Earlier this year, the SCOTUS cut down the Chevron decision of 1984 while adjudicating Loper Bright Enterprises et al v. Raimondo, Secretary of Commerce, et al. In the Chevron decision, it was established that courts must defer to federal agencies when it comes to interpreting certain laws. The bent right-wing Roberts Court has now said, “Naw, uh.” The decision significantly changes how Federal regulatory agencies’ decisions are addressed in the judicial system and hamstring the ability to enforce Federal regulatory standards.
As if on cue,Iowa suffered heavy rains and flooding in the northwest corner. Agribusiness is huge there, and one area where Iowa has been pretty laconic is how animal manure is handled. Their solution was to put it in large ponds, creating a fecal soup. Guess what happens when floodwaters overtake fecal ponds? Yes, water drinking supply systems are contaminated.
The same sort of story was told in North Carolina a few years ago after a hurricane caused major flooding, so projections about what Iowa will experience, like skyrocketing e-coli levels, are known. Did Iowa learn from that? Hell, no.
So, to recap, in an age when regulatory enforcement is being blown up, an age where climate change is causing more extreme weather and droughts are endangering the nation’s water supply, the dangers and damages of such lax oversight is clearly demonstrated again and again. And yet, they won’t change, cause — money.
3/12/24. Tuesday. Clouds have swept in with their shadowy crays. Stealth rain falls, altering the day’s complexion. When Papi and I went outside eightish-AM, sun was shining on us and the air smelled fresh. We noted, oh, this is nice weather with a strong early spring flavor. Now, though the temperature has pushed itself to 45 F, just five degrees short of the projected high, we’ve gone from spring to sprinter again. The rain and snow help the earth recover locally but it doesn’t sufficiently offset years of drought. We’re still considered abnormally dry. Looking at my yard is depressing. So many of the plants were fiercely damaged during the hot drought years. We investigated zeroscaping during that period but with the heat and wildfire smoke, it didn’t work out, mainly because I wanted to DIM but didn’t wish to endure those conditions to do it.
I watched a video from Jimmy Kimmel’s show. They called the skit “Debate and Switch”. Essentially, agents from the show went into South Carolina and asked Trump supporters questions. What the voters didn’t seem to know is that they would ask about things Trump did but mis-attribute them to President Biden. After the person answered, the interviewer would correct the question and note that it was something that Trump, and not President Biden, said or did.
First, it was hugely remarkable that they didn’t know who said what. Did they really not know, or were they just going along with it? Trump supporters are often accused of living in a right wing bubble and being oblivious to what’s going on. I don’t know how accurate this video is, but it seems damning. Likewise, their unblinking pivots about the two candidates shows how little thought they seem to put into matter. Give it a watch.
I have My Chemical Romance performing “Helena” in the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks, swear to cat). The Neurons explained because I was thinking about politics. Somewhere in the thought process, “What’s the worse that could be said,” part of a larger scheme of thinking around, “What’s the worse which can happen?” This song has several references to the worst: the worst I could take, the worst I could say, the worst you could take.” That’s why Les Neurons slotted it in there, even though MCR’s song is about a grandmother’s passing and has nothing to do with politics.
Stay positive, be strong, and register and vote. Coffee is being guzzled, thanks. Here’s the music. Hey, the sun is out. Cheers
His royal floofness was not happy. “Meow,” he thundered quite harshly.
“What is it, my ginger liege?” I asked. Then I petted him and discovered the source of his displeasure. His floofship had been outside and guess what? Yesterday’s vigorous sunshine was replaced by a light but steady rain. No, my flooftator was not pleased with the circumstances, no, not at all. A towel was employed to dry the royal fur. Treats and catnip were administered as salve for his wounded soul.
At least it’s but 44 degrees F. No snow expected, just plentiful rain, about .19 inches, Alexa tells me, if she’s to be believed. High of 46, a drop of twenty from yesterday’s experience. Ah, weather. We can always count on you to change in Ashlandia. Probably having rain now because the sun popped up at 7:16 AM and saw its shadow. So claims Ashlandia lore. Frightened, the sun will hide from itself until it sneaks out of the valley. Weather gnomes say that’ll be 7:22 this evening.
Lovely day for reading, writing, maybe nibbling some food, perhaps napping, perhaps a walk. A day of shying away.
Well, with that, I have “Shy Away” by Twenty One Pilots, a bopping tune from 2021, stuck in the morning mental music stream, replacing the previous occupant, “It’s Raining Again” by Supertramp from 1982. We’re no longer in extreme drought in our county. The net verifies we’ve dropped to moderate drought, which is how 77% of Oregon is classified.
Onward, to things. Stay pos and be cool. I’m up for coffee. Need anything from the kitchen? Okay, here’s the music. Cheers
We’ve shifted back into standard Ashlandia winter mode. Dropping into the twenties at night, forties to fifties, all Fahrenheit, during the day.
It’s Friday. It’s Feb. 24, 2023. Sunshine broke in at 6:54 this morning, lighting up two fresh inches of snow. Was 29 F then. Now we’re up to 34 and the snow is melting. I saw the snow falling and accumulating as Papi made his usual declarations about being an outdoor animal and needing to leave the house, then changing his mind and demanding to come back in because he’s domesticated. The weather wizards inform us that we’ll see 46 F before the sun whisks away over the horizon at 5:55 PM.
Up north in Portland, friends share videos of heavier dumps, like ten inches. Meanwhile, a buddy down in Santa Cruz shows photos of several inches in his area. February is made for snow this year.
I had words in the head sometime in the last twenty-four heures that went, “Bring it on, here we are, win or lose.” I was contemplating the snow and drought and snowpack, and the associated variables that accumulate into our annual regional water concerns. Hearing my thoughts, The Neurons said, “Hey, we know that song,” and inundated my morning mental music stream with Float On by Modest Mouse from 2004. Jeremiah Green, the Modest drummer, passed away on the last day of 2022, cancer, 45 years old. I think of him because I enjoyed his drumming in this song. Reminders of our mortality are everywhere.
Stay positive. Carpes Friday. I’ll do the same after chugging some strong black roasted bean water. Here’s the tune. Cheers
Touching a sword to the day’s shoulder, I dubbed Saturday Lastallday. I’m alluding to the smoke. Fires are on three sides. Two in California and one, Rum Creek, in Oregon. The newest is Mill Fire by Weed down I-5. It’s like bonfires lit the night out there as a burnt wood smell permeates existence and ash collects on plants and cars. Depresses the bejeesus out of me, hence the name, Lastallday, as in, I hope this air doesn’t last all day.
Bad as we have it, far worse for the people enduring thesmoke and fire aspect of it. Evacuations are spreading, animals are fleeing, people are praying, and they’re losing homes and possessions. Another weary year of drought, fire, and smoke with reports coming in that it’s only going to get worse in the coming years.
Hi. Today is September 3, 2022. Sunrise lit our environment in red gold as Sol rays were given scarlet hues by smoke particles at 6:39 this morning. Not a cloud in the sky, we’re bathing in cool air, 17 C, which would be lovely if it wasn’t smoke laden. A high of 100 F is in the works before the night shift takes over at 7:42 PM.
My wife is bummed out. Lake of the Woods Resort isn’t far away. Each summer Saturday, they have a BBQ and then a southern Oregon band plays and everyone dances. We’d created a tradition of trekking up there a few times during summer to celebrate and have fun. Well, COVID holed the tradition for the last two years. This year, it just fell apart. Our June plans fell through, and now our Labor Day plans have gone kerplunk. She’s in a mood, which puts me in a mood. The blazing hot, smoky day does little to alleviate our outlooks. Hope it doesn’t last all day.
I really like that expression, ‘bummed out’. Certainly stocks my mind with interesting imagery.
I’m not much help for my wife. Focused on writing after denying myself the opportunity while other things were pursued at her behest. First, the push to stay in the military. Get that retirement. “You’ll write when you retire from the Air Force,” she told me. Then I retired in 1995 and wanted to move somewhere to make that plan so. “I have a career here,” she said, referring to her advertising employment in Silicon Valley, SF-San Jose California edition. “So I don’t want to move.” But also, I needed to work because that place is hella expensive. After a few years, her employment was over and I was embedded in corporate life, which lasted a few decades, because someone needed to bring in income. And here we are.
Yeah, I’m bitter. Sorry about the self-pity spiel. I’ll try not to do that again.
Checked on Mom. She and her partner are still recovering from COVID. Mom is on molnupiravir under an FDA EUA.
Catching note of my mood, The Neurons saw that I yearned for other times, for times in the near past when I could walk outside, breathe pleasant air and plan activities without worrying about wildfires, smoke, or COVID-19. The Neurons fished around those circulating thoughts and drew out Nirvana and “Come As You Are” from 1992. The Neurons argue that my thoughts reflect my mood of 1992, when the future looked so bright, I had to wear shades. Right.
Here’s the tune. Time to get some magic elixir in me, ye ol’ black brew, kaffee. Test negative, stay positive, and on and on and on. Cheers
Today began with a great force shifting the world as we hurtled through space. Then, like other days, another rotation was completed (although it was just a little slower than yesterday’s) and we moved a little further from the sun. All things are relative.
Today is the only ‘w’ day in the week, Wednesday, named for another god, Woden. It’s 47 in the valley. Bright sunshine strains the eyes and heats the skin. Sunrise came at a proper 6:45 AM, and our planet’s dynamics will move the sun out of our valley at 7:42 PM. In between, we’ll hit 76 degrees F, maybe higher. There are mixed feelings about that. The heat feels good, the sunshine is engaging and energizing, but we need water falling from the sky and filling the basins, lakes, rivers, ponds, creeks, streams, and cisterns.
For the record, this is April 6, 2022.
The only dream of note was about clawing out of something. It didn’t move the neurons toward any music. Instead, they’re channeling Hall & Oates and van Halen into the morning mental music stream. “She’s Gone” from 1974 is one of those break-up songs that torches the skin and screams through the bones in sympathy with what you’re going through. I was going through a lot when it came out, so it’s memorable to me.
But it’s not today’s song. That honor falls to “Young, Dumb and Broke” by Khalid (2017). As I was pursuing memories and thoughts that the neurons churned up this morning, I remembered when my wife and I were young and broke. The neurons, being the critters they are, immediately loaded “Young, Dumb and Broke”. It’s an entertaining song, though.
Stay positive, and so on. You know the pandemic mantra by now. I’m up for coffee; can I get you anything? No. Alright. Here’s the tune. Enjoy.
The sun strode into Tuesday at 6:47 AM with bright, bold steps that dazzled our retinas. Warmth is still trickling in, as we’re at 37 F right now, but hope to strike the fifties. A snowstorm hit the higher elevations during the last several days. You had to be at 5,000 feet to feel it, so we’re a few thousand feet too low. We hope it’ll add to the miserly snowpack, but dire predictions have already emerged for this year. Many meteorologists suggest it would take years of big storms to end the drought and replenish our lakes and cisterns.
The cost of water is skyrocketing. Looks like the city golf course can no longer afford water. Of larger concerns are the many small farms that dot our valley and provide us with local produce. The city and area are on top of this, building many more low-income units. These typically start in the 300K range and climb. Nothing stops the wealthy from buying them and renting them out, though. Some shout, “Low -income housing is what we need, look at the homeless here.” Don’t know where they think the homeless are going to acquire the money for a mortgage. Others say, we don’t need more housing, we don’t have the water. But the houses keep going up.
Today is April the fifth, 2022, a day pretty similar to many others. Sunset will be at 7:41 PM.
The neurons have been busy streaming several different songs in the morning mental music stream. They also added an old jingle: “To get right to the heart of the matter, where there’s smoke, where there’s smoke, where there’s smoke. Where there’s smoke, there’s danger of heart and lung disease.” I don’t know why the little monkeys played that for me.
Anyway, eventually they unearthed John Mellencamp’s 1983 song, “Little Pink Houses”, a song more in accordance with what was actually passing for thought in my head.
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask if you need to, get the vax as, when, if needed, etc. Stay informed and think critically. Here’s the music. I’m going to go caffeinate some neurons. See if that settles them down a little. Cheers
Sunday arrived like a Monday morning, on time and as expected. Cool and smoky.
Today is August 29, 2021. This is it. If you vowed to do things during August — clean cupboards, fly to the moon, bake a cake for a friend, write a novel — you better find the go button.
Sunrise settled its glowing blanket over our dried out brown and green valley at 6:33 AM. Sunset will be 7:49 PM. Our high temperature will be in the mid nineties.
We have a few warnings for you today for Jackson County, Oregon, including Ashland. Excessive heat warning, so don’t go outside. COVID-19 is still raging out here, climbing to levels that bring the national news services to the area to write stories about how bad it is in hospitals, so don’t go anywhere without your mask. Also, the air is rated unhealthy to extremely unhealthy so don’t go outside unless you must. Masking is suggested. Also, don’t exert yourself too much while you’re out there. A red flag warning has been issued for fires, so you know, be careful and don’t use power tools outside. Finally, there’s a drought still underway, so don’t waste water. Other than these stipulations and limitations, feel free to go nuts.
My mind started the morning with pieces of dreams. Most of them evaporated, leaving me to look at fragments and wonder what was going on there, sort of like we do when ancient ruins or old family photographs are found. Then, I thought about “Friends”. Have you heard about this? It was a television show about a gang of people – a brother and sister, and, well, their friends and room mates, and work and relationship entanglements presented in a humorous way. I believe it’s called a ‘sitcom’. On NBC in the states for a while. It’s also been on reruns sometimes after it went out of production. Anyway, I was thinking about the friends’ parents. Liked how the parents were written into their lives and relationships, and the actors who played the parents, but I was thinking mostly about Chandler’s father, played by Kathleen Turner.
Whew. Got that out of my system. I then checked out the landscape, thought about the situation, and concluded, Jesus, get me out of here. That prompted the Gospel song turned rock hit, “Jesus Is Just Alright” to kick off in the morning’s mental music stream. After re-acquainting myself with the DC Talk version and the Byrd’s version, I went back to the Doobie Brothers and pulled a recording of a live version off the net. The song doesn’t have many words. You can learn them quickly, I think. So feel free to sing along.
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as necessary, get the vax, and be careful out there. Here’s the music. You listen while I go get my starter fluid, aka, coffee. Also need to turn on the air purifier because it smells like smoke in here. Cheers
Good morning. Today is Tuesday, August 24, 2021. We’re into August’s last legs. September begins next week. Autum will take over in a few weeks. 2022 is hurtling toward us with comet speed.
Sunrise and sunset are 6:28 AM and 8:08 PM, respectively. Temps are lower. Just 60 F now. Expect mid-80s by the mid-afternoon.
We’re back to reality. Back home. In Ashland. Spent a week on the Oregon coast. Drove home yesterday. Coming south/east, smoke took over as the dominate feature, rendering trees and mountains into sketchy outlines, killing breathability, locking out blue sky and sunshine. Oregon, 2021: another year of smoke.
Yardwork needs tending. I’ll put on a mask and do it, though philosophical reservations pummel me. Is having a pretty yard really so critical when attaining it means risking your health. Hell, no, of course not. But, property values, the marketing forces reply. Image and impressions. Some suggest, hire someone. Sure, take advantage of another’s weak financial security and force them to sacrifice their health. Makes sense. Ah, but their choice, right? And they need the money. And there is capitalism’s doom loom in its essence.
The boys — Tucker, Boo, and Papi — are happy to have us back. Lot of love time spent with each yesterday. Heads were scratched. Purrs were issued. Comforting was done.
Had the Animals song, “It’s My Life”, in my mental music stream this morning. “Comedown” by Bush. Then Duran Duran replaced those with “Ordinary World”. Somehow, Lost Frequencies came through from 2015 with “Reality”. Just a matter of words with this light tune, really:
Decisions as I go to anywhere I flow Sometimes I believe, at times I’m rational I can fly high, I can go low Today I got a million, tomorrow I don’t know
Stop claiming what you own, don’t think about the show We’re all playing the same game, waiting on our loan We’re unknown and known, special and a clone Hate will make you cautious, love will make you glow
Make me feel the warmth, make me feel the cold It’s written in our stories, it’s written on the walls This is our call, we rise and we fall Dancing in the moonlight, don’t we have it all?
Yes, I’m all over the map this AM. Happy to be home. Sad to be away from the ocean. Relieved my fur friends and home are okay. Appalled by the state of the air, the extended drought, the multitude of wildfires. Depressed by the break in routine, the inability to saunter to a coffee shop to write (see Air Quality, COVID-19 restrictions), humble that I have a life where I can make such choices.
Reality can be great. It can also suck. At the same time.
Stay positive. Test negative. Wear a mask as needed. Get the vax. Have some coffee. Or tea. Wine. Whatever. Enjoy the music. Cheers
Happy Canada Day to my Canadian friends and the nation north of the U.S. I send them wishes for a joyous celebration and greater success and prosperity.
Today is July 1, 2021. A Thursday. Pale gold burnished the upper reaches of hills, trees, and mountains at 5:38 AM. It’ll fade away into night at 8:51 PM. Sunshine will deliver us to some mild heat — the low nineties — today. Smoke comes and goes to the valley from the Lava Fire by Weed, California. If you want to see the fire, head to Mount Ashland, just outside town, which offers a panoramic view of the smoke. Flames are visible at night.
The deepening drought delivered another depressing blow. Water limitations and drought meant the blueberries didn’t come in at our favorite u-pick-em site. We’d been doing this for over a decade. It’s one of our Ashland traditions. The blueberry owners are trying to keep the place alive and hope to see us all next year.
Also canceled for the second year is the July 4th Parade. COVID concerns, yes. Planning needed to start months ago and where we’d be now was too uncertain to plan. The fireworks are canceled. I’ve become ambivalent about fireworks. Loved ’em as a child. Now I understand what they do to the land and animals. Sadly, this year, the drought is too intense to risk fireworks. Locals are still reeling from Ashland’s near miss last September. Yeah, near miss, not quite. Two thousand homes were destroyed on the north edge of town. Talent and Phoenix were reduced to smoky piles of rock and wood in many areas, gutting the towns physically and emotionally. With those emotional scars still vivid, many are relieved that the fireworks won’t take place.
Without too much surprise, I bet, I introduce a song about summer, called “Summer”. By War, it was released in 1976. Some may claim that 1976 was a simpler time. It may’ve been for many. For others, it was a time like the rest, working to feed yourself, working to beat the heat, playing to relieve the stress, doing what you can as you face an uncertain future. Who sang, “The future’s uncertain and the end is always near”? That’s right, Jim and the lads, back in another century. I used to sing, “The future’s uncertain and the end is always clear.” Made me sense to me
Anyway, here’s “Summer”, a mellow reflection on the hot season. Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, and get the vax. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 