Funny to me that this is a prompt today, as I was remembering these two teachers this morning before I went online. The pair of teachers were my favorites and most influential. One was encountered in sixth grade while the other taught me two years later.
First, each encouraged me to think harder and try harder. Through their support, I gained self-confidence. Both introduced me to new areas of literature. My sixth-grade teacher, Mrs Forsythe (who was previously Mrs Fogle) read aloud to the class every afternoon. One book she read to us was Flowers for Algernon. Noticing how much I enjoyed it, she took the time to suggest other books and authors to me. From this came my infatuation with science fiction and fantasy, and a lifelong love affair with reading.
Mrs Rubenstein, in the eight grade, taught me to read the news and actually think about what was being said about events of the era. This was during Nixon’s first term. The United States was still fighting in Vietnam. The intense Cold War with the USSR was one facet of worry for us, but many other wars raged, and students were protesting the world’s direction across the United States.
Both of these teachers fired an intense interest in events beyond the end of my nose. I hope that everyone has at least one teacher like them in their lives. I was fortunate to have two. There were several others for me who opened my mind as well, but these two women were very special in my development.
I will never forget them and the debts I owe them.
We’ve touched down on Twosda, March 18, 2023. The rain has ceased. Winter still dominates the seasonal dance off. Those blackened tufted clouds don’t bespeak of spring. Temperature is sticking close to the upper thirties as if it’s been ordered but 46 F is a projected high, the weather ‘they’ say. Sunlight has been flitting in an out on butterfly wings.
News…we won’t get into that yet. Except, locally, a woman died in rural Central Point flooding brought on by our spate of heavy rains. Was apparently clearing branches from a culvert when her waders filled and she was taken into the culvert and drowned. Sad end to a life, fighting water, trying not to drown.
Jesse Colin Young, a member of the Youngbloods folk pop rock group, passed away, 83 years old. Part of the sound of the 1960s frquently heard through a transistor radio’s thin sound as I moved from being young innocent into inquisitive teenager, Mr. Young was also an activist for peace, justice, and the environment. Soon as I read of his passing, The Neurons slotted the Youngbloods’ 1967 cover of “Get Together” into the morning mental music stream.
Coffee and I got together in the kitchen, continuing our brewmance. Hope your day goes solidly your way. Here’s the music. And off we go, into the darkish grayish yonder…
I’ve gone across the United States a few times. Furthest was from San Fransisco to New Hampshire via New York. I did that a few times in the military, always by train, and then SF to Connecticut via NY a few times for business, also by train.
I’ve always loved traveling by car. Back in the late 1950s and early 1960s, my parents loaded us into cars and off we went! One trip, barely remembered, was in a large Chevy station wagon from California to Pennsylvania. I think I was three years old. What I best remember about that was that I shared space in the station wagon’s back end with my older sister and a large black trunk. The trunk was useful as a fort and a table. Traffic being what it sometimes was, peering out the windows and waving to others was a recurring pastime. There were many coloring books involved with that trip, too.
My wife and I took a few almost cross-country trips. After I returned from my military assignment in the Philippines, I traveled to West Virginia where my wife stayed with her parents via commercial aircraft and Greyhound bus. Some of the logistics are a little foggy in my head, but I ended up visiting family in Pittsburgh and bought a used Porsche 914 there. I drove it down to West Virginia, and then my wife and I drove it across the southern United States to my new duty location outside of San Antonio, Texas. The first five hundred miles was through a blizzard. We then drove the reverse trip eight months later, when I decided to exit the military.
Funny enough, years later, there we were, in Texas again. This time we’d returned to the United States from an assignment in (on?) Okinawa. We’d been there for almost four years. Two things to know about driving in Okinawa was that it was on the left side of the road, with a right side steering wheel and the fastest speed we’d gone was 100 KPH, about 61 MPH. Renting a car in San Antonio at the airport, we were suddenly driving on the other side of the ride, the steering wheel on the other side, in the rain, at night, at 70 MPH. It was an awakening.
We then bought a new car, a Mazda RX-7, and drove it from San Antonio, Texas, to…ready? West Virginia. A big blizzard struck Texas that year. Interstate 10 was closed. Fortunately, Texas has Interstate ‘access roads’. We drove out of San Antonio through the blizzard via the access roads until we could get onto I-10. Man, I’ll tell you, traffic was pretty light.
I’ve flown cross country multiple times since then. The last time that my wife and I drove across cross country was from West Virginia to California. This was 1991. We’d been assigned to a base in Germany. She returned a few months early and was living not far from her parents in West Virginia. She’d bought a little Honda Civic. We loaded her and our three cats, Rocky, Crystal, and Jade, into the Honda, along with her belongings, and drove to Sunnyvale, California, via the Rocky Mountains. Let me tell you, the Honda, with its 1.5 liter engine, wasn’t happy about the Rockies. We’d swooped down the mountains as fast as we dared to build up speed to get up the next one. Geez, what a trip.
Not our actual car. Our car looked just like this, except it was gray.
I’ve also gone from Texas to Pennsylvania via Greyhound bus after finishing military basic training in 1975. But the one thing I always wanted to do was take a train across the country. We traveled by train in Japan and Europe, and loved it. It’s hasn’t come to pass in the U.S.
Maybe, someday, though, maybe someday…I’ll get to take a train ride across the United States.
Floofevision(floofinition) – Television or movies either created to entertain animals, or containing stories in which animals are heavily featured. Origins: United States, Internet, 1998.
In Use: “As Youtube videos became popular, many floofvision offerings featuring birds coming to birdfeeders were made to entertain housefloofs.”
In Use: “Some very successful floofevision offerings include movies or televisions series such as Gentle Ben, Lassie, and My Friend Flicka.”
My first name is Michael. My middle name is Wayne.
But that isn’t what was planned.
“Why did you name me Michael Wayne?” I asked Mom. I was looking for a story about why those names were selected, thinking something inspired my name.”
“I didn’t,” Mom said. “Your father did.”
“What?”
“I’d just given birth and I was out of it. He filled out the paperwork and named you. That’s not what I wanted.”
“What did you want?”
“You were supposed to be Dwayne Richard.”
“Dwayne Richard? Why?” And also, “Rick’s name is Richard Dwayne.” That seemed like a weird part of the puzzle. Richard Dwayne is my cousin, born a month before me.
Mom nodded. “I told your Aunt Jean that I wanted to name you Dwayne Richard. She stole it and named her son Richard Dwayne.”
Wild. I later asked Dad, “Why’d you name me Michael Wayne?”
“I didn’t.”
“Mom said you did.”
“I named you what she told me to.”
“That’s not what she said.”
“She probably doesn’t remember. She was pretty out of it. Listen, you know your mother. Do you really think I wouldn’t do exactly what she told me to do?”
I never got any satisfying reason for why my middle or first name was chosen. It’s just is what it is.
Someone must’ve pressed the ‘misty’ button on today’s weather menu. 44 F, cloudy, drizzly, misty, a little sunny, the high will jump to 51, 52 F. Not a bad day, just not particularly inspiring or uplifting, here in Ashlandia.
Fortunately, I experienced uplifting, energizing dreams. Returning from them to here was a rough landing. There, I was supremely happy, eager for the day, embracing the future. Here…everything is knotted with uncertainty, fused with irritation and frustration. I keep telling myself that this too must pass. It presently feels like empty rhetoric.
Papi the ginger blade, aka Butter Butt, is doing fab, busying himself around us, scampering about with tail up, sometimes punctuating the moment with his high pitched meep. That sound gifted him his original name of Meep. My SO ordered a change. Didn’t think Meep conveyed enough gravitas. Now she calls him Butter Butt. Like, that has gravitas?
Today’s song is a product of the news. Joey Molland of Badfinger has joined the gig in the sky. Badfinger was an early rock power guitar group. The Beatles fostered them and the group lent their talents to my teenage years. With Molland’s transition, the original group’s lineage has ended. For their part, The Neurons inserted “Baby Blue” from 1972 into the morning mental music stream. The song was written about a woman who showed up and toured with them for a while, Armstrong. It wasn’t a relationship meant to last, though. I went with a recording that’s a little muddy but it shows the most successful lineup during the glory period when they were young, before things began going to crap for them.
Coffee has made another successful landing in my gullet. Let’s rock and roll. Cheers
Greetings to all on this day, Wenzda, February 12, 2025. Sunshine is blazing across a bold blue sky, dazzling off the disheveled snow comforter still in place around much of Ashlandia. It’s 24 F, up from 19 F. Gonna get up to 42, 43 F, ‘they’ tell us.
A gorgeous full moon visited last night. Light sprayed across the snow, throwing deep shadows around trees and houses. One of those wondrous sights that hold your attention and forces you to invest in deep philosophical thoughts about the nature of existence. At least, until the wine runs out.
Happy Darwin Day! “Charles Robert Darwin, who first described the process of evolution of species in the plant and animal kingdoms through natural selection, was born. It is now celebrated as Darwin Day, when the common language of science, bridging language and culture, is recognized and appreciated.“ stolen from Scottie’s Playtime. A friend puts on a one-person play as Darwin to honor the man. We were planning to attend but with the rise of flu and other respiratory illnesses, we backed off that intention.
That’s Dr. Pepper Trail on the right.
I also have another lymphedema bandage session this afternoon. The left appendage and all of its accessories responded well and I may come out of there wearing a normal shoe on it. The right, which had the surgery, still had some space to improve.
Today’s song is “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” by Elton John with Lyrics by Bernie Taupin. Released in 1973, while I was in high school, it’s one of those songs which are easy to sing along with…if you know the words! It’s like, what is he saying? Hearing the actual lyrics cause conniptions over meanings and associations. Some seem straightforward enough but others give a ‘huuuhhh?’ moment. It’s about longing to me, though, about being in a different place and time, one where you feel more comfortable. That’s why I The Neurons have delivered it to the morning mental music stream. Reading the world’s news, especially politics in the U.S., I wondered what road we’ll need to follow to survive and free ourselves of this mess. Where is the yellow brick road?
Coffee grabbed me as I was walking by and took me into the kitchen, where I indulged a cup to wash down a lemon turnover. Hope your day goes well. Stay safe out there. Cheers
Sunshine rose over the western mountains and trees and waxed into a blazing orb, splashing light and warmth all Ashlandia and the valley where I reside. Blue sky followed like a puppy gamboling on a walk with their human. Temperatures hurried from 25 F to 33 F in fast time. Snow keeps melting. Athough full duvets cover many parts of the land, the thickness on the backyard furniture looks like it’s down to seven inches. A high temperature of 37 F is conceivable, ‘they’ say. They had it right yesterday, so optimism overflows me today. Yesterday was a pleasant winter day.
This is Twozda, February 11, 2025.
Yesterday’s sunshine overjoyed the house floofs. After some geographic jockeying over whether it was better inside or out, they found sunlit places inside and made like melting pools of fur for a few hours. And that is a weirdly rewarding, reassuring sight, to walk in and see floofs deeply relaxed and asleep.
Today’s music was born in a dream, one of three dreams remembered from last night. I won’t go into any dreams here, although I probably will address one of the shorter, sharper ones in another post. The song was written by Laura Nyro and covered by Blood, Sweat, and Tears. Released in 1969, “And When I Die” is circulating my morning mental music stream like music coming in over a grocery store’s loudspeaker system. I always enjoyed the song’s straightforward lyrics and their message. Wasn’t too found of the actual melody, which seemed sort of old fashioned to my young ears. It’s remarkable, though, that she wrote the song when she was seventeen and sold it to Peter, Paul, and Mary. Nyro was such an impressively talented individual.
I popped into the kitchen a little while ago. Coffee was there and said hello. We started chatting and before I knew it, I had a cup in my hand. Hope you have a strong yet restful and satisfying day. It’s not impossible. Hope you enjoy the musical interlude. Cheers
I was busy scrubbing oven racks the other day. My Neurons played by themselves. Out of that rolled a remembered television commercial:
“New Ajax laundry detergent, stronger than dirt. (Stronger than dirt!)”
It’s a terrific slogan. Who wouldn’t want a cleaner that’s stronger than dirt? I bet the rest of the cleaners were so jealous because they weren’t stronger than dirt.
And how ’bout that knight with his magic lance? I could use a lance like that.
Snow was falling, and I was walking through it. No wind was bothering us, and the temperature is hovering around 33 F, so it’s not too cold. I enjoy walking in general but walking in snow is special. Snow affects all the senses for me. As it collects, it muffles sounds. Falling, it alters light. Snow flakes feel different, too, because each is as unique as a person, animal, or leaf. Everything seems magnified, walking in snow.
At the intersection of all these sensations, I fall back into memories of being a child, walking through snow. Tasting snowflakes with my tongue. Watching air condense as I breathe out. Examining the world as a new cover falls over it. Snow often drove people into buildings, and my walks outside were rewarded with solitude. Sometimes, semi-profound observations visited, but I mostly just walked, holding hands with nature.
Michael Seidel, writer 