Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
I like to write everyday. I enjoy writing fiction novels. It’s not just a goal for me; writing fiction every day is my center pole.
Sometimes I can’t do it, and the start of July was one of those times when life sabotage my efforts. First were dental appointments on July 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and a day of baking on July 3rd in preparation for July 4th, and then the holiday itself. July 5th was my birthday, so my writing was limited. A medical emergency stole my time and attention on July 6th. I swore to get back to it all on July 7th.
But when I say that I wasn’t writing, I mean that I wasn’t comfortably settling in a chair at a keyboard with a jug of coffee at hand. I kept writing in my head during the hours of driving, baking, sitting at the dentist, being social when I was supposed to be conversing with others, watching parades, attempting to sleep, or hanging around the ER waiting for test results.
Writing in my head was so magical and fast. When it came time to find the words and put it together with my coffee fuel, man, that was a different cat. Although I poured through two thousand words a day plus, a lot for me, stringing words together and revisiting and fixing my previous day’s work, I told my wife that it’s only now that I feel like I am finally catching up.
As I once blogged, I dream of a device that can take the scenes and spin into the needed words for me. Although, honestly, I don’t know if that would be nearly as much fun.
I guess, really, what it’s about for me is exploring the idea, seeing the story and hearing it, and then finding the words for others. May it always be so.
The usual places are empty
Our air is still
No soft noises are heard
None are there for a treat or a pill.
Toys are collected and put away
Wondering if they’ll be needed on another day.
Food bowls are cleaned, beds are washed,
Unopened food is given away,
The others are tossed.
Quiet shadows every motion and move
You think of memories
Which help and soothe.
But the faces remain, always there
In the empty space, an empty chair.
Sorry that I’m late with posting. Hope all were still able to carry on.
Today is Sunda, July 6, 2025. Temp right now, at 6:30 PM, is 94 F. Sunshine floods the valley and clouds have are absent, giving us an endless blue vision.
Slept the day away after requesting wife drive me to ER at 2:20 AM. Spent three hours there. Paralyzing and mounting abdominal plague began haunting me at 10:30 PM. Despite a pain killer, some antacids, and a couple glasses of water, it kept ratcheting up, and nausea began a background chorus. So, with deep and persistent mutterings about intercourse and life, we went to our local ER. The pain began in my back against my spine but soon became a traveller, going all over my upper abdominal area. I joked that an alien was in there trying to break out. BP was way up, temperature was normal. A couple rounds of morphine were IV’d into me. Blood was drawn. EKG was completed: looked great. Everything came back normal. With kidneys working, a CT scan was done: all normal among my organs. They finally said: looks like gas.
WHAT? WHAAAT? WHAAATTT?
Oh, wait. There might be something going on with your gall bladder. A follow-up course was established to investigate it.
The doctor said, avoid fatty foods and fried foods, and hydrate. Still moaning and groaning with pain and ab tenderness, my wife transported me home. I went in and violently puked for a couple minutes. With the tv on for company and a hot compress on my abs, I played with sleep. Pain subsided enough for a few hours and sleep was brokered. At 9:30, I consumed painkillers and anti-nausea meds they’d sent home with me. I returned to the idea of sleeping and fitfully did a Z dance for the next few hours before finally getting pain free at noonish. A bowl of buckwheat mash with blueberries and a couple chucks of papaya were cautiously consumed. Deep sleep came in for a four hour shift. And, BTW, my wife did a great job of taking care of me, as she always does
After being morphine’d while I was at ER, The Neurons ordered a dose of “King of Pain” by The Police for the early morning mental music stream. I laughed at the little skunks and their humor but the 1983 hit song is today’s theme music.
It’s been a no-coffee day. Dinner was a sweet potatoe with steamed veggies. Triple digits are playing for the area tomorrow. Time will tell with what comes next. Cheers
Couple things happening now. This being Satyrda, July 5, 2025, we’re over halfway through 2025. You feelin’ better about your life, our world, and the direction of your nation? Secondly, we’re now ‘closer’ to 2050 than to 2000.
Summer continues here in Ashlandia. We topped out at 80 F at my place yesterday. After an overnight low of 52 F, we’re supposed to traverse the mid 80s today. Blue paints the sky here and sunshine is methodically rising over the trees and mountains, bringing light and heat.
After a bout of interesting and uplifting dreams, I rolled into the day feelin’ pretty good. Then I perused the news and life slapped my face. Heatwave in Europe is unabated, with wildfires in Spain, Greece, Turkey. Flash flooding struck Texas and we’re following that story to see what happened to who and how many. Not helping matters, more rain is expected in the flooded areas. MAGA is gleeful about building a new concentration camp, Alligator Alcatraz, in Florida, using FEMA funds. You know, FEMA: Federal Emergency Management Assistance. Trump has turned that into a tool to imprison others instead of helping Americans. Meanwhile, tropical depressions off the U.S. east coast could develop into a hurricane. And the giant Madre fire still burns in Southern California.
But personal moods sometimes plays by its own sheet music so my mind is up. I gotta take advantage of it because you don’t know when something will strike down the mood.
Today’s song is “Higher Love” by Steve Winwood. It’s a personal favorite from my middle adult years. Released in 1986, when I was 30, the song spoke to me. Today I’m 69, and Der Neurons thought it was a good fit for the morning mental music stream. I really enjoy this flashback video and Letterman’s humor. Hope you find it entertaining. As a bonus, “Gimme Some Lovin'” is also performed.
Here we go, into the day. Let it swallow me and become something. I’m going to try to make it a strong one. Hope yours goes well. Cheer
WordPress blues struck again. Reading another’s post, I moved to comment. WP responded, hey, is this you? We’re asking because you’re not logged in.
I clicked to another tab which indeed showed me logged in.
That led me to an uncomfortable place. I don’t want to log in and re-enter my password on a page asking for such when I’m already demonstrably logged into that site. Cause, suspiciously, even though the URL looked okay and the page seemed genuine, it smelled. It this wasn’t a digital offering on a laptop but instead something tangible, it would stink like milk left out in a hot apartment for a month. It would arouse suspicions like a Nigerian prince offering me a million dollars if I just loaned him five grand for a day.
That’s how we live these days, at least in my abode, where phones aren’t answered unless the number is known, where unexpected packages are treated with deadly caution, strangers knocking on the door are ignored, and links in emails are triple-vetted.
Of course, it might have been some sort of WordPress malfunction. That kinda happens, too.
A new day, a new month, but it looks like the same ol’ times. It’s Twosda, July 1, 2025. Yes, we’re through half of 2025. Trumpification of the U.S. in which he brings his special brand of destructive failing shit to the nation and declares it’s wonderful.
The weather has again shifted, so today will be cooler than first forecast. We’re now in the low seventies in Ashlandia but we’re creeping toward the low 90s. Supposed to be in the upper 90s today but the thunder mass made an early stop, coming by Munda instead of Twosda. Some sources claim we’ll only kick the upper 80s today. Time will tell.
2 AM, I stepped outside to view the sky, check the weather, and say hello to the new month. Heat’s hold was softer but it was still as a frozen pond. Stars and planets and galaxies watched me but otherwise I felt unwatched, alone and comfortable. The Neurons took the moment to turn on a 1981 arena rock song by Billy Squier in the morning mental music stream, and “Lonely is the Night”‘s opening filled my headspace.
[Verse 1]
Lonely is the night when you find yourself alone
Your demons come to light and your mind is not your own
Lonely is the night when there’s no one left to call
You feel the time is right, say, the writing’s on the wall, yeah
[Verse 2]
And it’s a high time to fight when the walls are closing in
A-call it what you like, it’s time you got to win
Lonely, lonely, lonely, your spirit’s sinking down
You find you’re not the only stranger in this town
[Chorus 1]
Red lights, green lights, stop and go jive
Headlines, deadlines jamming your mind
You been stealing shots from the side
Let your feelings go for a ride
h/t to Genius.com
I was reading an account of a book about Trump and last year’s campaign and the shooting in Butler that had me doing early morning headshaking.
“They thought I had four or five bullets in me because there was so much blood,” the president said, referring to his would-be White House chief of staff Susie Wiles, future director of communications Steven Cheung and future deputy chief of staff Dan Scavino.
LOL. I bet they never thought that and never said it. Many people exaggerate things and their role and impact and others’ reactions. Some of that are honest errors and memory flaws. But Trump always does this to a hyper extent.
Here’s another quote from another individual that inspired some early morning weariness:
“Bezos said Trump’s instincts showed who he was, and he wanted them to have a friendship,” according to the book.
LOL, again. Anyone paying attention for the last ten years already realized that Trump the grifter, serial womanizer, and huuugggge liar had already shown who he is. Trump showed who he is with his eagerness to shoot United States citizens who were exercising their First Amendment rights. He’s shown it with his golfing hypocrisy, constantly golfing after saying in August of 2016, “I’m going to be working for you, I’m not going to have time to go play golf.” He showed who he is after calling military members loser for being a prisoner or for dying for their country.
But Bezos’s comments don’t surprise after that gaudy wedding display he put on. Bezos is becoming more Trump like with each new moon. Whereas he once showed a social conscience, he’s just another power hungry, greedy leech on society.
On to July. Hope your month brings you joy and satisfaction. Got my coffee. Carry on.
My phone was ringing and dinging with a plethora of text messages. I clicked on the app to see WTF was going on. My phone tried calling people. Sighing, I rolled out of bed. 6:48.
Sunshine was again championing the blue summer sky. 58 F now, it’d be 84 F later. A thin line of nascent white clouds trouble the sky blue from being as rich and pure as possible. I tried again to check messages but they wouldn’t come up on an app. My sister, though, corresponds with me on a separate app. Her summaries detailed an overnight firefight in The Mom Saga between Mom, her boyfriend, his family, and my family.
I exercised to engage my muscles and get blood moving in the right direction and consulted my Fitbit for the results. Fitbit hadn’t registered anything. Some scrolling revealed that my Fitbit was fritzing. WTF.
Thirstda, June 26, 2025, was not off to an inspiring launch. Maybe coffee and perusing the news would help. Meanwhile, I would reboot my Fitbit and phone. I mean by that, turn them on and off. That’s often modern technology’s rudimentary fixes: turn it off and back on. It failed this time, leaving me with some WTF mumbling to my caffeinating self. Almost in parallel, I went to the net via computer to search for help. Blank pages came up. Really, WTAF?
Finagling of computer settings were engaged. Results showed. Turning off the Fitbit and turning it on again a few times, I drank coffee and considered the failed results. With coffee in, brain neurons engaged in what was going on.
Hey, they said, did you notice that the time is going backwards on the Fitbit?
Whaaat? I answered. Yes. Each time I turned the FB off and on, the time it showed went further back.
The Neurons said, This has happened before.
I’d tried snyncing the Fitbit with the app. That failed. The app kept telling me that an update was available. But It also told me that the update was already installed.
Well, hold on, partner, The Neurons said. The app is probably hung.
Of course.
Bringing the app up, I worked a hard shutdown on the phone. Yep, that fixed all Fitbit problems.
Thank god for coffee.
Tethered to my computer and technological issues, The Neurons are huddling with songs about freedom. The morning’s hours have sprinted away. Solomon Burke ends up singing “None of Us Are Free” in the morning mental music stream. A line resonates with me: “If you don’t say its wrong, then you say it’s right.” Yep. That’s how I view those Trump voters who say, “I didn’t vote this. I don’t support it.” You spoke with your actions. “The truth is shining bright right before our eyes.”
On into the day I go. Hope you have a better one. Cheers
The Mom Saga has resumed.
In the last episode, Mom, 89, was released from the hospital and returned home. Her pain was sourced in her sciatica nerve, which kept her from walking. Everyone realized her pain relief came from steroid shots and now she’s on a recurring program for steroid shots.
Meanwhile, her 95-yo live-in BF, Frank, half-blind and half-deaf, was experiencing dizzy spells. Mom and Frank have separate rooms. He was unable to help Mom, and she was found helpless in bed in piss-soaked clothes and bedding after nobody heard anything from her for a couple days, which precipitated the hospital stay. We’ve been trying to years to convince Mom and Frank to move into assisted living. Mom wanted to but Frank refused because he didn’t want to pay rent. Last week they were close to deciding to move when Mom announced she wasn’t going to move with Frank to live with him until he apologized to her for lying. The cited lie: Frank had lunch with his daughter while Mom could not walk. It gets complicated from there.
We pick up the story with Mom back in her 1940s era three-story home with its steep, narrow steps.
Sister: Mom’s power went out last night and she was stuck in her room. As you know, she might as well be in a brick pizza over.
Editing note: The temp where Mom lives in Penn Hills hit 95 F yesterday. Mom has air-conditioning window units in her living room and bedroom, and that’s it. Her bedroom faces west.
Sister: We’re going on vacation this week. We’ve been planning this for months. We’ll be gone a week.
Editing note: ‘We’ in this context are the two sisters, husbands and SOs, and their immediate families.
Sister: Frank’s daughter, Karen, called this morning. She said, “We’re bringing Dad over to my house this week so he can rest. His doctor is worried about Dad’s heart and wants him to take it easy for a week. He’ll be wearing a heart monitor. So Dad won’t be staying at your Mom’s and won’t be able to help her.”
Sister: I proposed to Mom that she come and stay at my house while I’m away. It’s one level and air-conditioned.
Editing note: My sister’s house is a nice suburban ranch about fifteen years old, 1800 square feet, built after a fire destroyed her previous home.
Sister: We hired Marc to come and feed Cheesecake twice a day. Marc usually stays a while, has a cup of coffee and sits on the back porch.
Editing note: Cheesecake is sis’s cat.
Sister: We asked him if he would mind cooking a meal for Mom in the evening, filing her water glass in the morning, and making her a cup of decaf.
Editing note: Mom’s practice is to fill a 40 ounce plastic cup with warm water every morning and drink from it through a straw throughout the day. She likes a cup of warm decaf with hazelnut and almond milk in equal measure for breakfast, which is half a bagel with cream cheese. Her suppers vary. She loves KFC.
Sister: I also asked Jessica if she can check on Mom and I asked Sharon if she would mind coming by.
Editing note: Jessica is sis’s oldest daughter. Sharon is another sister. Sharon, two years younger than me, still works. She has a complicated relationship with Mom.
Sister: Sharon says she will be away over the weekend and beginning of next week.
Sister: I just talked to Jessica. She just pretty much straight out said, “I have a relationship with grandma and I’m going to be very busy. You know we have very little time. I of course can find it in my heart to come over there if need be,” but she doesn’t feel obligated.
Editing note: Jessica also has a complicated relationship with Mom. She also has three sons. The oldest is fourteen and their ages descend in two year steps.
That’s where the Mom Saga stands for the day. Tune in tomorrow for more exciting updates in The Mom Saga.
One of my dreams last night left me puzzled but optimistic and in a better mood when I awoke. As I went over its details with myself, one part that captivated me was it featured my first car.
In the dream, I was a young man again, and I was driving my first car. This was a 1965 Mercury Comet. Forest green, it was a four door automatic sedan with a 289 V8.
Dad gave me the car. He’d recently remarried, and this was his new wife’s transpo. Dad bought himself a used service van at an auction to drive to and from work, and turned over his 1974 Chevy Monte Carlo to her to drive. I was completely blown away by their decision. They’d not talked to me about it ahead of time. Until then, I’d been hitching or walking to get around.
With a car, I suddenly had a dating life and began dating the girl who is my wife. Our dates were never much because, car or not, I didn’t have much money. Dad did give me gas money and a few bucks besides. But I was in high school and on sports teams, and local jobs in our rural region were scarce.
After graduating, I joined the military and went in for training. After I returned home from basic training and tech school, I drove that car three hundred miles through a snow storm to my new duty assignment at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, Fairborn, Ohio. It was a taxing drive. Ice and snow were thick on the car by my journey’s end.
One day, the car wouldn’t start. It was probably a starter or selenoid switch. As it was a 1965 car and this was 1975, and it was a four-door sedan, I did what many guys would do, and bought my first used car, a sleek little 1968 Chevy Camaro with a 327 V8. Ah, fun car! Young car!
I left the Comet sitting in its parking spot. A man saw it sitting there without movement, hunted me down, and bought it. I’m not sure how much he gave me but I didn’t haggle. The thing is, though, when he went to change registration, he learned it was still Dad’s car.
Oh, yeah.
Dad was pretty pissed but the sale went through. I still laugh about it, and he still shakes his head.
Michael Seidel, writer 