I was prescribed post-surgery meds and went to the drug store to pick them up.
Walking through the drugstore parking lot to buy them, I saw a small yellow car. Circling closer, I confirmed, 1964 Dodge Valiant, just like my stepfather drove. Might have been a different year but it was the same model and color.
I remembered him bringing it home although I don’t recall what he drove before that. I rarely rode in it. This was ‘his car’, something to commute to work and go off to bet. George was a gambler and went to the horse races five or six days a week, trying for a big score. He won big twice. Once was a $25,000 Daily Double payout, providing the down payment on a newly built brick ranch in Penn Hills.
Later, he won enough to buy a new 1976 Chevy Camaro. Like his Valiant, this was pale yellow, three-speed on the column and a black and white checked interior. Sis hated that car.
All of us disliked driving with George. Tending to drive about five miles an hour below the speed limit, he also liked to get into the faster lanes but not go faster. This terrified us as other drivers pulled up, slowed down and then sped past with blaring horns. Mom would often snap, “My God, get out of this lane.” George wouldn’t budge, though, sailing on without regard to others’ opinions.
The yellow Dodge in the drugstore parking lot had tiny tires and petite chrome bumpers, appearing small and fragile among the huge SUVs and a couple of ‘compact’ Toyotas and Hondas. All the modern vehicles were white, black, gray, or silver. Nowhere was another yellow car.
Seeing it still brought a smile as I walked on, reflecting, what a different world. And yet, back in the 1960s, that Valiant would have shown up as so much different than the preceding decades.
Who knows what our 2026 cars will look like compared to the cars of 2086.
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, Oregon – Monday, February 16, 2026. 41 F under a blend of blue skies and clouds. 54% percent chance of snow, with a a high of 48 and a low of 30. Showers are possible.
The Mom saga resumed. Despite Mom’s talk of suicide Saturday and her wild accusations, she’s being discharged today.
She has nowhere to go. Mom called sis to get a ride. Sis is adamant that Mom is not returning to her house. No one else can take her in. I’m amazed that the medical authorities so quickly decided that Mom is physically and mentally capable. I have a long list of reasons why I don’t think she is. I guess their requirements are different.
New update: My other sister called the hospital to confirm they were letting Mom out. The hospital ‘had their wires crossed’ and did not know about Mom’s suicide. A 302 process had been started but the hospital missed that part. The hearing was scheduled and has not been held.
I made a number of calls and spoke with people involved, and then passed that info back to my sisters, who were the 302 petitioners. They must talk to the hospital and stop them from discharging Mom.
It’s frustrating, trying to cut through the fog of information and bureaucracy, a situation compounded by distance.
Here’s a little Jimi Hendrix with “Manic Depression” to lift your spirits. Hope you all find some peace and grace today and that it keeps answering the call for you.
I arrived with another man — my boss — and parked in a parking garage. The car, like others there, was a mid-1960s vintage. Windows were left open so cars could stay cool, a precaution in those pre-AC days.
My boss and I were going to a conference together, meeting our team. When we went in, we learned that we would be learning about and practicing Statistical Process Control. I already knew SPC so I decided to duck out. Taking a long piece of brown cardboard from a window, I returned to my car, put the cardboard over the windshield, and napped.
Waking up later, I realized I’d overslept. Jumping out of the car, I literally ran into my boss. He said, “I’m off now, have a good weekend,” and trotted away.
Hot, I decided to strip off my clothes, leaving only my shoes on, and entered the classroom. Everyone else in there were women. They all noticed that I was naked but nobody said anything.
As I started walking through, a woman called me over to chat with me along with several other women. She was showing us her marvelous new material, which could be used on tables or floors. It seemed odd to me to be doing that then but I looked at her samples. All were bright and colorful, and very shiny, with pieces of different colored tiles embedded in them. As I looked, she asked me, “What would you choose for your floor, Michael?”
At that point, someone else called for my attention. I began walking away but called back, “My floor would be light gray but very shiny.”
Sitting down at a desk, I listened to our team lead, speaking at the front and realized they were finishing an exercise. Deciding that I wasn’t comfortable being naked, I went back to another part and discreetly put on a casual shirt and shorts. Then I went back.
The class was ending. I stepped outside into sunshine and wondered what I should do.
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.
Just in time to save my sanity, I clicked on Jill Dennison’s Saturday Afternoon ‘Toon Time! Quite a collection of humor, I encourage you to check them out. Meanwhile, here are my Saturday super-seven favorites.
Colder but dry, Friday the 13th stole into Ashland. Sunlight and warmth are now missing, shrouded by thin clouds.
It’s February 13, 2026, 48 F in Ashland, but that ‘feels like’ index probably shows a colder picture. Today’s high will be in the low 50s, still better than many areas.
Pivoting from weather to Mom, it pains me to report that Mom, 90 years old, texted me that sis is slapping her, shouting at her, being mean, etc. Mom also accuses her son-in-law of sneaking in at night to hide her remote control, lock the brakes on her wheelchair, and other cruel things.
None of it is true. Sis has sent me several recordings of her interactions with Mom. Mom insists her stories about the SIL of doing things to her is ‘absolutely true’, adding, “Why would I make it up?”
But Mom is staying up all night, sleeping all day, exhibiting classic sundowner syndrome, including confusion about what’s going on and the date. She texts other sisters in the middle of the night, asking them where they’re at, asking them to bring her things to eat and drink, when she has both available.
Sis is again angry and frustrated with Mom and wants Mom gone, based on what Mom is saying about sis’s husband. The managed decline in their relationship and Mom’s situation continues.
All that about Mom has The Neurons playing “Slip Slidin’ Away” by Paul Simon in the morning mental music stream. Lyrics like these make it feel like the song fits the day.
Lyrics
I know a woman Became a wife These are the very words she uses To describe her life She said a good day Ain’t got no rain She said a bad day’s when I lie in bed And think of things that might have been
I feel Mom is doing a lot of looking back, wondering what happened and pondering what’s going on.
I hope you all have a strong day of health and safety. Cheers
Wednesday, February 11, 2026, and it feels like spring is launching in Ashland. Let’s call it a false spring. 51 F with unchallenged blue skies and sunshine, 60 F is the expected high. Papi would be so happy, except a balmy breeze, which chases him back inside to nap his misery away.
I have dental surgery tomorrow, disrupting the normal flow, and spent time this morning responding to texts about Mom’s mental issues. Connecting dots, my thoughts turned toward an overheard conversation from yesterday.
Sitting in the coffee shop, typing and thinking, two women of about my age shared a table to my right. Music and conversations were cooking but now the room was empty. The two women’s conversation floated to me through the sudden quiet.
One chatted for a while about health concerns regarding her mother, daughter, and herself. The tone changed a little as the other one talked about her concerns over Trump’s policies, ICE, and the general news tone, which she referenced as ‘disturbing’.
The first woman agreed with her and they both addressed concerns about being tired and depressed. Then they touched hands and smiled, telling each other how much it meant to meet and have moments like this.
I studiously tried to stay out of their circle. But one glanced at me and smiled as they rose to leave. Smiling back, I said, “I hope you have a beautiful day.” Thanking me, she wished the same for me.
Their conversation resonated because it feels like an echo of my life, and other people I know. We’re all sailors trying to navigate change. Some of it is about aging, maturing, dying, not necessarily depressing but certainly generally somber matters. Norms for me and them are shifting, and so are expectations. Our emotions become compressed under the loads we carry.
With all that rolling through me, along with dreams, The Neurons’ morning mental music stream offering is Harry Styles singing, “As It Was”.
Chorus
In this world, it’s just us You know it’s not the same as it was In this world, it’s just us You know it’s not the same as it was As it was, as it was You know it’s not the same
That about sums up my reflections this morning: it’s not the same.
Hope peace and grace find and carry you forward into a better future.
39 degrees F outside. Blue sky is breaking through patchy fog. Unlike yesterday, we’re seeing sunshine. Yesterday saw rain all day, which is good for the earth and our cisterns and water supply but we still need snow. Today’s high will be 52 F.
Yesterday was Super Bowl LX. I watched a little over half, enjoying Bad Bunny’s Super Bowl halftime show. I understood less than a handful of words, but the vibes of community, life, joy, and love were fully understood and received. Reading today’s news, I understand that Donald Trump hated it.
Besides his negative comments on Bad Bunny, Trump also called skier Lindsey Vonn. Vonn, an Olympic gold medal winner and four-time world champion, broke her leg in Olympic games yesterday while representing the United States.
Going back to the Super Bowl, the other hype often comes from the expensive but interesting commercials seen during the game. I liked the commercial featuring NFL tight ends and an ad where the NFL extolled youth football coaches. Most of the rest strike me as ‘meh’. I actively disliked the Cadillac Formula 1 team ad, which employed President Kennedy’s speech about going to the moon. with the launch of their racing car. You know, good for Cadillac, but come on, it’s a race car in a well-established sport.
Looking out earlier, watching Papi find the sunshine and checking out the trees, The Neurons fed “The Trees” by Rush into the morning mental music stream. The lyrics tell about conflict between maple and oak trees. The maple trees want more sunlight, but the oak trees are too tall. It’s resolved by hatchet, axe, and saw.
Look at that; outside the window, the fog is back and the sunlight is tucked out of sight.
I’m trying to stay safe and sane, optimistic and realistic. Hope you can do the same.
My wife and I arrived at a resort hotel, meeting our friend, Bob and his wife. Real-life note: this is not the same Bob from my previous dreams, but a friend and co-worker from my military days. The wife in this dream wasn’t his real-life wife.
Bob, who was prematurely bald, had thick black in the dream. My wife and I had just arrived. Bob and his wife came by to greet us and make plans.
I noticed some filth on the ceiling. It disgusted me so I looked for something to clean it up. I found some spray and sprayed it all over but then needed a ladder and rag. A young hotel worker asked me what I was doing. I explained myself. He shook his head and reassured me, “Don’t worry about it, we have it covered. It’s not your problem.”
I went back into the room and noticed the spray had already made the ceiling mess almost invisible.
Bob and I ended up outside, where it was like a desert after a rainstorm. He was carrying a young animal he’d rescued. Noticing a young brown cougar down the hill, I followed behind Bob to protect him from the cougar and found a large stick to use as a weapon.
Waiting on a porch for Bob’s return, I saw the cougar watching me. As that registered, the cougar approached. Raising the stick, I yelled and made myself big.
Sitting down, the cougar asked, “What are you doing?”
“I’m making myself big and making noises to scare you away.”
The cougar chuckled. “Did you really think that was going to work?”
“That’s what they tell us to do.”
“Anyway, you’re safe for now,” the cougar said, “but you scheduled to die tomorrow, and I’ll eat you.”
I was appalled and vowed not to let that happen.
The cougar shrugged. “It’s going to happen. It’s on the schedule.” He indicated a bright pink and blue poster. I read the poster but saw nothing about my death on it.
Back in the hotel room, I showered and cleaned up. Bob came by to see if I was ready. I told him that I needed to shower. I took off my clothes and stepped into the shower and then realized, what am I doing? I already showered.
I was now naked downstairs and needed to up to my room. Entering the stairwell, I caught a reflection of myself and found I was astonishingly good-looking — much younger, lean and muscular, with a thick head of dark brown hair swept to one side. As I started up the steps, a young woman entered.
“Eek,” she said, pretending to turn away. Covering her face with a hand, she looked at me between her fingers. “A naked man.”
I laughed and apologized, continuing up the steps, and encountered another woman. “Locked out without your clothes?” she mused.
“Yes, that’s what happened.”
She chuckled. “We’ve all been there.”
Now dressed, I joined Bob and our wives in another area of the resort. I saw the brown cougar in the crowd, watching me. I realized that I’d forgotten something in the room and needed to go back. Bob drew up a complex map, showing me where we were and how to get back to my room, 1004, at the top of the building. Although his map was detailed, I felt bewildered and said, “I’ll never find my way back through that maze.”
Bob said, “Alright, let me go with you, at least part of the way, until you know where you’re at.”
Michael Seidel, writer 