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.
I haven’t been writing while under the weather, so it’s been a week since I sat in the writing chair. A lot of that was because breathing was a challenge and my nose and eyes were releasing almost constant streams. That didn’t stop me from writing in my head. More than anything, I keep generating new novel ideas. I would scribble notes with a work title and details that came to me. Ended up with five new ideas covering dozens of pages.
Ideas and concepts have never been my problem. Nor dialogue, back stories, settings, or even plots. My challenge is editing and revising the first draft into less than a million pages that others can follow. That’s where I often flail and go on to a new novel. I’ve written fourteen novels, edited and self-publishing three. But the others typically languish in piles or remain as files in a folder. With my most recent novel, I’m being more disciplined about revising and editing. I think that’s in part because I’m happier with its structure, characters, and story.
I look forward to getting back into the writing routine. I hope it’ll be this week but right now, seven inches of snow covers the ground. As with so many things, it’ll be wait and see.
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.
Scotti provides us with a somber but excellent collection of memes and news over at Scottie’s Playground. They all struck hard and true. Some stayed with me more, so I included them below. I hope you’ll check them all out. Cheers
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.
Floofstock (floofinition) – 1. Supplies stored for animals’ use. Origins: First noted in the 1897 pamphlet, “Mandatory Requirements for Keeping & Tending Floofstock”.
Un Use: “Learning their animals’ eating habits can drive people to have a large floofstock to satisfy their picky fur friends.”
2. Legendary music venue held by animals, featuring such acts as Canned Floof, Ten Floofs After, and the Grateful Floofs.
In Use: “The First Floofstock Music & Treats Festival was hyped as a three-day conflooftration of good purrs and mellow woofs and attracted more than half a million animals, including elephants and a giraffe.”
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.
Dreamed I was going to a camp. Just a small sort of outdated place, with low wood-framed buildings painted brown or dark red, with a flat, slanted roof. A woman I’d just met was going with me, along with her sister.
We arrived in a 1970s era dark Dodge Charger or Ford Torino. I was driving and it was night when we arrived. The sisters had no place to sleep. I told them they could share my bed or sleep in the car, or I could sleep in the car, but I didn’t really want to. They ended up sleeping with me, one on either side.
Later, we got up to go find food and ran into other people I casually knew. They had soup and bread. We asked where they got it and headed toward a little shack they indicated. It was a dark place with a low ceiling, where we discovered we needed to pay in marks. I didn’t have any marks so the sister paid a 1,000 marks for food for me.
We ate and then separated. I wandered, exploring, following winding dirt paths between the buildings and trees at this tiny resort. Night was falling and I didn’t have any marks, so I didn’t know what to do. I did have dollars but not a large amount.
It was dark. I went back to my car. Another car, very like it, was parked beside it. Both with nose in, the rear ends toward me. As I reached my car, I looked over to the other car and saw the sisters sitting in it. I wondered if they’d gotten into the wrong car by mistake.
Dream end.
This was one of three dreams remembered from last night, but the most coherent and lucid.
Can’t recall much of the other two dreams. They’re shifting, like almost there, not quite remembered or forgotten. The strongest of the two had me carrying baking tins. Something finished was in it but I don’t know what. Others were doing the same. Many of the others looked like me but were slightly different. When I offered my baking tin, I saw that their offering was fully risen and mine was flat. I went off, got another like magic, and it was full. I went to give it to someone else, but discovered it was flat again. All of this took place outside in bright sunshine on a calm day.
The main thing I remember from the third dream was that I was happy and laughing a lot. And younger, but an adult.
Michael Seidel, writer 