I dreamed I was in part of a square complex where the center was an open court. I was on the fourth or fifth level looking out. There was a balcony that looked over the inner courtyard. Heavy snow was falling. I discovered when I went out on the balcony, a small box existed. In it at one point were my keys. In another time, there was a folded note. I unfolded it and read it but don’t remember what it says. I remember complaining (I think to myself) that a mistake was being made, that those messages weren’t going to get through because of the snow, but also the location. You’d need to know to look there.
The snow itself amazed me. It was so thick, covering everything in layers. I don’t remember the snow actually falling, just building up, white and pure.
Ashland, Oregon — Tuesday, February 24, 2026. February is winding down. The NFL ended its season and the Olympics ended. Rain pours from a flat gray sky. Mists swallow the mountains and the temperature hums along at 51 toward a possible high of 52 F.
The east coast’s blizzard stuns me with its strength, size, and the amount of snow. What staggering levels. I hope that all stay safe and recovery is quick and painless. Fingers crossed as I think that.
The weather doesn’t overly bother Papi. He goes out and stays under a protected area, sniffing, grooming, ears tuning. The wind isn’t blowing. Sunshine is absent so he comes in, finds his chair, commences his orange fur grooming.
I wade through the morning texts and muddle through the morning routines, eager to move on to other matters. I’m not looking forward to Trump’s State of the Union address at all. In my mind, the question will not be, will he lie? It’s a matter of how large the lies are, and how often he repeats them.
Looking back on news from the last few days, many positive reactions were seen when the Supreme Court struck down Trump’s use of one law to impose tariffs. Trump cursed and accused others of being ungrateful to him and then launched more tariffs under other laws. Markets spiraled down and trade partners reconsidered their position with the U.S. But Trump presses on.
I can only recall the snipper of one small dream last night. A woman was giving me a handful of silver change. I thought we were exchanging change and protest, laughing, she was giving me too much. But she insisted, “No, here, this is all for you.” I was like, what am I going to do with all this change?
Wakening, though, I thought about all the change going on and smiled at the messages my subconscious seems to be sending.
The Neurons have “Ordinary World” by Duran Duran playing in the morning mental music stream. Specific lyrics hooked me.
Papers in the roadside Tell of suffering and greed Fear today, forgot tomorrow Ooh, here beside the news Of holy war and holy need Ours is just a little sorrowed talk
(Just blown away)
And I don’t cry for yesterday There’s an ordinary world Somehow I have to find And as I try to make my way To the ordinary world I will learn to survive
The 1992 was written and recorded in the face of lingering low morale among the band’s members. Simon Le Bon’s built lyrics around “ordinary world” and a desire to regain a familiar and comfortable reality. I certainly get where they’re coming from.
I hope you survive and grow through this ordinary world and become happier and healthier. I’ll try to do the same, starting with a little coffee and a little writing.
Ashland, Oregon — Monday, February 23, 2026. Today’s sky is mottled gray streaked and splashed with blue. All the snow is gone from view. It’s 50 F. Rain is expected, along with a high of 56.
No text messages greeted me this morning. I thought, well, we’re into a consolidating/adjusting phase. Or the text message systems aren’t working, or they’re no longer using the group chat.
Turned out that options 1 and 3 are right. The sisters are doing things more one-on-one back east. Mom has gone silent, troubling our youngest sister, who has the tightest relationship with Mom, because she lived longest with her. As another pointed out, that sister was the only one who was living with Mom when they celebrated their 18th birthday. The rest of us left before then.
Moving on from family matters, I’m watching and reading stories about the east coast blizzard. Already a big storm, I hope everyone stays safe and warm.
There are other thoughts but this needs to be short because it’s our Food & Friends delivery day. Meanwhile, The Neurons have Laura Branigan singing “Self Control” in my morning mental music stream. Branigan’s 1984 hit is a cover of a song that was an international hit, something I always need to remind myself. I like the song’s mellow beat and its overall imagery about night, impulses, and not losing it. I think Les Neurons plugged it in in association with a dream, as the song started in my head after I began remembering the dream.
Well, let’s hope peace and grace find a way to show up and make themselves felt more strongly and persistently in our daily lives. Have and do the best you can.
In the last few months, a parent, stepparent, and two friends died. Last week, Mom threatened suicide and is now in a nursing home at 91.
Mom used to light up when I came through her door. She always wanted to feed me. Her cooking was excellent – especially her potato salad and spaghetti and meatballs.
She loved playing games, especially cards. She always told me that she enjoyed how I made her laugh.
Thinking of her made me remember others. Grandpa Paul passed in 1976, age 65. Multiple uncles and cousins followed, and a half dozen friends made during my military service.
I mostly remember their laughter and the fun of being with them.
That brings me joy.
Of all that was endured, it’s the laughter and fun which remains.
Sunlight streams in through the open blinds. Winter snow melts away as light clouds cruise through a blue field.
My wife sits up. “This would be a good day for our roasted veggie soup.”
The roasted vegetable soup is all about potatoes, carrots, broccoli, and garlic. After quartering, cubing, slicing, the veggies are rubbed with salt, pepper, olive oil, and turmeric roasted at 425 degrees. Rubbed with oil and housed in foil, the garlic is roasted with them.
When the vegetables are done roasting thirty-five minutes later, the garlic cloves are released and added to the vegetables. They all go into a big pot. Two quarts of mushroom broth is added. Boil, then simmer or thirty minutes.
As they boil, biscuits are rolled out and baked.
Such wonderful smells flavor the air. This is when our house is at its best as a home.
Our big snowstorm is over! We’re melting out of it. Sunshine rules although washed gray clouds coil and twine on windbound courses of the snowy mountains. More snow is expected tomorrow morning, and rain is forecast for tomorrow afternoon.
How many inches we got yesterday depends on what part of town you’re in. One section saw twelve. We saw seven at our house, sunshine reduced it to three fast.
It’s 35 F now. Three hours ago, it was 26. The high is expected to be 41.
Ah, time. Enormous time was spent texting sisters about Mom’s situation. We’re frustrated and sad and often feel helpless. I think the people at the hospital and the social workers understand this and are doing their best. I think Mom is, too. As someone commented, there’s a lot of relationship history built into this moment. Mom and Frank were firm on their choices; they were not moving into assisted living.
‘Water under the bridge’ is the easy way to dismiss it all, but that water runs deeper than it first appears.
Things will be resolved with Mom but it won’t be a resolution that any of us want to own. It won’t satisfy anyone involved. At least for now, the short term. Perhaps, in a year, it’ll be different. What am I saying? It will be different. The greater question is, how will it be different?
I spent a lot of time this morning reading about the EPA’s Endangerment Finding EPA decision. While it’s an agency decision, deeper implications arise about short-term and long-term effects and the government’s role and responsibility to mitigate them. Beyond that, we have established history of how the Clean Air Act helped us become healthier. When we’re healthier, we’re happier and more productive. Yet — here we are, mired in controversy.
My views about what’s going on politically are also tainted with his use of the military. I don’t approve of that.
And my views are tarnished because history says what tariffs will and won’t do, and the majority of economic experts agree. Yet, Trump and his administration is doing the opposite.
It’s the same pattern with COVID-19, and now the same with vaccinations and the measles outbreaks. I ask myself, what will it take, and end up, nodding, yes, FAFO. That’s just how some minds work.
I’m disappointed, too, that MAGA supporters lambast President Biden for what they perceived as his mental and physical limitations, and yet treat Trump as though he’s a gift from God. And yes, I understand the role of social media and information bubbles, and news spin. But understanding those doesn’t alleviate my disappointment, conversely enhancing my frustration and disappointment.
I feel like I’m on the sidelines in many ways, watching, commenting, but removed, and maybe too insulated and isolated. It’s no surprise that The Neurons brought John Lennon with “Watching the Wheels” into my morning mental music stream.
May peace and grace get through to you and carry you on through the fray to better times.
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.
It’s too dark out now to see the weather but at 36 F, it’s not warm. We are expecting a 60-degree high, so sunshine must be coming.
Papi is bugged because we’re up early, showing this by walking around, sniffing and chatting. We’re up early for my dental surgery, so this is a brief entry.
Besides surgery day, it’s also President Lincoln’s birthday, a time for sales, speeches, and reflections. Lincoln was a driving force behind the Republican Party. Hard to believe that the GOP came to be created in a time of polarization and a fight over slavery that ended in war. Now we stand again, a nation polarized by values and philosophy, wondering if it will end again in war.
In his Gettysburg Address, Lincoln referred back to the Declaration of Independence and the founders’ idea, never fully realized, “All men are created equal.” We’ve since modified laws to be more inclusive so that this idea isn’t limited to a subset of our nation’s citizens, but by all. Yet some still try to reject the principle that we are all equal. We hear again that no, certain people are not, based upon where they were born, their sexual orientation, or religion. Instead of being the inclusive vision first mentioned, some are trying to alter that vision. Racism and sexism are both being more openly practiced.
Honoring the sense of freedom, here’s the Who with “I’m Free”. May you and all your family be free, healthy, and safe. Cheers
We attended a musical show in Talent last Sunday. The woman beside me started chatting during intermission. Eventually, she asked, “Where do you live?”
“Ashland. And you?”
“Ashland. I moved here in 1976. When did you move to Ashland?”
“Over twenty years ago.”
“Really? A town this size, I meet many people but I don’t recall seeing you before.”
I smiled. “Well, we’re southies. We live on the southern end.”
“Southies.” She laughed. “I like that. Yes, I’m on the northwestern end of town.”
The show resumed. I wondered where she did her grocery shopping. Ashland is unofficially divided into the center, north, and south. North Ashland doesn’t have a grocery store. The south is the town’s newest area and offers five stores. A small Safeway is the only store in the center.
Townies who have lived here a while seem to go to Medford for their shopping needs, especially WinCo. From conversations, it seems like the southern stores — Market of Choice, Shop N Kart, Albertson’s, BiMart, and Grocery Outlet — haven’t been there ‘that long’. In fact, old timers often regale us with what ‘used to be there’ and how they loved those previous places.
I didn’t get a chance to ask my new friend where she shopped, but I’ll be sure to take it up with her, next time I run into her.
Michael Seidel, writer 