In the military again. Young. Off again on some special assignment.
First, I was trying to get there. Mom – the young woman of memory – gave a huge smile and a wave and told me, good luck, I’ll see you later. I was surprised and pleased that she was there to see me off.
A group of us were traveling together. We were each taking our own gear with us. Some of them had lost their gear.
I realized, they put it down in a marshy, muddy area, and their stuff sank. As they moaned and groaned, I told them, I know exactly where it sank, and showed them where to dig. They did and quickly recovered it.
We arrived where we were supposed to be. Outdoors, it was a strange setup: a large semi-circle of people seated at tables. Men and women. Seemed to be civilians, and older. It had been heavily raining and brooding clouds kept it dark.
Parallel and behind the semi-circle of people were our lockers where we were to stow our gear. We were being called out in units. I’d been fully prepared but now – damn it, I couldn’t find some of my gear. I also discovered, and then recalled, oh, yes, “I need to order a new phone.”
A little panicked, I was scrambling to get the right gear. Like, how the hell did that happen?
I noticed many others were in the same mode, alleviating some of my worries. I then managed to find the needed gear except –
Underwear. Where the hell was my underwear?
I knew I packed it but I couldn’t find it, and everything was getting muddy.
Ashland, southern Oregon — Tuesday, June 23, 2026.
Hot, mid 90s today, copy of yesterday for our valley.
We cope without using the A/C. I like them in cars and businesses, don’t like using them at home. At night, I cool-drench the house and that usually carries us through the day.
Smoke was in the air last night when I popped the door open. Not strong but I definitely smelled it. NextDoor had the answer: a controlled burn in the town next door. They have orchards. Blight had struck. To contain the blight and stop its spread, they cut off the affected limbs and burned them.
People were worried, though. We’re in a red flag situation. Sure, it was a controlled burn, but controlled burns can get out of hand.
Shows the complexity of the entire matter — drought, fire, trees, economy — on one succinct scenario.
At about 6, my wife went into the garage for something and returned. “I want to leave a door open and let hot air. Warm the house. It’s so cold in here.”
It was 92 outside. In the house at that point, it was 79.
She’s been having greater issues with staying warm. More issues with moving. Strength challenges. So freaking depressing to witness. Stoically bearing it, she complains little. Rocks to stand. Grunts with effort. Hangs on to balance herself.
We went to the growers market this morning. Bought baked goods for a friend and took them to him. He has Parkinsons and cancer. His wife is away on a trip with her sister to Alaska. The woman needed it.
Our friend is doing well. The housekeeper was in, finishing. Said she’d be back at 5. Meanwhile, friends are delivering pizza for his lunch at 2 PM.
It takes a community to cope with these things.
I had a pre-op telephone appointment for my bladder cancer on Thursday. Usual stuff about times, bathing with Hibiclens, drinking fluids, eating, where we’re going, where to park, how long it’ll take.
My wife asked, “What about afterward? What’d they say about that?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. This was pre-ops.”
“They’re all so compartmentalized,” she snapped.
I can’t argue that. It’s very true.
My wife and I chatted about the news. She had just read about Trump’s claim that the economy is the ‘opposite of a recession’.
Your Trump Quote of the Day:
This seems like another part of Operation Epic LOOK — SQUIRREL!, an attempt to distract us from what’s really going on.
Anyone living outside of a millionaire’s bubble will probably take issue with Trump’s claims. People are dealing with rising costs associated with energy, housing, food, consumer goods, and healthcare. Trump seems to believe that making these claims will make them true or enough people will simply go along with him on his magic thinking ride.
For the record, for example, oil prices aren’t even down to the levels they were when Trump took office.
Beyond Trump’s fractured economic reality, people are awakening to the MOU that ended Trump’s Iran blunder that cost lives and money. They’re basically responding, WTF?
Besides the ongoing saga of the Epstein ballroom construction, we’re also dealing with Algaegate. Trump is straining to point the finger at someone else for the clear disaster that it’s become. It’s such ugly optics, but it perfectly summarizes Trump’s flawed grip on truth, facts, and history.
Today’s music is “Helpless” by Neil Young. Reading the news on some days just engenders that frustration and helplessness, a sense of ‘go do something.’ Protest, scream, call people, write things. Some mornings, I’m a stick stuck in the mud. But I drink my coffee, write out some of my anger. Suck in some air. Count my advantages. Move on for a short while, at least.
“Helpless” is performed by Neil and The Band. Hope you find it worthwhile to hear and watch.
Hope you’re feeling good, doing well, and looking forward to better days.
Problems cropped up. Wasn’t certain where I was supposed to be or what I was doing. But a kindly man offered to help. Older, with trimmed hair. White and clean-shaven.
He helped me dress but the clothes were too small and tight. Seemed to me like children’s clothes he was trying to get me to put on.
I protested but I also thought it funny. Pointed out that the light gray shorts he had me in were so small that my penis was hanging out the bottom.
Gruffly, he dismissed my concerns. “Told me, don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”
To which I just shook my head, disagreeing but not overly concerned, rather chuckling about it.
I went out on a small stage. Light brown wooden floor, varnished. No curtain.
I was in a spotlight. Dark theater. The man was behind me, out of the spotlight. Small audience, mostly women, sat at the front.
I wasn’t sure what to do. The women started calling out, “What are you doing? Get him some clothes. Can’t you see his pecker hanging out?”
I was young again – LOL – but middle-aged, and part of this large celebration.
Held outside, in a large green park, the party was to celebrate the birthday of someone famous. I have no idea who. Tables the length of football fields, covered in white tablecloths, set with dishware, china, and silverware, lined the park’s perimeter. Terrific food, cakes, sandwiches, veggies.
There were also numerous river-rock buildings which looked like shelters. These turned out to be restrooms.
Strangely, that’s where most of the dream focused: the bathrooms. I needed to use the restroom and spent my time dashing around, looking for one that was available. As I did, the Bob Seger song, “Shame on the Moon”, would play off and on. I mostly heard, “Oh, blame it on midnight.”
My friends found this hilarious. No one was in a uniform but people I worked with in the military were present, sitting in chairs in one section.
What I found as I searched for a restroom was that all of them were in use, and there were lines of others waiting.
I raced around, stunned at this problem, thinking, there must be a restroom I can use.
Thinking I found one, to my relief, I went in and discovered that it was set up as little barbershop. While I wondered, “WTH,” one of my friends called out with laughter, “Don’t even think about going there, Seidel.”
I flipped him the bird.
An announcement was made. Everyone was asked to take their seats. Miss Shirley Bassey was going to sing for the guest of honor.
It’s up to 44 from its overnight low of 32 F. Clouds and fog were graying the blue sky but now they’re gone. Unbridled sunshine lights up the green spring world. We’re heading for the upper sixties, they say.
Mom’s deadline is today. 30 days ago, she told the assisted living facility she was moving out. She then started searching for someone to ‘take her home’. It’s been a tug of war since. Today is quiet; no texts from Mom or sisters. I wait on pins and needles.
There’s breaking news — again.
Crude oil prices fell to $90 a barrel based on something Iran was said to agree to. The stock markets were quick to shout good news and go up, but then, that is its modern nature.
We won’t know what it means for a while. Higher oil prices are already embedded in our economic fabric. It will take a while to get it out.
Will the war be over? Will the US military forces leave that area? Depends on what Trump’s bones say.
Even if this war ends, what will happen next? What nation will Trump next attack?
Waiting to see when SOUTHCOM kills some more people in boats in the Pacific.
Still waiting to see what else is in the Epstein files.
Still waiting to see what’s really going on with Trump’s health and mind.
That brings me to “Wild Wild Life”, a 1986 song by Talking Heads.
I’d read a piece about Kavanagh saying, oh, based on Dobbs and original intent, the military draft could be illegal, because it’s not mentioned in the Constitution. That encourage me to scowl and mutter about cherry picking precedence and the dead hand of our founders — all white men — orchestrating our response to modern issues via conservatives who want to turn back the clock.
That all triggered Der Neurons to bring “Wild Wild Life” lyrics into the morning mental music stream.
Like sitting on pins and needles Things fall apart It’s scientific
Sleeping on the Interstate, oh-oh-oh Getting wild, wild life Checking in and checking out, oh-oh-oh I got ’em, wild, wild life Spending all of my money and time, oh-oh-oh On too much wild, wild life We wanna go and we go where we go, oh-oh-oh Ah, doing wild, wild life
I know it, that’s how we start, oh-oh-oh Got some wild, wild life
h/t to musixmatch.com
Hope your wild, wild, Friday is a safe, prosperous, peaceful one for you, maybe with a little celebration and libation. Have the best one you can make.
Mom, 90, suffering from several medical conditions, in on many medications. My sisters, Gina, Lisa, and Sharon, live not far away from Mom. An intelligent person and retired nurse, Mom moved into assisted living this year after a suicide threat which she denies.
Before that, she lived with her partner, Frank, in her own home. That changed when Frank died last October.
Gina took Mom in and gave Mom a room with a bathroom. Mom was initially happy but slowly professed that she hated it and wanted to leave and go back to her house. She then began accusing her son-in-law, Pat, of ‘using a device on her head to hurt her’, spying on her, and hiding her TV control.
Pat denies it all. Pat and Mom had a great relationship until five months ago, when Mom’s accusations began. Last September, he converted her back porch into a room so she could live in her house on one level. After Frank died, Pat set up the room for Mom in his house.
Mom has a consistent pattern of accusing others of being mean and hateful to her. She did that with Frank. I never witnessed Frank being like that.
When Mom moved in with Gina, Mom began accusing her of being mean and hateful. I visited for a while and never witnessed Gina being mean and hateful. Those traits are completely contrary to Gina’s personality.
I called to chat with Mom last September. She launched into a diatribe about Frank being mean to her. I said, “Mom, I’m not listening to this. We’ll talk later.” I waited for her to respond. She said, “Okay.” We said good-bye.
Mom reported to Gina that that I’d been mean and hateful and had hung up on her.
Mom told us that Lori is being mean and hateful to her.
Lori at the assisted living facility told us that Mom has given a notice to vacate. Mom told them she plans to return to her home.
Mom’s physical therapist, Jennifer, visited Mom this week. Mom claims that Jennifer witnessed Lori being mean and hateful.
Gina called Jennifer. Jennifer said she witnessed a heated exchange between Mom and Lori. She also reported that Mom is thriving there. She’s using a walker instead of a wheelchair, socializing, and eating well.
Mom told Jennifer that the conversation she was having with Lori was about moving out. Mom insists she’s moving back to her house. Jennifer related to Gina that she told Mom, “I don’t recommend that you leave here or go back home. You’re doing well here but you’re not capable of living on your own.”
I texted Mom today:
“Hey Mom, heard your plans to leave the facility in April. I want to understand your plan so I can stay in the loop. Where are you planning to go and have you talked to anyone about helping you move?”
Mom responded:
“I’m going to my house where I don’t have to pay 5500 a month and be screamed at by this boss. I’m having diarrhea today and last night. I finally got two Imodium‘s but I only have one big pad left many small ones Jennifer, my physical therapist stopped to see me on Tuesday and heard LORI screaming at me about medicine from Sam’s. She said oh, Dee this is too stressful for you. I said I know I’m paying her a fortune to be screamed at. I have asked Lisa when she brings me pads if she ever does to take me home no answer. I’ll probably have to pay Uber. I have to be out by April 18. I’m very surprised to hear from you.”
I replied:
“Thanks for explaining, Mom. I understand you want to go back home. Who is confirmed to help you get there with your things, and what day are you planning to leave?”
She answered:
“No one is confirmed to help me get there with my things. Gina and Sharon don’t speak to me and Lisa doesn’t answer me. All my friends are dead. Ever since Frank died how my children have turned against me, even though I went to the hospital in Gina was proving wrong. The night. I went to the hospital Pat said to me I need to talk to you. I was crying so hard. I said Pat all you have to do is say three words it’s all true and he did not do it so I lost my whole family.”
My sisters, Gina and Lisa, were with Mom when she went to the hospital. Pat was not. Gina and Lisa deny that Mom’s conversation and crying took place.
Wednesday, February 11, 2026, and it feels like spring is launching in Ashland. Let’s call it a false spring. 51 F with unchallenged blue skies and sunshine, 60 F is the expected high. Papi would be so happy, except a balmy breeze, which chases him back inside to nap his misery away.
I have dental surgery tomorrow, disrupting the normal flow, and spent time this morning responding to texts about Mom’s mental issues. Connecting dots, my thoughts turned toward an overheard conversation from yesterday.
Sitting in the coffee shop, typing and thinking, two women of about my age shared a table to my right. Music and conversations were cooking but now the room was empty. The two women’s conversation floated to me through the sudden quiet.
One chatted for a while about health concerns regarding her mother, daughter, and herself. The tone changed a little as the other one talked about her concerns over Trump’s policies, ICE, and the general news tone, which she referenced as ‘disturbing’.
The first woman agreed with her and they both addressed concerns about being tired and depressed. Then they touched hands and smiled, telling each other how much it meant to meet and have moments like this.
I studiously tried to stay out of their circle. But one glanced at me and smiled as they rose to leave. Smiling back, I said, “I hope you have a beautiful day.” Thanking me, she wished the same for me.
Their conversation resonated because it feels like an echo of my life, and other people I know. We’re all sailors trying to navigate change. Some of it is about aging, maturing, dying, not necessarily depressing but certainly generally somber matters. Norms for me and them are shifting, and so are expectations. Our emotions become compressed under the loads we carry.
With all that rolling through me, along with dreams, The Neurons’ morning mental music stream offering is Harry Styles singing, “As It Was”.
Chorus
In this world, it’s just us You know it’s not the same as it was In this world, it’s just us You know it’s not the same as it was As it was, as it was You know it’s not the same
That about sums up my reflections this morning: it’s not the same.
Hope peace and grace find and carry you forward into a better future.
Michael Seidel, writer 