Looked out the window and what did I see? Weak, uneven sunshine, blue sky patches, thick towels of scattered white clouds. I also saw the far-ish mountains with their thick evergreen coats. Sunshine and shadows spangled them in different verdant hues. Sunshine sneaks through the windows and darts away. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve been able to look across and see the tops of the trees on the top of this low mountain because of the weather, and I missed that scene. This is Thirstda, December 18, 2025.
Two friends lost family members this week. Both lost members were sisters and both passed after prolonged cancer struggles. So, a moment of thought for each of them. The holidays are stressful enough for people without the added weight of a family member passing. Although in one case at least, the family was relieved because they hated how their sister/mother/aunt/grandmother was suffering.
Thinking of sisters inspired The Neurons. I’ve been doing many text exchanges with my second-oldest ‘little sister’. She’s the one who volunteered her home and family to take care of Mom. Taking care of anyone is a challenge but Mom at 90 can be a test for your nerves and patience. The two are again at peace, and I hope that lasts. Of course, Mom is going through a chunk of stuff with her health, age, and the loss of her longtime live-in boyfriend, Frank. Frank was a giving and caring steward for her, and though his feet were small, those are big shoes to fill. Add to that, the natural stresses brought on by winter storms and the holiday season, and it gets to be a very heavy load.
So, the Neurons filled the morning mental music stream with Stevie Ray Vaughn and Double Trouble playing their cover of Hank Ballard’s song, “Look at Little Sister”. I have three younger sisters. I regularly text with them. All are mothers, two are grandmothers, two are tremendously fit, and two are very successful. All are a treasure to me. My fourth sister is the single sibling older than moi. She and I get along well but don’t exchange many texts. Still working, she’s engrossed with her children and grandchildren.
Coffee is treating my cells to some wake up energy. Hope peace and grace come out of their hole and don’t see their shadow.
Thickening, layer, dark wool clouds lay seige to diminishing blue sky patches. Hi. Welcome to Frida, October 3, 2025 in Ashlandia. Rains which came yesterday will continue today, chilling the 50 F air and keeping it from getting much higher than the mid-fifties. Autumn is here, and winter is coming.
My wife and I chatted about this as we drove on errands. “I like days like this,” I said, appreciating, at that point, a cloudy sky with a blustery wind and lazy, low angle sunshine. It was about 68 F but felt warmer because the breeze carried in summery hints, like leftovers in the kitchen. Then I laughed. “But that’s how it happens with every season. There’s a sense of gladness and appreciation for the new season. Then.”
“Then you get tired of it,” my wife finished for me. “Summer sunshine is great, and the hot air feels wonderful for a while but then, OMG, it’s hot day after day and you get tired of it. Now fall is here, and it’s great but in another month, we’ll be complaining about how cold and wet it is. That’s human nature.”
After perusing news and skating through details of how Trump is wrecking the United States, I wonder when the MAGA will awaken and turn on him. Well, we know that answer. It’s been established that the vast majority of them won’t turn on him until they are personally aggrieved. They’ll wait until they can’t afford healthcare because premiums are skyrocketing. Inflation won’t bother them until suddenly they find themselves unable to buy the food they’re used to because tariffs and trade wars force them to go without. The shutdowns to colleges and universities and Trump’s decision to curtail the war on cancer won’t hit them until they or a loved-one are suffering cancer’s effects and they wonder, why can’t we fix this. Polluted skies and water won’t bother them until it’s their air they can’t breathe, their water they can’t drink. They’ll remain indifferent about Trump’s anti-vax campaign until their children are sick and dying, and they’re wondering, why? They won’t be upset with what’s happening to the immigrants until suddenly there are fewer people to wait on them, to provide services, or there’s less doctors, nurses, and healthcare providers and they can’t get appointments because trained professionals are no longer available. The MAGA won’t care until the military rolls into their town under Trump’s law and order banner and they discover themselves being thrown to the ground or locked up and held for days even though they’re citizens. They won’t care until the private voucher systems states are instituting start turning out ignorant children and they wonder, what’s wrong with schools these days. They won’t care about Trump gutting tourism with his fear and bullying tactics until there are no longer tourists providing tourist dollars and businesses are closing, leaving empty buildings and unemployment in their wake. They won’t care about the lack of infrastructure funding until their bridges collapse, killing friends and family, and inconveniencing them. They won’t care about free speech until Trump turns on them and warns them, “How dare you criticize me?”
Yes, so The Neurons turned to an old faithful for these MAGAts. They’re acting like zombies. The Cranberries came up with a brilliant song for ’em: “Zombie”. Zombie vocalist Dolores O’Riordan wrote the powerful song after a bombing conducted by the Provisional Irish Republican Army (Provisional IRA) killed and injured people.
There were a lot of bombs going off in London and I remember this one time a child was killed when a bomb was put in a rubbish bin – that’s why there’s that line in the song, ‘A child is slowly taken’. [ … ] We were on a tour bus and I was near the location where it happened, so it really struck me hard – I was quite young, but I remember being devastated about the innocent children being pulled into that kind of thing. So I suppose that’s why I was saying, ‘It’s not me’ – that even though I’m Irish it wasn’t me, I didn’t do it. Because being Irish, it was quite hard, especially in the UK when there was so much tension.
She sings, “What’s in your head, in your head, zombie, zombie, zombie?” Because a zombie is an unthinking creature who is just going along with what’s happening, never awakening to its impacts. That’s what’s in my head this morning, pouring through the morning mental music stream.
Peace and grace seem to be a long way off. I’m searching for some way to lure them in. Maybe a ritual. I hope they find and hold you. Until then, I guess I’ll depend on coffee. Think I’ll indulge in another gulp now, while I can still afford it. Cheers
Well, Steve died. 85 years old. Diagnosed with cancer in his liver, kidneys, and lungs, his decline was a full slide down a steep hill. Just a few months ago, we were laughing, talking, enjoying drinks and music at a lake in the late afternoon sun. The question before us is, did he use the cocktail? This is Oregon where we have right to death laws. Steve had requested a cocktail to end his life and planned to use it. Laws control when the cocktail can be used. His wife was just requesting the cocktail last week, so we suspect that Steve died on his own yesterday, September 21, 2025.
I support the right to death, BTW. I’ve witnessed too many people growing feeble and drained by their disease to wish that on others. Many people can no longer probably communicate as they hang on by their skins. Sickness, pain, disease, and medication twist and torture their personalities into new folds. By the time of their death, they’re barely the person they used to be. But I also understand and respect others’ needs and desires to hold on as long as they can. Dying and death are complicated matters.
The thing about Steve is that we only knew each other for about three years. Our rapport was immediate. Our wives were good friends and we all became good friends, socializing multiple times at plays, concerts, and dinners. It just seemed like he and I knew each other forever.
Meanwhile, sis reports Mom has moved into her new room. Except Mom’s clothes are still upstairs. That’s a major matter. Although Mom tends to wear a series of night clothes and casual active wear these days, her closet was rigidly organized by season, color, and fabric. Tough transition for her, to cull the threads to current needs only.
This growing old, though. Coping. It’s tough. I’m at the coffee shop thinking and typing. A casual friend of two decades comes by. She uses two canes now to get around but her smile remains as bright as sunshine off snow brilliant.
All just thoughts to help me sort matters, matters which I’ll probably continue sorting until I do my own self-checkout. I won’t even try to predict when that’ll come. From what I’ve seen, change can be sudden and complete. Then again, some demises are a long trip into night.
Home is underfoot again. All is as expected and hoped for upon return. Nobody missing, nuttin’ burned down, etc.
Going from the Oregon’s coast 62 F offering to 100 F at home demanded adjustments. From the booming waves crashing like the soft thud of small, distant mortar shelling to here and now’s thundering mutter and sullen air invited mental wow and gosh darn reactions. I’m a little down on my return for a myriad of private reason, mostly induced by churn about life, changes, and aging. I acknowledge my life has been decent and some carry way heavier loads. That’s all logic, though. This is emotional afterbirth. They might come from the same slice of existence but they’re born and live differently.
For the record, today is Munda, August 25, 2025. A friend just announced her husband has been diagnosed with liver, brain, and lung cancer. Triple yikes. Two of the other four with me on vacay battle cancer. My wife battles her autoimmune disease. She aches and fights against being cold. We slept with the heat on at 70 F on the coast. Weirdly, despite my health issues, I seemed to be the healthiest and most energetic of the vacationing sextet.
My sista sent photos of Mom’s new addition. Completion comes soon. Other changes are being contemplated, like shifting the tub out of the first-floor bathroom and putting the washer and dryer in there. It make sense although it doesn’t seem like it overlooks any real long-term needs, problems, and plans. Her beau has lost another five, and now weighs 145 pounds, down by forty pounds. The prognosis for him is dimming.
I see the connections emergin’: like others, I’m losing friends and relatives at a turbulent rate.
Doesn’t help that we returned to news stories that basically paint Trump as convinced that he can do what he wants, because he’s prez. Double standards help stoke my GRRRRRRRR reflex. Like, he’s firing someone (Lisa Cook) because of mortgage fraud allegations? Aren’t there several books about Trump and his financial fairyland tales?
He lies about every effing matter and isn’t subtle. More GRRRRRRing arises from so many GOPers and MAGAteers bending over with glee as the nation they profess to love is destroyed from within.
Example of Trump lies: he claims states and cities led by Democrats are bastions of violent crime and lies that violent crimes don’t exist in ‘red states/cities’ — those led by Republicans — is low or non-existent. Facts, evidence, and history displays the truth.
Today, Der Neurons introduced “Hometown Glory” by Adele. This was a byproduct of both thinking about going home to Ashlandia but also reflecting on things happening ‘back home’ where Mom lives. Where Mom lives always seems like home.
Hope your day was filled with grace and peace. We’re unpacked. The laundry is done. Dinner is eaten. A long day, which was also a short one, is over. That’s the nature of vacation dayz. Cheers
Well. That’s over with. A new igniter is installed and working in my GE Profile range
It was not easy. Not the 30 minute job advertised. Noooo. Because, manufacturing. So.
Part arrives. Looks right. Saturday afternoon, I begin.
Turn off power to range. Remove top iron grills and burner covers. Empty bottom storage of the baking sheets and iron skillets. Remove oven door. Slide out from wall. Unplug. Turn off gas.
Now we’re cooking.
Remove racks. Remove two screws from the back on the fire shield. Shift back, lift up and remove fire shield.
It’s all going like a dream.
Locate igniter. Bingo, right there. Remove two screws. Remove two screws. Remove…two…screws…
One breaks off. Fuck Second one just turns and turns, apparently stripped.
Try a zillion fucking ways to get that screw out. No. Go.
Three hours have passed. I’m dripping sweat. I stop for the day. Realize sometime during the evening, I’m going to need to grind off that screw head. I need a tool for that, research options, and make shopping plans.
Ten o’clock. I get ready to go shopping. My wife pops off to a friend’s house. She calls as I’m walking out the door. The friend has a Dremel I can use to grind the head off. His son has it as his place, about two miles from my place. Off I go to pick it up and bring it back.
The friend’s son is a friend and a retired editor and literary agent, so we talk books and publishing for thirty minutes. He’s always a good visit. He’s also just lost his cat to cancer; another ten minutes is spent on sympathy and pain.
Back at home, gloves and goggles are donned, the grinder is plugged in, and the head is ground off. The igniter is freed from its bracket but remains wired in. To get to that, I should remove several more pieces but after that previous screw episode, that is not going to happen. I instead cut the wires to the igniter and remove the plug out the back. Next, I twist and shift my fingers, screwdrivers, and pliers until the new igniter’s connections are through the 1.25 inch through the back. I really could have used four more hands and much longer arms during this process. The igniter is put into place. New screws are installed.
Then, reverse disassembly. Just enough to let me test that puppy. Gas on. Power on. Plugged in. Fingers crossed, oven turned on.
Success.
The range’s empty space is cleaned, then the range is manuevered back into place. Everything is returned to its position and the tools are put away. It’s 2:30.
Welcome to Thursday, Jan 9, 2025. We started out with the weather duplicating yesterday’s Ashlandia presentation. Sunshine lit up the bare trees, highlighting some frost, conveying a late fall scene. Walking through the house, I was thinking about how nice it was to experience early morning sunshine again. Temperature was 43 F, etc. But within an hour, fog was stealing the sun away from us and hiding out the blue sky. I thought, man, what kind of game is nature playing with us?
That thought triggered The Neurons. Within a few sips of java, The Neurons had Queen performing “Play the Game” in the morning mental music stream (Trademark late). Released in 1980, I remember listening to this song for the first time with two cousins in San Antonio. Both younger than me, both are deceased. One, a slender blonde guy, from a heart attack without warning at 43. The other, a slender dark-hair person who sparkled with wit and kindness, from cancer at 64. Sobering morning thoughts.
On the heels of those sobering thoughts were worries about the folks of southern California. Being in the Pacific Northwest, many who live in this town have California connections. Friends and family live down there. They work down there as musicians, nurses, doctors, teachers, and professors. So worry over the California fire scene is rampant up here.
The fog has lifted again up here. It still swirls around down in the lower elevations. It’s always interesting to go a mile into, traveling down a thousand feet in elevation to see how different the weather is.
I forgot to mention that I received the Christmas cards my parents had mailed me from San Antonio, Texas, and Pittsburgh, PA. The cards came in the Jan. 6 mail delivery. That DeJoy has really done wonders for the US Postal Service.
Coffee and I have struck a bargaining agreement. On my end, I’ll heat the water and put the ingredients together. On their part, the coffee will navigate my body and boost my energy. Here we go, on into 2025. Enjoy the music. Cheers
Met with the beer friends last night. We’re a gang of retirees (one still works) who meet for a brew at a local place (of course) and discuss things. Most are out of the Bureau of Land Management (botanists and biologists) these days, though a retired helicopter designer is among us, along with a doctor, a couple journalists, retired department head of biology for our local university, and software engineers.
Small group last night. Seven participants. Discussion swiveled to the Hanford nuclear waste in Washington. Set up to process weapons grade plutonium, the plant was shut down by 1971. All through its life, dealing with the issue of the radioactive water and chemicals was a problem. Storing it in barrels was the short-term answer. The barrels began leaking. They figured a long-term solution would emerge. Plans evolved, were discarded or failed, etc.
Latest plan is glassification of waste barrels. Targeted to be completed by 2052, costs have multiplied and the project is off to a slow start. The DOE slid the target completion date back to 2069, just two years short of the 100-year anniversary of the plant’s closing. Wit this record, my friends and I have concerns about transporting the nuclear waste through Oregon, which is part of the plan.
After that long run-around, I come to today’s point. Whether nuclear waste, plastics, fossil fuels, DDT, etc, we as a civilization keep coming up with ‘answers’ without really parsing out how to deal with the problems which might come up. Problems are often treated on a “we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it” approach. Then we skid onto the bridge and begin struggling to find an answer. We’re often lax about it until it’s a crisis.
Now we come to the politics of today. One huge aspect of the Trump led GOP is that they seem to want to continue this as our mode. Kick it down the road. Call it a hoax. Pretend it’s not a problem. See climate change with its attendant extreme events and rising sea waters as an example. Man, those GOP cats will do anything to pretend there’s not a problem. To garner support for that, they’ll dump fake news and misinformation all over the news. Non-existent problems are created. Then they scream it to their base until the base is screaming about it too in true call and response fashion. See ‘woke’, ‘cancel culture’, and ‘immigrants eating pets’ as examples of this.
That’s what bugs me most about this brand of the Republican Party. They want to torture the clock until they can pretend they reside in another time where all was well. Basically, they want to perform and live as if the problems created by kicking the solutions down the road is a feasible governing approach. In an era when packaging plastics are leaching the carcinogens responsible for breast cancer into our food, and mass shootings keep increasing, they think less regulations is the answer. And then, to support the leader capable of leading them backward into the future, Donald Trump, they attempt to ignore or rewrite history, twist ethics and principles, and undermine others’ rights and freedoms. They pretend his adultery and multiple marriages align with their religious values. They’ll turn their heads and look away as he’s tried and convicted in court and hum quietly to themselves as he speaks gibberish and tells lies.
Not only does that render them a sad state as a party, but it renders us ineffective as a nation and will lead to greater and greater disasters. That’s a demonstrated trend. But they, his supporters, have turned off their minds and refuse to see that. This is what deeply frustrates me and many others.
But worse than frustration is the fundamental and serious consequences of their inactivity. If they believe Hurricane Helene was disastrous, they haven’t seen anything yet. We said the same after Katrina. After the disastrous wildfires in the west. After the record high temperatures established again and again and again in this century.
The way the GOP closes its eyes and minds to these issues, they will continue to refuse to see the consequences of their unwillingness to face these problems. Another disaster and another town will be gone.
And we’ll continue suffering from this conveyor belt of disasters and disease until irresponsible members of the GOP are removed from power and influence.
I read a NY Times article about Trump diehards and reality today. The story firmly demonstrates how much Trump has corrupted truth and reality.
Cindy Elgan is an Election Clerk in a sparsely populated Nevada county. Although she is a Trump supporter, other Trump supporters in the county where she works have decided that she may work for the deep state. This is despite her honest and unbending efforts to faithfully uphold Nevada’s laws to ensure fair and accurate elections. She’s been doing this for twenty years.
But because other MAGA supporters keep hearing lies about the ‘stolen 2020 election’ from Trump and other Trumpublicans, they don’t trust Cindy Elgan, even though she is a Trump supporter. So they initiated a petition to recall her.
As the article by Eli Saslow noes, “What in the world happened to these people?” Elgan asked. “What kind of person could actually believe this nonsense?”
Just as so many tens of millions across our nation and around the world are asking.
Yet, Elgan herself supports Trump.
I recommend reading the article to gain insights about what a rot Donald J. Trump is on the United States. Of course, Trump’s supporters won’t read it and will remain in the dark because he declared the NY Times only publishes fake news.
I hate taking my floofs to the vet. I recognized that today. I’d put off taking Tucker for a long time, probably to his detriment.
Veterinary offices and animal hospitals harbor bad memories. Cats hit by a car and dying in a room, waiting for treatment. Feline fur friends taken in to see what’s going on to learn they have cancer. Nothing to be done. Four friends over seven years, three spread over a four-year period, nine altogether in my lifetime.
I know. Shame on me. I should be stronger. A better human for them. Accept that death, injuries, and pain are part of life.
I do understand. Doesn’t appease my feelings of loss at their demise. It’s not all ’bout me, though. It’s about what my little friends ended up enduring, even before their illness was diagnosed. Vets always validated that they’re suffering.
We took Tucker back today. Check on his thyroid. Those numbers look good now. Other numbers don’t. He has high blood pressure. He’s gained weight, which was good, but his kidney numbers are worrisome.
A prescription was given for the hyperthyroidism. Another for the high blood pressure. Nothing for kidneys – yet. Monitor them for a bit more. See if it’s a side effect of meds or situation. Meanwhile, we continue his pain meds and his thyroid meds. Twice a day, twelve hours apart.
He goes in for surgery on Wednesday. Dealing with refractory stomatitis gingivitis. All his teeth are to be removed. Well, all which remain. Many of his teeth are already gone.
All this came to mind because my wife interpreted some comments made by the vet at Tucker’s last appointment as dismissive of us as pet mates. I didn’t see it myself. I saw it as being weak on my part. A coward, really.
Now, fingers crossed that all goes well for my black and white buddy. He remains upbeat and loving.
I’d earlier reported that a friend was diagnosed with dementia.
That’s changed.
He doesn’t have dementia. Instead, he has blood cancer which affects his blood flow and the oxygen in his blood. His brain doesn’t get enough, causing cognitive issues.
It’s early days. While the news has changed, we’ll continue doing what we can to help and support him and his family and hope for the best. It’s all we can do, and it is so frustrating.
Michael Seidel, writer 