After knowing one another for 53 years and being married almost 50, my wife still surprises and confuses me with some of her decisions.
I have no doubt that she’d say the same thing about me.
WWTD?
What would Jesus do after someone shot him, apparently attempting to kill him?
The question is before us because many Evangelicals believe Trump is their savior. He shares their values, they tell us in polls, votes, and interviews. Which means, of course, that they’re not interested in stable marriages, right? Can’t be, since Trump has been married three times. What kind of values would they have, if they held that marriage was sacred and divorce is a no-no, and then admire a man who has three divorces? I wouldn’t think much of them and their values, no, I wouldn’t. I guess one of their values then is apparently divorce.
They share values with Trump, so I imagine they have a large number of affairs, too, because, you know, Trump. He’s had affairs, right? I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Trump will sponsor a ‘Divorce is sacred’ act if re-elected. Also among Evangelical supporters’ shared values with Trump is the willingness to declare bankruptcy to avoid creditors and escape financial responsibility for the misery caused to others for poor financial planning and execution. He or his companies have declared such bankruptcies a bunch of times, and he’s been sued repeatedly for not paying contractors. I guess that skipping out on their bills is another shared value. Gotta be.
Surely their values include lying and hate. Trump lies with routine regularity. Verify any of his speeches with fact-checkers and Vegas will probably give you odds that it has at least three lies in it. Therefore, truth is not a value for them, but lying, because that’s what Trump would do, is one of their shared values, and he is their savior. He shares their faith.
Nor is Trump forgiving, advocating death for others time and again. So, forgiving is not one of their shared values. Nor is turning the other cheek. Vengeance must be another of their shared values. Gotta be, right, because they share Trump’s values.
They must be proud of him today, then. Their modern-day Jesus immediately rebounded after being shot in the ear and went after the dollar. Yes, Trump’s apparatus quickly set up the sale of special commemorative shoes to remember the shooting. These “FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT” high tops, complete with Trump’s bloody face on it, can be theirs for just $299. That’s really a terrific bargain for a bloody face on a shoe when it’s your savior’s face. I bet Evangelicals snap them up and put them on display in their living rooms, along with their crosses.
I’m guessing from everything I’ve read about Trump that the Evangelicals’ values are rooted in money, like Trump. Just like their savior with whom they share values. Anything for a dollar. Just go after the buck.
Because that’s what Jesus would do.
Monday’s Theme Music
Mood: sprummery
Today’s lifestyle is delivered to you by Monday. “Monday: always the best way to start a week.”sp
It’s 68 F and June 10, 2024. Continuing the sprummerish lead up to summer, we expect a high of 87 F. The sky presents no signs that 87 F won’t happen. Clouds are boycotting the area morning. The bluest skies are clear above the southern forested pinnacles.
I was reading the Frank Luntz piece about undecided voters and how Trump’s 34 guilty verdicts affected their voting decision. I was struck by the fact that several blamed it on President Biden. Makes no kind of fucking sense in a sane world. But to further the insanity, they suggested, what if Trump appeals his decision and wins that appeal?
Yes, quite a ‘what if’ idea, isn’t it? But it needled me to think, well, Jesus, if President Biden is so powerful that he can influence a state’s legal system and find twelve citizens that he somehow forces to call a guilty verdict, why in the world would this powerful individual not also have the appeals system sewn up? Because anyone with a tenth of an active working brain knew that Trump would appeal if found guilty. So that avenue would need to be covered, too.
Of course, several of these geniuses also speculated that it’s not much of a crime and that ‘they had been out for Trump’ since 2016.
Idiots.
Glad to get that rant out of my blood.
Also, to those who thought that they were ‘out to get Trump’, have you not followed Trump’s legal issues for the past forty years or more? Really, can you wake up and think a little?
Of course, one individual also kept saying, “It’s about the economy for me,” and was worried about inflation. He should really read some history about how we arrived at our current price levels.
Relating to nothing, BTW, did you see the news that Target, Aldi, Walgreens, and other retaillers were announcing price cuts because heir high prices were driving away customers? Really makes me fucking wonder how and why they’re suddenly able to announce that, hmmm?
Today’s music comes by way of a dream. I was awake at 5:27 this morning. Don’t know what awoke me. After hearing what sounded like four small-caliber gunshots, I checked on my floofs. Tucker was in but Papi was out on the back patio. He seemed to be watching something invisible to me but rushed in as soon as the door was ajar. As far as the shots go, morning silence resumed as if it’d never happened.
So back to bed I went, and to a dream. As I remembered it, I recalled that there was a comment made by my sister-in-law. We were at her wedding. She was marrying a guy I’d never met. Weirdly she was really tall, towering over me by about thirty inches. Anxious to get out of there, she said, “I want this done. I’m worried about the weather. Remind me to tell Becky (her daughter), I need to get through everything before the weekend.”
Okay. I brooded on that a bit, but The Neurons launched 10,000 Maniacs with “Like the Weather” from 1988 into the morning mental music stream (Trademark under the weather). I found this lovely live version. Such a mellow and reflective song.
Got my coffee soothing The Neurons. Stay positive, be strong, and Vote Blue in 2024 for a saner, cleaner world. Here’s the music. Cheers
Wednesday’s Theme Music
Mood: Cofoptimism (optimism fed by coffee)
Today is Wednesday, Feb. 14. 2024, my fellow travelers. Which means Valentine’s Day. You probably haven’t heard about this little-known holiday. Invented to sell more jewelry, candy, flowers, and cards while increasing liquor and restaurant business. According to a 2017 ABC News piece, Valentine’s Day spending in that year topped $136 per person on average.
Sadly for my partner, my romantic tendencies withered away long ago. She accepts that with acidic humor, but accepts. Although she doesn’t cop to remembering this, she told me in our first years of marriage not to buy her Valentine’s Day Gifts. I was hurt, and I remember. She bought a bag of Dove dark chocolate hearts and made little gift bags for her friends. They were passed out after exercise class this morning; she said she’s celebrating ‘Galentine’s Day’, because, “We gals don’t need men.” Her gay friends are included. She cracks me up. BTW, I did buy her a gift last year, some lovely little earrings which she likes. Or claims to. She does wear them. We did go out to dinner last night, too.
Rainy, cloudy, and chilly are today’s descriptors. Temperature is 44 F and it’s not going much higher. In the give and take between winter and spring, and their offspring, sprinter, winter has asserted its presence.
The rain is keeping the housepainters away. They are very close to having our house done. It’s a welcome break, because they’ve been by the house almost every day for almost two weeks. The cars also appreciate it, because they can relax and behave ‘normally’. Well, Papi can. Tucker has been reasonably unaffected by the painters. Just his nature. Meanwhile, we’ve been keeping them in at night because, cougar. Papi is generally displeased by this development but I assuage his mood by giving him a treat when he wants out. He eats that and goes off and sleeps. Knock on wood that this strategy continues working without him becoming a chunkofloof.
Lot of interesting and exciting political news today. Maybe it’s just my natural optimism rising or I’m being naive, but my confidence for a Biden re-election victory is rising. Fingers crossed, etc.
The Neurons didn’t have anything loaded into the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks). I don’t know what’s wrong with them. On vacation? Sleeping in? Hungove? I don’t know. After some thinking as I fed the cats and myself, I thought I’d share Madonna’s 1990 song (written by Lenny Kravitz), “Justify My Love”. Returning from a four-year tour of Germany with the military, I saw the video for it when I was in a hotel at my new base the following February (1991) and thought, holy cow, or something like that.
But then I came across this thing on Facebook, so I’m instead sharing Taylor Swift and Phoebe Buffay (Lisa Kudrow) performing “Smelly Cat”. This song was featured on a television sitcom called “Friends”. “Smelly Cat” was introduced to the show in 1995, and was regularly performed several years after that. It’s a humours little piece.
Stay positive, remain strong, lean forward, and vote when the opportunity arises. I will do the same. Now, back to drinking coffee for me. Here’s the music. Cheers
The Writing Moment
I had a strong and productive writing session yesterday. But being so involved, my sense of time evaporated. I found myself leaving the coffee shop an hour later than usual.
I couldn’t go directly home, but had to go buy light bulbs. Finishing with that errand, I jumped into the car to head home. By now, I was an hour and a half later than usual.
My phone rang. It was my wife. “What’s up?” I asked.
“Where are you?” she answered. “You’re much later than your usual time. I’m calling to see if you’re dead or unconscious in a hospital.”
“You called to see if I was dead or unconscious?” I laughed.
She did not.
Sunday’s Theme Music
Today’s microexistence is Sunday, Aug 6, 2023. I’m in Ashlandia, where the deer eat everything and many people are annoyed. 70 F now, the bottom line for how high the temperature will go is 89. Sunset and sunrise are now contracting our daylight hours. We’re pushing through August. September lurks, waiting to hustle in autumn for us.
Another night of riotous dreaming was experienced. The most surprising one had me as a young gunman trapped in a suburban house with three others. We had automatic weapons and were in this situation because we’d shot and killed another young man, apparently in conjunction with a gang feud. Now, trapped, we decided we were going to break out blazing and make, a shoot and run to escape. Corporeal I was protesting my dream I’s thinking and behavior, cursing him for being a fool, urging him not to do it. But whatever I urged him not to do, he did it anyway, damn him. Real me couldn’t stop dream me. I twice forced a redo, but it went the same. It felt like the dream scene was my subterranean neurons cooking up a movie to show my battle between different sides of my self.
I awoke, thinking about that dream and others, and ended up ceiling staring in thought. Running with that cue, Der Neurons started streaming “Brian Wilson” by the Bare Naked Ladies (1992) in the morning mental music stream (trademark existential). At least I readily knew the connection this time. One line goes, “So I’m lying here, staring at the ceiling.” Okay, well done, Neurons. Take a mental bow.
Tomorrow is the anniversary of when my wife and I married. Totally other existence when we did, when we were young in 1975. Been a bumpy road. Almost went over a few cliffs. I enjoy her company and have great admiration for who she is. I think she likes me, too, although I exasperate her. Well, she does exasperate me as well. Love is a spectrum, as is hate — hell, marriage and all the emotions are spectrums. We constantly slide back and forth, finding and losing balance, opening and closing the distance between us.
Stay pos, be strong, find the course and follow it, correcting as is needed. Coffee has already slipped past the guards and is supplying The Neurons with needed energy reinforcements. Let’s hear some music.
Cheers
Wednesday’s Wandering Thoughts
He always found himself waiting or planning for the next thing, as if he was trapped in some personal version of “The Jolly Corner”. The next season, the next birthday, the next death.
The next marriage, the next divorce, the next trip, the next vacation..
The next election, the political scandal, the next mass murder.
Next step in finishing a novel, the next novel to write, the next meal, the next task, job, bill, the next expense.
He kept reminding himself, stop. Stay in the moment and enjoy. But the next always kept coming.
Always.
Learning
One of the finest aspects of having a partner is the impact it has on learning and memory. In my case, this spot is filled with my wife, a woman. She’s smart, reads many books, and researches matters. Most of which she researches involves women rights, social justice, and health. She shares all that she learns with me, often piquing my interest to go read more on the subject. Not infrequently, some of what she teaches me ends up in some character in a story. For instance, she taught me two things today.
- Men have more collagen and thicker skin than women, in general.
- Women donate more kidneys but receive fewer kidney donations. When you think about it, it kinda makes sense. If men are having kidney problems, they can’t donate them. So the next step would be to look for information to vet that.
We also act as memory augmentation for one another, covering the other’s weakness. She’s great with social memes, voices, faces, poetry, cooking and baking. I’m passable with math, science, history, pop culture, and technology. It works.
I think it’d work for most, regardless of gender or pronoun, sexual orientation, and maybe even political persuasion. Everyone should at least should not have the right to try taken away from them. Who knows what we all could learn?
Through the Years
1973 found me living in West Virginia, having moved there the previous year, after moving to Ohio from Pennsylvania, and a high school junior. Yeah, changes were underway.
1983 – an adult, in the military, married, stationed on Okinawa with trips to Korea, China, and Japan that year
1993 – still married and in the military, in Sunnyvale, California
2003 – retired from military but still married, living in Half Moon Bay, California, working for IBM
2013 – married and in Ashland, Oregon, still with IBM
2023 – Ashland, married, retired from everything except writing
Different places and careers through the years, but the same marriage since ’75
Sacrifice
She brought me a small white plate.
Two dark pieces nestle on it. I stare at them, then shift the stare to her.
I had been smelling them since I came into the house after my coffee house writing session. Chocolate.
K is on a diet. Today is day 30. She is allowed to add one thing today. She added vegan honey to her breakfast amaranth. Now she waits three days to see if there’s a reaction. If a reaction — pain, a flare, stiffness — is experienced, that item is banned from her diet. Forever. Then she resets for a few days and adds another item. If no reaction is felt, she adds another item and waits three days. So it goes.
This means that she can’t eat what’s on the plate.
She’s hosting book club next month. The moderator opted for something lighter for March. Lessons in Chemistry. Bonnie Garmus. Kay is making vegan brownies studded with chocolate chips. These are vegan chips from Trader Joe’s. Vegan butter was used. This is a test batch. A Ghirardelli mix was used.
“Taste these,” she tells me. “Tell me what you think.”
She can’t have them. Diet. Two of the Ashlandians in the book club are vegan.
I force myself to eat a chewy, gooey vegan brownie.
“Wonderful chocolate taste. Not too sweet. Greasy,” I announce. That makes sense to her. There was something about the vegan butter melting and then measuring it again. She didn’t do that. “And they’re not done enough.”
“Five more minutes?”
“Maybe just three.”
She nods. She’ll make another test batch this week.
They go great with black coffee on a winting Ashlandia afternoon. An entire tray waits for me in the kitchen.
I’ll need to pace myself or it might be death by chocolate.
Michael Seidel, writer 