping bass lines, and crashing drums. A few years later, a movie was made of the album, Tommy, and Elton John was selected to sing the vocals on “Pinball Wizard”, and Bob’s yer uncle.
Stay pos, keep a sense of humor, and lead us not into temptation. I’ve had coffee, thanks, but do help yourself to some. Here’s the music. Cheers
Another pause to honor the military who died in one of our wars.
How each individual arrived in military service begins in a personalized way, and is shaped by their heritage and disposition, education and religion. Propaganda drove people, as did politics and the norms of the day. What it meant to be a man. What freedom and independence means, the rights of individuals and the rights of nations. Some lacked choice; their number was called in a draft. Too many times as lights came on in the aftermath, lies were discovered as well as crimes against humanity. Sometimes those crimes were never prosecuted. Apologies came later.
War is simple — kill more of the rest and undermine their war-making abilities — and complex. Besides tales of atrocities, amazing stories of sacrifice and courage are revealed. Some become legendary, immortalized in books, movies, statues. Others become a name on a plaque. The most fortunate come back, intact as possible.
I served for over twenty years, a kid who walked in on his own, signed up and stayed. What I’ll say of my military brothers and sisters was the same as I’d say for most gatherings. There were some amazing men and women, many average people, a few troubled ones, and some you tried avoiding because they weren’t going do abide by any law or moral code the rest of us used.
Multiple songs about war, the military, and all the matters which those terms encumber came up in the morning mental music stream. The one which stayed with me is “One Tin Soldier” from 1969. Gaining fame from its use in the movie Billy Jack, the song is two stories; one about a war of aggression by one kingdom against another that was fueled by jealousy and envy. The other story being told is about rationalizing bending morality and your code to achieve whatever goal is set.
Go ahead and hate your neighbor Go ahead and cheat a friend Do it in the name of heaven You could justify it in the end
There won’t be any trumpets blowing Come the judgment day On the bloody morning after One tin soldier rides away
Delicious weather in Ashlandia today. Spring at its best. 67 F at the mo, 75% humidity. 88 F expected later, and thunderstorms. Yesterday was delightful, too, relaxing, comforting, an invitation to sit and enjoy yourself for a while. It’s so floofriendly. Tucker has settled but open doors and happy weather invites Papi to prance in and out. He steals up to me, stares up, gets an ear rub from moi, then dashes out, only to return. Sometimes I chase and hide, which he loves doing.
The election is over. We await the outcome. 15-214, which absorbed our attention and discussion, is predictably tight but votes are still being counted.
Today’s music fell into my lap. I’d been sent a video link about tiny computers a teacher was asking my beer group to buy for their class. This video was off to the right. “Two of Us” from 1969 is by the Beatles. The song is pretty lazy but I enjoyed the footage of the lads from Liverpool and others laughing, joking, talking. Nostalgia caught The Neurons, so here we are.
And the coffee has arrived to great cheering from the body and its various elements. Most vociferous cheering is heard from the brain, where neurons are stamping their feet, chanting, “Coffee, coffee, coffee.” The foot stamping is off-putting to the ears, who are gesturing with annoyance at the brain. But in general, it’s a festive air.
Stay pos. Assess, adjust, advance. Here’s the tune. Cheers
The sun rose before me, a little before six AM. Gonna be hot again. 63 F now. Some say it’ll reach 86 F in Ashlandia. Others pronounce 90 will be the temp top. 97 F is in others’ forecasts. All three may actually be right, depending upon which part of the city you’re in. I believe we’ll see 91 in my locale. Hit 82 F yesterday.
Gorgeous out there right now. All green and blue. Mellow mountain breeze is sloping down into the open back doors. The cats come in, come by me for a welfare check and to see if I’m eating or doing anything of interest, and meowder back out.
Yardwork is in my future after the writing session, as the last rain cycle caused weeds to explode in height and density. I’ll cull the dandies a bit but we let them stay. Bees like ’em.
Terrible dream last night. Vivid and intense. Took me about an hour before slumber crawled back in me.
But the day’s song comes from a walk yesterday. Up from the wells of 1969 came “Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Man” by the Bob Seger System. Found an interesting video of it being performed by a young and beardless Bob Seger. Never seen him without a beard. I always believed he was born with a beard. The set is fascinating as well. It’s an energetic rendition.
Stay pos and take Saturday like a happy pill. Coffee is tugging my leash so I’m going on. Here’s the beats as heard over fifty years ago. Cheers
Sunshine beamed in on gray rays at 6:45 Ashlandia morning time. As the hours scurry past, snow fields lose their battle against heat. Their edges draw in with softer roundness. Reinforcement flurries are flying in later today. Will it be enough? Will it arrive in time? It’s dire for the snow. Caught in the situation, icicles cling to gutters and drainpipes. Crystallized snow falls off branches and leaves with tinkling hisses.
It’s 31 F, on its way to 44 F, according to the weather mongers.
It’s Thursday, March 2, 2023, a hazy wintry shade. Spring has temporarily slid its intentions back into the Ashlandia shadows. But fresh stocks of doughnuts are in stores and bakeries. Sunset arrives in the evening, 6:03.
Les chats aren’t pleased with the weather situation, particularly Papi. His energy boils up. Sunshine reinvigorates him. Tthere he goes, dashing through the snow…well, not dashing, but employing small steps, bean-toeing on his tiny paws — such small murder mittens, he has — back to the house’s inside warmth for distraction. We have things to do, we explain to him, around petting and playing with him. More, he begs with sweet eyes and voice. What are we to do against such a power but obey?
I cleaned our carpetting the other day. As I drifted through that mechanical process, my freed mind contemplated me, my life, my writing. Cleaning house is always a meditative function for me. As thoughts joined and fragmented, I drifted through the usual shallows of who I am, where I’m at, and where I’m hiding. Out of this, The Neurons pulled a song up, dusted it off, and put into into the mental music stream where it still plays this morning. “Holly Holy” by Neil Diamond” when I was a young teenager. Looking it up, records show it was 1969. It wasn’t a popular song among my friends. Too slow and most said, “I don’t understand it.” Nor did I. It’s buildup hooked me, and I sat, listening to the words, trying to get them right, baffled by what I heard. But I heard and understood some of the first lines, “Where I am, what I am, what I believe in,” had me. This is an exploration and a declaration. I identified with it.
Coffee’s aromatic steam rises from my cup, enticing my lips. Stay pos, and own this Thursday like it’s a gift you didn’t expect. Here’s the tune. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 