The net can be a dizzying roller coaster. Bad news headlines, followed by humor on a friend’s blog, then disastrous breaking news, chased by sweet floof photos, which give way to dire predictions, trailed by fascinating new scientific or historic findings, war and political updates, and book reviews.
I ride throughout the day, breaking off to soothe myself with my personal writing, and then releasing all the pent tension with a relaxing game or two (or four). You know, Wordle. Spelling Bee. Sudoku.
How different from my youth. We watched television together in the family room — ‘in color’ — so it was a consensus choice. Five channels were available: PBS, the big three, and one UHF channel that washed in and out on a sea of static. Sitcoms (“Green Acres”), dramas (“Gunsmoke) and thrillers (“The Man From U.N.C.L.E.”) entertained us, or the Movie of the Week, delivering Psycho, Seven Days in May, and The Sound of Music, among a plethora of others.
Then I consider how different my mother’s childhood was. She was a little girl in Turin, Iowa, during the Depression and World War II, eating popcorn and listening to a radio with her family, or going to the hardware store to watch “I Love Lucy” on the only television in their small town.
Reaching further back, I struggle with visualizing how it was in my grandfather’s youth. He helped establish Turin a few decades before Mom was born. Guess I’ll surf the net about it and see what I find.
Once on the roller coaster, getting off it isn’t easy.
Let me introduce you. This is Monday, July 24, 2023. It’s a day which can really help you. You should get to know it.
Today’s weather in Ashlandia, where the cost of living is high and the less-fortunate struggle, finds the air stopping at 88 F. It’s 64 F, and I’ll tell you, brothers and sisters, that cool air feels so good to my skin. Goes well with hot coffee. Yes, I’ve already started downing a cup.
Smoke finally reached us in a serious manner last night. Kicked our AQI into unhealthy levels and was a stench in the air. Shut offended windows. Fortunately, not all required they be closed. Just the northern and western in our arc of Ashlandia.
The Neurons have planted “Secret Agent Man” by Johnny Rivers from the mid-sixties in the morning mental music stream (trademark dangerous). Secret Agent was a television show of the time in the US, a rebooted version of the Brit show, Danger Man. SA starred Patrick McGoohan. I wasn’t a huge fan that I recall, but I remember several extended family members would put it on when we were at Grandma & Grandpa’s house, and I’d watch. My preferred spy show was The Man from U.N.C.L.E. I adopted that in a big way.
Anyway, “Secret Agent Man” is in my stream because I started singing it to my cat. Floofurally, my version was “Secret Agent Floof”. This was dedicated to Papi because after he ate today, I’d find him peering around corners. When I said his name or went to visit with him, he’d galloped away on a mission, only to return a short time later. Ah, floof games in the morning.
So, I have my coffee, and I’m drinking it. You can have some of your own if you wish. Or something else. Whatever works for you, within the bounds of — well, you know the bounds. Don’t go out of bounds. Stay pos and strong, and don’t let the world’s multiple messes undercut your spirit. You can do this.
Here’s the music. Sound and pic sync is a little off. Tech. What can I say? Cheers
I love the mornings, when calm rules, before I get into the news, before the weather shifts. Life outside the windows is firing up on the human side. Machinery is doing its thing somewhere. Loud-voiced neighbors preparing for a trip talk things over, greet passers-by, that sort of thing. A cool breeze teases me into thinking better things are coming.
This is Monday, July 17, 2023. Gonna be in the low 90s again today, although it’s in the 60s F right now. A layer of thin clouds ruled in yesterday and cut our temperature and stirred a breeze. We barely touched 80 F and those breezes were wonderful gifts. Hope others under the heat dome get some breaks, along with those dealing with flooding in India, Japan, and parts of the US.
We were talking about “Sing Along with Mitch”. That would be Mitch Miller. Started as part of a Trivial Pursuit question. Cards were at the table when we were having brunch. My wife and I enjoy asking and answering those question.
One question was, what was the name of Mitch Miller’s backup singers? Neither of us knew. We vividly remembered the show. I looked it up later; it was on in the early 1960s. So, I’m thinking, how do I remember that show so vividly?
The Neurons posted three songs in the morning mental music stream (trademark — what’s that?) competing for Monday’s theme music. First was Tom Petty with “Runnin’ Down A Dream”. Know what that was about? Yeah, trying to remember a dream I’d had. Came after a bit of noodling. Second song was “Whip It” by Devo. Cause I’d gotten up and was organizing things to do in my head. Third offering, “That Smell” by Lynerd Skynerd, which came up when I brewed my morning java. I went with “Running’ Down A Dream” because I liked the energy it brought.
I sooo remember that song coming out in 1989. Stationed in Germany. We were a small flying unit, pretty relaxed and friendly with one another. Rockers dominated. Several officers swept by my office to ask me if I’d heard the new Petty song. Indeed, I had. Soon as, I popped over to the Main Exchange and procured my own CD. They — and their spouses — were a good group of folks.
Time to press on. Stay pos, stay strong, and work the day like it’s made of clay. I’m havin’ my coffee. Love how the hot brew slips into my mouth, chatting up the taste buds as it does its flow, exchanging excited greetings with The Neurons, then washing down, warming my gullet. Good times. Here’s the music. Cheers
Summer’s bustin’ loose in Ashlandia, where the wine is fresh and the chocolate is made locally. 70 degrees F when I catapulted myself out of bed at Tucker’s insistence about 7 AM. Sunshine was climbing the blue dome, exiling clouds to other lands. My Oregon Scientific weather station said we cleared 99 locally yesterday. Weather geniuses tell us it’ll be 94 F as the high; I’m thinking we’ll see 96 at my house. Almost getting to air conditioning weather.
Well, A/C is used in the car, and all businesses. At the homestead, we avoid it. Wife prefers it a little warm, and I prefer fresh air whenever possible.
The Neurons have sown the morning mental music stream with a Bob Dylan song, “It’s Alright Ma (I’m Only Bleeding)” from 1965. My mind was primed to remember and hear the song by another’s post regarding scenes that ruined movies for them. One was Easy Rider.
I didn’t hear the song when it first came out, as I was nine. Mom controlled the music in that era. That was soon to end because sis was eleven and discovering pop. I don’t think I heard the song until much later, when the Easy Rider movie came out. Didn’t see the movie at that time due to its rating, but the songs found their way into my head via radio. Had my own transistor by then. I do sharply remember being mesmerized by the lyrics. I later learned they were written by Bob Dylan. I also later learned that the version I listened to and enjoyed was performed by Roger McGuinn.
While the lyrics rhymed, they were about things not usually heard in songs at that time, on those stations. Learning them had me singing them. I remember singing this song to myself while getting something in the kitchen where Mom was cleaning and my elder sister was on the phone.. Mom interrupted me: “Michael, what is that you’re singing?”
I thought she was referring to the title and provenance but she interrupted that answer. “What are those words?”
Since I didn’t know where I’d been stopped, I started from the beginning. Sis started laughing as she heard; Mom rolled her eyes, shook her head, and set her lips into the tightest of tight. She said nothing verbally, but those actions were loud. As I left and went around the corner into the living room, I heard her ask sis, “Do you know that song?”
The reply, “I might have heard it once on the radio.”
I stopped to hear more but nothing more was said and I went on. Made a big impression, though. It’s like it’s all before me once again.
It’s in the head today because the line, “There is no sense in trying,” in that sharply plaintive tone, came up in regard to local politics. Wife said something about why even try, and that’s how my brain responded, and along came The Neurons, and here we are.
Be pos, stay pos. At least try, right? I know some days, quoting my wife, it all becomes exhausting and overwhelming. The question, “What’s the point?”, may sneak in. That’s okay. It happens. Get on top of that and ride the wave until it’s behind you. That’s what I try to do. Generally works.
Hark. Is that coffee calling me? Here’s the music. Cheers
Darkness at the break of noon Shadows even the silver spoon The handmade blade, the child’s balloon Eclipses both the sun and moon To understand you know too soon There is no sense in trying.
The water wheel turns and drops us into Saturday, June 25, 2023. June, precious boys and girls, is reaching the end of its walk. 2023 is over halfway through its life cycle.
Summer has arrived in Ashlandia, where the rock is old and the musicians are young. 59 F now, 84 F is within our reach if we but try — as if we can make it happen. Maybe we could but it’d need a collective will, and this isn’t the era of collective will. Small collective wills emerge to turn events but overall, we disagree on how and where we should direct our collective will.
Thunderstorms yesterday. My wife reported that she was outside reading in the back when they arrived. Tucker was to one side, in the yard, napping. Rain splattered down. She hurried in. Tucker didn’t even stir. Papi was already in the house, asking, “Did you hear those boomers? Wake me when it’s over.” He then stretched out in the dining room, where he was when I arrived. Wasn’t asleep, though. Nah, not when boomers are thudding and rumbling.
Sunrise today is about 5:33 AM in Ashlandia, and we’ll see the sun’s tail end at 8:52 PM. Only a matter of seconds difference from the ‘longest day of the year’ experienced on solstice, which is about the sunlight hours and not the day’s length, right? Can we all agree that the day remains roughly 24 hours? Today is 23 hours, 59 minutes, 59.9993680 seconds, if you’re wondering. h/t to timeanddate.com
I watched the first episode of “My Life As A Rolling Stone” last night. That one focused on Mick Jagger, one of the primary song writers, lead vocalist, and frontman of the band. Naturally The Neurons became very excited. “Oh, I know this song! And this one, too. And I remember this one.” Can’t say which is my favorite Rolling Stone ditty but “I Can’t Get No (Satisfaction)” is memorable for waking up my sleeping rock ‘n roll sensibilities waaayyy back in the mid 1960s, when I was getting more understanding ’bout who I was. So the song is logged into my morning mental music stream today where it hums ’round and ’round. The selected video epitomizes rock ‘n roll, too, with a large screaming crowd, Mick and the boys in strange attire, balloons dropping on everyone, and a fan rushing the stage only to get clocked by the guitarist, Keith. And the song played on.
Stay pos and keep being your fetching self. Coffee has been served for the faithful. Let’s get ready to ride. Here’s the music. Cheers
He’d been thinking about a song earlier, a childhood favorite, reflecting, it’d been a log time since he’d heard it. Then he entered the car and headed to the coffee shop to write. Presto, the song came on the radio. Such delight. Such serendipity.
For the record, the song is “Lola”, straight out of 1970, when he was fourteen, by the Kinks. Just remembering that, he was right there, on the rear patio of the house on Laurie Drive in Penn Hills, enjoying summer sunshine with his friends and sisters.
It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood. Sunshine and blue skies. Presently on the mid side of 60 F, up from 52 F overnight, we’ll be hunting the mid 80s before the sun skirmishes with the falling night and carries us into a new day.
It’s June and Saturday, June 3, 2023, for more exactitude. The cats are loving this weather, right? Mostly out there sleeping in part shade, part sun. Seeing them out there, and I drift through memories. Tucker has always been a little strange about doors. He goes to the linen door, coat closet door, garage door, pantry door. A drawn out merow is issued. His meowing is either very loud or barely a whisper. No midpoint for him. When it’s a loud meow, he draws out the sounds and employs several syllables.
I ask, “What? You want into the <insert location here>?”
Head nod (yes, by him), mumbling mew sounds, a head tilt at the door in question, his look shooting from it to me, back to it, conveying his desire.
Head shake (yes, by me). “Okay, buddy.” Sigh. Door is opened. He heads in for investigation, sometimes dwelling in wherever for fifteen to twenty minutes. He’s old now, a long-furred black and white stray who chose to stay with us, showing up with matted fur and bad teeth almost ten years ago, I think. Need to check the histories to know with certitude. Point is, these demands have been incorporated in his behavior since his first year with us.
The Neurons planted “Happenings Ten Years Time Ago” into the morning mental music stream. 1966 Yardbirds song. Jeff Beck and Jimmy Page on lead guitars, I thought this song was so cool when I first heard it, one of those radio offerings that had me jumping for the radio and reaching for the volume knob. Never heard it much on the radio in the years since. Don’t know when I last listened to it. But this morning, walking out of dream sleep and into the other room to begin standard morning practices, the first lines broke out of memory and into conscious thought.
Meeting people on my way Seemingly I’ve known one day Familiarity of things That my dreaming always brings
Happenings ten years time ago Situations we really know But the knowing is in the mind Sinking deep into the well of time
Wasn’t long after that before The Neurons delivered the song to a loop in my head. I think it’s a related-to-writing thing. I obsess over time, reality, and questions of what we know vs what happened vs what we think we know is one that in my novel writing. Memory is a mischief maker and history is written by the winners and then revised, leaving many of us floundering about it all. So here we be.
Stay pos. Coffee drinking has commenced. Big old cup is a quarter down already. Goes well with a cool summer morning on the patio, sunshine blazing down, cats washing in the green grass, jay yelling at us all from different perches as he surveys the yard and lands on chairs and trees. Could be a good day, you know?
It’s a little before 8 AM. It was already light as a cloudy day by 5 AM as the sunrise cruises closer to 5:30 AM. Floofs are fed Breakfast is et. 68 F outside, sunny, humidity of 54%, light breeze, warm but cool. Today’s high will be 83F. We did reach 93 in moi’s yard yesterday. It’s May 15, 2023. Under pretense of reminding me, my wife reminds herself, the guest room window will be replaced tomorrow, 3 PM. The guy, Chris, came 30 minutes early last time, so be ready 30 minutes early. Right, got it, I answer, once, twice, thrice, half-listening as I read.
The coffee has been poured. French roast. Smells woody, earthy, wonderful. Went onto the sun soaked back patio and sniffed it a bit as the breeze played and the cats washed.
I took a magnesium citrate this morning. Calf cramps, you know, walking, exercising, yard work, sweating. The Neurons immediately began playing “White Rabbit” by a group called Jefferson Airplane. Coming out in 1967, this psychedelic song worried Mom about what her eleven-year-old son was hearing.
The first sip of coffee has been sampled. As good as expected. Ready for more.
Stay pos. Carpe Monday. Time to imbibe more coffee. Maybe do the Wordle. Or shower and clean up. Or read? No, wait, today is food and friends deliveries.
56 degrees F at this moment. Expecting the mid to upper 80s before the sun’s Ashlandia sojourn ends. It’s Friday, My 12, 2023.
Today’s heat is a prelude to a week of it. What irritates about many of these weather changes is how it jumps into hot weather and collapses into chilly weather with little warning. Why can’t we hit the middle ground and stay there for a while.
I know, I whine a lot. Everyone complains about the weather but nobody does anything. I said it here first…
I’m feeling better in a psyche way today. Dropped some anxiety and stress. I naturally gravitate to being those things although I’m weirdly known for being calm in an emergency. Three things resolved that were affecting my stress and anxiety. Got my retired military ID — now known as a an Identification and Privilege Card — issued at last. Been trying for almost a year. Picture looks pretty good, too. Look like a sea captain in it.
Second, first annual physical since I passed 65 years old. Hell, first annual physical in a looonnnggg time. Nothing untoward discovered. As part of my general hypertension, I suffer white coat syndrome. Getting the appointment out of the way was a relief although they IMMEDIATELY scheduled one for next year, so I’ve got THAT to worry about.
Third, sadly but painfully true, is that the death watch for Uncle Bill is over. Reminders of immortality, sadness about changes, another milestone in growing older all seen and felt with one strike.
I was watching my boy, Papi, an aloof ginger floof, as he watched the street traffic yesterday. He can’t help but get into a position to see what is making that noise? What is coming? Then, as the noise-maker closes in — runner, biker, walker — with or without dog — street cleaner, he turns and flees to the porch’s safety, hides behind a post and leans around, continue to watch. If he sees me watching, he comes over to be let in, and then walks around the house demanded to be let outside. The back door is open this morning, letting him come and go.
Weird song The Neurons thrust into the morning mental music stream. From 1967, it’s called “Tin Soldier” by Small Faces (not to be confused with “One Tin Soldier”, which is a totally different song). The roots to hearing it today aren’t clear. Although I had disturbing dreams, I can’t pinpoint anything from them which would call the song out. My best guess is that the mid to late 1960s was time spent around Uncle Bill, so the The Neurons expanded the sphere, bringing this song in.
Stay pos, if you can. Can be difficult, I understand. I think a cuppa coffee is in order for me now. Let the pouring commence. Here’s Small Faces. See you on the flipside.
Well, the sky is blue and ripe with sunshine. It’s fine weather, even though Uncle Bill passed away at midnight last night. Heart failure. He was a good person and being related to him is an honor. Not much else I can but celebrate his life and go on.
It’s 62 F right now. 75 F is expected later today, 80 Friday, 90 — some say 97 — an Saturday, kicking off a week of temperatures dancing between highs in the upper 80s to mid 90s. Appears summer is crowding into May. This is May 11, 2023.
It’s also my older sister’s birthday. Happy b’day, sister! She’s two years older than me and about eight inches shorter, and I’m only 5’8″. She’s a grandma several times over and living the life in a suburb outside of Atlanta, Georgia.
Learning of Uncle Bill’s end of life encouraged The Neurons with a 1986 Phil Collins song, “Take Me Home”. I may not be alone in this, but I’d loved to be back in that time when I regularly saw Uncle Bill, and he was young, and I was younger, and both of had forever ahead of us. Death is natural and regular, but always stirs memories up from the well’s bottom and yearning for the times and places I most enjoyed.
On a lighter note, got my new military ID today. Yes, I’m retired, but the card ‘expired’ when I turned 65, something put in place to force retirees to sign up for Medicare, which becomes the primary healthcare for vets of a certain era. Getting the card is hard. Limited places to get it in Oregon. Local Medford guard unit provides walk-in service. Well, that’s easy, isn’t it? No. The onerous system complicates matters. People line up, waiting to get in, as he goes through the process of connecting, entering data, verifying info, registering fingerprints, taking the photo, and then finally printing out the new card and verifying that its chip works. Today was my ninth visit to get ‘er done. Tried too, when I was in PA last year, where they are by appointment only. No appointments were available at any of the three nearby sites. Morgan, the infantry man who mans the office, shared several horror stories about people’s efforts to get a new card. Congratulations to him, too, who is retiring after twenty, but staying on to do the same job as a civilian. He seems pretty pleased.
Have some coffee and stay pos. Enjoy your life and forge ahead as you can. Here’s the music. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 