Summer remains in full effect here. While it’s a pleasant, blue-sky 70 now, we expect 94 F to arrive before the sun curves out of sight.
Papi says, that’s okay. Let’s get something to eat, clean up, and take a nap.
With little surprise and total arrogance, Trump insisted on a huge fireworks display for the 4th. Per nature’s rules, that caused pollution which resulted in unhealthy air for We the People living and visiting there. The situation was made worse by the extreme heat the area is experiencing. Saturday’s temperature reached 103 degrees F that day. The extreme heat caused the pollution to linger.
I have “Cinnamon Girl” stuck in my morning mental music stream. It’s dream related. I had three dreams last night and one involved a woman with cinnamon-colored skin. With my wife, she and I were taken aback by the woman’s beautiful skin. She was petite, barely more than a girl. We saw her three times in the dream but never spoke with her. Instead, we would be walking through the throngs, look up and say, “Look, there’s the cinnamon girl.”
So, here is the song by Neil Young and Crazy Horse.
May happiness and joy fill your Monday and carry you into a brighter, better future.
Ashland, southern Oregon — Thursday, July 2, 2026.
It’s blue-sky Thursday. Admittedly, that’s the July norm for our parts. 61 F now, our high is jumping into the mid eighties today. There’s a good feel to the air. Papi and I sat back and sucked it up for a while. I went back in, and he commenced a vigorous pre-nap cleaning.
No smoke, either. I feel for places enduring wildfire and its smoke and its impact, such as Utah. I understand from my sisters that their area is insufferable due to high humidity and high heat. They’re trapped under that dome of dangerous heat affecting 160 million Americans.
I’m feeling so good today, it’s almost criminal. Had amazing dreams and a solid night of fantastic sleep.
Mom has been quiet. As has two of my sisters, on vacation. Hope it’s because all is well with all of them. Fingers crossed, knock on wood, etc.
What can we say about Trump and the news at this point that hasn’t been said? Empty promises, lying to promote himself, extending the Trump touch to everything, he gets wealthier while whatever he touches withers and collapses, decaying and fading.
Trump, though, feeds off others’ energy. He’s a strange, unusual creature. That’s why he likes to do rallies, have them all smiling hopefully up at him, agreeing with all he says as he spins stories about his greatness, ‘telling it like it is’.
Job numbers were down. Analysts expected 100K and only 57K were reported. Unemployment also ticked down but that’s because less people are participating in the work force. It’s at its lowest level since 2021. We won’t know what it all means for months but the people embroiled in it probably will tell you, “I know exactly what it means: the economy sucks.” The questions about why it sucks will rage on.
My wife told me of an interview with people in Florida that she watched. Asked about the economy and Trump’s increasing wealth, one said, “He’s not doing anything for the middle class but he’s certainly enriching himself.”
While I like hearing that from others, hoping it’s a sign that people are shifting from Trump, I read — but couldn’t vet — remarks from the MAGAsphere that Trump is so smart, and that’s why he’s making money. *gag*
More news came out about the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pond and Trump’s ‘renovations’, aka Algaegate. Now they’re saying toxic materials were used. Bad for the environment, but that’s never been a Trump worry, long as he has a golf course.
The Epstein files still haven’t been fully released. Although not fully financed, the Epstein ballroom construction rolls on. With Trump’s manhandling of it, the nation continues to stumble through the celebration of 250 years.
He is wrong, of course, but it’s not surprising that he believes it. Being told by staff, friends, and family would let him shrug it off, as they knew he wanted to do. As he’s not a student of law or history, neither of those aspects would affect him, either. Since his bottom line has and is always how can he make things better for himself, how he can make himself look better, and how he can make himself richer, he was happy to run with what he was being told.
As usual, Trump heard what he wanted to hear, so he could think what he wanted to think, and do what he wanted to do.
My thoughts this morning were a stew. Jobs reports, working people, the upcoming holiday, and the struggles with affordability. Tasting it as I stirred, The Neurons emerged with “Blue Collar Man (Long Nights)” by Styx. The 1978 song is all about working and making a living, and the determination to get ahead.
I’m off to other matters. Stay comfortable and safe, whatever conditions come at you, and go with grace and peace.
When I saw the prompt, I laughed and wondered, what traditions? Then I thought about it more seriously.
Dad doesn’t have traditions. He and Mom divorced in the early sixties. I moved in with him when I was fifteen. Well, he did have two traditions in those years: partying and working. Still on active duty in the U.S. Air Force when I moved in, he also had a parttime job, running a base all-ranks club. I have never seen Dad cook. Nor have I seen him clean house. Both of those duties fell to me when I moved in. I confess: I went back home to Mom’s house for Thanksgiving and Christmas for the next few years. Then I graduated high school, joined the military, and was off in my own life.
Back at Mom’s house, traditions gravitated around Christmas, Easter, and Thanksgiving. I guess there was also traditions for Memorial Day and the 4th of July: we always grilled out. Mom’s Christmas traditions were digging out decorations, putting up a tree, and that sort of thing. Easter meant baskets for the children and baked home for dinner. Thanksgiving was a lavish meal, turkey with stuffing, a bunch of fixings, and apple and pumpkin pie with whipped cream for dessert.
Well, it’s just my wife and me. Married for fifty years, we never had children. We did make Easter baskets for each other for a while, but neither of us claim a religion or a belief in God. I was also a shift worker for the first dozen years of my military career and often worked on Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, etc. And my wife became a vegan over thirty-five years ago.
The bottom line is, my Dad had no traditions, and Mom’s were limited. Now we have a tradition of going to a friend’s house to celebrate spring. We all bring a dish, hunt for easter eggs, and play cornhole. Once a year during the summer, we go to a local lake and dance to a local band with friends. There were fifteen of us this year. For the 4th of July, we always go to Pam’s house for a potluck branch and to watch the parade. A friend opens their farmhouse for all of us on Thanksgiving, another potluck affair, but they always provide a turkey.
I guess we have a new tradition of finding friends and celebating with them.
The parade is over. The fireworks await us tonight. Cloud cover has passed away so viewing shouldn’t be a problem. The arguments over whether they’re entertaining and patriotic or an environmental hazard and an ordeal for animals continues.
2025’s Ashland Independence Day parade was remarkable for its thin festivities and shortness. Didn’t even go an hour this year even though four bands entertained us with march and show music. The are the same four bands heard every year. Indivisible had a “No Kings” display and vocalized that, encouraging us to join. La Clinica was barely there. Climate awareness scuffled past, as did Peace Corps members who knew their legacy was being defunded and dismissed.
Applause was muted; many participants seemed tired, trudging, not marching, forcing dull smiles out as they remembered to toss a feeble smile. Some performers, like the elderly female dancers, were still into it, zinging us with smiles and waving with happiness, but they were the rarity. Mayors from Medford, Phoenix, Talent, and Ashland all drove by, along with other minor local government functionaries. The cars, an Austin Healey 3000, two Jag E types, and a Bugatti GTC, brought comments, along with the vintage and antique cars that gassed us with exhaust fumes out of the 1940s.
The weather stayed cool but the sunshine was hot, a crisply contradictary way of being, which felt perfectly symbolic for this national holiday in 2025.
Yes, it is the Fourth of July in 2025, Independence Day in the United States. May the spirit of the 4th and its ideals of freedom, justice, and equality be with you wherever you may be in the world.
Not an overly warm day on this Ashlandia holiday Frida. Now sitting at 55 F, clouds shroud the sky and cancel the sun. Today’s high will be just 78 F.
Thunderstorms roamed the region late yesterday afternoon, putting us on wildfire alert. Two are noted down in California, in the Klamath and Happy Camp. Both are lightning strike products.
Trump is out there and spreading garbage again. He never takes a break. This time he claims his ‘beautiful bill’ rescued two billion farms.Sure. And he’s pretending that the social security tax exemption for seniors is for everybody. Maybe he’s lying; maybe he just doesn’t know. There’s often an appearance that he’s not connected to what’s going on. Just wondering how many people he’ll have ICE disappear to celebrate the holiday.
Going with Bruce Bruuuuuuce Springsteen’s “Born in the USA” for the holiday. Kind of has The Neurons snickering over using an angry anti-war song that many mistakenly think is patriotic as the theme song on this holiday celebrating independence is in my morning mental music stream.
Got coffee. Heading down to Pam’s house to join in a buffet, see old friends, meet new ones, and watch the parade flow with stops and jerks down Siskiyou onto Main Street. The parade starts early this year to beat the heat. Have a better one. And away we go.
They call it sticker shock. My wife and I labeled it a friggin’ kick in the head.
We decided to make brownies for our annual Fourth of July gathering. To give it an Independence Day flavor, red, white, and blue chocolate M&Ms would be added to the top. I hustled to the store to buy said M&Ms.
First stop, Bi-Mart, didn’t have them. Second stop, Albertson’s, did. One size: 38 ounces.
38 ounces. Seriously? Who needs that many M&Ms? But if I need to…I guess…
$15.99. On sale. Marked down from $17.99.
Get out of here. What are these, organic M&Ms hand-wrapped by virgins in gold foil?
Neither price was acceptable to me. As a boomer, I remember M&Ms as something I bought a little bag of for a quarter. Last time that I bought a pound of M&Ms, they were like $5. Even a pound bag seemed more than enough, and this wasn’t that many years ago. What are people doing, spooning M&Ms into their mouths?
The world has gone friggin’ nuts. I really am channeling the old codger in me, aren’t I?
I dreamed of my mother and father last night. Both are still alive. They ceased being a couple by 1961. Both have gone on to several other marriages and long-term relationships.
I’m not surprised that I dreamed about them. It’s Memorial Day weekend. Mom loves the holidays. If little else often worked out right, the holidays usually did. The food was sensational. Mom’s speciaities above everything else is fried chicken and potato salad. These foods figured prominently in the warm weather holidays of Memorial Day, Independence Day, and Labor Day. These were always large family affairs featuring picnics or cook-outs.
On the flip side, I only recall one Christmas with Dad. None of the rest. He and I get along pretty well. That’s not the issue. The issue was once he was away, I had to chose between Mom and Dad, and Mom had better food.
Back to the dream. In it, I was an adult. My two sisters who shared Mom and Dad as their biological parents were present, along with Mom and Dad. I was an adult, and Mom and Dad were the standard parents familiar to me from when I was eighteen to when I was sixty. Then they changed, bodies breaking down, in the old people they now are, restricted in their activities, dealing with medical issues, like, all the time.
But in the dream, we five were together as adults. Something had happened, some disaster, that forced us together. The dream didn’t give that info. So Mom and my sisters were moving into the place that I had shared with Dad in the dream, but not in real life. This was a small, wood-paneled dump. Tiny, cramped kitchen with dim lights. Old white refrigerator. Microwave on a fake wood stand. Tiny formica gray and silver table with four chairs. One of the ‘old-fashioned’ answering machines with microtapes.
And there were notes. This was part of some complex, which had a pool and a clubhouse. Dad had a stack of notes. This was familiar to me in the dream but not anything he’d ever done in real life. It was his handwriting, though. These were codes and bank account numbers, phone numbers for different people and organizations. I’d glanced through them on arrival.
In the dream, Mom, walking around in a fake fur coat, said, “Jim, we need the access code. Can you give it to us?”
I took some digs at Mom. I’d seen her snooping; Mom was always and forever a secret, furtive snoop, a trait which my oldest sister developed. After that dream, I saw that connection very clearly. Mom used to do things in secret and tell us children, “Don’t tell anyone.”
So, in the dream, I chuckled and asked Mom, “You didn’t find it when you were snooping around.”
Mom issued the standard warning with her eyes and mouth that said, ‘Quiet, don’t talk about that.’ Dad was his typical tight-lipped and silent individual, dismayed by what transpired around him.
I went on to Mom, “Oh, come on, Mom. We all know how you snoop and I say you doing it while Dad was in the other room.” Then I went on to Dad, “What’s the code, Dad? Is it 03? I saw that written down over there. I also saw 258. Is it one of them?”
Dad eventually revealed the code, which I don’t remember. That’s when the dream fades out on me. But it opened my eyes about my parents as I reviewed the dream later.
Welcome to Independence Day in America! Yes, it’s Thursday, which is always a day of Independence, isn’t it? Well, as free as most days, anyway. Your level of freedom will vary by state and local government and may not include all freedoms desired and experienced by others. I’m not dipping much into politics and the nation’s direction this morning. The web will be full of it today without my contribution.
Today is July 4, 2024. It’s 60 and sunny. Gonna be hot here in Ashlandia, where the town parade begins with the flyover at 10:45 AM, 102 F or so. The blue sky is unchallenged by anything resembling a cloud in every direction. No smoke, either, knock wood. We’re watching three fires, with most eyes on the Thompson Fire around Oroville down in California. It grew fast and doesn’t promise any happy endings.
The Neurons have Sting singing “If You Love Somebody Set Them Free” from 1985 (Trademark free). It’s a natural for Les Neurons. They like the idea of setting someone free instead of stamping them in one homogenized image of religion, color, gender, name, thinking, and philosphy. Diversity strengthens us and only fools deny it.
I hope you’re in circumstances where you can enjoy a safe and happy holiday in the U.S. If you’re in other than the U.S., I still hope for you to have a safe and happy day, and that all of us are free and equal. Coffee is seducing my taste buds as I write. Vote Blue in 2024. Here’s the music. We’re heading to the parade. Cheers
TL/DR: It’s hot, liberty is in danger, Vote Blue, and “Come Together”.
Sunshine is slicing through the blue sky like a sword scything through air.
Today is Wednesday, July 3, 2024, and we’re looking at a hot one. 73 F at this intersection of existence, the hot temperatures will test us with peaks in the mid 90s. They’re just prepping us for the SHS – Seriously Hot Stuff – descending on us tomorry.
For giggles last night, I was thinking of a song called, “My Country, Tis of Thee”. Around for a while, many just call it “America”. Its second line is, “Sweet land of liberty.” With MAGA-led initiatives, an asterisk needs attached to that line. Not a land of liberty for book-reading in many GOP realms where they’re banning books in schools. Nor is there liberty if you want to encourage diversity, equity, and inclusion, nor if you dare risk raising your voice to discuss climate change and its dangers. Not a land of liberty if you’re talking about using a name which you think fits who you are, nor is it a land of liberty for you if your gender isn’t exactly as stated on your certificate of birth. Don’t overlook the limits on liberty if you’re a pregnant woman, no matter how it came about, because in Godly Republican states, you don’t control your body. That’s the state’s job, so shut your mouth and do as they tell you. That’s GOP-style freedom in the MAGA dome.
Today’s music was created by the songwriting team of Lennon-McCartney. The Beatles released “Come Together” in 1969. Thirteen years old, I loved the freakin’ song. Fifty-five years later, The Neurons have brought it up in response to our political atmosphere and have it going in the morning mental music stream (Trademark united). Yes, some crazy messages are in that song but that basic vibe, “Come together”, is what The Neurons are feelin’. Come together and support President Biden and the Democratic Party in 2024. Come together to stop the MAGA train and its authoritarian destination. Come together to bring some semblance of a vision of America moving forward to a pinnacle where we all share equal rights and freedoms, regardless of our physical and sexual attributes, a place where we’re willing to negotiate and compromise as needed to improve life for all and protect the planet. Yeah, I may be a dreamer, but I know more are out there.
Stay positive, be strong, lean forward, and Vote Blue in 2024. Coffee has crested past my lips and has infiltrated my body in a good way. Here’s the music. I choose a different version from the original but included a couple takes of the song for your viewing pleasure. Any buzz your neurons in a pleasure way?
Michael Seidel, writer 