Stepping into the coffee shop, I immediately scan for a table and chair to sit and write.
It’s late morning and busy. Aha, though — two tables are there for —
“Hey, Michael.”
I’m being accosted from across the room. The speaker is a barista. Having shouted out my name, they’ve busy multi-tasking.
Spotting Kat first, I begin, “Hey, Ka — “
I see Natalie.
I don’t know which called out.
So I finish, “Talie.”
Chuckling to myself about this, I dumped my gear at a table and head to the counter. Kat is manning the register and Natalie is busy preparing my coffee. I hear Natalie say, “Curling,” before she turns away.
Kat asks, “Let me ask you, Michael. Are you watching the Olympics?”
“Only the curling,” I reply.
Natalie roars with laughter as Kat’s mouth drops open.
“No way,” Kat finally says.
“Yes, way,” I answer. “By the way. When I came in, I heard one of you say hello to me. I didn’t know who it was, so I called you Katalie.”
The two bend over with laughter. “We ARE Katalie,” Kat shouts. Whipping toward each other, she and Natalie exchange high fives.
I pay and take my coffee. The writing day has an auspicious beginning.
I watch Papi cat trotting over the lawn, skinnying between raindrops. I say something about the weather at the door. He snaps a meow back, letting his tail and whiskers talk about his disapproval.
45 F, sunshine doesn’t have a chance against this rain and fog, so 48 is the expected high. Settling into his favorite chair, Papi has assumed the napping position. I think it’s worthy of emulation.
But a brunch engagement with a dozen friends at a farmhouse is in our near future, followed by attendance at “Spotlight on Aretha Franklin” at the Camelot Theater. We joked about going to see the documentary, “Melania”, which ended in derisive laughter.
I expect political conversations during brunch. All leaned decisively Democrat and progressive and disapprove of ICE, Trump, and Project 2025. I’m sure ICE at the Super Bowl, to be played today down in Santa Clara, California, will be among our topics.
Anyway, I’m rushing this morning, having just helped with the preparing of a cheese and fruit tray that we’re contributing to brunch, so my comments are short.
A song, “Golden”, has trapped The Neurons, and they’re feeding it into my morning mental music stream. “Golden”, a K-pop hit featured in an animated movie about demon hunters, has been in heavy circulation in a few radio stations. Suddenly The Neurons are very aware of it and keep it alive in my head. So, help, I must share it with others to free myself. Enjoy this video of EJAE, Audrey Nuna and Rei Ami — Huntrix — performing “Golden”.
I hope you’re safe, warm, and healthy, and stay so, maybe with a visit from peace and grace to boost your spirits.
Pennies and nickels
Money we hold
Kept in jars
Doesn’t fold
Saved for
Rainy days
Other times
Dust collecting
As we add dimes
Quarters are coveted
Wash and wax
Till someone else
Counts the cash
“Going By”
Shadows dance
On mind walls
Coming alive
Hearing old songs
Whispering
Remember
When you see a smile
Ordering
Forget
When you freeze
For a while
Always there
Awakened
And dead
The people
You’ve met
The person
You’ve been
“Orientation”
Just like that
There I am
Slipping along
A spectrum
I don’t understand
Looking for footing
As I
Slide along
Grasping for pieces
Hoping to right
Wrongs
Smiling
Like everything’s ‘okay’
Looking for spaces
In places
Where I sit
Struggling
With something
To say
“Dwelling”
It’s just a moment
To explore the day
Lost in thought
Feeling old
Maybe gray
Hunting for a mood
That’s muddied
And sullen
Hoping answers
Might come
From sources
Hidden
I’ll sit a while
In this well of mine
Doing my business
Thinking
About time
“Reconsidering”
Framing comes
With a frozen
Snap
I blink again
Wondering
Where I’m at
How much time
Has passed me by
As I sit
Reflecting
Wondering why
Maybe it’s time to stand
And stretch
Get on with life
And off the bench
Thursday, January 29, 2026, arrived in Ashland, bleakly overcast, 46 degrees. A high of 55 F is forecasted for us.
“Looks like rain,” my wife said. I nodded, agreeing. Papi meowed for food.
We need snow but it’s been a while since we’ve had serious precipitation in Ashland, invoking drought memories. With drought comes more wildfires, stirring recall of the 2020 Almeda fire, which destroyed several neighborhoods, almost wiping out entire towns. Rebuilding continues more than five years later.
It feels like it echoes Yogi Berra’s observation, “It’s deja vu all over again.”
I met with friends for beers and chats last night. As we discussed ICE in Minnesota and the killings of Alex Pretti and Renee Good, two members reminded us of another ICE killing. Keith Porter was killed on December 31st in Los Angeles. He had a rifle and was shooting it into the air to celebrate the New Year. Not illegal, but an off-duty ICE agent shot and killed Keith Porter for it.
Three dead, all from innocuous actions. ICE’s record for killing U.S. citizens while aggressively hunting ‘illegal immigrants’ darkly disturbs me.
I hope there will be justice for Keith Porter, Renee Good, and Alex Pretti. I’m not sure if that’s possible in the U.S. with Trump in charge. Trump suggested that Renee Good was a terrorist who deserved to die, an allegation given without evidence.
More depressing, those three deaths are just the headline news. Other reports have ICE is responsible for the deaths of eight people in 2026. It’s not even the end of January yet.
Some glimmer of optimism was found on Daily Kos. Mark Sumner summarized how Jonathan Ross, the ICE agent who killed Renee Good, might be prosecuted, citing previous legal rulings and the courses which might be followed. I read it and took deep breaths.
I’m not overly hopeful but there is a glimmer. Part of my negativity stems from several simple facts in the cases and rulings Sumner cited: law enforcement killing citizens is more deja vu all over again.
Trying to break out of the cloud of general malaise now falling on me, The Neurons have a Cake song organized in the morning mental music stream. My friend and I were chatting last night, and I was telling him about this song, “Short Skirt Long Jacket”. He wasn’t familiar with it, though I sang it to him and everything. Should have just pulled out my phone, right? I realized that an hour too late.
Anyway, the bouncy song is now rooted in me, so let’s play it, sing along, and maybe smile a bit.
May peace and grace find us and save us from this cycle of ICE killing, and may justice be served. Cheers
Much of North America appears to be trapped in snow and ice. Ashland is dry and 45 F under a blue and white sky with a potential high of 55 F. It’s Wednesday, January 28, 2026. I keep hoping for some snow in the Cascade to build up the snowbank needed to carry us through summer and fall.
Several friends and family members are trapped in Winter Storm Fern’s aftermath. Meteorological forces have the cold air locked into place, so snow and ice will likely hang around for several long days. Power outages remain in eastern Texas, spreading east across several southern states, up into Tennessee. The death toll is 50 to 58 at this point. FEMA updates show that some hybrid hotshot crews are being deployed to help clear debris and set up generators where they can. Early days, yet.
Meanwhile, Donald Trump seems trapped himself. He’s put at statements that he’s trying to de-escalate confrontations and violence between ICE and the citizens of Minnesota. But Trump made comments that do the opposite on Truth Social.
Meanwhile, an ICE agent attempted to enter the Ecuadorian consulate in Minneapolis. DHS denies this, but video evidence exists, contravening — again — DHS claims about what’s going on.
The Neurons chose the Allman Brothers Band’s cover of “Soulshine” for a residency in my morning mental music stream. It’s because, for me, things seem calmer and cooler than in previous days of 2026. I wait to see whether this is a false dawn or a signal of true change.
“Soulshine” by Warren Hayes works because of its message that it can get better.
I grew up thinking that I had it made Gonna make it on my own Life can take the strongest man Make him feel so alone Now sometimes I feel a cold wind Blowing through my aching bones I think back to what my daddy said He said, “Boy, there is darkness before the dawn”
I hope it becomes better for all of us, whether we’re in the United States as citizens, or people in other nations. The color, gender, political affiliation doesn’t matter in my thoughts. We need to work together to help one another remains my bottom line.
Best of luck today and every day. May peace and grace find, guide, and hold you. Cheers
I was in the coffee house, deep into writing, when a casual coffee shop acquaintance stopped and said hello. Now a choir direction, he’d spent most of his life as a master mechanic. Cars somehow became the topic.
I mentioned that I was a sporting car kind of person. Car ownership was about BMWs, a Porsche, Mazda RX-7, along with a Camaro and a Firebird.
His response pivoted me to remembering Dad’s cars. Dad mostly drove Corvettes, Mustangs, and Thunderbirds. Aging, he also began driving a pickup, and then a Cadillac. Both were so unlike him.
That’s just like me. Those car choices were ‘needs must’ decisions, exactly why I now drive a compact SUV.
After finishing the conversation, though, I realized that this was the first time since Dad died on the last day of 2025 that I remembered him without grief. Instead, there was fondness and a reflective smile.
I was setting out on a trip with three friends. Only one — Ron, an older man — translates to a current real-life person. Ron was just as he is in real life. The others, also males, were known.
One interesting note that emerged and wove throughout were two others, both female. They sometimes joined the journey, and Ron and I discussed whether they would be with us. The two women, both brunettes, one in a red top with black pants and the other wearing a bright blue top, would only appear and not speak directly to me.
We were riding in Ron’s truck. This was beige and big, with a four-door cab and a luxurious tan leather interior. Though Ron was driving, he was in the backseat. I was alongside him. He’d put the car on autopilot, so it was essentially driving itself with him just monitoring what was going on.
I kicked back beside him on the back seat. Stretching my legs out, my foot ended up hitting the steering wheel. That put us off course. Because of the way I was reclined, it took several seconds of jostling to get my foot out of the way. During that time, we went off the road and onto the shoulder but didn’t slow. Ron finally steered us back on course and returned the truck to autopilot, but now he was worried and concerned the police would pull us over.
We arrived at our destination — a huge furniture store. I’d never been to it. The floor was hard dirt. All furniture was antique white. Despite the floor and the limited offering, the store was very busy. The women showed up briefly. The others spoke with them while I went out to another section of store.
The next store section was filled with tables and chrome appliances. The appliances turned out to be food and drink dispensers. Needing to use a restaurant, I did some bowel business but discovered the toilet didn’t have any way to flush. Removing my fecal material with a wad of paper towels, I looked for a way to dispose of it. I found one but they wanted me to pay money to flush it away. I refused, angry and disgusted that they’d monetized flushing away our body functions. I instead found a small white bag, put the materials in there, and set it on a table, telling myself, it would be someone else’s problem.
I then reconnected with my friends. I told Ron that when we went back, I wanted to sit in the front and stretch out and sleep. He looked at me with confusion but didn’t reply. The two women came by. One said she had to go off and find her children.
My friends and I went to another section. People there were seated, waiting to pay for their selections. I stopped before one man and did a giddy tap dance. The man, overweight and big with swarthy skin and a white cowboy hat, ordered, “Stop that.” Laughing, I kept dancing but moved to another section. Another man who I didn’t see said, “Stop that,” but I laughed and danced away.
My friends met up with me again. All were surprised that I was tap dancing and thought it strange. They wondered how I learned it. I replied, “I’ve always known how to tap dance. Nobody ever needed to teach me. I just knew. I just don’t do it much.”
Twozda in Ashlandia finds us cold. Blue sky is in firm command. Sunlight washes over the valley.
It feels like something is broken or disconnected in the weather systems. The temperature is unfolding from 30 F. Alexa and online sources say we’ll get to 61 F today. I don’t know that they can be trusted. My systems and three other local systems all noted 29 to 31 degrees F temperature. At the same time, Alexa and online sites claimed our temperature was 40 F.
This is the same thing we went through several weeks ago; what we observed and felt locally is not what the national systems reported. Back in those weeks, we were steeped in cold fog while the national systems were trying to tell us it was sunny with some clouds. You can see why I’m not sure if we’ll get a high of 61 degrees.
No news has come from the Mom or Dad fronts. I had a long conversation with Dad’s wife yesterday. She related that after the fact, they conjecture Dad may have had a stroke, a-fib, or both. He had no idea how he ended up on the floor. Dad is doing very little talking or eating since that day. Only soft foods are permitted, such as eggs, apple sauce, and oatmeal. Swallowing those challenges him.
His wife says that he responds to voices. Though his eyes are closed, he’ll turn his head toward the speaker. She’s not sure if he recognizes her voice.
She also related that a few days before his fall, she discovered Dad had plotted to move away. He told her that he’d been on the phone with his other son and resolved the transportation issues and had identified all of his needs.
His son confirmed, yes, he and Dad were speaking about this almost every day. My brother was just going along with it to humor Dad; he certainly wasn’t going to help Dad move away. His part was just to indulge Dad because Dad was energetic and into the planning.
The revelations made me smile. I recognized Dad in that. He likes being in charge, making decisions, leading the way. He does not like having others take care of him. Making those plans were his way to stop from being a burden and getting back to being in charge.
Today’s theme music comes from a mental melange. Dreams, thinking, and headlines are all poured into this. Part of that thinking comes from Dad’s predicament.
Overviewing what was going on in my head, The Neurons placed “Wake Up Everybody” by Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes in the morning mental music stream. It’s a song I probably haven’t heard in years. It’s also possible I subconsciously heard it going on in the background somewhere.
I first learned of this song from my Black friends and co-workers. It wasn’t featured on the radio stations that I normally had on. Released in 1975, when I was a young airman in the U.S.A.F., I thought Teddy Pendergrass’s vocals put beautiful and heartfelt power to the words.
The opening lyrics were what I heard today but there was a little verse which I think about as I considered the world’s news and politics. Here they are.
Lyrics (h/t to AZLyrics.com)
Wake up, everybody, no more sleeping in bed No more backward thinking, time for thinking ahead The world has changed so very much from what it used to be There’s so much hatred, war, and poverty, whoa, oh
The world won’t get no better If we just let it be The world won’t get no better We gotta change it, yeah, just you and me
It’s quite the song of hope. It seems like we had more songs like this back in the last century. Moreover, we seemed to be moving toward them. No, it wasn’t straightforward, level progress but it did seem measurable. This century feels and appears very different to me.
Coffee has been served. My hope continues that peace and grace come by to give us all a lift. I know I would appreciate it.
I was in the coffee shop, writing the current novel in progress. In fact, I was writing the newest ending to it. This one was not an ending which I’d envisioned, although it was a path that veered from that planned ending.
As I typed, one of my coffee-shop writing friends came by. “I can see you’re deep into it,” she said. “You have the writer face going.”
She and I laughed and she went on. In truth, I was ready for a break because writing butt was settling in. One cheek felt numb and the other was sore.
But you probably know how it is. There was more to write. Hungry, thirsty, pressed for time, I kept going, writing like crazy till I finally took a breath, sat back, and said, “Done.”
We’ll see if I’m done, of course. If the novel is done. Finished.
Michael Seidel, writer 