It’s an oddity. Today, the coffee shop is filled with men.
Three regulars are among the dozen men. We regulars do our regular things with computers, eyes intense and intent on screens, fingers doing a keyboard dance, sometimes shifting a mouse tango.
The rest are pairs of men. Male couples. They’re all in deep and low-key conversations. Youngest looking are some twenty somethings. Most have ages hovering in the upper thirties to low sixties. I’m too far from any to overhear conversations. There’s little laughter among them. These are serious topics at hand.
Two by two, the meetings are wrapped up. The participants depart. Soon, it’s just me and one other regular, busy with our computers. A small break ensues. Quiets drapes the business. New people arrive. New orders are given. It’s a mix of males and females.
Welcome to Wenzda, June 4, 2025. Blissful on the back patio this morning. 65 F and sunny, the backyard was vibrant with greenery, and absolutely still and silent, a perfect setting to sip coffee, catch rays, and rebalance my circadian rhythm. Papi the butter butt floof was my sole companion. Fresh from eating breakfast, he was content to clean himself with occassional passes against my calves. 80 is again the mark nature has set for us as a high in Ashlandia.
Happy Pride Month. June is Pride Month. Fools and charlatans in the Gold House, the place previously referred to the White House, contest the need to celebrate Pride Month. They prefer to believe that anyone who professes anything but straight genders and roles are crazy, making it up, or other ridiculous things. And I say, screw them. We will keep building and progressing. It might be on pause while they’re in control, but they are not moving us back, no matter how hard they try, no matter what they do. We will build an inclusive world where all people are equal without any qualifications imposed by anyone else. It’s strikingly hypocritical that the right will say things about God being the creator and giving rights and simultaneously deny that God created anyone who dares say, for example, my name is Michael, and my preferred pronouns are she and her. “How dare you,” these self-annointed arbiters shriek. I ask them back, “How dare you. Who the hell are you to decide who the rest of us are? Screw you.”
In honor of Pride Month, let’s begin with “Born This Way” by Lady Gaga. Wikipedia gives us a good summary of the song.
Lady Gaga said, “I want to write my this-is-who-the-fuck-I-am anthem, but I don’t want it to be hidden in poetic wizardry and metaphors. I want it to be an attack, an assault on the issue because I think, especially in today’s music, everything gets kind of washy sometimes and the message gets hidden in the lyrical play. Harkening back to the early ’90s, when Madonna, En Vogue, Whitney Houston and TLC were making very empowering music for women and the gay community and all kind of disenfranchised communities, the lyrics and the melodies were very poignant and very gospel and very spiritual and I said, ‘That’s the kind of record I need to make. That’s the record that’s going to shake up the industry.’ It’s not about the track. It’s not about the production. It’s about the song. Anyone could sing ‘Born This Way’. It could’ve been anyone.”
Got my coffee. I enjoy a cup in the morning. I was born that way. Have the best Wenzda you can. Cheers
“Look,” my wife said. “Did you notice your coffee cup?”
I looked at the coffee cup.
“I cleaned it,” my wife said. “I don’t know what was going on, but you had all these drips going down along the sides. I wondered, why is he leaving his cup like that? Does he think it makes his coffee taste better?”
Yesterday was a hot one, as they advertised. Today, Saturda, May 31, 2025, is expected to cool into the mid-80s. It’s 72 F and sunny now, and the clouds have ran away for grayer skies.
It’s May’s last day. Five months of 2025 are history. It’s been as chaotic as a Black Friday sale in the United States. As we spring into summer, I’m not enthused about what will come out of the Gold House, as Nan calls it. Her reasoning is spot on. It ssed to be the White House, but the present occupant, PINO TACO, is remaking it in the right’s craven, gold-worshipping image. They say that’s what the Bible says to do.
From Gold House, I crossed to Heart of Gold.My Neurons went onto a Neil Young kick. Soon they had “Old Man” playing in the morning mental music stream. The music faded for a while as I rambled through a litany of problems, stories, and challenges. Some were personal and narrowly defined from my novel-writing half of living. Thoughts about Mom’s health boiled in, and then came sympathy for a friend who is enduring a mess in his life. Prosaic matters like fixing the oven — the part has arrived — took over. Then there’s the ever-growing worries about the human rights, war, climate change, the nation, the world, and measles.
There are 1,088 confirmed measles cases in the U.S., up 42 from last week, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention said Friday. Texas, where the nation’s biggest outbreak raged during the late winter and spring, reported 10 additional cases this week for a total of 738.
The Neurons shot a gap to bring “Don’t Let It Get You Down” by Neil Young into the morning mental music stream. It’s a 1970 song which will probably get you down, because it makes you listen, think, and feel. I once heard a DJ say that Young announced this song by saying, “This song is guaranteed to bring you down. It’s called “Don’t Let It Get You Down”.” It was a song I preferred to hear with a glass of red wine, either overlooking a body of water at sunset, or in a dark room, alone.
Into the day I go, with a cuppa coffee to help me carry the load. Funny, but our existence is fleeting in the great rush of time and space, but sometimes it seems so long.
Frida, Mai 16, 2025, has evolved as warmer and cloudier in Ashlandia. Noon has slipped past. The temperature has incremented to 67 F degrees and follows a trajectory to lick 71 F. Pervasive sunshine has everyone reaching for sunglasses. Papi, the ginger blade, went to the back early and settled into a sunny spot for a needed nap. A swirly day, sometimes I find myself sweating in full, still sunshine. Moments later, wind muscles in and goose bumps rise from its chill.
As we watch Trumpivision, it’s clear he hit the Mideast trial to cover the gaps his tariffs and behavior generated. After treaties and agreements were trampled underfoot by Trump, China and European allies cancelled aircraft deals and turned off shipping as part of a slowdown generated by broken trust, high prices, and tit-for-tat. Trump’s team said, “Hit the mideast. They’ll buy the stuff the rest of the world is turning their backs on.” This is an extension of the Trump Regime’s willingness to sell access to Trump. It’s cash register diplomacy at its worse.
While there, Trump gave speeches which fortified impressions that he’s aging and his mind is going. Coupled with his shallow thinking, greed, and standard rants about how badly he’s treated, it was an ugly spectacle.
Today’s music comes from encouragement from self to self to get up and start doing things. I often tell myself at those moments, time to rock and roll. The Neurons instantly hoisted Led Zeppelin’s classic offering, “Rock and Roll”, into the morning mental music stream. I found a video I enjoyed of the song being performed live. This was during a Foo Fighters concert. Dave Grohl, the band’s leader, founder, and usual vocalist, took to the drums, a position he held with Nirvana. The drummer, the late Taylor Hawkins, took up the mic. Guest performers from Led Zeppelin, Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones, joined them. Pretty fun concert presentation, if you ask me.
I’m already in the coffee shop, indulging my daily writing and coffee fixes. I spoke with a barista about the strike held the other day. She told me the article about it was shared on the business’s Facebook page. “You wouldn’t believe the hateful comments that have been made,” she said. “I had to remind myself that I’m an employee and not respond to them.” I expressed my support for what they were doing, adding, “Those haters can go to hell.”
It’s Thirstda, Mai 15, 2025. The weather flipped last night as a cold front jumped into the Ashlandia area. Gone is the rain. Blue sky and sunshine fill the vacated space. That translates to a cold but clear night and day, but one that gives the sun permission to warm us. 68 F is our suspected high for the day. For now, it’s 55 F.
Papi has mixed feelings about it. He’s, “No rain, yea!” But, “Cold air, boo, hiss.” Then he adds, “Sunshine, yea!” He searches for a warm and sunny spot in the backyard. Then he comes into the house and yells for treats and attention. He’s such a sweet-chirping cute floof, our wills melt like ice cubes in hot coffee, and we do as he requests.
Starbucks, where I usually write, was closed yesterday. I found out this morning that it was due to a strike. I support them. They can strike as much as needed to gain contracts and improve their conditions. Meantime, we have other coffee shops in Ashlandia. I went to Roco and staked out a place and did my writing thing, as needed.
Another coffee shop is across the street from Starbucks. I like their products but their space doesn’t work for my writing needs. They supported the SB strikers by giving them coffee. How cool is that?
Today’s music is an old favorite by the late Gary Moore. Seeing sunshine and blue skies, The Neurons fed the song, “Still Got the Blues (for You)” into my morning mental music scene. Yes, despite better weather, the blues still weigh me down. Part of this is due to Mom. She’s become such a bitter and angry person that nobody wants to spend any time with her. She can’t see her own part in her isolation, instead blaming everyone else. I believe she needs counseling to help her deal with longtime issues. She fixates on things and never lets anything go. Her history of what happened when is at huge odds with everyone else involved. Suggesting she needs therapy, though, just sends her into a greater rage and accusations that everybody hates her.
Other part of the blues is all about the political thing. It’s amazing that progress begun over two hundred years ago is getting shredded by one megalomaniac backed by right wingers. That they’re quite willing to do whatever is necessary to break down the foundations of individual freedoms and democracy to gain power for themselves, including wreck the world economy and the planet’s environment. Empathy is not in their wheelhouse. Lust for greed and power dominates their intentions. So, yeah, I’ve got the blues.
Despite the blues, I have plans. They begin with coffee. I can check that off my list of things to do for today. Have the best day you can. Cheers
An email arrived. Tricare4U received and processed a recent claim.
Uh oh.
I expect to have a bout of acute passworditis soon.
Many Americans suffer from passworditis. The condition is brought on by websites not accepting passwords despite meeting all their stated requirements. Symptoms may include deep depression, a desire to drink heavily, incoherent screaming and swearing, high blood pressure, and a feeling of deep exhaustion accompanied by a temptation to go to bed and pull the covers over your head.
I also sometimes expire these symptoms of passworditis while using WordPress, but that’s about ‘features’ which act in capricious ways.
Tricare4U is part of the Defense Department’s healthcare labyrinth. I’ve been using Tricare variations since 1995, when I retired from the Air Force. Dealing with any Tricare issue is rarely fun and never easy. Logging on is usually the worse part. This is done through DS Log On.
As my friend Jill would say, GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.
The passwords expire every 60 days. Installing a new one is a pain from hell. They have nine requirements. All are reasonable requirements. My new password meets all nine requirements. I know that because all nine requirements begin in red. As you fulfill one, it turns green. .
I must fill it into the new password box. Everything is green.
Then I add it again to confirm the password. These again show colors when it all works.
Despite everything showing as green, i.e., good to go, the submit button to complete the password change won’t come up. I stall out at that point every friggin’ time.
I used three different browsers.
Closed all windows and rebooted my computer.
Cleared my cache.
I have made twelve attempts in sixty-five minutes. I remain mired in password hell.
GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.
I’m shutting it down for now. More coffee is required before I try again. All this to see what they say about my claim. Will I owe? What obtuse reasoning will they use?
Sigh. Not a fun beginning to my Twosda. It’s not good for my health. Ironic?
Cold spring night ended with sunshine breaking apart the clouds like Jesus taking on the money changers. Blue sky smile down on us. Sunshine is tasked with warming us to 68 F, up from 46.
Papi likes having the pet door back on. He’s resumed his unique style. A paw is inserted into the space betwixt the flap and its flame. He pulls the flap toward him to enlarge a space. Then he sticks his head through. Creeps on in. Seeing me watching, he pauses. Confirms who I am. Greetings are exchanged. He comes on for some pets, treats, and cat nip. A little later, he reverses course. Heads for the sunny backyard.
But. A but always crops up. In this but, Papi still beats on the back door. Even though the pet door is open. I have applied some erratic noodling to it. I believe that the beating is his communication system. Like drums or smoke signals.
Papi sending smoke signals. Alarm inducing idea.
Papi was telling me that he wanted his water dish refilled and outside. I’ve pulled it in at night. Don’t want to encourage other wildlife to hang around. I’ve set up a water bowl for them in another area of the yard, around in the front, away from the doors. Papi detests drinking water in the house. Likes drinking it outside. We all have our foibles.
On to politics. Ugh. No. Full coffee saturation is required before I go there today.
All kinds of music occupy the morning mental music stream. Like rock concert going on in there. First up in heavy rotation was the Animals with “House of the Rising Sun.” Brought on by seeing the sunshine rising, brightening, filing the world, including our house. Then there was Chris Isaak. “Baby Did A Bad Bad Thing”. That was in response to some news article I read. Next came Aerosmith. “Walk This Way.” That came after my wife returned from her exercise class. I was reading, thinking, gaming. Wasting away the hours that make up a slow day. I finally said, “I got to get moving but my get up and go seems to have got up and went.”
So here is my morning mental music stream. Brought to you by The Neurons. The Neurons: when you don’t know what to think.
I enjoyed watching and listening to this video of The Animals. It brought back elements of another time and delivered smiles to me. Hope you find it the same, seeing those young individuals and the more primitive conditions of television and pop culture.
Listening to Chris Isaak has been tarnished by a “Friends” episode that featured Isaak as a guy dating Phoebe. He sings a few high notes. She starts laughing.
Coffee is at hand. Time to coffee up and go be me. You go be you. Let’s do the best we can. Come on, let’s walk this way. Cheers
Chilly. Rainy. Foggy. Those were yesterday’s descriptors. It didn’t get to anywhere near the theoretical high of 51 F around my zone of life.
Today is sunny. Windy. Warmer. 52 F. Clouds and blue sky mingle like it’s a company holiday party. The high will be 62 F.
Today is Sunda, April 27, 2025.
My wife and I are setting up for a trip to the coast. Our usual house sitter is available. Reservations have been made. We have worries. This will be Papi’s first time being alone. He knows the house sitter. Doesn’t run from her. Let’s her pet him. But with spring pointing toward summer, the wildlife has grown busier. Raccoons come by. Coyotes, bears, cougars are out there, along with opossums and skunks. Rats and mice. We’ll set things up as best as we can and cross our fingers.
Today’s music is “Bloody Well Right”. 1974 song. Supertramp. I was singing it to myself after different topics traversed the sticky gray zone this morning that I call thinking. Not much of it was of import. Just the usual forays into novel writing, fiction I’m reading, cat, family and personal matters, health, politics, news, government, dreams, and memories. I’ve been experiencing a wealth of dreams, for instance. What does it all mean? And I’ve set up a dental appointment for some overdue work. Then there’s house repairs. Call to Dad. Text to Mom. Mother’s Day card and gift. Flowers, candy, food, or…what? It’s all underlined by what is perceived as a time of drastic change in the country.
Coffee is singing its songs to my cells. Sunshine is shining. Plans are underfoot. So is the cat. Hope you have an awesomely solid day, devoid of crises and problems, and maybe with some good food. Here we go.
My body and mind were unanimous. More sleep was wanted. Yesterday was busy with an Easter Brunch. We’d been preparing all week. 10:15, we set off to go help with setup. By 11:30, all were there. A smorgasbord awaited. Mexican quiche, salmon with asparagus, salmon and cream cheese rolls. Dutch babies and lemon cake for dessert. Salads. Juices and libation to make it chippier. Easter egg hunt and korn hole. A half dozen present shared their latest stories about demonstrating against Trump in Ashland and Medford. 2 PM, it was all over.
Over to a friend’s house for his 93rd birthday. Just family and my wife and I. He has health issues and didn’t want a gathering. After singing the birthday song, witnessing the candle blowout, and visiting for two hours, we headed home to unpack and wash everything.
Blue skies were the day’s order. Light wind kept it from becoming too warm. 69 F was the tops. Today seems like it looked over yesterday’s shoulder and copied the weather.
I reminded my body and mind that sleeping in wasn’t an option. Today is Food & Friends deliveries. Crank up the car, pick up the food, and roll through the streets on route 3 to knock on doors and ring bells and drop off a small meal in southeastern Ashlandia. I’m the driver; my wife makes the deliveries.
Then, finally, it’ll be back to writing at the coffee shop for a few hours, and then home to wash clothes and attend yard work. The grass and weeds are gladded by the sunshine. It’s all shooting up fast.
Papi is beside himself with happiness by the time the air warms. It’s rolled up to 49 F now. He heads outside and sniffs out the sunshine. Then wind sniffs him out and he’s back in. It’s a never-ending game of ‘In & Out’!
The mountain air loads the night with temperatures that dribble down into the mid thirties. That temp feels colder. But we’re on the regular Ashlandia spring track. Only troubling thing is we’re not seeing any bees. They’re normally all over the place with their buzzing presence. Their absence disturbs.
Yesterday’s Easter Trump dump again illuminated his pathetic ways. That vitriol and lie-filled text mess is a sign of an insecure, demented, ignorant person. Trump’s dark forces again rose to show what a sinister and ugly place the United States is becoming under his hand as two young and wholly innocent German tourists were detained and deported, all for the crime of not having accommodations already reserved. Such fools are now in charge. Then there’s Trump’s undocumented bullshit broadside against Abrego Garcia. WTF, United States. Is this truly your vision?
With those thoughts spinning through my groovy organic thought machine, The Neurons spun up Aerosmith in the morning mental music stream: “Same Old Song and Dance”. Last time I used this ditty was in 2019. Trump occupied the White House then. I wrote back on that day,
Reading the news yesterday and today, I was shaking my head, partially laughing while crying. You know, it was the same old story.
That led to me streaming Aerosmith.
It’s the same old story Same old song and dance, my friend It’s the same old story Same old story Same old song and dance
It was an easy song to identify with when I was a teenager and the song was released. When you asked questions, you often heard, “That’s just how it is. That’s how it goes.” It was always the same old song and dance, no matter what you were asked.
So here we go. Trump is attacking and bullying whatever he can — law, courts, common sense, history, morality, it’s all open to a Trump attack. He’s like a puppy gnawing on clothes, shoes, and furniture. Nothing is safe from his brainless chewing. A puppy does far less damage, though. A puppy will grow out of it. Trump, with his deteriorating and aging mental capacity, will get worse.
Same ol’ story, same ol’ song and dance.
Have the best day you can, my friend. Fueled with coffee, I’ll rock on for another day, it seems. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 