I did my ‘first of the month’ chores the other day. These include pouring things down into the bathtub to keep the sewer lines cleared, and running cleaners through the washing machine, dishwasher, and garbage disposal. We hunt for organic, safe things to do this with. I do them every month on the first day to keep it all working well.
That’s the dream, anyway.
All transpired as planned with everything except the washing machine. It stopped, showing an error message.
My wife pointed it out to me by asking, “What’s this mean?”
“What?”
“The washing machine isn’t doing anything. It shows ‘rL’ where it usually shows the time.”
I looked. Not because I didn’t believe her. It’s just habit: see for myself. Helps me shift into ‘maybe I can fix it’ mode.
She was right about what it said. The time is always in green. These letters were in red.
“That’s not good,” I wisely noted.
We pulled out the manual and found the error message. It’s specifically for the cleaning cycle and means, ‘something is in the washer’. Nothing is supposed to be in the washer during this process. The only thing in it is the tablet purchased for the purpose.
My wife and I talked about it. “This is what we used before,” we agreed. “It was never upset before.”
Shrugging, I took the standard modern technology route: turn it off, turn it back on.
Hot is the word for today. 90 is our expected high. It’s sunny but windy, with a blue sky coping with several blue clouds.
It’s funny to me how Papi awakens me every morning at about 5:50. Today was a little later, 5:57. I wonder about the little clock in his head. More correctly, it seems to be a stomach alarm. “More food, please, hurry.” Which I do. Which he probably wouldn’t ask for if this habit hadn’t been established. Which came about with previous cats and my work schedule. Some things endure change. *smile*
I was looking at the area weather statistics for June. Although we ended on a cool streak, we were 2.5 degrees above average for the month. There were no days when we exactly hit the average.
My body, mind, and spirit feel very strong today. Thank you to everyone who took time to send me positive energy. Send it to others now more in need, please, as I’m doing good.
There’s no escaping Trump today. He’s encountered most days in this era, lying, gloating, boasting, mocking, demeaning. Too often, there’s an announcement accompanied by his smirking visage, and I just respond, ugh.
We have the terrible circumstances that a wealthy man interested only in himself ‘leading’ the government as we celebrate our nation’s beginnings. It feels like a low point. Yes, we’ve been polarized and demoralized before as a country. There have been scandals like Watergate, Contragate, Teapot Dome. There’s been crises like the Cuba Missiles Crises, and so many, many wars. Disasters were endured; pandemics. Assassinations. I didn’t live through many of these and rely on reports others made. I’m living through this, though, and I don’t like it.
What is funny is how fast and consistently MAGA pivots to cover Trump. They embrace his explanations and excuses, ignore his broken promises, and dismiss his lies and convictions in court as meaningless. As they depress me, I turn further and further away from their concerns…
In many ways, I think MAGAts are pretending that Trump speaks for them. They’re pretending that life under him is what they voted for and wanted. They pretend that he’s not misleading them, dismissing them, forgetting them as he grows wealthier and they often grow poorer. Weaker. Sicker.
The real question is, how will they feel when Trump is gone and their situation is not better for any of them except the wealthy? Who will they blame? Where will they turn?
As Trump is already ranked at or near the bottom of historic ratings, I believe that the Trump Era will gain a place in our nation’s history as a dark, low time.
With those of pretending populating my thoughts, The Neurons cranked up “Pretending” in the morning mental music stream. Eric Clapton wrote and recorded it but Jerry Lynn Williams wrote it. With lines like these, it feels right for this Trumpishly diminished day:
“How many times must we tell the tale? How many times must we fall? Living in lost memory you just recall.”
“That’s when I knew she was pretending. Pretending to understand.”
May you find joy and peace in your hours today, happiness in your night, and love in your heart.
We hit the road at 10:10. Interstate 5 North. Good sunny travel weather, moderately heavy traffic.
A gas stop at Costco in Roseburg returned us to a full tank. Back onto I5 N for a few more miles, leaving it at Sutherlin, now going west through the mountains, to the coast. We entered Florence at 2 PM.
Neither of us had commented on the lack of RVs and travel trailers on the road. They’re usually good for slowing our progress to a snail’s stroll. The rule of the car is, don’t notice something good out loud, or you’ll jinx us.
Lunch was done at a Florence favorite, Traveler’s Cove. After a walk through town, we headed to our hotel. The Driftwood Shores Resort and Conference Center offers okay accommodations. We like it because you’re right on the Pacific Ocean and all the rooms face the beach. We were there for ocean, dude. It’s the waves.
I unpacked my clothes. Set up my toiletry. Arranged my shoes. Hung stuff up and put things into drawers. My wife sat and read her book while I was doing this. This is one of our major differences: I always unpack, like I’m living there. She leaves everything in her suitcase, pulling it out as needed.
We walked the beach, gritting our teeth against a stiff sea breeze. The sun was unblocked by anything, and the waves were strenuous, constantly pounding, noisy but soothing.
Back in the room, I opened a bottle of red wine, poured a glass and watched the waves until, finally, some piece of me whispered, “Let’s go see what’s happening on the Internet.”
So here I am, watching the waves, typing, reading, sipping wine.
I just want to see her book, a small paperback. She flips through it, pen in hand, underlining passages.
I’m horrified and fascinated. Writing in books? I know others do this and it’s permitted under certain circumstances, but it’s something against my personal coda. Unless…is it a puzzle book?
What is this book she’s defiling? If only she’d put it down so that I can see it.
She left while I was busy writing. I never saw the book.
Michael Seidel, writer 