Tuesday’s Theme Music
Today is August of 2021’s final day, the 31st, a Tuesday. Tuesday’s child – what are they, full of grace? Or maybe they’re lost, out in space.
Sun popped in on us at 6:34 AM. Expect it to hang around and bring moderate warmth — in the eighties — until about 7:47 PM.
A strong and sustained wind blew in from the west yesterday. Cleared the air. Improved our air quality all the way from an extremely unhealthy rating to a moderate. Woo hoo. This was an hour before sunset. Dinner had been et. So we went for a walk. My wife only wanted to go so far due to her RA foot issues but I pressed on. Ended up walking two and a half miles. Coming back, walking toward the east, a huge smoke bank was visible. Gray and blue highlighted with air. My guess is this was the smoke being blown out of our valley. Horrifying, fascinating sight. If the wind shifted to the other direction, that would all pour back in on us. Also, while we were free, how people in that area must be suffering. Wasn’t far: just the end of town. Less than a mile straight down 99. Also, what of all the places in California, Oregon, et al, still on fire. Places where homes, businesses, and forests were still burning down. Also, places where the animals fled, where people evacuated. Couldn’t help but contemplate how miserable, worried, and anxious all of them must be.
I had several crazy dreams last night. Reflecting upon them as breakfast was made and consume and coffee brewed, I thought of crazy songs. Like “Crazy” by Gnarls Barkley and friends. Patsy Cline. Ozzy with “Crazy Train”. “Let’s Go Crazy” — Prince. “Crazy in Love”. FYC with “She Drives Me Crazy”. But out of the shuffling came Aerosmith with “Crazy”. Crazy, isn’t it? I thought I’d go with it. Just felt right.
Stay positive, test negative, wear the mask as needed, and get the vax. Here’s the music and my coffee. Cheers
A Racing Dream
A group of us — all men of various ages, builds, condition, etc. — were gathered. A tense but excited current ran through us. We were being given an opportunity to race a Formula 1 car. These were not the current cars but vintage vehicles from the eighties. All of us could attempt to qualify but only twenty-three could race. My father was encouraging me to participate. I asked if he was, too, and he said, “No. Too old,” with a laugh.
I was in my early twenties and eager for the opportunity. An overcast sky murmured, it might rain, and a cool breeze kept us shivering. The track could barely be described as one. A run-down, overgrown place, we would-be racers walked about, attempting to clean off the track a bit, kicking off gravel, twigs, and leaves, removing old, rain-sodden black branches. Several drivers seemed much larger than me. Most were older. We chatted in knots as we impatiently awaited our chance. I was more knowledgeable about F1 than others there so I asked more questions and pondered things. One older, larger care took note and started asking me for advice to help him. Each time he asked a question, I asked, making a suggestion. When he thought the suggestion didn’t help, he wanted to take it out on me. I told him, “Look, I made the suggestions but you made the decisions. Own your decisions.” That seemed to take him back.
Meanwhile, I was becoming annoyed with the organizers. I understood that we were to be given cars randomly. Okay. Then we would practice, qualify, and if we were fast enough, we’d race. Okay. But the organizers were also issuing us old racing coveralls to wear, and helmets. Shouldn’t we have a chance to pick those out ahead of time and get used to them some? Why not? In my mind, the uniforms could be important because they could be too tight and hamper our movement, you know, like shifting gears and turning the steering wheel.
I was mentioning these things to other participants. None of them could answer it, of course, so I went in search of the organizers. The dream ended.
Wednesday’s Theme Music
I hear raining ratatattating on windows and roofs but it’s a sound held only in my mind. Dawn has broken. 6:29 AM. A slow ascent of mothy light. Shows the smoky particles off well. Gives the sun that fine burnished red tone as it streams past curling tree leaves, through windows.
Drum roll. Today is Wednesday, August 25, 2021. Sunset will be at 7:56 PM. Daylight’s shortening period is accelerating. Minutes are sliced away on either end.
Our air quality ranges around 123 in some parts of town, 250 in other sections. Varies with elements. Wildfires rage around us, miles away, pushing their presence through smoky sunrises and sunsets, terrible air quality. Encountered a woman the other day who’d fled, evacuated. Lost her house from a fire down in California. Only two houses remain in her neighborhood. Enduring the smoke doesn’t seem as bad after hearing that. Still sucks, though.
Dreams aplenty last night. Kept my mind buzzy. From one came a string of CCR songs. “Long As I Can See the Light” led the string. “Stuck in Lodi” followed. “Lookin’ out My Back Door” closed the set. Other songs mingled after I rose and tended the feline gods. Reading news, reflecting upon attitudes and politics, I end up with a 2005 Audioslave song, “Be Yourself” in mind. I enjoy how the song splinters responses to the same situation, shows how different people function (or fail) in parallel during life. One minute is one person’s happiest; it’s also another person’s worse. We’re all living in Schrodinger’s box. We are alive or dead, happy and sad, alert and inert by the second. At least that’s how it feels until I get some coffee in me. Lyrics sample:
Someone finds salvation in everyone, another only pain
Someone tries to hide himself, down inside himself he prays
Someone swears his true love until the end of time, another runs away
Separate or united, healthy or insane
h/t to good ol’ Genius.com
Had a little coffee. Need a lot more. Be posi. Test negy. Wear the masky as needed. Get the vaxy. Enjoy the tune. Be yourself is all that you can do.
Cheese. I mean, cheers
Back to Normal Dreams
Yes, dreams were no longer short, sharp, and clear last night. Nor were they elaborate productions. Last night’s dominant dream — the one most remembered — was about command posts were I’d worked. I was in the military, the U.S. Air Force, for over twenty years. Worked in command and control. Fighter aircraft, nukes, space operations, military airlift, air training, special ops. Permanent and temporary command posts were worked in Asia, the far east, United States, Europe, and Africa.
I visited several of them as a young man in last night’s dream. While visiting military sites, I was dressed in civvies. Often accompanied by people who worked for me in different places (including some people who have passed away), I went around to those command posts, remembering what they were, discovering what they now were, dream-wise. Don’t know what they’re really like. Haven’t been to a command post since I retired.
It seemed like the dream was hammering the point, hey, things have changed. Forget the past. Move forward. A sledge hammer was being used to slam down roofing nails. I said to my dream psyche, yes, I get it, which seemed to satisfy it. Then, in my dream, I went to bed, and to sleep, only to then wake up in real life, a trippy transition.
Friday’s Theme Music
“What a difference a day makes. Twenty-four little hours.”
It made a difference here. Blue skies. Unfiltered sunshine. Just a taste of smoke southern Oregon’s air. A tincture of dirty cloud on the western horizon. AQI is back down to 40 — the lower, the better — and in the green. Green is good. Most of Jackson County and southern Oregon remains yellow, with warnings to take precautions in effect. Our windows are open for now. A cool breeze bathes my back. Hopes this is a reflection that the fires are now out, or lined, contained, you know, no longer growing.
Today is Friday, August 6, 2021. Ashland’s temperature is expected to top out in the mid to upper eighties. Sunrise fell upon us at 6:09 AM. The Earth will turn us away from the sun at 8:24 PM.
Going with A-Ha and “Take On Me” from 1984 for my theme music. My wife and I were in a military cafeteria in Japan when we first saw the video for this song. It seemed interesting, different, attention-arresting. It’s in my head this morning due to dreams. Cogitating on their details, I said, “Aha.” And there’s the connection. It’s a little deeper in reality; the dreams were all superficially military oriented, hammering the point about change and the past.
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as necessary, and get the vaccine. Pleased to report that local pharmacies are suddenly swamped with people seeking one of the COVID-19 vaccines. Stories of people losing their lives or several loved ones from the virus because they were unsure about the vaccine have been circulating. They seem to be affecting people. Terrible reading about, example, a woman losing her husband, grandmother, mother, and husband’s father to COVID-19 because they wanted the vaccine to be more thoroughly tested first. Now she regrets their decision but she’s the only one who can get the vaccine. Too late for the rest.
Here’s the music. Cheers
Two Flash Dream Snippets
First dream: my wife and I are walking through a store. We come across a man. Bald. Sitting. Glasses. Middle-aged. White. Wearing a blue store vest. In front of him is a conveyor belt.
We stop in puzzlement. What’s this? Oh, it’s the bottle recycling site. As we realize it — talking aloud between ourselves — the man confirms that this is what we’ve stumbled across.
“I don’t have any bottles to recycle right now,” he says. “It’s really slow. Go get your bottles.”
My wife and I discuss. Should we get our bottles? The dream ends.
It’s a reflection of life and first world problems. The bottle recycling landscape has changed. We’ve gone five times to recycle our bottles over the past several months. The lines are longer each time. We arrived just after it opened one time, thinking, hey, we’ll beat the crowd. There wasn’t even parking space. Our bottles — these are the ones for which we paid a deposit — are piling up. People go around collecting them. I say, put them out for them, hon. Hon says, no. She’s tight-fisted; she paid for those bottles. The bottle battle goes on.
Next dream.
I’d finished a manuscript and was looking for a place to type so I could begin the next one. Some unknown person read the ms and said, “This is brilliant.” They asked questions to confirm I was the author.
I answered all of that. Then I said, “I have a million of them,” and continued searching for a place to work. I didn’t have a laptop. People offered me places where there were computers. I tried three different locations. I would start typing but encountered vexing interruptions at each one.
The three people who’d offered me writing sanctuary met with me at an intersection on a flight of stairs. They pressed me to use the facilities they’d offered. I turned them down. I had my laptop now. I said, “I have to go off and do this on my own. But thanks for the offers.”
Then I went off to write.
Dream end.
Another Flash Dream
Recent dreams — or memories of them (probably more likely) — have taken on a flash story aspect. They’re short. Concise.
I dreamed of football again. American football, playing it. My team was a ragtag group of friend. Male and female. We had no uniforms. The rules were a little weirder, too. Our playing field was a funnel about ten feet wide.
The dream initiated me to the middle of the action. I’d been put into the lineup. Others doubted me and my role. Why me and not others? I heard their doubt. Shared it myself. I resolved to impress everyone. Show them wrong.
My team was down. Time was running out. Rain was falling. Desperation hung over us. We needed a first down. The ball was thrown to me. I caught it and ran down the field. Got almost to the goal line before I was brought down. Everyone responded, “That was Seidel?” Yes, it was me.
We huddled. I put forward an idea for one of the women to carry the ball. The rest of us would block. Straightforward power run. That idea was rejected. Something else installed. The results was a shambles. I made my pitch again. I was more forceful. This time, others agreed.
We ran the play. She was not going to score. I ran back and pushed her forward, gathering others to help me. We scored as time expired.
Did we win? We thoughts so. The larger question was, were we advancing to the playoffs? Other games remained in progress. Rain fell harder. We stood as a team, awaiting word. We were told, our record was either oh and three — no wins and three losses — or three and three — or six and three. We didn’t understand. It depended on others, we were told. Wait.
Dream end.
Travails
Well, haven’t been writing. Not on paper. Or computer. Have been writing in my head.
My wife wanted (needed, she claims) a vacation. COVID-19, you know. Sheltering with me, you know. And the cats. She thought she was going a little crazy.
Her sister called. Hey, she and her boyfriend were coming west. His children (and his children’s children) live on the west coast. He hadn’t seen them for almost two years except on Zoom. So. Would we like to meet up in Seattle? The boyfriend’s son lives in Kent and the boyfriend lived in Seattle for years before retiring from Boeing. He can show us around.
Difficult for me. And yes, selfishly, I was thinking of me. I’m already a frustrated writer. Now I was being asked to travel and surrender more time. More energy. I’m quite jealous of my writing time, by choice. See, I wanted to pursue writing for a looonng time. But I was in the military. Traveling, writing on the side. My wife wanted me to stay in, get my pension. Smart financially. Good security. So I sucked it up and stayed in.
I was 39 when I retired from the military. The plan was that we would now move to somewhere where we could survive on my pension and write. But, she then got a job in advertising that she liked. Could we please stay there, in the SF Bay Area?
I was employed by startups, then was acquired by corporations. Made very good money along the way doing jobs that weren’t too hard. It all meant deferring my writing dream. I ended up staying with IBM for fifteen years after they acquired one of the companies I was at. Yes, good money but soul-sucking employment. No fun for me, for the most part. Some challenges but mostly tedium.
So, this is my state of mind. I am now sixty-five. I’ve been writing and reading, improving my writing and story-telling skills (or hope so, you know?), trying to get to know my muses and discover my voice. It’s a challenge. I love that challenge. COVID-19 was a serious interruption. Just as I felt that I was finally making substantial strides forward.
Writing the current novel-in-progress took me through the end of 2020 and into the start of 2021. I then discovered that I was trying to tell the story in the wrong way. So, recalibrated. Took all that previously written stuff as background work. And kept going, now on the right path.
It’s exciting. Then, vacation. Preparation for vacation. I’m not social. The vacation meant committing to being social. Delaying my writing efforts for another week. But what’s another week, right? Sure. Rationally, I reply, it’s just seven days or so. With writer’s angst, I tell you, it’s a painful and frustrating interruption. An unwanted interruption. The conversation with the muses was going well. I was having a good time. Who likes to stop a good time?
But I try to be a good husband and some kind of contributing member of society. So, the time was taken. The vacation done. Good for me? Sure. Aren’t I nice? You betcha.
Back in the writing seat today. Picking up those story strings that emerged as I was on a ship in Seattle, walking a street, driving the Interstate, observing a person, sipping coffee, gazing at a street scene, etc. You never know when they’ll come.
Got my coffee. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.
Again.
Michael Seidel, writer 