In the first, I was editing/revising my manuscript, Unfocused. I awoke confused whether I’d been awake or asleep. Falling back asleep, I experienced the novel as a movie.
Another microdream slipped in. I reached for a green glass tumbler which had water in it. When I tasted it, it was coffee, but it stayed clear.
A man asked me to marry him. Then I thought it was me asking him. Then I thought, I’m both men.
Then I ate a chocolate chip muffin from a tray. Finishing it, I wanted more.
I was packing all my personal goods up. Part of that was a lot of money, which I and arranged in boxes, cases, bags, and scheduled it to be picked up and taken east.
That done, I sought transportation for myself. I found a bus and bought tickets. Inside were blue seats. I found an open seat and sat. The bus’s seating reminded me more of a widebody jet, except, I saw, it was arranged in a star pattern. Either way, I thought it unusual for a bus and too big.
A crotchety woman was managing the passengers. She announced our itinerary. We were in Maine, heading for New York!
That was wrong! I was supposed to be on the west coast, going east. That’s where I packed my stuff.
Now I worried about my stuff. Had I sent it in the wrong direction?
Then I worried about all that money I’d packed away, fretting that somebody might steal it. I shouldn’t have left it like that, and I should have brought more with me.
A young dark-haired woman in red clothing was in the seat next to me. I recognized her but she apparently didn’t remember me. I played a sly little game, ‘guessing’ things about her because I knew her. She was amazed by how I correctly guessed.
They announced we were in New York and would have a rest stop. The crotchety woman came around serving us slices of pie. I took two pieces and passed them on to other passengers, then ate the third piece. It seemed like some kind of runny custard pie. I didn’t care much for the filling so I only ate the crust.
We arrived at our destination. I don’t know where it was but began looking for my stuff, anxious about how much of it I’d find there. Several of my bags were discovered. Inside them were bundles of cash. I gave some to another traveler because they needed help.
The dream ended as I was walking toward a building, finding and picking up more of my bags.
I was at a very crowded camp. We were outside. Lot of activity going on, including food and drink being served, and eating. I was not alone but with a group of friends and casual acquaintances, but it seemed to change throughout the dream.
Two parts retain clarity. One, I was drinking red wine in goblets. Almost everyone was, so it was challenging to track what drink belonged to who. Two, a group of Black friends were talking about movies and books. I’d not heard of either one.
One showed me a book. It was thin children’s book. I think it was called Riverrun City. When he showed me the cover, it showed brown cartoon bears moving across it. I thought I’d heard of the book but admitted I’d not read it. I made promises to try to do so as they encouraged me.
I went back to get my glass of wine but couldn’t find it. I recalled that I’d just filled it and set it aside – out of the way – so nobody else would pick it up by accident. It wasn’t where I remembered I put it and thought, I either mis-remembered, or someone moved it.
I spotted another glass at a different location. It could be mine, but I wasn’t sure. I walked around looking but also understood, how the hell am I supposed to know what glass is ‘mine’? They all looked alike.
I went back to that one which ‘might’ be mine. There seemed to be brown fibers floating in it. I tasted it; it tasted like tobacco juice.
As they used to sing on a children’s television program, “One of these things is not like the other.”
It ought to get very interesting. My wife and I put $30 worth of gas in our ‘compact’ Mazda CX-5 SUV yesterday: 7.44 gallons at $4.569 per gallon. This was at Costco, which has the lowest prices around here. We laughed till we cried, remembering how we used to almost fill our tank each week for the price of one gallon now.
A Dodge RAM 1500 and a Ford F150 pickup trucks were filling up. Those trucks have big tanks, take a lot of fuel, and get poor gas mileage. Know who drive pickup trucks? Trump supporters.
Of course, Trump voters have a history of voting against the truth. They voted against Harris because Trump said Harris would take them to war. Trump said he wouldn’t start any wars.
We’re winding through winter’s last days toward spring in Ashland. History provides us reminders that Ashland often experiences late winter to mid-spring snowstorms. I’d like more snow in the area, especially in the Cascades where our snowbank resides.
Today, it’s overcast with uncertain, flexing sunshine. 48 F, it feels neither warm nor cold, and our high is arcing toward just 50.
My phone has developed problems with receiving text messages all of a sudden. I’ve added fixing that to my todo list. I did get some updates from my siblings about Mom before the system went tango unform on me.
Mom is reverting to the behavior displayed in January. I drift toward remembering who she was and the complex relationships my sisters and I have with her. I contrast what’s she’s enduring with who she was, what and who she was trying to be, and where she arrived as a person. Much of it now is beyond her control. Doesn’t stop my sisters from getting angry about it. But we saw this pattern emerging. There was little we could do, which we learned with time, because we tried to do things to change the course.
I smile at some things, like her potato salad. My wife insists nobody makes potato salad like Mom. My wife tried but when she asked for a recipe, Mom was more about the ingredients and less about the measurements. One thing I learned from helping her make it sometimes was that Mom depended on tasting it and how it looked — color, texture. That’s hard to translate through recipes.
I was just settling into checking on prices, the war that Republicans don’t want to call a war, and other matters when breaking news arrived.
I think at first, “about time”. Her arrogance and attitude doesn’t fit with what I look for in public servants. I temper that, though, with the understanding that she was carrying out Trump and Miller’s policies, and generally working as a functionary for Project 2025. It’ll be interesting to see how much this change will actually manifest as change.
On the heels of that thinking, I scoff, but of course Trump has replaced Noem. She’s become a lightning rod for negative impressions about Trump. With his popularity falling, he made her his scapegoat.
Today’s music is “Wild Horses” by the Rolling Stones. When The Neurons first settled it into my morning mental music stream, I sang it as “Wild Kitties” for Papi’s entertainment. He did not seem entertained.
I’m not sure why the song is playing in me. I can see how its themes and melody is about yearning for another time, for a different outcome, even for hope. I suppose that’s where I reside now — wishing for other things than what now exists. It also came out in 1971, when I was fifteen, so I suppose remembering the song stirs some nostalgia for being back there — young, with Mom, facing a bright future.
I’ll close with best wishes for you and us to stay safe, be healthy and find new ways toward a peaceful, prosperous, and inclusive future.
I was going through the frozen food section, toying with the idea of buying ice cream. This was definitely an impulse thing. Although several interesting flavors called me, I wasn’t sure I was going to buy any.
A couple shopping behind me had some frozen object in hand. He said, “This says it’s three and a half servings.”
“Three and a half!” The woman laughed. “No way. I’ll just eat that myself.”
She tossed the item into their cart and they moved on.
This was after he campaigned and promised no more wars.
Voters said they supported Trump because he tells it like it is.
Like that time while campaigning in 2016 when Trump claimed he was against Gulf War II. Trump said, “I’m the only one on this stage that said: ‘Do not go into Iraq. Do not attack Iraq.’ Nobody else on this stage said that. And I said it loud and strong.”
Facts don’t support Trump’s assertion. No evidence exists that he was against that war until 2004. Trump never let facts deter him.
But follow this cause-and-effect logic. The war will cause prices to increase. Within hours of the Iran War’s beginning, shipping traffic through the Strait of Hormuz dropped. Oil prices went up.
Trump and his backers think the bombing of Iran will make the world safer, just as they said when Bush invaded Iraq and Afghanistan — the war which Trump said he was against.
Many, including Pete Hegseth, Trump’s Secretary of Defense, are saying that this war is not like the war in Iraq or Afghanistan. They think it will last weeks, not years.
Sure. That’s exactly what the Bush administration said in 2002.
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.
Sunlight streams in through the open blinds. Winter snow melts away as light clouds cruise through a blue field.
My wife sits up. “This would be a good day for our roasted veggie soup.”
The roasted vegetable soup is all about potatoes, carrots, broccoli, and garlic. After quartering, cubing, slicing, the veggies are rubbed with salt, pepper, olive oil, and turmeric roasted at 425 degrees. Rubbed with oil and housed in foil, the garlic is roasted with them.
When the vegetables are done roasting thirty-five minutes later, the garlic cloves are released and added to the vegetables. They all go into a big pot. Two quarts of mushroom broth is added. Boil, then simmer or thirty minutes.
As they boil, biscuits are rolled out and baked.
Such wonderful smells flavor the air. This is when our house is at its best as a home.
My surgery has been over for hours. After catching up on sleep, I’m ravenous because I haven’t had food since ten last night. With a diet limited to cold soft foods, I’m eating sorbet and thinking about what I can eat.
My wife begins reading an article aloud. “Women are having problems creating intimate relationships with men because of men’s addiction to porn.” One part is about a woman asking men if they watch porn. They deny it until she shares what kind of porn she likes.
The story swerves into men spending hours in the bathroom. The writer mocks the idea that they’re having long bowel movements and mentions they probably wouldn’t be in there that long without their phones.
“They’re watching porn on their phones?” I ask.
My wife nods.
“I don’t get that. What in the world would you be able to see on that little screen?”
“I know.” My wife points at our television. “We have that big screen. I watch carefully and feel like I still miss a lot.”
“Yes, and people watch sports on their phones, too. I don’t get that. During football games, they’re always blowing up scenes to show, is the knee down? Was his toe out of bounds?”
“How do people see these things on phone screen?” my wife responds.
“Exactly.”
My wife puts her feet up and closes her eyes. It’s been a long day for her. She had to go in with me and stay for the entire surgery, then drive me home.
I finish my sorbet and wonder what to eat next that’s cold and soft and fantasize about a hot bowl of chile.
Michael Seidel, writer 