Ashland, Oregon – Saturday, February 28, 2026. An uninspiring flat gray tam caps the valley. We’ve reached February’s end and we’re cruising toward spring with 60 F as our high, up from the present 46. Rain is expected.
Our snowbank is at 41% of normal as they label our winter a snow drought. Fingers crossed that nature isn’t finished with the area’s snow deliveries or it’ll be a dry summer — unless that season changes and becomes wet.
Sis reports Mom has a roommate and is not happy. Her new roomie ‘poops on the toilet seat’ and then uses Mom’s wipes to clean up. Apparently, Mom had been settling in and considered herself happy until the roomie arrived.
Sis’s car was rearended yesterday. Nobody was hurt, the damage was mild, and the other driver took full responsibility. But the accident dinged sis’s mood. However, a bouquet of flowers was delivered to her as a four-year anniversary thank you, lifting her spirits again.
My wife and I both seem over our colds at last. Just mild coughing, thin and unproductive, struck this morning. My respiratory system seems clear and my breathing is well.
Looking at the news, I was pleased that the Senate again denied the SAVE Act to pass. The law was aimed to burden voters to provide identification, making it harder to vote. Trump and his allies suggest that it’s to stop voter fraud. Studies have actually shown that there is little voter fraud in national U.S. elections.
Trump and Israel ordered more strikes against Iran, killing more than 80 people. These attacks were part of a campaign to pressure Iran to stop its nuclear weapons program. That’s interesting, as Trump claimed attacks he ordered last summer obliterated Iran’s nuclear program.
Last in the news arena, the hypocrisy levels of justice hit new highs this week. Hillary Clinton testified about her ‘relationship’ with Jeffrey Epstein: don’t know him, never met him. Nor is there evidence to the contrary. Melania Trump was photographed with Epstein. Her name appears in emails, an address-book entry, and a 2002 message to Ghislaine Maxwell, along with third-party claims and materials such as photographs and third‑party claims. She has yet to be called to testify.
As usual with these shows, little concerns were expressed about the Epstein files victims.
With this as my backdrop, The Neurons dropped “Thin Lizzy” into the morning mental music stream with “Don’t Believe A Word”. Offering a nice bluesy tone, the song plays with the idea of what’s said to produce results, suggesting, that’s why what’s said can’t be trusted.
Lyrics h/t AZLyrics.com
Don’t believe me if I tell you That I wrote this song for you There just might be Some other silly pretty girl I’m singing to
Don’t believe a word For words are so easily spoken And your heart is just like that promise Made to be broken
I hope you believe me when I say, I wish you have a joyous and safe, comfortable day. I raise my coffee to you and your prospects.
Ashland, Oregon — Saturday, February 21, 2026. 40 F, the wind is beating the trees up. Sunshine intermittently brightens the world but someone spilled a can of mottle gray paint over the sky. Today’s high will be in the low fifties.
Great night of sleep, a few remembered dreams. My nose and nasal passages are about 90% clear today. Light, unproductive cough. Mucus discharge was thick and green, the first like that. Energy levels and focus are way up. It’s day 11 of my upper respiratory infection.
My mornings now include an hour catching up on text messages about Mom. She’s in assisted living, plans to stay there until the end of February, and then return to her home. We’re against that last, and so is everyone else in the world. But the system says, let her do as she chooses because she’s an adult. Our reasoning doesn’t sway her. I put out energy that she’ll change her mind, be happy, and stay where she’s at. At the same time, I respect all the changes she’s been enduring. That’s tough on anyone.
I’ve also been in conversations with others and know our problems with our aging parent is not that rare. We, as a society, need to figure out a better plan moving forward. This is not sustainable, and I want to spare others this sort of mess.
With all that’s going on — writing, politics, Mom — well, life — The Neurons have introduced “Roll with the Changes” into the morning mental music stream. REO Speedwagon released it back in the late 1970s, and I always enjoy its high energy. I think it’s perfect for shifting gears from recovering from sickness, dealing with Mom, and coping with the Trump cycles. In a way, I hope it presages a future where more SCOTUS decisions go against Trump and more people announce their disapproval of him and/or his policies. I also hope it foretells more names coming from the Epstein files and some justice for the people who abused others, and those who were abused. The Europeans are leading the way in this, so let’s hope that the truth emerges from across the ocean, as our government seems too eager to predict the guilty and damn the innocent.
Friends have invited us over to play games at their place with another couple, so I’ll be socializing. Going to go the whole nine yards — shower, shave, dress. LOL. I can imagine people responding, “Well, I hope so.”
My hope for you and me and us is that we all get a little more than the recommended daily minimum of grace and peace in our lives today, maybe enough to fertilize some optimism for where we’re going and who we are as a people and a nation. For now, I have coffee.
Stepping into the coffee shop, I immediately scan for a table and chair to sit and write.
It’s late morning and busy. Aha, though — two tables are there for —
“Hey, Michael.”
I’m being accosted from across the room. The speaker is a barista. Having shouted out my name, they’ve busy multi-tasking.
Spotting Kat first, I begin, “Hey, Ka — “
I see Natalie.
I don’t know which called out.
So I finish, “Talie.”
Chuckling to myself about this, I dumped my gear at a table and head to the counter. Kat is manning the register and Natalie is busy preparing my coffee. I hear Natalie say, “Curling,” before she turns away.
Kat asks, “Let me ask you, Michael. Are you watching the Olympics?”
“Only the curling,” I reply.
Natalie roars with laughter as Kat’s mouth drops open.
“No way,” Kat finally says.
“Yes, way,” I answer. “By the way. When I came in, I heard one of you say hello to me. I didn’t know who it was, so I called you Katalie.”
The two bend over with laughter. “We ARE Katalie,” Kat shouts. Whipping toward each other, she and Natalie exchange high fives.
I pay and take my coffee. The writing day has an auspicious beginning.
Invisible fog continues to blanket Ashland. Alexa declares that it’s foggy in Ashland, 36 degrees F. I see 30 on my system and only blue sky, sunshine, and hard white frost outside. The difference between what she reports and what I see annoys me. I like things to be upfront and clear.
One other clear point is that our local snow-free winter continues. I’m not a snow fan. Yes, it can transform a landscape into a beautiful, magical white land, but problems arrive, too. It’s beautiful in the short term but melding snow often sometimes refreezes. Commutes become sloppy and hazardous. Deliveries are held up, and people run out of home supplies, and store shelves
I’ve been thinking about those invisible weather forces as I consider the skein of Trump’s affordability announcements. Trump often frames affordability as a ‘Democrat scam’ or ‘Democrat hoax’. But he’s spending a lot of time addressing it. Much of what he’s offering is splashy and excites his supporters.
What Trump offers does not provide answers, but bandages to symptoms. Root causes — low wages, high prices due to product availability, including housing supply — are untouched.
Peering out my window, thinking about the invisible forces giving me clear skies and sunshine as Alexa tells me it’s foggy, reminds me that nothing Trump is proposing will address the invisible forces driving our economic issues. Perceptions of even potential war trigger protective, ‘just in case’ behavior. Credit dries up, interest rates — including mortgages — rise, and supplies decrease.
Just as I can’t see the big picture on what goes on behind Alexa’s weather observation, Trump seems inure to the big picture behind global economics. It’s not that I’m an expert, but these are things I’ve witnessed during my life and read about in history books.
The Neurons eagerly insert “Invisible Touch” into my morning mental music stream after these early morning thoughts about invisibility. Phil Collins wrote the song, recorded and released by Genesis in 1986. A playful song, “Invisible Touch” summarizes the way another person can sometimes get under your skin in ways you can’t see, but you can feel.
Coffee is up. The first few sips are hot and fresh on my tongue. Neurons clamor for some of it, and I smile.
This is Thirstda, January 15, 2026. Time to go meet the day and find our way through its touch, invisible and otherwise. Cheers
Standing and stretching from my coffee-shop table, I said, “Hi, Kim.”
Hair red as a cardinal catching attention, Kim grinned. My coffee-house writing friend. Three novels out there and counting.
“Hey, Michael. You leaving?”
“Yes, the table is yours if you want. It served me well.”
We laughed. I was giving up the corner table, the best for writing, offering comfort, privacy, and stability. Certain tables rock when typing. Precious as we are, the rocking disrupts needed writing rhythm.
Kim went on, pointing over her shoulder, “I was over there but that table is just too low. It makes my back and neck hurt.”
A grin overtook my face. She was as particular as me. “I know! It really makes it hard when you’re hunkering down for a two to three hours.”
Packing up my gear, I vacated the space. She swept in. “Happy writing,” I offered, then went on with a smile.
It was a good writing day for me. Hope it’s a good one for her, too — though, with that table and her talents, it’s bound to be.
The markers of familiarity intrigue me. I like to walk and friends and strangers comment on seeing me walking around town. People often mention they know me by my hat and its flair. My flair reveals my interests in writing, coffee, beer, the Steelers, and being retired military and living in Oregon.
On my end, I know several dogs who come into the coffee shop by name but I don’t know their owners’s names. People socialize differently with animals. The baristas and other customers often talk to the dogs by name. But even when people talk to the owners, names are rarely used, a facet of behavior which intrigues me.
Things are changing, though. This week, I learned that sweet Lenny’s owner is a retired sociology professor. Happy and social Sugar’s people are Thomas and Alice. Bear — who lives up to his name with his size but is a friendly, relaxed pup — belongs to Norm and Sarah. In this way, gaps are closing, and we’re all becoming friendlier and more open.
Today, Jessica didn’t know my name or regular coffee order. She did remember my Co-op number and knew that I was Brenda on that account. She and I enjoyed a good laugh about it.
Little interactions like all of these help enliven the coffee shop writing life for me.
Michael Seidel, writer 