My wife and I were our current age and traveling in her 2003 Gray Focus. I was driving.
We stopped somewhere to eat. It looked like a good choice but after we began looking around more, it turned out to be a mess. Tables were set up as if they were in a fine dining room but it was outdoors, on uneven fields of uncut grass. Many other people were just like us, trying to figure out WTH was going on.
My wife was very hungry and said, “Screw this, I’m just getting some food.” Then she stalked through the grass, where the food was in silver serving bowls among the clumps of grass. Finding some food, she took it to a table.
I was trying to tell her, “Wait, I don’t think that’s what we’re supposed to do.”
A harried young male waiter hustled to her, asking for her order. She replied, “I’m eating this.”
The waiter turned to me and asked, “What are you ordering?”
I was bewildered. “I don’t know what’s available. Where’s the menu?”
But as I looked around, I saw another family doing as my wife did. Noticing scrambled eggs in a bowl on the ground and a red plate, I picked them up and said, “I’m having this.”
The waiter looked both dejected and smug. Writing something on a pad, he left.
Eating some of our food but not happen with it, my wife and I returned to her car. It was cold outside by then, so I started the car to warm us up. I noticed ice inside the car and told her, “Look how cold it got.” Then I opened windows to let the ice out and continued running the engine to warm the car and clear the windows.
The dream ended on a view of us in her little gray car, waiting for the windows to clear.
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 — Sunday, February 22, 2026. Sunshine washes mountain conifers and hardwoods as ominous clouds float away, revealing a hazy blue sky. 51 degrees now, a 56 F high is projected.
Papi is enjoying the wind-free sunshine, soaking it up like his body was starving for it, then rolling around on the patio.
It’s quieter back east this morning as Mom tries again to reset everyone’s relationship with her back to what it was a month ago. She’s trying to engage allies to move her back home; all of her offspring agree, sorry, Mom, but where you’re at is the best situation for you. It’ll take a long time for Mom to accept that.
On top of that, though, sis reports that she’s sick today. While the stress didn’t help, neither did her daughter’s illness. It’s going around, and sis’s daughter didn’t take precautions to avoid contaminating others. Sigh.
News headlines were about an armed man being shot and killed at Mar-a-Lago and Trump raising tariffs, among others. The basic scan reveals a chaotic but quiet Sunday morning.
This is our new norm as Trump challenges norms and ignores lawful processes and limits, such as firing James W Hundley. The Trump administration failed to follow the process to have an AG appointed for Eastern Virginia. A law covers that contingency, and the Virginia judiciary followed that law, appointing Hundley. The Trump Administration promptly fired him without cause, despite him being legally appointed. And so, another legal battle ensues.
Just think, it was only a year ago that DOGE was spreading a swath of destruction across the federal government. We’re still learning the ramifications. Trump may consider himself the peace president and a uniter, but I see him as the President of Chaos, sowing and encouraging it, to no one’s benefit but his own.
It’s interesting to remember, too, that Trump first promised to ‘declassify’ the Epstein files while campaigning in June of 2024. Then he dismissed it as a hoax. Since then, We the People notice a continuous pattern that he delays and distracts. Meanwhile, in Europe, real justice is being pursued. They are setting the standard that the United States needs to follow. Although I do note that right now, they’re going after the former prince for divulging information and not other crimes, but other crimes are being investigated.
Sensing my mood, The Neurons have plucked Rush out of memory and put “Working Man” in the morning mental music stream. This is a song that says to me, you gotta keep doing what you need to do. That’s about how I feel for today. Press on regardless.
Lyricsh/t Genius.com
It seems to me I could live my life A lot better than I think I am I guess that’s why they call me They call me the workin’ man
Let’s give a shout out to peace and grace, see if we can get them back into our lives and move forward into a better existence.
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.
More snow was falling and an inch accumulated. 35 degrees F, sunshine emerged, the snow stopped, and today’s accumulation melted off the streets. We still have several inches in the yard but the roads are clear. Today’s high will be 41 among expectations that more snow flurries are due.
My cold is so much better today. I slept terrific, straight through about five and a half hours. Didn’t get up to pee, blow my nose or take meds, or read a text, stacking small victories.
As I reflected on my cold, I thought about how long it was lasting and remembered reading about a virulent strain going around the region.
I began exploring my cold as a vehicle for reacting to life. Some with the cold would rush to the medical facilities for help. Others would take no protections and keep working either because they financially needed to or they wanted others to catch the cold so we could develop ‘herd immunity’.
A faction might use the cold as a launching pad to campaign against our modern diets and processed foods. Others might see the cold as proof that our society is over-vaccinated. I think a sector would call it a warning to get closer to mother nature, and another group would decree that the cold and its spread is due to modern stress weakening our systems and high population densities.
In truth, I suspect the cold and its spread has some truth in all of these things. Our modern life feels like it makes everything monolithic when there are so many nuances and variables involved.
Mom’s saga continues in Pittsburgh, PA. Sis sent out alarming emails at 4 AM eastern time about her anger at Mom and how she wasn’t going to do this and that. The tone worried me. Sis is Mom’s primary engine at this point and if she quit on behalf of Mom, team Mom would be seriously depleted.
But that rant seemed to help her because this morning, she was more methodical and very calm, checking out assistance living places, talking to the social worker, etc. I let out a huge sigh of relief.
Riding some dream energy. The Neurons noticed and fed the morning mental music stream with The War on Drugs and “Red Eyes” from 2013. Its vibe suits my mood.
Lyrics h/t to Genius.com
[Verse 1] Come and see Where I witness everything On my knees You beat it down to get to my soul Against my will Anyone could tell us you’re coming Baby don’t mind Leave it on the line, leave it hanging on a rail
[Verse 2] Come and ride away It’s easier to stick to the old Surrounded by the night Surrounded by the night, and you don’t give in But you abuse my faith Losing every time but I don’t know where You’re on my side again So ride the heat wherever it goes I’ll be the one to care, woo!
Hope you have some strong, positive energy today and it takes you to good places. Until later. Cheers
I haven’t been writing while under the weather, so it’s been a week since I sat in the writing chair. A lot of that was because breathing was a challenge and my nose and eyes were releasing almost constant streams. That didn’t stop me from writing in my head. More than anything, I keep generating new novel ideas. I would scribble notes with a work title and details that came to me. Ended up with five new ideas covering dozens of pages.
Ideas and concepts have never been my problem. Nor dialogue, back stories, settings, or even plots. My challenge is editing and revising the first draft into less than a million pages that others can follow. That’s where I often flail and go on to a new novel. I’ve written fourteen novels, edited and self-publishing three. But the others typically languish in piles or remain as files in a folder. With my most recent novel, I’m being more disciplined about revising and editing. I think that’s in part because I’m happier with its structure, characters, and story.
I look forward to getting back into the writing routine. I hope it’ll be this week but right now, seven inches of snow covers the ground. As with so many things, it’ll be wait and see.
Our first snowfall of the season has arrived. 32 F, about 3 inches have accumulated in my area. Heavier accumulations are expected in the mountains, but much more is needed. We depend on the snowbanks for our summer water.
It’s a pretty scene out there. At this temperature and elevation, heavy, fat flakes fall without stop. We’re expected to warm up to 41 today and the snow is forecast to become rain. Temperatures tonight are projected to drop into the upper twenties, and more snow is possible.
Speaking for himself, Papi offered a disdainful sniff and found a place inside to groom.
I had my best night sleep in days last, and my mind moves through concerns. My cold is winding down, as expected for day 6. Only one nostril is blocked, no sinus pressure is felt, and the violent sneezes that left my abdomen sore have subsided.
My wife asked yesterday, “Which is worse, cold pain or your oral surgery pain?”
Oh, easy, the cold by far. I feel next to nothing from the oral surgery. The surgical team did a good job. I still have stitches, but they’ll fall out on their own.
My wife’s cold seemed to be gone by Sunday. I had it worse than her but for both it was an upper respiratory infection.
Mom’s situation has occupied me more than my health and weather. After her suicide attempt on Saturday, we had a mandatory stay put on her for evaluation. A psychiatrist reversed that yesterday and the hospital said she could be discharged.
It seemed like the hospital was falling short in several areas. Mom was supposed to be evaluated for 72 hours for mental health and physical issues. They also said they had to wait to see if her urine tested negative for infections, which was supposed to be four days. Their rushed timeline alarmed us.
Besides Mom’s health, we have questions over where she will live and how she’ll get care. Yesterday involved phone calls and texts, trying to sort information and get answers. Today we have more methodical movement.
Essentially, because no family members would pick Mom up, the hospital was forced to house her again. It’s a painful way to say it but that’s the truth.
Physical and occupational therapists evaluated her today. They recommend assisted living or a skilled nursing home for Mom. The social worker seemed remote and disengaged yesterday. Today, she provided recommendations and contacts for finding housing and assistance for Mom.
Venting a little, I foresaw this years ago and tried getting Mom into a better place but she, bolstered by Frank’s presence, didn’t want to address it. Now it’s a crisis. It could have gone so much better, but yes, I know, it’s an emotional issue for most of us. I worry that I’ll be like Mom if I have to make such decisions in my future.
I’m hopeful that with the focus on Mom, we’ll finally get her somewhere that can provide her with satisfactory arrangement. An agency has been contacted to work out the arrangements to see what Mom wants and needs, and review the financial part. It’s progress.
Dad’s wife reached out to me yesterday via text. He was writing Christmas cards when he suddenly became ill and died. The cards were never sent.
His wife told me that he loved doing the cards each year, which surprised me, and that his card to me and my wife was in the mail. I think it sweet of him and her extra effort moves me.
In other focus areas, I’m concerned with the different military buildups happening around the world. More war machines are being shifted to the Arctic area. Additional U.S. troops are in Africa in advisory and training capacities. History shows that such involvement can easily rise into armed conflicts.
It’s a great concern with Trump. When Americans — two military members and a translator — were killed by ISIS, Trump ordered attacks in December. Operation Hawkeye Strike against 70 ISIS targets in Syria was conducted in early days but the military campaign is still active.
Just as worrying, a second U.S. carrier group is being sent to that region. It seems like the world is moving from trying diplomatic channels to manage disagreements to using military force.
Finally, to complete the circle of concerns, got my auto insurance bill yesterday. Premiums jumped $50, adding to our general affordability worries.
Jumping onto the idea of circles, The Neurons ordered some Billy Preston. “Will It Go Round in Circles” from 1973 is playing in the morning mental music stream. I also enjoy the song’s musical intricacies, and the lyrics make me grin. Here’s my favorite part.
Lyrics
I’ve got a dance I ain’t got no steps, no I’m gonna let the music move me around I’ve got a dance I ain’t got no steps I’m gonna let the music move me around
Yes, just let the music move me around.
Now I got my coffee. I had a cup yesterday, first since my surgery, but today, I’m drinking it hot out of the pot.
Hope your day finds a groove that takes you to a place where peace and grace join you and makes your life a little better.
Ashland — February 15, 2026. A gray Sunday, fog covered dawn’s fingers. 50 F outside, rain and 55 are expected today. Snow is supposed to be coming this week — 20% chance.
My cold is worse, and I felt sicker yet when I read of Trump’s ‘Valentine Day’ letter to his supporters. Part of it read, “It’s Valentine’s Day! I love you, and I was pretty sure you loved me back! Is everything okay? Roses are red, violets are blue. Do you still love Trump, as I love you? Before you read my letter – do you still love me and our great movement?”
Trump makes it about himself first and foremost. Second — money.
Family drama ensued last night. Sis went down to pick up Mom’s dishes, tidy, see if Mom needed anything. Hearing Mom on the phone, she stopped and listened. Mom was telling tales on sis and sis’s husband. Then Mom said she was going to kill herself.
Sis intervened. Turned out Mom was talking to daughter number 1, down in Georgia. Sis set up a conference call with me and the other sisters to talk about what should be done. I recommended calling 911. They didn’t like that. Looking up information, I suggested they call Resolve, an Allegheny County function set up for situations like this. After more conversation, that’s what sis agreed to do.
Sis called and spoke with an intervention specialist who said they could send a team out. If they didn’t send a team, they recommended sis stay with Mom the night to keep tabs on her, which sis said that she couldn’t do.
Another sister, let’s call her #2, lives near Mom and sis. She called Mom. She texted us that Mom sounded loopy and claimed she’d taken pills, type and number unspecified. Sister #2 also said that Mom told her she’d left an envelope of money for her. Mom added, “My body would be there, but I won’t be.” Sis called 911.
At midnight Eastern time, sis told us the police and EMT arrived and took Mom to the hospital. Later, we heard the needed paperwork was signed and approved to begin the process of evaluating Mom. They’re looking for a geriatric bed in a psychiatric bed for further evaluation. Sis went into Mom’s room afterward and found a stash of used adult diapers stuffed between Mom’s pillows. That’s stunning — appalling. Mom was a clean freak. Those hidden dirty diapers are alien to everything Mom has ever been, ever done.
Now we’re trying to learn where things will go. Mom and sis agree, Mom is not returning to sis’s house. The family agrees that Mom, 90, hallucinating, a fall risk, should not be allowed to return home but the state and county might have the final word on that.
Today finds The Neurons playing “Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves” in my morning mental music stream. The 1985 hit song was written by Annie Lennox and Dave Stewart, and sung by Lennox and Aretha Franklin. The song’s presence has nothing to do with Mom’s current situation; I was just thinking of my sisters and the song began playing in my head.
Hope the day finds you healthy and happy, and that grace and peace drop by to alleviate your fears and anxieties.
Ashland, Oregon. Winter is crashing the party with a little chilly rain. Further south, snow is finding the mountains. Chin, maybe the snowbanks will rebuild for the summer.
It’s Saturday, February 14, 2026, and 50 degrees F, which is also today’s forecasted highs.
Mixed results happening today happening today in my personal life. All quiet on the Mom front. Recovery from my dental surgery goes well. Wife is over her cold.
I, however, have picked up her cold and it’s slammed me right in the sinuses and eyes. Both flow like broken water pipes. Tissues and hankies are rendered sopping pieces within minutes. Violent series of sneezes interrupt activities. Sleep was fleeting and light last night. Amazing how something as simple as a cold can feel so bad.
So, here’s the music. The Neurons insist “The Show Must Go On.” So, here’s that music, by Queen.
Screw the Neurons. I’m back to bed.
Hope this day finds you safe and healthy and keeps you so.
Here comes the fog, do do do do do. Yes, ’tis a foggy Frida, November 21, 2025. Temp is hanging on to 33 F but we expect a rise to 52 F. Then we’ll be smokin’ with gas. Or something.
Political and economic news just seems to get worse. Trump and his regime continue to amaze with how low into the muck they’ll lower themselves. Trump is setting another deadline for Putin and Russia. I believe Putin will skip by that. Tell me if you think otherwise. Far as I can see, Putin continually games Trump because Trump has weakened the United States and its military alliances by his dumbfuckery. Putin knows that. He’ll be all smiley and sweet to Trump’s face but knows that Trump is a bully and a coward and shies away from real confrontation. Yet, Dizzy Donny, in his altered world, considers himself, brave, strong, powerful, smart. So trumplusional. That’s a level of delusion when the truth can’t be acknowledged even when it slams into your face and breaks your nose and cheekbones.
Today’s music comes from Sublime. It seems fog related. That’s my guess. My evidence is that I was looking out the window and remarking to myself about how the fog reduces visibility to the point that it feels and looks like we’re on an island. At around that point, The Neurons turned “Badfish” on in the morning mental music stream, starting with the line, “Won’t somebody get me off of this reef?”
Grace and peace might be out there, hidden in the fog. Or not. Not out there, I mean. Hope they come soon. Meanwhile, yes, coffee. Strong, black, as pure as it can be made with modern processes. Say no more. Here we go, once more into the breach. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 