Saturday’s Theme Music
Newport, Oregon coast — Saturday, May 23, 2026.
Yes, mea culpa, I typed up yesterday’s theme music as Saturday instead of Friday. Blame it on the wind. Or blame it on a conversation I was having with my wife about Saturday. Saturday got stuck on the brain like bubblegum on my shoe.
Fog set in yesterday, and then some drizzling — but the wind let up! Today, blue sky is reflected in the water in stretches, making the ocean blue instead of bland rock gray. We have a new record for number of people on the beach at once: the previous record was eleven. Today, we see seventeen, and three dogs.
With the moon still waxing and just reaching a quarter, we’ve had very low tides. Yesterday’s was so low and so far out, I walked a couple hundred yards across beach that’s usually covered by water. Not that you can tell; it’s all sand.
It’s 52 F today. 60 F is a possible high. But we’re heading south again, turning for home, Ashland. It’ll be 85 F there today. The catsitter reports that Papi is enjoying this stretch of sunshine, chillin’ in his favorite shady spaces, snoozing the day away yesterday. I look forward to seeing him but admit that I’m not overly enthusiastic about abandoning this life of leisure by the ocean. I am excited to get back to my writing routine, though. My wife tried to give space for me to write but it was erratic and problematic, if you get what I mean.
We will be stopping for breakfast for a final time at The Green Salmon. Looking forward to it!
Read this article this morning:
Court-ordered release of Trump ballroom donor deal sparks uproar
“Public Citizen sued for access to the funding contract for Trump’s $400 million White House ballroom and prevailed, resulting in the document’s release. The agreement between the White House, National Park Service, and Trust for the National Mall permits anonymous donations and omits the White House from conflict-of-interest reviews. Known donors include Amazon, Lockheed Martin, Google, and Palantir, all with significant federal contracts, and about $300 million has been raised privately to date.”
The usual suspects doing the usual grifting in the Golden Age of Corruption under Trump. Interesting to note that only $300 million has been raised to date to build the Epstein ballroom.
Trump’s Iran boondoggle has been going 84 days. Still waiting for another Operation Epic LOOK — SQUIRREL! release.
Your Trump Quote of the Day:
Sure, that’s why he did it. No, he’s not trying to buy loyalty from his base to use as a personal army. Nope. LOOK — SQUIRREL!
Today’s music is “Cake by the Ocean” by DNCE. This came about because we were eating dessert by the ocean last night. Not cake, but lemon bars. Not caring about the details, The Neurons turned on the song last night and it remains in the morning mental music stream today.
Swedes Mattman & Robin produced the song, which is how it ended up with this title. From Wikipedia: ‘The song’s title originated from Mattman & Robin’s repeatedly confusing the phrase “sex on the beach” for “cake by the ocean”.’
Hope your day is charmed with good weather, good food, good company, and good news.
Cheers
Black & White, Gardening & House: A Dream
I was working on a house. The house was a modern place, already completed, but I felt that changes were needed. I thought it was my house but sometimes as I worked on it, I thought it belonged to someone else. But I felt very sure that I had the right to change things
The house was white, a modern flat roof box. A breezeway separated the house from a spacious garage. The driveway was white, paved, and in excellent condition.
I decided to change the house’s material. I did so almost without thought – just done. As result, the house, which had been white, was now black or charcoal gray.
Family came by and asked why I did that. My father, who died last year, stopped by and asked why I’d changed it. Doing something else, I absently responded that it was a temporary move and that I would return it to white and could do so whenever I wanted.
Dad shrugged. “Well, whatever you want to do,” he said. “That’s your business. I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”
Those were words Dad often used. Sometimes he said, “I hope you know” rather than “I’m sure you know”.
Dad then took me to a garden section. Plants were growing there – tomatoes, onions, carrots, radishes, lettuce. He explained to me what to plant, where to plant it, how to fertilize and water it.
He left, expecting me to continue. I did so but was dissatisfied. He had a lot of starts which he wasn’t using. My sister came along. I was looking at the plants decided not to use. For example, a tomato plant already had several pieces of red fruit on it. I could see it visibly growing, so I decided I would add additional plants. I talked my sister into helping me. Although the plants weren’t as tidy as what Dad had done, I felt they had great potential.
He came by. I showed him what I’d done. Then, almost as an afterthought, I changed the house back to white.
Everyone could immediately see the difference in the house. They all then clamored for me to do that for their houses.
Dream end.
Logging In
I had to go ‘incognito mode’ and log into Gmail. Don’t ask.
I give it my identification. My password.
Okay, my computer tells me. “Go to you phone and click on the link texted to you so we know it’s you.”
I did so.
The computer showed me three numbers in circles. “Now,” it said, “click on the number that corresponds with the number shown on your phone.”
I did so.
“Now,” the computer said. “Hop up and down on your left foot three times and bow to your right.”
I did so.
“Now,” the computer said, “Say Rumpelstiltskin is my name.”
I did so.
I was finally able to log in.
Seriously, I did it all until the hopping part. But I don’t think that’s too far off in the future.
The Day
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.
The Discussion
Four women were chatting at a nearby table at the coffee shop. Appearing similar in age to me, two women dominated the talking. One was short and slender, with fair skin and dark, bobbed hair. The other was tanner and smaller. Smiling a lot, her silver hair fell around her shoulders.
They were talking about toothpaste. Looking up from my writing, I tuned in as the first woman said, “I put a pea-sized amount on my brush.”
One of the other women, heavy, with dry brown hair that came to her shoulders, loudly, sharply scoffed. “That’s not enough.”
The first woman replied, “That’s what the directions say to use.”
The brown-haired woman snorted. “Everyone knows you’re supposed to put toothpaste on all the bristles, from one end to the other.”
The conversation fell still for several seconds. “Anyway,” the first woman resumed.
I returned to my writing.
The Stuff
Mom has moved out of her house and into an assisted living facility.
A household of things have been left behind that we need to move to sell her house. That includes clothing, paintings, vases, dishes, appliances, furniture, electronics. My sisters contacted liquidators and estate sales businesses to see if they would do it for a cut.
Short answer: no. Not enough of value to make it worthwhile.
I wasn’t overly surprised. Mom has tons of clothing and shoes but none is really vintage. She has furniture but the agents said that furniture is a hard sale these days.
My wife and I talked about this in relation to our own life. Adverse to an estate sale after she passes on, my wife has been doing a slow-roll death clean: a drawer a day. A closet. Organizing, tossing, donating. She used to refer to it as simplifying; now she just calls it the death clean.
It’s one of the places where we diverge on our philosophies. I consider my life busy and frantic enough to do without going through my belongings to see what I still want and want I need to throw away or donate. I do so sometimes, but I don’t make it part of my daily or weekly routines.
This exchange summarizes it for us. My wife said, “I don’t want people having to come through the house to get rid of things for me.”
I replied, “I don’t care. I won’t be there.”
As I walk around the house, I wonder, what would the estate sales agents say to me?
I suspect they’ll tell me the same thing they said about Mom’s stuff.
Tires & Food
We bought new tires for one of our vehicles yesterday.
I took a memory train back to the first time I bought new tires after I was married.
That would be 1975. The car was a 1968 Camaro. Sweet, small, fast car. RS, 327 V8, automatic. I bought it for $1100 after I arrived at my first permanent duty station in my Air Force career, Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, in Ohio. Paid cash.
I married later that year. My wife and I have wonderful memories of being together in that car.
Buying new tires for it was a major financial decision. Recaps were cheap, $20-$25 each, installed. But recaps? I distrusted their safety and reliability.
That meant new tires: $40 each.
$160.
Ouch.
We didn’t have credit cards, so we’d need to buy the tires with cash. I had that in savings but that would severely reduce the balance.
I remarked about this to my wife at dinner last night.
She remembered, adding, “Yes, the things we couldn’t afford then that we needed, and the things we buy now, that we really don’t need.”
I paid for the dinner with my credit card. Leaving, I thought, I could have bought two new tires for the price of that dinner.
Of course, I could have bought the Camaro for the price of the new tires I put on the car.
It’s all part of Einstein’s Theory of Relativity.
Snow and Fire: A Dream
I was younger, traveling with my wife and a small group. We were in separate vehicles. I knew I was traveling with a group but none of them stand out in memory.
There was a snowy mountain involved. My wife and I were leading the way, driving in an SUV, heading to a site of four cabins partway along our journey. The cabins weren’t our destination but just a stop.
I was driving and we were well ahead of the rest. My wife and I arrived as dusk began. It was on a slope, heavy snow, with large bare and fallen trees. I felt that some paths and parking for the others were needed and set to work doing that. While I made progress, time was limited, and I needed the proper equipment, so I went on.
Reaching a large conference center, I gathered my people. They were a small group – six to seven, I think. A larger conference was going on. I called my people together to talk about what I’d already done and also to note that we needed equipment to clear out the snow around the cabins, but we also needed to move some stuff.
That last seemed important to me. While I don’t specifically know what I was moving, I knew it was big, heavy stuff. Challenging for a small group, I was hoping the other conference’s attendees would overhear us and offer some help.
That didn’t seem to happen. I went back to the cabins with my wife. Arriving there, I now had a red piece of equipment to move the snow away. While I started doing that, I thought I saw some trees smoking.
I examined the trees. They turned out to be short, gray wooden statues carved from tree stumps. I confirmed they were smoking to me and went back to get my wife’s opinion but also to call it in.
She confirmed what I saw. While we were talking about it, a large group of teenagers arrived. They began climbing on the statues. I went over to warn them that I thought the statues were smoking and might be on fire. As I told them this, I pointed out the smoke to them, and then spotted open yellow flames on one of the statues. I then made everyone move away. I also spotted a statue that had turned into smoking black char, telling me that had been happening for a while.
My wife wanted me to go get help. She said she’d stay there but I felt that was unsafe for her and said, “No.” I explained my thinking and she accepted that.
I then went back in and got on a red telephone to call someone for help with the snow removal, getting the students to safety, and putting out the fire. It was both a friend and an authority in charge of such equipment. He began talking, assuming he knew why I was calling. It was noisy and hard to hear. My wife was with me and I told her, “He’s assuming things.” Then I told him, “No, listen to me. That’s not what’s happening. There are three things going on here. Pay attention.”
He promised to pay attention and then said he’d send help.
Dream end.
Michael Seidel, writer 